Read Online Fortune Is a Woman by Francine Saint Marie - Free Book Online

after-dinner drinks and coffee came, followed by the customary argument over which of the Beaumonts would take care of the bill. A foolish ritual; Edward always paid. When Lydia finally left around nine, the paperwork for the summer place well hidden in her briefcase, her thoughts returned once more to Helaine.
     

Chapter 11
    How Strength Should Be Measured
     
    It was half past nine when Lydia came home from dinner.
    “Helaine?” She turned the knob again. The door to the bedroom was indeed locked. Helaine was not answering. Shit, Lydia muttered. She read the note again then flung it and the flannel pajamas it was pinned to across the room. “Helaine, c’mon.”
    No answer.
    Helaine had gone to bed early “to masturbate” so don’t even “dream” of disturbing her, the note warned. A hot summer night, the flannel pajamas she had left on the couch was a perfect fuck you.
    Lydia rapped on the door. “Helaine? This is a big misunderstanding, I can assure you.” She listened for a response but none came. “Lana …please .”
    _____
     
    Friday morning. Helaine emerged from the bedroom dressed for work and strutted by the couch where Lydia had spent her restless night.
    “Good morning, darling,” she said in passing. “How was dinner?”
    Civility was a good development, Lydia thought. She rolled off the couch and stood naked and bemused in the living room.
    Helaine sat at the breakfast table and admired her over the edge of a coffee cup and the paper. “How was dinner, I asked?”
    “Dinn–fine.” She shook apart the pajamas that had served as a pillow and put them on. “Excellent.” They were scratchy and hot. “Thank you.” She left them unbuttoned and came to the table. “And how was…uh…well…never mind.” She sat down opposite Helaine and grabbed the financial section.
    “Excellent,” Helaine replied. “Thank you.”
    Lydia glanced at her. Take away the hostile glint in her eye and she was looking rather demure this morning. Smiling. Lydia gave a hopeful look in return and Helaine rose to leave.
    “It was a misunderstanding, Dr. Kristenson. A bizarre and stupid misunderstanding.”
    Helaine dumped her coffee down the drain, carefully rinsed the cup in the sink and placed it on the rack to dry. “Good,” she said, wiping her hands and grabbing her briefcase. “Then it’s not likely to ever happen again.”
    _____
     
    Friday morning. Paula had meetings scheduled till one and Dickie wasn’t himself. Vomiting all night. He appeared for breakfast pale and sweating, holding a comb full of his wavy, silver hair. He tried to joke about his condition, but his faded blue eyes were welling with tears. Paula gazed at him, terrified. The chemo. She called the office and canceled everything.
    _____
     
    Friday afternoon. Lydia took the elevator down to the fifteenth floor and followed the sound of blaring hip-hop till she found herself in the open doorway of her former office. She had expected to find its occupant too busy for a social call, instead Venus and a few of her associates were conducting what appeared to be an impromptu sendoff. There were tall drinks with paper umbrellas scattered everywhere. Blue, red, green, pink. A few corporate clad youths were dancing, working up a sweat, their coats strewn across the cabinets.
    Coats and arms. VP Beaumont smiled, thinking of what Paula’s reaction to the scene might have been. She scanned the room for Venus and saw her engaged in a suggestive dance in the corner. She must have been at the gym this morning, Lydia observed, taking stock of the tight sweats, the sleeveless half top. Very sporty and, save for the heels, not her typical work uniform.
    It was pointless to knock. No one could hear above this din. Lydia hovered unnoticed in the doorway and watched Venus dance. The girl didn’t seem in a slump, as Paula had claimed. Seemed pretty jubilant, in fact. She saw her arm draped around her partner’s shoulder, directing him with her free hand