Authors: Brooke Hastings
"Always business," Randy teased. "I'll make you a deal,
Dad. Take me to lunch before I pass out from starvation and I'll tell
you where I bought the dress."
"Agreed." Bill smiled. He reeled off a short list of
instructions to Pat and then took Randy's arm. "Your mother called to
warn me about how much weight you'd lost," he said as they walked out
of the office, "but she didn't mention that you were even skinnier than
your sister. What kind of role were you up for? A prisoner of war?"
"A model." They stepped inside a private elevator. "You
know how heavy I photograph, Dad. I looked like a blimp in that diaper
commercial I did last year."
"You looked like a contented new mother, which was exactly
how you were supposed to look," Bill retorted. He added that he'd never
understood why Randy was always so worried about her weight, and that
he never should have allowed her to leave New York in the first place.
Randy didn't bother to remind him that he'd had no choice
in the matter. At twenty-two she'd wanted nothing more than to flee the
nest, so after finishing college in New York City she'd enrolled in a
master's degree program in theatre arts in Los Angeles. Her father
grudgingly paid her way, but if he hadn't she would have used the money
she'd inherited on her twenty-first birthday. After the first year of
graduate school, however, she was bored with studying and eager to live
in the "real world". Her goal was to support herself as an actress
without spending any of her inheritance. That she'd succeeded was due
more to the diaper commercial than to her job at the Westwood Theatre
Company, where she earned a meager salary for doing everything from
painting scenery to acting in plays.
Sometimes Randy had wondered if the financial security of
having the inheritance money had detracted from the drive and ambition
that an actress needed to succeed, but over the last few months she'd
come to believe that she was too gentle to reach the top. She couldn't
stomach the idea of clawing past the people ahead of her and stepping
on the ones beneath. It was part of the reason she'd come to New York.
She and her father took the elevator down to the main
floor of Conover-Dunne's flagship store in Manhattan, walking out past
a special promotion of merchandise from the People's Republic of China
that tied in with the scheduled visit of the Chinese premier later that
month. Walking south along Lexington Avenue, Randy paused to admire a
competitor's window display, remarking to her father that C & D
should try to steal away the person who'd designed them.
They turned east, enjoying the early June sunshine and
warm breeze. As they walked, Bill told Randy that her grandparents had
called from Paris the day before and sent her their love. Jonathan
Conover, who had founded the company forty-four years before and now
held the title of chairman, was spending the summer in Europe, on a
buying trip with Randy's grandmother.
As soon as they stepped inside the French restaurant an
obsequious maitre d' greeted them with a broad smile and an accent that
Randy decided was either a total fabrication or, at the very least, a
considerable exaggeration. Although they were forty-five minutes late
it seemed there would be no question of keeping Monsieur Dunne waiting.
They were seated immediately at a quiet table to one side of the
crowded room; Randy admired the fluid grace with which the maitre d'
slid the reserved sign from the table with one hand while smoothly
relieving William Dunne of a ten-dollar bill with the other.
The sommelier hurried over in response to Bill's subtle
beckoning, returning as requested with a bottle of French wine. The
ritual of opening and tasting correctly performed and the wine duly
approved, the waiter materialized to take their order. Finally, the
preliminaries having been attended to, Bill raised his glass and smiled
at Randy.
"To my beautiful daughter Miranda, who in twenty-four and
a half years has never once precipitated an ulcer attack."
Only because I don't tell you the things that would upset
you, Randy thought, then listened with growing amusement as he
continued, "May she take into account her father's precarious health,
abandon her no-doubt dazzling career in Tinseltown and come back to New
York where she belongs, to the bosom of the family that loves and
misses her."
Randy shook her head, laughing, and sipped her wine. After
accusing her father of emotional blackmail, she reminded him that his
health was perfect and that he'd never had an ulcer attack in his life.
Then she added coyly, "You forgot the part about coming into the family
business, Dad. Although I'll never understand why Linda doesn't get
equal nagging time. She's just as smart as I am, with fabulous taste
and twice my energy, and—"
"And she's totally incorrigible," Bill interrupted. To
Randy's amazement, he proceeded to empty half his glass in a single
draught.
"Business must be terrific if you can afford to swill down
expensive wine like it cost three seventy-nine and came out of a jug,"
Randy said. "Or else something's actually flapped the unflappable
William Dunne. It wouldn't have anything to do with the reason why you
were half an hour late, would it?"
"I think you've figured out that it has everything to do
with the reason I was half an hour late.
And
with
your older sister Linda." Bill had no sooner reached for his glass
again than a waiter darted over to refill it. He made no attempt to
hide his irritation from Randy, but instead met her thoughtful look,
his mouth curved into a frown.
Although math had never been Randy's strongest subject in
school she had learned to add one and one with reasonable proficiency.
"Linda—and the man who came storming out of your office. Pat
said he was a new vice president. Is something going on between them?"
she asked.
Her arithmetic was accurate, but she'd inserted the wrong
man into her equation. Bill was quick to correct the error. "Linda and
Luke's brother-in-law. His younger sister's husband. Or so he says." He
shook his head impatiently. "I shouldn't be discussing this with
you—it's not your problem."
Randy knew exactly
why
he thought he
shouldn't be discussing it with her—the details were
presumably too sordid for her innocent ears—and reacted with
a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "I've been hearing about
Linda's transgressions from the time I was twelve and she spent the
night with that pimply rock musician boyfriend of hers," she reminded
her father. "It didn't corrupt me then and it won't corrupt me now.
After twelve more years of her escapades I thought you'd stopped being
upset about what she does."
"I try to stay out of her life. I understand that it's a
waste of time to try to talk any sense into her when she's determined
to make a mistake. But that doesn't mean I don't love her, Randy, or
feel a sense of responsibility toward her." Bill's explanation reeked
of parental tolerance. "Luke's been unusually moody since last
Thursday, and that's not like him. He has a temper, but usually he
either keeps it under control or says what's on his mind and then puts
it behind him. It was obvious to me that something was wrong, so I
decided to have it out with him. I called him into the office and
forced him to tell me what was eating him. I almost wish I hadn't. He
told me that Linda had met his brother-in-law at the company picnic on
Memorial Day. Luke wasn't there—he had to work—but
his sister and her husband were visiting from Poughkeepsie and he
thought they'd enjoy spending the day at the country club. He sent them
along. His sister called him the following Wednesday night, hysterical
because she suspected her husband had spent the weekend with another
woman—Linda."
"So?" Randy didn't find the situation particularly
palatable, but it was hardly the stuff of major confrontations either.
"Married men have been having affairs ever since marriage was invented,
although I admit I'm disappointed in Lin. I thought she stuck to the
single ones."
Bill seemed a little startled by his daughter's
matter-of-fact response, but agreed with a sigh. "You and me both. The
problem is that Luke is incredibly protective of his sister. And he's
been with C & D almost a year, which is long enough to hear the
gossip about Linda's marriages. Once I got him going he was like one of
those Fourth of July firecrackers that won't stop exploding. What was I
supposed to do when he called my daughter a tramp and asked me why I
couldn't control her? Agree with him and apologize? I told him to come
back when he'd raised the perfect daughter and threw him out of my
office."
"You actually lost your temper?" Randy was awestruck. "But
you're always so… calm. When Linda left Brett for her tennis
instructor you never said a word. I assumed…" She lifted her
shoulders, momentarily speechless.
"You assumed wrong. I don't approve of Linda's private
life, you know that, but there's a caring, outgoing side to her that
anyone would have to admire. I won't sit there and listen to someone
who doesn't even know her condemn her out of hand." Bill shook his
head, looking a little rueful. "I overreacted, I suppose, but it could
have been worse. He could have been complaining about
you
."
"I'm glad he wasn't." Randy had never attempted to correct
her father's rather unrealistic view of her; Linda's mistakes had
caused him more than enough parental guilt without adding her own to
the load. "Listen, Dad," she said, "you tried your best with Lin. No
daughter could ask for more wonderful parents than you and Mom, but
there's something wild in her, something almost self-destructive at
times. She's got all that energy, all that restlessness. There's
nothing anyone can do about it—except Lin herself."
"Sure, I know that." Bill slowly sipped his wine. "
Rationally
I know that. Most of all I'm probably annoyed with myself for losing my
temper over the whole thing. I didn't go to all the trouble to lure
Luke Griffin away from Stockman's in California just to have him resign
in a rage over some pointless argument that I should have had the tact
to avoid."
Randy was intrigued by the statement. Her father preferred
to promote from within his organization and rarely resorted to luring
executives away from his competitors. He was astute enough in
recruiting talent and wise enough in developing it that he seldom
needed to go on a corporate raid.
She was forced to contain her curiosity because the waiter
was approaching with their first course. Although her father seemed to
have little interest in the scallops in wine sauce that were placed on
the table in front of him, Randy laid siege to her shrimp. She only
succumbed to the urge to question him further when half the plate was
clean.
"Aren't you going to tell me more about this paragon of
yours?" she asked. "Did you really swipe him away from Stockman's? And
is Grandpa thinking of retiring as chairman so you can move up? Because
Pat claims he's going to steal the presidency out from under my nose."
Bill Dunne cocked an eyebrow at his daughter, his
attention caught by her last statement. "What happened to spending the
rest of your life in California? I thought trying to recruit you for C
& D was a lost cause."
But Randy was not to be sidetracked. "First you tell me
about Luke Griffin, and then I'll tell you what I've decided."
Her father leaned back in his chair, a teasing smile on
his face. "As a matter of fact, I had him in mind for you. Intelligent,
handsome, charming—and single. While you're in New York, why not go out to dinner with
him? He's…"
"Hold it right there," Randy ordered, waving her hand back
and forth in protest. "No matchmaking. Just because
you
married the boss' daughter and took over the company doesn't mean you
have to marry
me
off to some hotshot vice
president who wants to do the same thing."
"And how is your social life these days, Miranda?" her
father asked. "Still keeping them all at arm's length?"
The gentle gibe found its target, but not for the reasons
that Bill Dunne thought it would. Having grown up with the example of a
promiscuous older sister, Randy had consciously set out to avoid the
mistakes that Linda had made. For the first twenty-three years of her
life she'd succeeded, but then she'd met a fellow actor named Sean
Raley who'd made her forget every sensible resolution she'd ever made.
As a result of their love affair Randy was considerably less naive and
self-righteous than she used to be.
"Would it be the worst thing in the world if I never
married?" she asked her father. "Men today don't seem to want to take
the time to develop a relationship before they jump all over you. And
very few of them are interested in making a commitment."
"If I made that kind of blanket statement about women your
feminist sensibilities would be outraged," Bill replied. "Men aren't
all the same. Why don't you go out with Luke? I promise you he won't
jump all over you."
"I thought you were furious with him, that he was
threatening to resign."
"So we'll both apologize and that will be the end of it.
I've told him about you, honey. He's looking forward to meeting you."
Randy was not particularly tempestuous; on the contrary,
she was unusually good-natured and accommodating. But her father had
pushed too hard on the sorest of spots. She wasn't interested in Luke
Griffin or anyone else right now.
"One more word about Mr. Griffin and you can find yourself
another daughter—or heiress apparent," she said firmly. "Here
I've finally decided that I'd like to learn enough about the business
to make a decision about the future, and all you want to do is marry me
off to some ambitious vice president who'd probably sell his soul to
get his hands on C & D. Of course he'd like to meet me! But I
don't intend to be the docile little woman behind some insufferably
arrogant man." She frowned at her plate, then stabbed a hapless shrimp
with her fork.