Authors: Elaine Raco Chase
"So what's the problem?" Diane laughed, rubbing her hands on her
red terry lounger with delight. "You've got him hooked, and you've
got yourself feeling terrific."
"Ginger has him hooked.
Ginger
feels terrific," Virginia
retorted, her harsh tone suddenly turning brittle. "I feel
miserable."
A florist's messenger arrived early Saturday morning. Inside the
pale pink box were six perfect red roses and a card that read:
"Each delicate blossom echoes a passionate letter of your
name-Alex." A veil of sadness cloaked Virginia as she stroked a
satiny bloom against her cheek. Ginger's was the only name with six
letters!
When the telephone rang later that same afternoon, she
instinctively knew it would be Alex. But she was ready for him,
having spent the better part of an hour composing yet another
tangle of lies that would make Ginger vanish.
It was a trembling hand that lifted the receiver, and in the few
seconds it took to reach her ear, Virginia's resolve was shattered
under a barrage of carnal memories. Instead of answering with her
usual crisp "Dr. Farrell," a sultry, languid soprano drifted across
the lines and eagerly accepted Alex's invitation to dinner.
She wore a slim, tomato-red silk jump suit, its cowl neck draped
to hazardous depths, her slender waist accented with a gold obi
sash. Alex was delighted with her choice, saying she surpassed the
red roses in beauty.
They went back to the Rendezvous Room. They suppered on delicate
shrimp crepes and fed each other fresh pineapple and succulent
orange sections dipped in a bittersweet chocolate fondue. They
danced continuously and dallied till the wee hours over warmed
brandies. Laughing, talking, sharing, enjoying each other.
When Alex brought her home, he seemed reluctant to come in and
disturb "Virginia." She had to make do with a handful of kisses
that more than fanned their mutual passion.
For the next ten days the Rendezvous Room became "their" place.
They sat at "their" private table, and the musicians played "their"
favorite melodies. Whispered love words, kisses, and caresses were
no longer enough. The flames of desire were burning out of control,
and the inevitable was only a matter of time and place.
Alex apologized, for he was staying with the Quimbys, and
Virginia found she was contemplating sending "herself on a trip so
that "Ginger" and Alex could have the apartment
In the end it was "Ginger" who left. "She got a call from her
agent and is off to the Bahamas doing a bathing-suit spread for the
week," Virginia announced the weekend before Thanksgiving. "She
asked me to apologize for breaking your dinner date."
Sitting Indian-style on the lab floor working on the robot's
hands, she looked up at Alex through the clear tops of her
magnifying glasses and waited. He merely nodded and went on
installing the solar battery. She had hoped he would ask her to be
a replacement-but he didn't.
Maybe it was for the best, Virginia rationalized, selecting a
precision screwdriver and returning her attention to Roger the
robot. Their evenings were becoming too intense, and the duplicity
involved was making her a nervous wreck.
"The left hand and the right hand are not supposed to know what
each was doing," she had told Diane over a coffee and toaster
waffle breakfast. During the day she was constantly on guard not to
repeat anything said the previous evening. At night she had to
remember not to know what went on at the lab. Virginia shook off
her confused thoughts-both of her identities could use a week's
rest.
Still, it made her angry that even though they worked side by
side and shared their lunch hour, Alex failed to see her as a
woman. They had become the best of friends. He asked and valued her
opinions, but it was all work-related-no hint of ever turning it
into the personal exchange he was having with Ginger.
Alex hadn't even noticed the changes she had made in her
appearance. Gone was the severe bun and unadorned complexion.
Virginia had side-parted her brown waves, letting them soften her
squarish features, while basic cosmetics subtly enhanced her eyes,
cheeks, and lips. She had even purchased more colorful,
better-fitting additions to her wardrobe and actually started
wearing dresses on the days she did her reports.
Granted, it was nothing as dramatic as her "Ginger look," but
then, she wasn't out to seduce Alex- was she? Lately Virginia felt
more competitive with Ginger. But they were both one and the same-
weren't they?
Alex watched Virginia as she made some final adjustments to
Roger's right hand. Her expertise amazed him. She had been able to
make the robot speak and move in a frighteningly human fashion. Now
Roger was even able to write in a decorative calligraphic
script.
"You really astound me." Alex put his thoughts into words as he
gave Virginia a helping hand off the floor. "Your work is
brilliant. You've finished this project over a month early and far
surpassed everyone's expectations."
She brushed off the seat of her tan cords and smiled at him. "I
was just lucky," she returned modestly. She could feel the heat
rushing to her face and began to fiddle with the rolled sleeves on
her madras shirt. "I spent last summer in Tokyo working for a toy
company on many of these same problems. I ended up learning more
than I contributed. The Japanese lead the world in robotics
technology."
"That's quite a coincidence."
Virginia blinked at him. "What is?"
"That both you and Ginger have been to Japan," he returned
evenly, snapping the faceplate over the battery terminal.
She turned toward the workbench, trembling fingers picking and
discarding various instruments. "We both travel a lot. It's not
that much of a coincidence." Virginia took a deep controlling
breath, scolding herself over the slip.
Alex gave a little laugh. "Actually it's the only thing you two
do seem to have in common," he continued, his voice and manner
quite nonchalant. "It really amazes me just how different you both
are."
Needle-nose pliers clattered against the table. "I don't think
we are
that
different," Virginia grated, her lips thinning
in anger.
"Oh, now, yes. Yes you are," he said quickly. Alex opened the
control panel on the robot's chest and pulled out a collection of
colored wires. "Ginger is more... um... earthy. Do you know what I
mean?"
Virginia cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "No, no,
I don't," came her clipped answer. She still refused to turn
around, pretending to be busy with the schematic notations.
Alex cast a sidelong amused glance at her military posture.
"Well, she is very natural. She says what she feels, does whatever
gives her pleasure, and in doing that, she gives others
pleasure."
"Of course, I'm just the opposite."
"I didn't say that."
"The implication was there," she said in a tightly leashed
voice. Virginia plastered a sweet smile on her face and turned to
confront Alex. "You really shouldn't jump to such conclusions about
people, Alex." His raised eyebrows made her continue. "You only
know me from nine to five. But what I'm like from five to midnight
might surprise you."
"A chameleon?" He looked like the thought appealed to him.
"Maybe I did judge on circumstantial evidence." Alex went back to
connecting matching colored wires.
Virginia held her breath. Perhaps this was a breakthrough? Maybe
now Alex would turn to her. But by Wednesday she realized there was
only one woman for Alex-Ginger.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"What's this?" Closing the apartment door, Diane stared at the
leather Pullman sitting in the foyer.
"A suitcase." Virginia didn't bother to look up from
transferring the contents of her tan clutch into a brown-leather
shoulder bag.
"I can see that," she retorted with heavy sarcasm. Diane took a
deep breath, walked over to the dining room table, and grabbed
Virginia by the shoulders. "What's going on? I came down to tell
you that Thanksgiving dinner will be ready at three instead of one,
and now I find this!"
Virginia turned away, her fiery cheeks betraying her guilt. "I
forgot about tomorrow. I'm sorry. I'm not coming." She freed her
arms and began to count the money in her billfold.
"This has something to do with Alex," Diane hissed. "What
happened?" she demanded. After getting a noncommittal shrug she
plunked her size-five body on the corner of the suitcase. "No one
gets out of here alive until I know what, when, where, and
why."
"All right." Virginia stuffed her wallet in her purse, closed
it, then threw it on the table. "I can't take it anymore." She
stood in front of Diane, hands on hips. "You said play the game for
fun. Take it for all it's worth." Virginia took a deep breath.
"Well, it's not fun. It wasn't really fun from the start, and now
there's more at stake than a silly masquerade."
She paced up and down the slate foyer, her rust suede skirt
beating against the back of her calves. "I should have stuck with
my original resolution to make 'Ginger' look like animated Silly
Putty. But I didn't. Ginger was too good, and Alex has fallen in
love with her."
"But that's wonderful," Diane interrupted, her blue eyes
lighting up in excitement. "Or," she added after a moment's
hesitation, "don't you want a permanent relationship?"
"Diane." Virginia rubbed the center of her forehead with her
palm, her fingers pushing back a loose brown wave. "Don't you
understand? Alex doesn't love me. He loves Ginger."
"You are Ginger."
"No. No, I'm not."
Diane shifted uncomfortably and tried to ignore the itchy
prickles that jolted her skin. "Now listen, Virginia." She cleared
her throat and made her voice as soothing as possible. She felt
like a psychiatrist dealing with a patient. "There is only one of
you. You're ... you're ..." She brightened. "You're like Clark
Kent: mild-mannered reporter by day and Superman by night."
"What happens when Superman balks at being Clark Kent?" Virginia
asked, her expression totally serious. "Right now I don't know
which is the real me." She picked up a matching suede jacket and
slid it over a beige sleeveless knit sweater. "I'm going to spend
four days trying to find myself." Virginia held up her hand. "I
know that's a well-worn cliche, but in this instance enormously
apropos. I'm not sure which one of us will be coming back-if I come
back at all."
Diane scooted past and grabbed her purse. "All right, maybe you
do need to get away," she rationalized. "But, please, at least tell
me where?"
Virginia smiled at her. "You've been the best friend I could
ever have. I don't want to lose you." She gave Diane a quick hug,
then easily regained possession of her shoulder bag. "I'm going to
head down the Coast. La Jolla, I think. A nice motel room
overlooking the sea."
"Will you at least call and tell me which motel?" Diane pleaded,
trotting behind her toward the door. "I'm really worried. I'm
afraid you'll run away."
"I have been running." Virginia picked up her suitcase and
opened the door. "I've been hiding from the truth. Now I've got to
face it; take a good, hard look at myself and decide what's what."
She walked out.
The Pacific coast was rockier and rougher than the Atlantic, but
southern California was as warm and sunny as Florida in
mid-November. La Jolla, Virginia discovered, had a magnificent
coastline. It reminded her of the French Riviera. The waves were
not so turbulent; the soft, sandy beach was wide and practically
free of boulders.
Today the bright blue sky, with dollops of whipped-cream clouds,
stretched all around, flattening into the gray-misted horizon. With
the warm tide ruffling between her toes and a much-loved beach firm
beneath her feet, Virginia found she had to swallow back a wave of
homesickness for her own cottage in Cocoa Beach.
Shading her eyes, she looked back toward the sun-blistered coral
cabin that had been home for the last three days. The Wayfarer's
Inn proved true to its name, providing travelers with a tranquil
hideaway and a private beach inhabited by sea gulls and an
occasional surf fisherman. It was the perfect place to think.
At first Virginia had balked at thinking, but meditation and
water seemed to be wed. The cherished ocean with its infinite
billowing waves spoke to the troubled sea that was her mind and
soul. At night the serene ocean carpet glowed under magenta and
copper sunsets like a crucible of light and heat. The omnipotent
sea was its usual soothing self, and Virginia became convinced that
everything could be resolved.
Virginia lifted the prairie skirt well above her knees as she
ventured deeper into the warm, frothy surf. A smile curved her
lips. In a way the skirt was a duplicate of her own split
personality. The serious wheat-colored cotton, with a thin
blue-green plaid, covered a frivolous, ruffled underslip. "Wasn't
it the same with Virginia-Ginger?"
There were things about Ginger that she liked and had decided to
keep. Her free hand lifted the salt-damp curls that plastered her
cheek. She liked the blond hair: it made her complexion look
healthier, and it lifted her spirits. That morning she had
permanently assigned the bottle of brown rinse to the garbage.
Virginia would stay blond.
She also liked her glamorous evening wardrobe. The clothes were
frankly feminine, frankly alluring. Her figure was good, and the
sensuous fabrics made her feel good. They would stay too.
And she liked Ginger's "earthy" quality. No, Virginia
rationalized, it wasn't because
he
liked it. What was wrong
with saying what you felt and doing what you wanted-as long as it
didn't hurt anyone? Too many people were popping Valium and
antacids just because they kept their true feelings bottled up. And
for what-a nervous breakdown?