by Abby Drake
Jonas. Lucinda.
At the desk of the Fairmont Washington D.C., she was told to go to reception on the Gold Floor, that her room was up there, that the cost had been taken care of. A bellman whisked away her bags, and CJ was told to “have a nice stay.”
She made her way up to the coveted floor and had barely given her name when she was led to her room. Her bags were already there; her escort quickly left her alone.
CJ tried to stay in the moment.
Overlooking the lush garden courtyard, the room was spacious and opulent, no doubt hand-selected by her sister. The large king-size bed was layered with white down; the period furnishings were tasteful and authentic. A vase filled with two dozen yellow roses stood on the polished wood desk. No matter the venue, no matter the subtext, Elinor remained the impeccable hostess.
With a small sigh, CJ slipped out of her shoes. She meandered across the thick carpet to the roses and breathed in their sweet scent. She picked up the envelope propped against the vase.
An obligatory sentiment from her sister, no doubt. Or maybe from Mac?
She laughed at her misplaced naïveté, unsealed the envelope, and withdrew the card.
The handwriting was unmistakable. Her hand went slowly to her mouth, then her fingers slid to the base of her throat.
The florist said it was too late for tulips, the card read, but that roses are always in bloom. Thank you for being in my life. Thank you for being you. Much love, Jonas.
CJ sat on the bed, still holding the card. Then, one after another, tears slowly spilled from her eyes. And CJ suddenly knew the best gift she could give.
The room phone rang at six fifteen.
“Are you here? Are you ready? Why aren’t you downstairs?”
It was Elinor, of course. CJ sat on the edge of the bed and tried donning her Elinor armor. “I thought the party started at seven.”
“I need you now! You’re my family! The Perrys have dozens of relatives who’ve flown in from all over creation. For God’s sake, I’m all alone!”
CJ didn’t mention that perhaps Elinor should have insisted that Alice and Poppy be invited after all. They might not have been blood, but they were like family, which sometimes—like now—could be even better. She also didn’t mention that she’d been ready for an hour and only had to slip into her gray silk. “Have you seen anything or anyone unusual?”
“Not yet. But how will I know if anyone is unusual? Half of Washington qualifies for that.”
Hopefully, not the half that would be at the party. “Shall I come down in ten minutes?”
“Make it five. Please. I’m not sure I’ll survive for ten.”
CJ hung up. She straightened the room, smoothed the bedcovers, took a last sniff of roses, then stepped out of her robe and into her party attire.
The band offered just the right balance of strings and brass, romance and zest. The Colonnade was a blend of Washington dignity and New York chic. If this had been Elinor’s affair and not Betts Perry’s, there might have been an appetizer of lemon confit chicken to accompany the champagne instead of the damn goat cheese mousse on crostini. Chicken was so much more universal than overblown goat cheese, and lemon complemented the wine.
But what did a few menu changes matter when one considered all that might have gone wrong? Still, Elinor smiled that she’d been able to keep herself together well enough to have noticed details like that.
Jonas seemed to be having a good time, as was everyone, except perhaps Janice, who noted her surprise that Elinor’s nails had been polished in ivory and not in a shade to match the peach-colored Versace. Elinor had laughed and told her daughter that was the latest in fashion, didn’t she know that? She could hardly have said Yolanda hadn’t brought her polish to Grand Cayman, so Elinor had done her own nails that morning.
Thankfully, Janice hadn’t pressed that issue—or others—but had trotted off to the dinner bar to find the man Jonas said she’d been introducing as her boyfriend, though Elinor had not had the pleasure of meeting him. She was simply grateful that Janice had shown up at all. Just as she was grateful when Betts informed her that the vice president’s wife had phoned their regrets. “Remy’s down with the flu,” Betts bemoaned, and Elinor said, “What a pity,” then dug her heels into the travertine floor.
Across the room, Mac was occupied with a group of men and women Elinor had met, but she couldn’t recall if they were family or colleagues. It was so hard these days to tell anyone apart. When they’d first come to Washington, the politicians had mostly all been men. Now, it was all too confusing, and it meant she had to be on best behavior with everyone.
Which was especially difficult to accomplish when all she wanted was to go home and cry.
As her gaze traveled the room, she saw Jonas and Lucinda standing by the pastry table, talking with CJ. Lifting an espresso from a waiter’s silver tray, Elinor strolled over to join them.
“Mom,” Jonas said, “you won’t believe what Aunt CJ has done.”
Elinor realized that when her sister was nicely dressed, it was amazing how much they still looked alike. Both had their hair pinned up tonight, both looked soft and attractive. Sometimes Elinor thought she wanted CJ to pay more attention to her appearance because it was such a reflection—literally, physically—of her. Elinor smiled. “I can’t imagine what your aunt CJ has done.”
“She’s given us the cottage,” Jonas said. “As a wedding gift.”
Elinor blinked.
“Only because they’ve agreed it comes with a dog,” CJ said. “Luna needs more people than solitary old me. She needs a real home. Hopefully, a family.”
Elinor was speechless, utterly speechless.
“I know Jonas wants to work in New York,” CJ continued, “so it only makes sense. Besides, this way it will stay in the family.”
“Yes,” Elinor said, “but—”
“But what about me?” CJ asked. “I’ve decided to go back to Paris. I’ve decided it’s time to pick up where I left off so long ago.”
It was all too much for Elinor to digest on top of the goat cheese mousse and the rest. “Well,” she said, “what a surprise.”
“We’re thrilled,” sweet Lucinda said.
“I’m sure,” Elinor replied.
The three went back to chattering about when CJ would leave, when Jonas would move in. Elinor drifted from the group, trying to decide if this news was acceptable or if it was not, and wondering how on earth life all around her was managing to go on while hers was on breath-stopping hold.
Elinor moved out to the garden, looked at the night sky, and wondered what Father would think of all that had gone on. Chances were he would not be surprised at his daughter’s transgressions (she was his after all), but he would be dis pleased that she’d been caught. He would be cross, her mother’s favorite word.
He would have, however, continued to be proud of Catherine Janelle, because she’d be leaving town, the heroine again, having done what was best for the family.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Elinor turned and saw Congressman Perry navigating the terrace toward her.
“Oh, Congressman. Bill.” She smiled. “I’ve only come out for a breath of air. The party is wonderful; the children are so happy.”
“And so, thank God, is my wife.”
Elinor laughed. “Well, she’s done a marvelous job.” She did not mention the lemon confit chicken.
“And now she’s dancing with your husband.”
“With Malcolm?” Mac hated to dance, said he was born with two left feet and no right.
“Shamed him into it, she did. Said she’d get him in practice for the wedding reception.”
Elinor suddenly realized the band was playing a slow dance—something Mac detested the most. “He hates to dance. I should go rescue him.”
“Or you could come inside and dance with me.” He held out his hand and led her to the French doors. In too short an instant she was back in the party, now being held by the man with big hair and
big hands, waltzed to the center of attention, right next to Malcolm and Betts.
It was then that the congressman leaned down and said in her ear, “I believe you and my wife have many things in common. For one thing, lavender is her favorite color.”
Elinor’s ears became blocked. Her head began swirling as if she’d been drugged. “What?”
“Lavender,” the congressman repeated. “It’s your special shade, isn’t it?”
She broke from his grasp. She was going to throw up. She raced from the dance floor, from the ballroom, out into the hallway. She frantically searched for the ladies’ room. She dashed inside, locked a door behind her, and quickly crumpled to the floor.
Forty-four
CJ had had enough of the party and felt it was all right to call it a night. She cheek-kissed Jonas and Lucinda and went in search of Betts Perry just as Malcolm moved toward her with purpose.
“Help,” he uttered in a controlled whisper. “I don’t want to cause a scene, but I think Elinor’s sick.”
CJ supposed it had been too much to hope that the party would end up unflawed. “What happened? Where is she?”
“She was dancing with the congressman. Suddenly she broke away and ran from the room. Someone saw her duck into the ladies’ room.”
Well, that made no sense unless it was just as it seemed: that Elinor had simply become sick.
“I’ll check,” CJ said, and Mac followed her until she left him out in the hall.
Inside the ladies’ room, the stalls were not stalls but small rooms with brass-knobs and long louvred doors designed for the utmost privacy.
“E? Are you here?” CJ called out.
“Go away, CJ. It’s over.”
“I know it’s over. It was a lovely party.”
Silence.
“E?”
“Not the party. I mean it’s over. You know what I mean.”
Was she talking about the blackmail?
“E? Are you all right?”
“Go away. We’ll talk later, okay? I really don’t feel well right now.”
“Will you call me? Later?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. Now go away.”
Malcolm was waiting out in the hall.
“She’s all right,” CJ said. “A little too much excitement, I guess.”
He took her by the elbow and guided her around the corner, where it was quiet, where it was dark.
“What’s going on, CJ? What’s happened to Elinor?” His voice was just above a whisper.
“I told you,” she began, but suddenly he stepped forward and placed his finger on CJ’s lips.
“No lies,” he said. “I want the truth.”
They hadn’t been that physically close in years, that breath-upon-breath close. Between them she could taste champagne that lingered in the air. Then slowly, slowly, his finger began to trace the fullness of her mouth; her old feelings began to stir. She closed her eyes and they were in the greenhouse, she was heavy with his baby, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside her, to smell his scent, to touch his sweat….
And then she heard her mother: “Do you love him?”
CJ jumped away, the way she had back then. “Mac,” she said. “No.”
He stepped aside. He shook his head and laughed a little laugh. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” he asked with a halfhearted grin. “It’s awful that even after all these years, I don’t know which one of you I love. You or Elinor.”
She looked into his eyes and loneliness looked back. “Mac,” she said again, and in his gaze the answer emerged, the answer for her, for him, for them. “If I looked like someone else, would you even ask yourself that question? If I looked like Alice or Poppy…someone, anyone else?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, the honest lobbyist, the oxymoron of the nation’s capital.
She took his hands in hers. “I know I’ve always loved you, Mac. But I also know my sister’s feelings, sometimes as if they’re my own. I feel her happiness and joy. Sometimes if I have a headache, I’m not sure if it’s mine or hers. Don’t you see, Mac? Maybe the love I feel for you really is her love for you.”
He closed his eyes. “The twin thing.”
Then she held his hands up to her face, and he looked into her eyes again. “Elinor really does love you, Mac.”
“But sometimes it’s hard because of Jonas.”
“And yet…,” she said.
“And yet we wouldn’t trade him for anything.” Mac smiled.
CJ smiled.
Then the door banged open and Elinor blew around the corner and barked, “Malcolm, take me home.”
Forty-five
CJ went up to her room, the glow of the evening gone, washed away by whatever had happened, or not happened, to Elinor, to CJ and Mac.
She didn’t know if she was right about her feelings really being Elinor’s. But feeling his touch again, being so close to him again, made her know this needed to stop, this doubt, this angst, this…love. For all of them, it was time to move out of the greenhouse and get on with their lives.
After all, he was Elinor’s husband.
And Jonas’s father.
And Janice’s father, too.
And CJ wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
She was done pretending she could be otherwise.
Yes, she thought, sliding in the key card and opening her door, it was good she’d decided to return to Paris. A chance to start anew…
She flicked on the light switch…
For everyone’s sake.
She stopped.
She stared.
Her stomach lurched the way Elinor’s surely must have. For there, spread across the neatly plumped pillows, was an unmistakable pair of panties, lavender lace.
CJ shrieked. She slammed the door behind her without thinking that whoever had been there might still be in the room, in the bathroom, the closet.
She shrieked again. No one replied.
She ripped open the doors to the bath and the closet. She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. No one was hiding. She was alone.
She fumbled through her purse. She found her cell phone. She pushed speed dial.
“You’ve reached Elinor Harding Young. Thank you for your call. I’m sorry I’m not able—”
Click.
Speed dial. She’d once plugged in the numbers of anyone, everyone, she might have needed to reach in a hurry. There had been few.
“Hello?”
“Who’s this?” CJ whispered. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Alice. CJ?”
CJ spit out the details as best as she knew them. “Please, Alice. Come to Washington.”
“I’m in Orlando. With my husband.”
“Please, Alice.” She told her what had happened. “Hurry,” she added.
Click.
Speed dial.
“CJ? What’s wrong?”
The voice sounded calm and collected for Poppy. “Poppy? Come quick. We need you in Washington.” She repeated what she had told Alice. Poppy told Manny.
“Manny says to get out of that room.”
“I’ve got the bolt on. I’ll keep the hotel phone beside me. If I hit zero someone will come running. Besides, it might not be any safer out in the hall.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No. I’m afraid.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring our own.”
Click.
Speed dial again.
“Hello. You’ve reached Elinor Harding Young—”
Click.
CJ moved to the window, clutching her cell phone. She sat in the plush chair overlooking the garden, but she didn’t enjoy the view. Her eyes were focused straight on the panties, and her heart was pounding like the bass in the band that still wafted up from the party.
There was only one person CJ wanted to call. One person who could be levelheaded, and it wasn’t Mac.
She speed d
ialed again. She held her breath, hoping he’d answer, hoping he’d welcome her call.
“Cooper?”
“CJ?” His voice was the same, in spite of the years. She closed her eyes and started to cry.
“CJ? Are you all right? What’s happened?”
“Cooper,” she repeated, because it was nice to hear herself say his name. Then she said she was fine and he said he was, too, and she launched into the tale about Elinor and the blackmail and their attempts to locate the culprit and the panties now perched on the bed. She did not mention Remy in deference to E. But CJ was as comfortable speaking to her ex as if they’d talked yesterday, as if she’d never left SoHo or him.
“Can you hold on a minute?” he asked once she’d stopped for a breath. “I need to take this in the other room.”
Oh God, she realized with a thud to her heart, he isn’t alone. Of course he isn’t alone! Why on earth would he have been without a woman all this time, just because she’d been without a man except for Ray Williams, and he didn’t count?
Her bruised ego was about to hang up when he clicked on again.
“Sorry,” he said. “I needed to let the dog in before she woke up the neighbors.”
A dog. Not a woman. Still, CJ felt foolish. “Cooper, I’m sorry. It was bold of me to think I could call you on a Saturday night and not interrupt your evening. I’m sorry. I’ll call back another time.”
“Stop it,” he said abruptly. “I’m not glad there’s a problem, but I am glad you called.”
“So I’m not interrupting?”
“If you’re asking me if I’m with a woman, the answer is no. The only woman in my life right now is Molly.”
Molly?
“My golden retriever.”
She smiled.
“CJ,” he continued, “you need to call the police. You need to call the police, then call me back if you want.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t call the police.”
Cooper laughed. “Because it’s Elinor?”
“No. Because it’s the vice president.” Then she told him the rest. “After this is over,” she said when she was done, “I’m going back to Paris. I’m going to stop protecting my sister and finally start my life over.”