by Julia London
“Matt!” Tom cried, extending his hand. “I was just telling Rebecca that she’s done an outstanding job. I’ve heard from several of my supporters that this is a great party.”
“The best I’ve seen,” Matt said.
Reynolds was eyeing him closely, too. “Don’t believe we’ve met,” he said through the cigar in his mouth. “But I’ve seen you in the paper,” he said with a sly wink. “Bud Reynolds, Reynolds Chevrolet and Cadillac.”
What was the deal with announcing your business? Some sort of lame plug? “Matt Parrish,” he responded without offering his hand, and instead, put it possessively on the small of Rebecca’s back.
Reynolds didn’t miss that obvious signal, and chuckled as Matt greeted Tom’s wife, Glenda, then turned to the blonde with Reynolds. And as Reynolds didn’t seem inclined to introduce him, Matt introduced himself. “I’m Matt Parrish,” he said, offering her his hand.
She looked at his hand as if she wasn’t certain what to do with any of them and reluctantly took it. “Candace.”
“I was just going over the program with Tom,” Rebecca said, looking up at Matt, the anxiety evident in her blue eyes. “He has some, new friends he’d like to have sit up front. They are planning to do standing ovations and maybe ask some look-good questions.”
“You mean, friends other than the contributors who have paid two thousand dollars to have front row seats?” Matt asked, frowning at Tom.
“Yes,” Rebecca said, her voice full of frustration. “I’m not sure how we can do that.”
“Well, we can’t do it,” Matt said to Tom. “Those folks paid for the entertainment and the privilege of looking right up your nose.”
“Can’t you just find a couple of tables and squeeze them in?” Reynolds asked, smiling darkly at Matt. But whatever message he thought he was sending, Matt was not the least bit intimidated—he saw that oily smile in the courtroom all the time.
“We could. But that sort of defeats the purpose of charging different plate prices, don’t you think?” he asked, returning that dark smile with a thin one of his own.
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?” Tom asked, now looking confused.
But Reynolds was obviously a man used to getting his own way. “Come on, buddy,” he said, clapping Tom on the back. “We’re just talking a couple of tables. You think those folks are going to know the difference? Hell, just tell them we got the three-thousand-dollar plates!” He laughed as if it was funny.
“There’s no room,” Rebecca tried to explain. “We could barely squeeze the ones already there.”
“I wouldn’t do it, Tom,” Matt advised. “It’s dishonest and unfair, and trust me, it won’t go unnoticed.”
Reynolds snorted a laugh at that. “Did you make this poor guy pay, Tom? ‘Cuz he’s sure acting like he had to cough up a couple of grand.”
“Oh, God,” Rebecca muttered beneath her breath; Matt could feel his pulse racing, probably from the strain of keeping his fist out of that man’s nose.
“You’re right, Bud,” Tom said, not sounding very certain at all. “No one will notice.” But he looked expectantly at Rebecca. “You can get a couple of tables, right, Rebecca?”
“Sure she can,” Reynolds said.
Rebecca’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I’ll see what I can do,” she muttered. “If you’ll excuse me—”
“Ah, before you go round up those tables for us, Becky,” Reynolds said. “Is Aaron here? Thought I might talk to him a minute.”
Rebecca stiffened, but spared the ass a glance. “He’s here somewhere,” she said, and turned, walking away before Reynolds could say anything else.
Reynolds laughed, snaked his arm around the blonde. “Women,” he said, shaking his head. “Especially that one . . . she’ll turn to ice so fast, you’ll think an arctic wind has blown up your shorts.”
At least Glenda had the decency to gasp, and even Tom looked a little appalled. As much as Matt would have liked to turn Reynolds’s fleshy face into dough, he forced himself to say nothing, to turn and follow Rebecca, who was striding away at a clip.
He found her with Harold, who, true to form, delighted in the challenge of squeezing extra tables up front. “I’ll get right on it!” he assured her with a snap of his fingers, and was off.
“What’s going on?” It was Pat, who had seen them talking with Tom. Matt told her, and Pat’s irritation was evident. “Is it those high rollers from Houston?”
“Who?” Matt asked, unaware of anyone from Houston in Tom’s back pocket.
“I don’t know . . . a couple of guys from some firm down there. They call him pretty regular. Franklin and Vandermere, something like that.”
The name, Matt thought, sounded vaguely familiar. But at the moment, he couldn’t think; he was too busy trying to rearrange expensive seating for whomever it was Tom wanted to impress. In the meantime, the music had started up; people were dancing in between trips to the barbecue pits, and drinking plenty. The event was going exceedingly well, Matt thought, and figured, doing a rough head count estimate, that it had probably raised tens of thousands, not to mention the amount Tom was gathering by walking around and glad-handing everyone in the crowd. Including Rebecca’s father, Matt noticed, in the company of the man’s his ex-son-in-law. From where Matt stood, Mr. Lear looked even unhappier than before, and in fact, when he made his way to the table with the forgotten whiskey, Mr. Lear was sneering something fierce.
“Bastard is still after my money,” he groused, taking the whiskey from Matt. “Wants another ten grand, like the first wasn’t enough. Let me tell you something right now, Matt. If you ever decide to run for office, leave me out of it. I don’t like politicians and I don’t like bloodsuckers.”
Seemed like a good time to dance, Matt thought, and when Rebecca returned, a frown on her gorgeous face, he intercepted her. “Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear. “I want to dance with the most beautiful woman here.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked. “You want to dance?”
“I want to make love. But as that doesn’t seem doable at the moment, I actually know how to waltz.”
Rebecca was happy to dance, and they fell in with a crowd doing a slow country waltz while Matt whispered in her ear that she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. And Rebecca, giggling, whispered back, “How do you know? Have you met all the women on the planet?”
“Educated guess,” he said, pressing his thigh between her legs to twirl her around. And for a moment on that summer evening, the world faded into background noise, and it was just the two of them, a lucky guy with the most beautiful woman in the world, turning round and round in their own little happy fog, smiling at each other. They were, in that moment, perfect.
But then the music ended, and the band announced a break, and they reluctantly made their way back to the table, and the perfect moment ended.
Rebecca was dreading the conversation with Dad because of what he might say, dreading looking at him again because of what it might mean. She was desperately worried about him; he looked like hell and was drinking like a fish. But when she tried to ask, he said there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with him and to quit asking. Conditioned from years of having Aaron Lear as her father, Rebecca did what came naturally and just stopped talking. Which left Dad the opening he needed to grill her—What are you going to do after the election? Are you going to stay home with Grayson? Too many women rush out in the world and leave their kids spinning. That remark had, of course, infuriated Robin, who interjected with her own, How would you know? You weren’t around so much. And how come it has to be the mother who stays home?
That in turn prompted a rather heated discussion between Robin and Jake and, of course, Dad, who finally demanded to know why they were arguing about it.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do it, but what else is new. Dad, there is something I want to tell you,” Robin said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if we might have your attention please!” Gilber
t suddenly called from the stage.
Ah, for the love of God! “Robin, not now!” Rebecca cried.
“Tell me what?” Dad demanded as Harold walked up, whispered to Rebecca they were next.
“Will you calm down?” Robin said to her father.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Gilbert called again, and the crowd began to simmer down and turn their collective attention to the stage.
“Great. Your timing is impeccable, Robin. We’ve got to go,” Rebecca hissed as Matt reached for her arm, urging her up and toward the stage.
“Please welcome Mr. Doug Balinger of the Texas Democratic Party, for a few remarks,” Gilbert said. Polite applause went up as Doug took the stage.
“Good evening, folks. I am much honored to be here tonight representing Texas Democrats,” he began, and while he expounded on what the party thought of the future of Texas, Tom’s little team gathered around him while he reviewed his notes.
“So how do I look?” he asked, sounding nervous, which surprised Rebecca greatly. Of all the times she had been with him and seen him do his thing, he hadn’t exactly been articulate, but he had never been short of completely full of himself.
“You look great,” Rebecca responded with a reassuring smile, reaching to straighten his bolo tie.
“Remember, nothing about Medicare!” Pat reminded him.
“And everything about donations,” Matt added.
“Right, right,” Tom said, and looked at his note cards again as Doug wrapped it up by announcing, “It is a great honor for me to introduce to you the next lieutenant governor of the great state of Texas . . . Senator Tom Masters!”
Amid the applause and whistles, Tom took the steps two at a time, pausing to bow like a prizefighter, then waved to the crowd as he strode to the microphone like a superstar. “Thank you, thank you!” he shouted as the applause and whistling began to die down. “This has to be the best-looking crowd in the Lone Star State.”
That sparked another round of thunderous applause, through which Matt, Rebecca, Pat, and Gilbert made their way up front to a small table reserved for staff.
“Before I get started, I’d like to thank a few people who have made this night possible,” he said, shuffling through his note cards. “The fine people of the Three Nines Ranch,” he started.
Matt leaned toward Rebecca and muttered, “Stand up and wave to the crowd when he calls your name.”
“And Matthew Parrish, a personal friend and confidant,” he said, which, Rebecca thought, seemed to startle Matt. He came only halfway out of his chair, waved quickly to a smattering of applause as he sat again. “I’ll tell you what, if I don’t know the answer, my pal Matt does,” Tom continued as Matt sank in his chair and looked at Rebecca and Pat, shrugging with bewilderment. “And Pat Griswold. Where are you, Pat? Oh! Stand up, Pat,” Tom urged from the podium. “Now, Pat here, she’s dynamite. She’s helped shape my position on several key issues you’ll hear about tonight.”
Pat stood and sat quickly, blinking in shock.
“Nor can I forget our emcee this evening, Gilbert Ortiz,” Tom said, gesturing for Gilbert to stand. But Gilbert was already on his feet, clasping his hands and shaking them like a victory dance above his head, much to the delight of the crowd. Through the microphone, Tom laughed and said jokingly, “Gilbert, you’re taking my spotlight.” The crowd laughed again as Gilbert sat down.
Tom glanced at his notes. “Many of you have spoken to Angie Rush on the phone. Angie’s helping herself to barbecue—there she is!” he said, and they turned, saw Angie near the pits, jumping up and down and waving. “Angie is my right hand,” Tom said. He paused, then glanced at the staff table as if he couldn’t remember anyone else.
Rebecca felt her pulse racing. Tom looked directly at her, then said, “And Rebecca Reynolds—I mean Lear. I’m going to get that straight one of these days.” He chuckled. “Rebecca’s been a help to my campaign . . . Speaking of which, I want to talk to you about the vision I have for Texas,” he said, and shuffling his cards around, began to talk about Texas under his leadership.
Not that Rebecca heard any of his tripe—she couldn’t hear anything with the blood pounding in her ears. Rebecca has been a help to my campaign? That was it? What happened to thanking the people who made this night possible? What happened to all the things she had done for his stupid campaign, even when she had lost faith in him? That was all the recognition she was going to get, and he couldn’t even remember her damn name? And across the front row, she saw Bud, and she felt something implode within her.
She didn’t even realize that she was gripping the edge of the table until Matt put his hand on hers. Only then did she notice how the rest of them were looking at her—Pat, with horror; Gilbert, with confusion; and Matt . . . damn him, but Matt was looking at her with, what, pity?
That did it. Every self-help seminar she had attended, every self-help book she had read, all of them were suddenly bubbling up, frothing inside her, shouting—no, screaming—at her not to accept this horrible, unconscionable slight lying down. The real Rebecca, who slowly and surely had been climbing out of her hole, was suddenly clawing and scratching her way out, fighting for air.
As Tom droned on, Rebecca pulled her hand free of Matt’s and, glaring at him, she leaned across and whispered hotly, “Do not pity me!”
“Honey, I don’t pity—”
But she had already jerked back into place, her back ramrod stiff, feeling as if her head might literally explode off her shoulders. She debated getting up and walking out in front of everyone, but decided that was too easy for Tom. So she waited. For what, she had no idea. Just sat there, gripping the table, her heart beating harder and harder as her fury raced.
And then Tom handed it to her on a silver platter. He mentioned “his” idea for a superhighway and pipeline across Texas, one that would bring jobs to struggling areas and new lanes for commerce from north to south. “Now, my opponents are going to argue against it,” he said, shaking his head with a sad little laugh. “But you know my opponents. Phil Harbaugh would sell this state to Mexico if he could, and frankly, Russ Erwin has his head so far up a tree, he’s sucking sap. It’s hard to listen to someone who’d rather do good for all the lizards in this state than the people?” Tom added, and nodded his appreciation of the loud applause to that statement.
That was the moment Rebecca realized she was standing, her arm raised high in the air. “Rebecca!” Pat hissed at the same moment Tom noticed her standing there with her arm raised high above her head. But Rebecca ignored Pat and glared at Tom, who seemed startled, and looked around for someone to tell him what was going on.
“Senator Masters!” she called in a voice that was, remarkably, as clear as the summer night.
Tom could not ignore her now, and said unevenly, “I think Rebecca has an important announcement. Is that right?”
“No,” she said, lowering her arm. “I have an important question.”
A murmur went through the crowd, and Tom cleared his throat, glanced helplessly at Bud, and thereby signed his own death warrant. “Okay—”
“About this superhighway pipeline you have planned . . . what do you say to all the ranchers out there who will be displaced in the name of progress? You know who I’m talking about, right? Ranchers whose families settled Texas and have known nothing but a ranching way of life for generations? And then, as a follow-up question, could you please tell us what you will say to all those economically depressed areas when the thing is built and the jobs go away?”
A hush fell over the crowd as everyone waited for his response. Tom glared at Matt as if he had asked the question.
“I’m sorry, Senator, but I didn’t hear your response,” Rebecca continued, wildly out of control and loving every minute of it. “Oh, and another thing—have you told the Three Nines Ranch, our host for the evening, that the superhighway will cross the southern corner of their acreage where they still graze cattle?”
Tom laughed nervously as he glare
d at Matt. “All good questions, Rebecca,” he said. “I think we’ve got some answers for you, right, Matt?”
Matt looked up at Rebecca. She couldn’t read his expression as he slowly came to his feet. It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself. She had done what she had to do. He could be mad, but she had to do it for her, not anyone else. Matt could do that smooth speak and get Tom out of trouble like he was good at doing, Rebeca didn’t care. She’d had enough.
But she wished, that just once, someone would stand beside her. Just once.
“Well, Tom, I’d like to say that we have some good answers,” Matt said, looking at Rebecca, and then, so subtle that she almost missed it, he winked at her. Winked at her! “But I don’t have any, and frankly, I’d like to hear your answer to Ms. Lear’s questions. Personally, I think a pipeline that long is a pretty dangerous idea. And I don’t understand why this highway is such a good idea. I mean, we’ve already got a major interstate running from Dallas to Brownsville. You think there is enough over-the-road commerce to support two superhighways?”
A buzz had started in the crowd; people around them were talking excitedly, and Tom looked as if he had suddenly awakened to find himself in a foreign land. He madly looked about for someone to help him out of his mess, but everyone around him was confused about what was happening.
Not Rebecca. She had never loved anyone as much in her life as she did that moment, and she tapped Matt on the arm, smiling gratefully. “You wanna blow this pop stand?” she asked.
Matt laughed. “You think we have a choice?” he said, and with another wink, put her hand on his arm and escorted her through a sea of tables, a sea of people who had paid a small fortune to be here. She smiled at them all as if she was a reigning beauty queen on her last walk as someone took the stage behind them and announced the music would begin again shortly.
Matt attempted to lead her out of the little park, but Rebecca tugged on his arm, pointed to her father, who was, she couldn’t help noticing, the only one standing. She walked over, smiled at her family. “I’m sorry. But then again, I’m not,” she said cheerfully.