Compromising Positions

by Beverly Bird

  “Hey, Jesse!”

  “How are you?” He caught another hand and pumped it.

  “Heard anything yet from the Republicans?”

  “No. At four o’clock they still hadn’t officially registered a candidate.”

  “Keeping us in the dark until the last moment,” someone said sagely.

  Jesse nodded. It was a tactic he was familiar with and thoroughly appreciated. It was not so different from the way he held off on going to the grand jury until the last possible moment. Once he did so, he was obliged to turn his evidence over to the defense. He liked to keep them in the dark, guessing and worrying and possibly making tactical errors, until the eleventh hour.

  As of four o’clock this afternoon, the Republicans had been doing the same thing to him. They were going to run someone against him, and rumors had been running rampant for months as to who it might be. Three or four names had been bandied about, and those same three or four names had spoken publicly of their desire and intention to run against him. It was no secret that if Jesse got in again as D.A., then the city would probably soon have a Democratic mayor, as well. And that was something the Republicans did not want to see happen.

  Assuming he ran for mayor, Jesse thought.

  His smile faded as he made his way back to the table he shared with his parents, his uncle and one of the cousins who sat on the Senate. He was more than mildly startled by the...well, the rebellious thought. He would run. He had to run. There were few ways he could get out of it, none of them easy.

  His eyes searched for Angela again.

  She was speaking to a city councilman—one of those, Jesse remembered, who had been at the forefront of the drive to hire her away from Quantico. Jesse realized that of all the women he might have brought with him tonight, any of those from his past, only Dr. Angela Byerly knew enough of the people present-that she had no need to cling to him. It was something he should have anticipated and hadn’t. Nor had he guessed that it would please him so.

  When he moved, Angela excused herself from Joe Campenelli and headed over to join him. Jesse didn’t know if he was amused or relieved that she hadn’t remained with his family when he’d gotten up to circulate.

  He sat and she slid smoothly into the seat next to his. He touched her hand briefly.

  “What?” He turned sharply as he realized that his uncle was speaking to him. He felt Angela stiffen beside him.

  “I said that the faces missing tonight are the ones I find most interesting.”

  Jesse looked around. “I hadn’t imagined that Abe and Gwen would be interested in attending under the circumstances.”

  “I wasn’t speaking of the Chauncys.”

  Jesse’s eyes moved back to Wendell. “Who, then?”

  “Charlie and Monica Price are conspicuously absent, as well.”

  This time, he felt Angela jolt. He looked at her curiously, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  Jesse looked back at Wendell. “Actually, I can’t say that I’m surprised.” Price’s had been one of the names tossed about as a possible Republican candidate. The man had conveniently changed his party status a few months ago.

  “But it does seem revealing that he’s not here,” Ryan, Jesse’s father, joined in. “He’s never missed one of your fund-raisers, Jesse.”

  Jesse nodded and got to his feet again. He reached for Angela’s hand. It was ice-cold.

  “I still think you look familiar, dear,” Isobel said, glancing up at her. “But I simply can’t place you.”

  “He was dancing with her at Tessa’s wedding,” Wendell supplied, winking at Angela.

  Her gut churned.

  Isobel’s face lightened. “Yes. I remember now.”

  “You hold some significant position with the city, don’t you?” Ryan asked hopefully.

  Angela fought for her voice. “I’m the chief medical examiner.”

  “Oh, how dreadful!” Isobel cried. “How could a woman do that sort of thing?”

  “She’s a doctor, of course,” Jesse supplied, suddenly enjoying himself. “And a lawyer, as well.”

  “You are?” Isobel looked doubtful. “Who is your family? Are you from the city?”

  “Yes. But you wouldn’t know them,” Angela replied thinly.

  Jesse started to turn away, pulling her with him, then he thought of something else. He decided to enjoy himself even more.

  “Angela is a very good friend of John Gunner’s,” he offered.

  They watched together as Isobel’s face went pale, then got pink. As they walked off, Jesse was laughing to himself. He squeezed her hand.

  “I’ve been waiting weeks to do that,” he murmured.

  By nine o’clock, Angela was running on pure adrenaline and nerves. She agonized over her decision to come and wished desperately that she had stayed home.

  She had worried that Charlie Price would be here. Naively, perhaps, it had never occurred to her that Wendell Glowan would be, that the Hadley clan would come out for this affair in their virtual entirety.

  Glowan still didn’t recognize her. Tonight she was relieved.

  Jesse worked his way through the crowd, pulling her with him this time, and Angela felt herself nodding, smiling, murmuring whenever anyone spoke to her. Then they reached the dance floor and he drew her into his arms.

  She had the most absurd thought then. Ah, safety.

  “You’re terrific,” he said, his voice low against her ear.

  “You’re doing great.”

  She decided to let him think so. She looked up at him and dredged for a smile. “There are table scraps in my handbag and Joe Campenelli tried to grab my backside the last time we danced.”

  Jesse chuckled. “What did you do?”

  “If you’ll look closely, you’ll see that our esteemed councilman is limping.”

  He laughed outright, then sobered. “No problem with my uncle?” he asked neutrally.

  She stiffened. “Not yet.”

  What the hell had Wendell done? Jesse wondered again.

  Angela looked Glowan’s way and remembered.

  She’d quit school for that one semester. She’d been too distraught, too destroyed, to study anyway, at least until the case came to trial and it was over. She’d been sure that if she could just have some sense of closure, of justice, then she could go back to Princeton and she’d be fine. She’d thought she would heal. And maybe she could have, if it had been anyone but Charlie Price, if anyone but Glowan had been on the bench.

  It had started at the end of August, right before she’d been about to return for her senior year. She’d spent September, October and November at home, as well, and by then she’d known that there would be no closure. During the months she’d spent in the city, she had walked into her bedroom on numerous occasions to find Charlie there, waiting for her. She’d pulled open her shower curtain, and there he was. He came in windows and through the basement. Into her own home. Whenever he chose. Without warning. No matter what she’d tried to do to stop him. She put extra locks on her doors and windows, so he loitered outside. He’d let days go by without an appearance, and then he would be there constantly, everywhere she turned, for days more.

  At some point, even as terrorized as she’d been, Angela had known that his actions were a deliberate method of torturing her. He had a plan. It was a means of keeping her off balance, of making her afraid to even sleep for fear he’d come back, or that he was out there, watching her windows. He’d wanted her to know that he could do whatever he chose, and she would not be able to anticipate him. He’d been slowly and systematically driving her mad. Above all, he’d been making damned sure that he discredited her. And it had worked.

  Then the photographs of what Charlie had done to her had disappeared from the evidence room. The people who had heard her scream decided not to testify. And Glowan had chastised her and had let Charlie Price leave his court a free man.

  The song ended. She kept dancing and stumbled a little when Jesse didn’t.
/>   “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Maybe she’d make a good politician after all.

  “Not much longer now,” he promised. “Maybe an hour or so.”

  “Good,” she murmured. And that word was heartfelt.

  As it turned out, it was nearly two in the morning when he dropped her off at home. There were no cops at the door this time.

  “Let me take a look around inside,” Jesse said, parking.

  She wouldn’t argue with him. Her home, her sanctuary, had been violated, and she thought that it was going to be a very long time before she felt completely safe here again. He covered the ground floor while she checked upstairs. They met back in the foyer.

  “Everything okay up there?” he asked, watching her face. He thought she looked inordinately pale.

  “As near as I can tell.”

  “I want to stay again.” The words were out before he thought them.

  “No.” Angela shook her head. This afternoon she had longed for him to stay. But now she felt enervated, dazed, exhausted. The night had been an ordeal.

  She’d spent half the time feeling like an impostor. She’d wanted to scream at Glowan—and wouldn’t that have brought the house down? Look at me! I wasn’t good enough fifteen years ago for you to hear my case. Now you’re winking at me! The rest of the time she had been simply praying for a way to blend into the wallpaper, struggling mightily not to give in to the urge to fade back and away, to let them all make her cringe.

  She needed to be alone now, she realized, as scary as that still was. All her resources were used up. With the release of the night’s tension, she could barely keep her eyes open. If anyone came tonight, she’d sleep right through it. Besides, the night was half over.

  “Jesse, I’m tired,” she managed to groan. “I just want to sleep.”

  “And you won’t do that if I’m here,” he said for her.

  She almost smiled. “No.”

  “You did last night.”

  “I shocked myself. It won’t happen twice. And I woke up with a stiff neck.”

  Still, he hesitated. “Make sure the alarm’s on.”

  “I will.”

  “And put my number in your speed dial.”

  “I’d call 911 first.”

  She had everything under control, it seemed. So why was he so reluctant to leave her?

  He wasn’t so much worried about danger, he found, as he was loath to have the evening end. He’d barely had a chance to exchange five sentences with her all evening, what with Wendell and his father and a hundred or so supporters pressing in on him. And oddly, as the evening had worn on, he’d begun to feel like an impostor. They were all watching the old Jesse Hadley. But inside was a man who had begun wanting badly to call it a night, to be done with politics and handshaking and glib responses, to be alone with her to watch the expressions play over her face. He wanted to explore more feelings than he had ever allowed himself to know before.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, then...good night.”

  Her eyes came up to his, a little wide, a little wondering. He realized that she hadn’t entirely expected him to respect her wishes. It was hard, damned hard, but he would do it.

  He caught her chin in his hand. Gently. Still, he could almost feel her vibrate. Her eyes fluttered closed. He watched her beautiful face for a moment. Watched the color come back into her cheeks. He touched his mouth to hers and felt her sigh against his lips.

  Not good enough. He wanted more. Needed more. And again something warned him not to take it even as his hands framed her waist and his tongue dipped and the scent of her filled his head.

  He stepped back, away from her, before she could respond one way or the other, not trusting himself to be able to stop if he kept on.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said hoarsely and went out.

  He left her empty and wanting. As soon as he’d touched her again, she’d been filled with want. And she didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t know how to deal with it, because when he turned and walked away as she’d always wanted every other man to do, he left her aching.

  Angela groaned, set the alarm and went upstairs to bed, her feet dragging.

  Jesse woke Tuesday morning feeling more groggy than usual. He felt drained even after a shower. His eyes felt grainy and his muscles were stiff.

  His first thought was to wonder if Angela was okay.

  He went barefoot down to the kitchen, a towel hitched around his waist, his hair wet and disheveled. He picked up the phone, then replaced it again. It was barely six o’clock.

  A cup of coffee first, he thought. At least then he would have a shot at sounding coherent.

  And he wouldn’t come off as seeming...smitten. Hooked. Ensnared so far beyond reason that he was calling a woman at six o’clock in the morning to see if she was all right, when he had only left her four hours ago. It was something he had never done before in his life.

  He wondered what she looked like in the morning when she had slept well and deeply—not half-sitting up, in her clothing, on the sofa. He wondered what she might look like in the morning if she’d spent the night being well and truly loved. His blood rushed suddenly and hotly, with no slow buildup, no warning. He swore at himself and put on a pot of coffee.

  When he’d called her that first Sunday morning and her breath had sounded short and gasping, he’d actually thought it was because she had been loving someone. Now that he knew her better, he doubted it.

  She’d kissed him yesterday like a woman shocked to find that she enjoyed it. But oh, she had enjoyed it. She’d sighed her way into his arms last night, a bare beginning, inviting more.

  Everything inside him moved more hotly again, gathering at his groin this time. He called himself a few choice names and went out to the front porch to collect the newspaper. This was another priority on his list for today—something he should be thinking about. This morning he would find out for certain who’d be his opponent in the D.A. race.

  He flipped through the city section while he waited for the coffee to brew, stifling a yawn. And then he found it. Charlie Price. He’d put his bid in late yesterday afternoon.

  “Surprise, surprise,” Jesse muttered. “Hope you’re up for the fight of your life, pal.”

  He poured a cup of coffee and drank without waiting for it to cool. The major problem with Price was that he had a great deal of family money to back him up. Not Hadley money, but a good bit just the same. He could mount a colorful, emphatic campaign. Working somewhat against Price was the fact that he was an ACLU attorney. He’d spent years defending the rights of the downtrodden, often in the interest of criminals who felt their own had been violated. He had a reputation for being soft on crime.

  Jesse wondered why the man would make such a switch, from defending people to putting criminals behind bars. Money? He shook his head. The district attorney’s job didn’t pay that well, at least not considering the family income Price already had.

  Jesse decided he wasn’t worried. He looked at the wall clock. It was nearly six-thirty. Now he could call Angela.

  He reached for the phone just as something else in the paper caught his eye. Even in a grainy, black-and-white newspaper photo, he knew the golden sunshine of her hair. He scowled and stepped back to the paper on the kitchen counter, pulling the society page toward him this time.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. It was the photograph that fool had taken the other night at the restaurant. The caption stunned him.

  He read it again. A consortium of enemies. He finally found the accompanying story a little farther down the page, part of a gossipy column written by Alvin Carper.

  Alvin Carper. Again.

  Jesse’s eyes flew over the words, then he went back to read them a second time aloud. “‘At first appearance...jut a handsome couple enjoying an intimate dinner at Langoustier on Sunday evening. But he’s the district attorney, now officially running for re-election, and the l
ovely lady is none other than Dr. Angela Byerly, chief medical examiner for the City of Brotherly Love. We’ll speculate that there’s no love lost here, however...a matter of little-known public record is that Dr. Byerly once loudly and passionately cried rape—date rape, no less—in The Honorable Wendell R. Glowan’s court of law. For those of you not up on your Hadley history, that’s our D.A.’s uncle. Judge Glowan had the good sense to throw the case out. We have to wonder just what these two could possibly have been discussing over lobster and wine. Perhaps for our M.E., old grudges still simmer. She doesn’t look happy. We’ll keep you posted.’”

  Jesse stood immobile, rocked to his soul.

  He looked at the picture again. His pulse began slamming with rage.

  Angela didn’t look happy. She looked uncomfortable. Skittish. Wanting, and not wanting, thawing but trying not to. Her eyes were a little haunted, something he hadn’t recognized then, not entirely. He remembered every word they had exchanged that evening, and now he knew precisely why she had looked, why she had behaved, the way she had.

  Rape. Date rape.

  He felt sick with anger.

  He straightened away from the counter and shoved the paper away from him. Then he gathered it and crumpled it savagely in his fists before hurling it toward the recycling bin.

  He had known, he realized dazedly. Of course he had.

  Not about Wendell. Not about his own family’s involvement in the mess. He hadn’t made that connection—yet. But he’d certainly known that she was broken, had felt it, sensed it, had seen it in her eyes. He’d tasted it in the way she’d kissed him. It had been there in the way she always held herself slightly apart. It was why he had been reluctant to hold her too tightly, to kiss her too roughly, to make her yield. It was why, when his hands had gotten away from him yesterday afternoon and had tangled in her hair with a will of their own, he’d pulled himself back hard and fast and instinctively.