by Ridge King
He also thought of Sue. The thing he liked about Sue most was her ego. She stood up to him and told him what she thought. She never let him push her around and he liked that strength of hers.
He thought he could be satisfied if a woman merely was complex enough to keep him interested in her moods, her nature, her feelings. He sensed quite a complex nature in Patricia. There was an emotional current running between them, something the others at the table didn’t notice. But he noticed. He felt it, and he knew if he felt it, she did, too.
One thing that constantly bothered him since he began to realize he wasn’t satisfied with Sue was his feeling that if a man had a woman already who loved him, why should he look elsewhere? He knew he was inviting trouble and turmoil into his life. It might hamper his onward political advance. There were so many questions. If by looking for more in another woman than he already had in his wife, and he lost the good things he still possessed in Sue, what would he have gained? Nothing, of course. But then he wondered, if by reaching that conclusion, he must never look at another woman, much less sleep with another, how would he be limiting himself?
The secretary of the Society approached the microphone and announced that the ball would begin in a few minutes.
Crampton took Matt away to introduce him to some other people and the rest of table twelve rose and meandered towards the ballroom.
“I think he’s cute, don’t you?” whispered Jane to Patricia.
“Oh, he’s cute, all right,” she replied coolly.
Patricia and Jonathan talked to several people they knew as they made their way slowly towards the ballroom. Jonathan discussed business with several men and Patricia immediately became bored.
Perryman walked to the ballroom with several members of the Board of Governors. In the ballroom, people gathered in large clusters to the sides. Following Perryman, the President entered, accompanied by St. Clair.
Immediately the orchestra struck up the proper series of ruffles and flourishes and then started playing Hail to the Chief. Norwalk stood still before the assembled guests until the short piece was finished. He bowed slightly to the applause that followed. Slanetti, who was right behind him, whispered into his ear. The President stepped forward and all was silence.
“Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. I see a good many of the diplomatic corps present, and although this is not a state occasion, I have been asked to begin the first dance. I must admit that I am in good spirits tonight and may stay late, but please do not stand on ceremony. Anyone who tires before I do has my permission to leave. But then, anyone who tires before I do must be a very old man, indeed. Perhaps Lord Ellsworth and I shall hobble out together.”
Everyone looked at the beribboned British ambassador and the whole room, including Ellsworth, laughed.
Norwalk started over to the cluster of men and women containing Jonathan and Patricia Vaughan. The crowd cleared a path for him. Both Vaughans were shocked beyond words. Norwalk gave them a little bow.
“If Mr. Vaughan will permit me to borrow his charming wife for the first dance, I would be deeply honored.” Vaughan’s aloofness left him, but he decided the best thing to do, instead of stammering, was to nod.
“Of course, Mr. President. I’m sure she would be delighted,” he managed to say.
Patricia didn’t say a word as she held out her hand to Norwalk. He led her to the center of the floor, all Washington looking at her, the chandeliers lighting the brown parquet floors to a high luster. Norwalk took her in his arms as the orchestra struck up a gentle waltz and they began to dance, others buzzing and women’s heads meeting in hurried huddles before husbands pulled them away to the floor, which was soon full.
Slanetti looked on and smiled.
Hawkins looked on and smiled, too, thinking what a wise choice the President had made. Hey, at least we agree on something, he thought.
On the dance floor, Norwalk spoke in a soft voice.
“I hope I didn’t shock you, Mrs. Vaughan,” Norwalk said quietly.
She looked up into the face of the old man, admiring the character his many lines seemed to give him. She smiled.
“I may faint, Mr. President.”
He laughed.
“You’d better not, young lady. I’m counting on you to get me through this.”
“I didn’t think the President needed anyone’s help to do anything.”
She couldn’t have said anything that pleased Norwalk more.
“You’d be surprised at the kind of help I need, Mrs. Vaughan. Take this House decision. I’m up nights trying to think of ways to convince members of both parties to vote for Governor St. Clair. It’s not an easy task, you know.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, Mr. President.”
“There are many votes we need badly. John Fulton of Oklahoma is a problem. So are Bernard Asterwood and Albert Delamar. There are others, many others, one in particular you might be able to help with.” He paused ever so slightly for effect.
“Oh?” she asked, but even though she had a sinking feeling in her stomach, she really had no idea what he was going to say.
“Yes—Neil Scott.”
Chapter 24
In a Dark Room
“Neil Scott is another we’re having trouble with,” he said again, looking casually over Patricia’s shoulder and nodding to a couple that swirled past them.
She tried not to change her expression when Norwalk mentioned Neil’s name. She noted a certain change in the tone of his voice when he said Neil’s name, however, a tone she didn’t like.
“I wish I could help, Mr. President.”
She wished immediately she hadn’t said that.
They continued to dance, the strains of the waltz filling Patricia’s head, Norwalk’s words echoing in her ears.
“You’d be surprised how you can help, Mrs. Vaughan.” She knew he didn’t think she would be surprised at all. “Any help Governor St. Clair gets is extremely important.” Norwalk smiled. “The little things are important. A woman can be very persuasive in Washington when she wants to be. She has tools at her disposal men don’t have.”
“I voted for the governor,” she said weakly.
He laughed. On the fringes of the dance floor observers thought when they saw Norwalk throw his head back and laugh that he was being charmed by Patricia’s notorious wit.
“I never thought about asking you if you supported him. I merely assumed it, I suppose.”
“No, I do support him.”
“Good, Mrs. Vaughan, good,” said Norwalk, looking with a cheerful smile into her eyes. “Then you will have an added incentive to persuade Neil Scott to support the governor, won’t you?”
When the dance was over everyone applauded the orchestra. Jonathan came over and shook the President’s hand when the latter offered it. Norwalk thanked him and moved off towards St. Clair, who was talking to Perryman and Niles Overton. Overton moved away when the President approached but Perryman remained. Overton always felt uncomfortable socializing with the President, and this particular moment he had no desire to make the effort. Lord Ellsworth and Mitsumasa Yasuda of Japan joined them. Ambassador Kornilevski went to the floor with his wife for the second dance. John Fulton too was on the floor, dancing near the Larry Kellermans. Senator Thurston was the center of attention on the dance floor, and he and Peggy glided around, Peggy dressed perfectly in a large elegant gown that had the women talking in conclaves. Jonathan and Patricia were dancing the second dance, too.
“What did he say?” asked Jonathan.
“He hopes it snows. He likes snow,” she said blandly.
“Wait’ll I tell Rolando!” Jonathan beamed.
After the dance, Jonathan returned to talk to some friends, all of whom slapped him on his back for being chosen to have his wife start the ball with the President. He enjoyed their envious attention. Meanwhile, Patricia was deluged with questions from other women who encircled her. “What did he say?” “Is he a good lead?” “He never stopped talk
ing to you.” “What did he want?”
Finally, she broke away from them and went into a room off the ballroom to get a glass of Champagne. Men and women complimented her on her performance as she passed them. She smiled back and thanked them, saying the President was an excellent dancer. She passed Neil and Annie Scott going into the other room. She stopped for a moment to say hello. Neil just looked at her.
How did they find out about Neil? She kept moving through the room. How does the President know about Neil? She turned the question over and over, her mind convulsed in worry. Did they expect her to bring Neil Scott to orgasm on the floor of the House just as he cast his vote in order to persuade him to vote for St. Clair? What did they want? If they knew about the affair, why didn’t they know it was finished? Who could have told them? Who found out?
She gulped down two glasses of Champagne and quickly took another from a passing tray. She turned around, sensing someone standing behind her. It was Matt.
“Oh,” she said in relief, not threatened by him at all.
“You should watch how you drink that stuff,” said Matt. “It’ll make you dizzy so soon after two dances.”
“Thank you for the advice, but I need it.” She drank her third glass down at once, exchanged it for a full one and moved to the rear of the room, taking a door that led into the permanent exhibition area of the Society’s headquarters. Hawkins looked around to see if anyone had noticed her leaving. No one had. He followed her.
There was a maze of dimly lit exhibition rooms on the other side of the door. He went through one that had stuffed animals from various parts of the world in glass-enclosed cases and entered another, a pictorial exhibition of various high seas adventures Society explorers had encountered in their expeditions, with photographs of the foaming sea and ships being tossed about. He saw her with her back to him leaning against a glass case with a large model sailing vessel inside it. He entered quietly and she didn’t hear him. These floors were carpeted and he quietly came up behind her. She heard him nonetheless and turned quickly to face him. He frowned when he saw her. She had a hunted, frightened expression on her face and seemed ready to burst into tears. He took her by the arms.
“What in God’s name is the matter?”
Finally, she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. Too much frustration, fear and agony had been building in her the past few days for her to contain it much longer. She broke into heavy, loud sobs and let him take her in his arms close to him. His arms circled her. He held her back with one arm rubbing her slowly, with the other he held her head, slowly caressing her. She cried into his dinner jacket and his white shirtfront, until he felt her tears wet against his chest. He had no idea what caused this, and he wasn’t thinking of what was the matter, just what he could do to help. She needed someone’s help. He knew she couldn’t get what she needed from Jonathan. He found himself unthinkingly kissing her hair, the side of her head, inching her head up, then her wet cheeks until her face was uplifted, her eyes closed. His kisses weren’t passionate ones, but tender and reassuring, calm and supporting. He looked at her face, streaked with tear lines, the salty water still coming from her closed eyes. Now he kissed her on the lips passionately.
When she broke into tears and buried her face in his clothes against his chest, she didn’t know what she was doing. She saw him and needed him. That was all she knew or cared to think about. It wasn’t necessarily Matt Hawkins she needed when her tears and the pain swelled up in her. She just needed someone. She couldn’t remember two arms around her before that seemed so strong to her as his did then. But she cried on. Each time he kissed her hair, and then the sides of her head, then her cheeks, she thought those quiet, simple, tender kisses were joyous, like rainwater falling on her naked body after a hot day: refreshing, new, bountiful, fertilizing. She felt his thumb and forefinger raising her chin to his face but she couldn’t open her eyes to look at him. She had received so little genuine, tender affection in her life that she felt ashamed at having brought those qualities out in a man. Then he kissed her differently, on the lips, but this was a deep kiss, his tongue plunging into her so deep she thought she would quit breathing. His tongue pried her mouth open, stretching her and taking her. His hand slipped down her back to her buttocks and pressed her close between his legs. She felt his hard thighs against her sleek, thin gown as his hand pressed her hard to him, seeming to hold her whole backside in his one palm, pressing her closer, closer, until she felt him hard against her body. His other hand held her head, seeming to encircle it as he dug his face into her mouth, almost consuming her. Her heartbeat went wild as she held him round the neck, holding his head in both her hands, holding him close to her. He seemed to press her head to his, eating her lips, her teeth, her tongue.
He stopped and looked at her, easing his grip on her butt and head but holding her close to him still. Her breasts pounded against his chest and she felt his heart, too, beating strongly against her. He kissed her gently on the lips and nose, the neck on both sides, running his fingers through her hair behind her neck and rubbing the back of her neck, soothing her. He looked at her again. The Champagne oozed through her body and mind.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said, and yet she had no desire for him ever to go away, ever to release her from his strong, sure hold. “What can you do?”
“Whatever I have to,” he said simply, his eyes drilling through her with sharp intensity. They seemed to understand each other with the exchange of only a few words. He smoothed away the wetness on each cheek with his forefinger, and then with the firm soft backs of his fingers stroked her cheeks. She felt the little hairs on his fingers against her smooth skin and kissed the tips of his fingers, closing her eyes.
“Jonathan would have given me a handkerchief,” she said, opening her eyes and looking into his.
“I’m not Jonathan.”
She hugged him close and he held her tight for a moment before holding her back.
“Tell me!”
“I will,” she said, her heart seeming to return to a normal pace as she looked furtively around the room. “But not here, later. I must get back.” She made an effort to move but he held her tight. She looked at his eyes.
“When?”
“Call me,” she said, half asking, half begging, her brow slightly frowning as though she feared she would never see him again, and that he wouldn’t call.
“No. Now.”
He still held her, she loved his arms around her. She didn’t resist him, but she knew she had to get back to the ballroom.
“Let me go,” she said, caressing his cheek. He turned his head slightly and kissed the palm of her hand. “Then come after me and dance with me.”
He looked at her, and with a free hand picked up her full Champagne glass and took a sip, giving her a sip afterwards. She hugged him, kissed him on the lips and left, smiling back at him.
Chapter 25
Do As You’re Told
After Norwalk got the dancing off to a start, Jack and Babe hit the floor along with everyone else in the mood to dance. After a respectable ten minutes went by, Governor St. Clair eased his way through the waltzing couples and tapped his son on the shoulder.
“Mind if an old man steps in?” he said with a smile.
“Not at all,” said Jack.
“It’ll be a pleasure,” said Babe, jabbing Jack in the ribs, “dancing with someone who doesn’t have two left feet.”
Jack gave two thumbs up.
“I think that’s my cue to go to the bar.”
They swirled off, Jack very much impressed with his dad’s lithe figure and easy way on the dance floor, just as Patricia Vaughan left the ballroom to get her first glass of Champagne. Jack squeezed through the crowd and made his way after her to the bar where, after he saw they didn’t have any single malts, he ordered a Chivas on the rocks. He saw Patricia at the end of the bar drinking and was just about to go down to talk to her when she abruptly left through a door
in the corner. He also saw Congressman-elect Hawkins look over his shoulder before slipping through the same door seconds later.
Jack raised his eyebrows.
Our man Hawkins hasn’t been in town a week and he’s already sniffing around Patricia Vaughan, not that her husband gives a damn, he thought.
He shook his head and turned in the other direction. Next to him was another tablemate, Larry Kellerman. He was on his cell phone.
For his part, Kellerman was aware when Jack turned toward him and edged a few feet away so he could talk privately.
“What’s the trouble, Mario? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“No, it can’t, friend. Tonight. Now. It’s big and it’s all about you. I’m already in the car coming to see you.”
“I can’t leave here, Mario, not right now. Too many people would notice. Things are just getting started.”
“Okay, bub, when I get there, you come out to the car. See ya.”
D’Orofino drove over in his Lexus. Kellerman, making sure his wife didn’t see him, moved unobserved out of the bar area and out of the Society building where he jumped into the car. D’Orofino drove around the block.
“What the fuck is it, Mario, can’t wait till tomorrow?”
“They got ya, kid. They know about your take in the hotel in Vegas, about the girls, about the land—they know everything. Take a look at these figures.” He switched on the inside light and handed Kellerman the piece of paper Slanetti had given him earlier. “They jive to the penny with what the boys told me in New York. I called them this afternoon. How he got it nobody knows, but that ain’t important now.”
“Who is it?”
“Phil Slanetti. He came to me about it.”
“What do they want?”
“You to vote for St. Clair. Simple as that. You vote for him and this shit’s in the shredder. You don’t and you fry.”