“What are you going to do?” Sally asked.
Bruno rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned down his mouth. “We’ll just have to wait to see what Mark says when he gets in.”
Dominique was burning with curiosity, but she knew it would be inappropriate to ask for a look at the photographs.
Later, though, when Bruno went to lunch, Dominique wandered to his desk and placed a letter she had typed for him in his “in” box. At the same time, she leaned over to look at the photo lying on the blotter.
She almost gagged when she saw it. Her eyes clamped shut in horror. She gripped the edges of Bruno’s desk and braced herself to look again. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared, transfixed. The photo was of two girls, one white, one black. Both children’s bodies were covered in filth. The white one’s hair hung in long, limp strings to her hips. They were standing ankle deep in mud—at least Dominique hoped it was mud—and they were naked. But they were about eleven years of age—too old to be naked. They stood in front of a tar-paper shack that leaned precariously to one side. The two windows had no panes, nor screens. The door was a burlap flap.
Most shocking, however, were the open sores on the black child’s face, flies crawling along their edges. The white child held something in her hand that she was putting in her mouth—perhaps a slice of bread. It was also covered in mud. Slung across each girl’s shoulders was a burlap sack filled with cane.
Stunned, Dominique straightened—and found herself face to face with Mark. He could tell that she was deeply shocked. Her face was pale and she didn’t even say hello. She took a step backward and stared at him.
“I understand there are some photographs I need to see,” he said quietly.
Dominique looked at the pile on Bruno’s desk. She stood mutely as Mark picked them up. The room fell silent as the staff waited for his reaction.
“Oh, God!” He gasped and averted his eyes. Then he slumped into Bruno’s chair and for a moment sat frozen in that position. Finally, gathering his fortitude, he lifted the pictures. With rapt concentration, he lengthily studied each one. When he was finished, he placed them face down on Bruno’s desk and rose.
“That,” Mark said, pointing at the photos, “is not to be tolerated. No one should have to live like that. No one.” His voice was intense, vehement.
Sally approached him cautiously. “Well, but… at Whispering Cypress…”
Mark turned menacing eyes on her. Dominique knew he wasn’t angry at his office manager, but he appeared unspeakably angry at the conditions he had just seen.
At that moment, Bruno came back, carrying the sandwich he would eat at his desk. He strode up to Mark, but stopped short when he saw the older man’s expression. “You… you’re back,” Bruno said lamely.
Mark’s eyes burned. “I understand that the reporter who took those wants my comment.”
Bruno shifted uneasily. Like everyone else in the room, he knew Mark to be easygoing and good-natured. He had never before seen him so enraged. “Actually…” He hesitated. “… It’s worse. The guy wants to take pictures at your place.” Bruno hung his head and mumbled, “If it’s anything like that…” He gestured at the photos, but didn’t complete his sentence.
Mark grew paler still. One by one, he gave each person in the room a glacial, speculative stare. There was not a sound. It was as though everyone were holding their breath. Finally, Mark spoke. “How could any of you work for me if you thought I would treat my employees like that!” he spat.
No one said a word. A few hung their heads.
Mark continued to stare at them. Then he focused on Bruno. “Tell that reporter he’s welcome to drop in anytime at Belle Terre. He can visit the school we have there, or the infirmary. He can have lunch in the snack bar, which you can tell him is owned by a former farm worker. And he’s welcome to look in the houses, as long as the people who live in them say it’s all right. Tell him that the easiest way to get there is to ride on our bus. It stops every day in New Orleans and Baton Rouge.
“As for my comment on those photos, tell him this: I knew that workers in Louisiana weren’t universally well treated, but I had no idea that living conditions like these still existed. Not all plantation owners clear the kind of profit that enables them to provide as well for their workers as we do for ours. We’ve been lucky. But there’s no excuse for the conditions shown in those photos. Tell him that I thank him for bringing them to my attention and that my immediate priority in Congress will be to persuade my colleagues to enact laws to outlaw conditions like these. Before the election. That’s all.” Mark glared once more at the assembly, then turned and stalked into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.
Dominique felt a thrill of admiration for Mark. Her estimation of him soared. She was so proud of him. She suddenly wanted with all her heart to help him win his Senate race.
Dominique settled into a routine of working at the campaign every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Her initial schedule had called for her to arrive at eleven and depart at four. But the paid staff were so impressed with Dominique’s office skills that she was always in demand. As a result, she found herself coming in earlier and leaving later with each visit. It felt good to be part of the close-knit campaign team. She enjoyed the camaraderie and the frenetic energy. The one rule she set down for herself was to leave no later than five-thirty in order to be home when Clay arrived at six-thirty.
Dominique had barely seen her old friend Mark since she’d begun working for him. He was in Washington a lot and, when he returned on the Thursday evenings, he often went straight to the state capital, Baton Rouge. His schedule was packed with events the campaign manager thought worthwhile, from interviews to Kiwanis dinners. But his presence was always felt.
“Mark wants…” Sally would begin almost every sentence with those words.
“Mark says…” Bruno would announce.
“Mark called…”
Mark had never struck Dominique as self-centered, so it was odd to see that he was in fact the sun around which the lives of the rest of the staff—his satellites—revolved. His word was law. His wants were anticipated. He was treated with slavish deference.
As Dominique grew accustomed to the office, she found that the new volunteers gravitated to her with their questions. She never made them feel stupid or slow. She was brusque, but not short-tempered like Bruno or Sally. She got a lot done and, at the end of each day, left with a feeling of accomplishment.
“I don’t know how we ever survived without you,” Sally admitted one day as she handed Dominique revisions for a press release.
Sally rarely stood still, so when she leaned against Dominique’s desk and crossed her arms as though she had more to say, Dominique stopped typing and looked up inquiringly.
“I didn’t know you were an event planner,” Sally said in a tone that was mockingly accusatory, as though she were chiding Dominique for withholding vital information.
“Well,… I thought volunteers mainly did clerical work…” She remembered Clay’s words.
Sally pushed her glasses up on her nose with her index finger. “That all depends on the size of the campaign staff.” She sighed. “Ours is pretty stretched.”
Dominique leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk in a relaxed pose. “Can I do more to help?”
Sally shifted and scrunched up her face as though she had something difficult to say. “Since you ask,… as a matter of fact…” She hesitated. “You know about the dinner he’s having next month for his top advisers, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It was to be small. Only about fifty people. Anyone could handle a dinner like that, Dominique thought. It didn’t really fall into the realm of event planning.
“And you know that we have to start putting together the primary-night party?”
Dominique sat up with a look of alarm. “But that’s only six weeks away! You haven’t done that yet?”
Sally, shamefaced, shook her head. “We haven’t had the ti
me to focus on it.”
Dominique was speechless.
“Anyhow, Mark thought you might be able to help. We want you to become part of the paid staff.” Sally was gushing as though she were afraid that if she stopped, Dominique would have a chance to refuse. “If you could work full time we’d be thrilled, but I don’t know how Mr. Parker would feel about that. So many husbands won’t let their wives—”
Dominique held up her hands in a signal for Sally to stop. “Wait a minute! You’re overwhelming me!” Dominique laughed. “This is completely unexpected.”
Sally smiled self-consciously. “That’s because Bruno and I had no idea of your background until Mark told us.”
Dominique wondered what he had said. In the beginning, Bruno and Sally had barely spoken to her, not because they were hostile but because they were busy. More recently, they had taken to shoveling all their clerical work on her. But they had never sought her opinion or input. Now all the brusqueness was gone from Sally’s manner. Dominique was smart enough to know that the office manager’s new demeanor was attributable directly to Mark, and she was tremendously flattered. She looked down and with one hand lightly poked the keys of the typewriter in an absentminded way.
The idea of working full time was appealing. Very appealing. The office was stimulating and her colleagues fun. On the other hand, she didn’t like to leave Gabrielle so much. Solange had her own life and it wasn’t fair to ask her to give it up so that she could keep constant watch over the little girl. Finally, there was Clay to consider. He was already complaining about how exhausted Dominique seemed at the end of each day. She had twice in the past three weeks asked him to turn down dinner invitations that he considered important. In addition, she had had to give up most of her charity work. She was still chairwoman of the Heart Fund ball, and tried to perform her duties on her free days or on weekends. But it was hard. There just wasn’t enough time. She was glad the ball was only two weeks away.
Dominique looked helplessly at the office manager. “Look, Sally, I’m honored that you and Mark would trust me with such important projects and I’d truly like to take the job, but I can’t.”
Sally’s mouth turned down in disappointment. Dominique watched the other woman try to control her urge to argue. Feeling as though she owed her more of an explanation, Dominique said, “Gabrielle is still so young and…” She turned her palms up.
Sally peered at Dominique and waited for her to continue. But Dominique remained silent, her expression helpless.
Sally sighed. “That’s bad news. I guess I’ll have to try to pull things together myself…” She was clearly distressed.
Dominique touched her hand reassuringly. “You don’t need to hire me if you want me to organize those events. We can turn over my typing to another volunteer and I can start concentrating on events, but I’ll have to report to someone on the regular staff who will ultimately be responsible. Emergencies always come up before these things and I can’t always be there to deal with them.” Dominique pulled a pencil from behind her ear and picked up a notepad. “I’ll also need a couple of volunteers to help with some of the logistics. We need to get started right away.” Dominique began to make notes, her thought processes already moving in their familiar organizational patterns.
Sally, suddenly in the position of taking orders instead of giving them, waited quietly for Dominique to finish outlining the next steps she would take.
Dominique looked up at her and said crisply, “Don’t worry. I’ll have this organized in no time. I can make calls from home, too.” She watched the young woman’s expression change from anxiety to relief.
Clay would be proud of her, Dominique thought, as she mixed a pitcher of lemonade. Proud that Mark Patout held Dominique in such high regard that he was willing to entrust her with the organization of his campaign’s most important gatherings.
She glanced at her watch, impatient for her husband to come home so she could share her news. This was the kind of regard he had been seeking when he had asked her to volunteer for Mark’s campaign.
Dominique poured herself a glass of lemonade and settled on a lounge chair overlooking the lush back garden—a subtropical Eden created by New Orleans’ top landscape designer. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered up at the second story of the house, wondering if Solange and Gabrielle were still napping. She knew she should wake Gabrielle or the little girl wouldn’t be sleepy at night, but she wanted some time alone with Clay.
She stared dreamily at the swaying banana trees until she heard Clay’s car pull into the driveway, then she put down her glass and went to the front door.
Dominique smiled as she watched Clay gather his briefcase and jacket from the back seat. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his strong forearms and his hair was tousled from driving with the window open. He was still as handsome as a matinee idol, she thought. It had been some time since she had truly studied him as a woman meeting him for the first time might.
Dominique descended their front steps to greet him. “Hi, darling!” she said, her voice gay.
Clay’s face lit at the sight of her waiting for him. “Hi!” he said. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a long kiss.
He hadn’t done that in months, she realized. They were like an old married couple, taking each other for granted. She needed to focus more on him, she told herself as they walked arm in arm into the house. He traveled so much and it seemed something was always distracting her—either Gabrielle or Solange or her volunteer work. She was suddenly glad she had turned down the full-time job at the campaign.
She grinned up at Clay. “I have drinks ready on the terrace,” she murmured.
He smiled appreciatively as he slung his jacket over the banister and put down his briefcase. The maid appeared from the kitchen and greeted him, then took his jacket upstairs.
Hand in hand, Clay and Dominique went outside. She poured his martini, handed it to him, then refilled her lemonade glass.
He clinked his glass against hers. “Cheers,” he said, pulling off his tie with the other hand. He collapsed onto one of the lounge chairs with a grunt of satisfaction. “Where are the girls?” he asked.
Dominique settled into the chair next to his. “Napping,” she said, her voice tender. She turned and rested her weight on one hip so that she was facing him. “How was your day?”
Clay sighed and took a sip of his martini. “Tiring.”
“Well mine was exciting!” Dominique said, unable to suppress happy laughter.
Clay stopped the glass midway to his mouth and raised his eyebrows.
“Today the office manager invited me to join the paid staff,” Dominique announced, proudly lifting her chin.
Clay didn’t react immediately. He lowered his eyelids and nonchalantly took a sip of his drink. Finally, he murmured, “I guess they always need good secretaries.”
Dominique’s eyes twinkled. “They don’t want me as a secretary.” She waited for him to ask the implied question. To her disappointment, he said nothing. He was teasing her! Well, Dominique would play along—prolong the mystery. She got up to refill her lemonade glass. Patiently, she watched the pale yellow liquid tumble into her glass, then she turned to face Clay. Now she was enjoying herself. “Well!” she said in a voice of mock frustration, “don’t you want to know what they want me for?”
Clay gave her a superior look. “Since you’re dying to tell me…”
Dominique could tell he wanted to know, even if he wouldn’t admit it. She placed the glass on the bar cart and put her hands on her hips in a victorious pose. “They want me for event planning!”
Clay’s face was transformed. His brows came together, his expression severe. “What did you tell them?” His voice was sharp.
“Clay!” Dominique stamped her foot playfully, still smiling. “Aren’t you even impressed that Mark thinks so highly of me?”
Clay expelled a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, if I wanted to be married to a career girl, but I don’t!
Besides,” he jerked his head at the second story. “Have you forgotten Gabrielle? You’ve always criticized your mother for letting your Nanny raise you. You’ve always said you weren’t going to be like that. If—”
“Just a minute!” Dominique interrupted indignantly. She marched toward Clay until she was standing directly in front of his chair. “You haven’t bothered to ask what I told them!” She had been floating on air all day; now Clay had completely deflated her. It was almost as though he was purposely trying to make her feel bad.
Clay took a deep breath, as if he were trying to control his temper. “I assume that you’ll put your family first,” he said. His voice was cold and cutting, each word crisply set apart from the next. He stood up so that he was towering over Dominique. He looked down at her, his expression self-righteous. “I assume that you told them no.”
Why should he take such a hateful tone? Dominique wondered resentfully. It was both patronizing and autocratic. Why should he take her happy news and turn it into a quarrel? She tightened her hands into fists until her nails cut into her palms. “If that’s what you assume,” Dominique hissed, “then why are you so angry?”
CHAPTER 16
“WE WON’T be seeing much of Mark anymore,” Dominique whispered as she and Clay watched him on the podium. They sat at a round table for ten, two of many campaign workers, friends, and fellow politicians there to witness the next step of Mark’s political career.
As soon as Mark finished speaking, the crowded ballroom erupted in applause, confetti, and festive music. How different from the scene earlier in the day, when Mark had quietly thanked his office staff for their efforts. To each individual, Mark had personally presented an engraved silver pen. Dominique had thought it a handsome gesture, and so had the others.
Even tonight, Mark seemed the most subdued person in the exuberant crowd. Aside from Nina. Nina briefly rose to his side, issued a restrained smile and wave, then settled once more into her seat, her expression distant.
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