by Josie Brown
But Abby knew full well the extent of the emotional damage Maddy could cause. Maddy’s disregard for her own reputation, her own safety, had been a sore subject between the sisters for some time now. No, it was up to her to make Ben Brinker aware of what his involvement with her careless, petulant sister could cost them. There could be no other alternative.
And if Ben wasn’t smart enough to see her point, she’d have no choice but to ask Andy to dismiss him immediately. It would mortify her to bring it up to him—
But she’d have to, because there was too much at stake.
Well, enough already. I refuse to let her sully Andy, too. To let her ruin all our lives.
Abby led Ben into the living room, watching out of the corner of her eye as he took in every detail of its décor: the expensive antiques, their formality offset by a couple of shabby chic settees; the deep molding surrounding the tray ceiling; and the coffee urn and the glass pitcher of orange juice that shared a silver tray on the coffee table with Wedgwood cups and saucers and three beveled tumblers.
Built-in bookshelves shared the walls with formal paintings that were both expensive and original. Ben lingered over one, a winter landscape by William Sidney Mount.
So he has good taste. Well, that’s a step up from Maddy’s previous lovers, thought Abby. Who was it last time? The Hell’s Angel? No wait, that Neanderthal was several boyfriends ago. Her most recent breakup had been with the rabid Mother Jones reporter. Or was it the sadistic Russian diplomat?
Somewhere among all these losers had been the quote-unquote art consultant who was fronting the mob’s cocaine distribution to primarily well-heeled Washington party animals. Uncle Preston’s way of dealing with that potential media scandal was to become the majority stockholder in the tabloid newspaper about to break that juicy little story.
Maddy’s response was to laugh when she heard about it. “Deduct the stock from my inheritance,” was her blithe response to him.
Uncle Preston was right: Maddy’s tarnish was something the Alcott and Vandergalen names—let alone her brother-in-law’s presidential campaign—could ill afford, and he was under the assumption he’d made that quite clear to her.
Apparently he hadn’t. Well, Abby was going to spell it out to Ben. Maddy’s shenanigans were the last thing Andy—or his campaign manager—needed.
“—I think we can get Collins Snowe and Ayotte Spencer to co-sponsor. And since we want bi-partisan ownership, put out feelers to Barbara Boxer and Al Franken—” Andy’s voice floated out to them from the adjoining room, the Mansfields’ library.
Abby shrugged apologetically. “Sorry about that. The Veterans’s Benefits bill. He may be on the phone for a while.” She pointed to the pitcher. “Andy likes mimosas. Will you join me in having one?”
“Sure, why not?” Ben didn’t even bother turning around when he answered.
His casual tone irritated her. Couldn’t he sense the turmoil he’d caused her?
Well, that’s par for the course, for someone who’s dating Maddy.
Only when Abby handed him a tumbler of the spiked juice did he turn toward her to give her a dismissive nod before plopping himself down casually onto her favorite Duncan Phyfe settee.
But he said nothing at all.
As if daring her to speak first.
You son of a bitch.
With as much control as she could muster, she set her face into a smile. “So, this thing—this ‘relationship’ you have with Maddy: Is it serious?”
“Yeah. I love her. She’s the one.” He said it so matter-of-factly that it broke her heart.
“Ah, I see.” She took a deep breath. “I’d like to ask you a favor. I’d—I’d like to ask you to leave her alone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll just have to take my word for it that it won’t work out. Not for you, anyway.”
“With all due respect, I don’t think that’s up to you to say. It’s between Maddy and me.” Seeing her look of disbelief, he paused. “Listen, Abby, I can just imagine what you’re thinking: that I’m not good enough for your sister—”
“No! No—that’s not it at all.” Her anxiety came out in staccato stutters. “Ben, it’s not you. It’s Maddy. She’s—well, she’s trouble.” She sighed as she closed her eyes.
“Granted, yeah, Maddy’s a handful. Obviously she’s been a bit wild in the past. I’m guessing she went through a couple of rough relationships. Something you’ve obviously been spared. But—”
“A handful? No, you don’t understand! She’s done this before, this little game. Trust me, Ben, I’m telling you that—that you don’t mean anything to her.” The words stuck in her throat. “As for me being ‘spared,’ how dare you presume—”
She stopped short, perhaps because she was revealing too much; or perhaps because of the pitying look on Ben’s face.
Then, as a final plea: “Ben, please believe me: this could cause Andy a great deal of—”
“Abby, get real! What does Maddy’s relationship with me have to do with Andy? We’re all grown-ups here. We’ve all made mistakes. But we can’t live in the past.” Ben shook his head adamantly. “Hell, I thought that you of all people would be happy for us.”
Her stomach twisted into a large, hard knot. To stifle the urge to slap the snide smirk off his face, she picked up the heavy pitcher again to pour a glass for herself, but she was so angry that her hand trembled, and the pitcher tilted precariously.
Instinctively Ben put his hand over hers. But instead of steadying her, his touch had the opposite effect. The heat from his strong thick fingers shocked her so.
Without thinking, she turned her hand at an angle and the juice cascaded out of the glass and into one of the teacups.
Mortified, Abby mumbled an apology as she frantically sopped up the mess with one of the napkins. But instead of moving his hand away, he grasped hers even tighter. She couldn’t fight the urge to look into his eyes:
His sad, sad eyes.
Did he find her pathetic?
No...He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.
The thought of that look—of what it meant for Maddy—made her blush deeply.
But what about Maddy? She still had to deal with the problem of her sister.
“I’m...so...sorry,” Ben murmured.
She looked up, stunned.
He gets it.
“Oh...You do understand!” Relief flooded her face. Then pretending to be caught up in the task of cleaning up the spill, she said as casually as she could muster. “Ben, what you’re feeling—it’s not easy, and I appreciate that. But in the long run, it could never be.” She paused, but had to add: “You really do understand now, don’t you?”
Ben paused for what seemed like forever. “Yes,” he said finally. “It’s over.”
Thank you, God.
When she looked up again, she was smiling. She made some silly joke about being clumsy and thanked him again for his help. But sensing this wasn’t enough to show her appreciation, she proffered another olive branch, in the form of a compliment: How Andy was so impressed with Ben’s drive, his determination—
Suddenly Andy was there at her side, smothering her in a bear hug and a kiss, slapping Ben on the back, asking what he had missed and calling them both “the two most important people in my life.”
She wondered if Andy’s remark had embarrassed Ben as much as it had embarrassed her.
Yes, it had. She knew because he almost went white at the compliment.
Ben had been feigning interest in some ugly painting when Abby asked him, very casually, to give up the woman he loved.
Her request, coming out of the blue, stunned him. Hey, sure, he knew the sisters weren’t close at all. Still, he thought he could chide Abby for being so small-minded, that he could convince her that he and Maddy were the real thing, just like her and Andy.
That Maddy deserved her own chance at true love.
Why would Abby deny
her sister a shot at happiness? For the sake of propriety?
One sister didn’t deserve to have it all. Certainly not at the expense of the other.
He felt great reading her the riot act. And yeah, he got his jollies when he realized he had rattled her. He was still laying into her when she handed him his glass with a trembling hand—
And that’s when she spilled the pitcher.
The moment he touched her hand, he regretted it. The current that surged between them was like nothing he’d ever felt.
Not even with Maddy.
Damn it, what the hell is happening to me?
It must have affected her, too, because she was shakier than ever. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears. And her words were coming out all jumbled...
Before he could stop himself, the words had tumbled out: “I’m...so sorry.”
She looked up at him. A hopeful smile quivered on her lips.
He lost himself in her beautiful face. Those sharply cut cheekbones, the gentle arch of her brows, those luminous blue eyes, shaped exactly like Maddy’s—
And yet she was so different. Missing was that keen edginess that elevated his heart every time he saw Maddy, the calculating shrewdness that lurked behind those eyes, promising him the time of his life.
But in its place was something just as heart-wrenching: a haunting vulnerability.
Abby blushed so deeply that he wondered, Does she know what I’m thinking?
He felt guilty for this obvious attraction. As if he was betraying Maddy...
Abby didn’t look at him, thank God for that. She was too busy cleaning up the mess. But his words put color in her cheeks, and a smile, albeit a shaky one, on those sweet lips.
Otherwise she would have seen the pain in his eyes when she exclaimed: “Oh…You do understand! Ben, what you’re feeling—it’s not easy, and I appreciate that. But in the long run, you’ll see that it could never be.” She said it as if it were a foregone conclusion. “You really do understand now, don’t you?”
Right then and there, he realized that any other answer would be unfathomable to her.
“Yes,” he had finally muttered. “It’s over.”
Relief flooded her face. Laughter tumbled out of her along with a tender compliment for all that he was doing for Andy—
She thinks I’ve ended the affair because I’m afraid of compromising my job with Andy. Well, fuck it, she can believe whatever she wants. But I can’t tell her the truth: I can’t give up Maddy. If I have to buy time between now and the election, so be it.
Afterward, Maddy and I can do whatever we want.
They were both glad when Andy bounded into the room, slapping Ben on the back before giving Abby a hug and a sweet kiss on the forehead.
“Hope I haven’t missed much,” he said, pouring himself a glass from the pitcher.
If only you knew, they both thought.
Chapter 25
The address Kenny Lafferty dug up for him was a funky loft residence in Washington’s Morgan Adams neighborhood, just up the block from DuPont Circle. Ben arrived around dusk. The front door was locked, but it only took him a minute to find the key where it was hidden: over the doorsill, where he put his spare, too.
The ground floor was a studio. Sculptures were scattered throughout, in various phases of completion. Most were tall, sharp and angular, and reached to the heavens seen through the skylight that made up the loft’s ceiling, their sharp spears piercing, foreboding.
Just like Maddy.
At first he didn’t see her there, on the balcony, staring down at him. When he finally noticed her, the sight of her took his breath away. Not because she was naked beneath her short sheer silk robe, or because she was so beautiful, but because the haunted look in her eyes reminded him so much of Abby.
The robe fell open when she beckoned him up, casually, as if she’d been expecting him all along.
As if she knew he’d choose her, no matter what.
He ran up the stairs two steps at a time.
“What did you say to her?”
Above Maddy’s bed the skylight revealed a dark sky pocked with tiny, glittering stars.
It must have been after midnight. They’d quit making love an hour or so ago. Both of them should have been exhausted, should have fallen dead asleep. But she, like he, was staring up into space. And he was happy to see that she, too, had a smile on her face.
I could lay here like this with you for the rest of my life.
“I lied. I told her it was over between us.”
Maddy propped herself up onto her side.“Ben, you now understand, don’t you? Why Abby can’t know about us?”
He nodded, resigned. “Until after the election, at least.”
“Yes, exactly. Because after that, it won’t matter. Not even to Abby.”
Eventually she drifted off to sleep in his arms. He watched as she snored softly, but her sleep was not tranquil. Her brows arched in consternation, and her eyelids flickered as she battled some demon in her sleep.
Whatever it is, my love, I’ll never let it hurt you.
Chapter 26
“Andy’s not going to win. It’s as simple as that.”
Paul’s prediction, given so matter-of-factly between bites of his aged medium rare filet mignon, almost caused Ben to choke on his own lunch entree, a teriyaki-grilled wild salmon.
Before Ben had a chance to respond, Paul continued: “And we should save him from the biggest mistake of his career—of his life—before it’s too late.”
If the two men had been anywhere else but the Taft Room of the exclusive and private University Club, Ben probably would have shouted, “What the fuck are you saying?”
Or more likely, he would have yanked Paul up by the lapels of his gray pinstriped double worsted Anderson & Sheppard suit and slammed him against the wall.
Instead he swallowed the hunk of wild Coho stuck in his throat and took a slow sip of water from the beveled crystal goblet in front of him. Only when he was sure he could talk without cursing a blue streak did he open his mouth. “You’re kidding, right? Or on acid? Because I know you’re aware that our guy is right on Talbot’s tail—”
Here it was, the middle of September, and Andy was on fire—in the polls, in the media, and on the senate floor.
It was a full four months before the first primary, and Andy’s campaign war chest was almost as full as Talbot’s. Better yet, while most of Talbot’s donations were at the legal campaign limit, Andy’s were in smaller increments, coming from a much broader base of constituents. Four times as many donors had given online, too, which was proof of Andy’s ability to reach voters who were willing to use their money to back candidates they believed in.
Ben just assumed that Paul’s invitation to the club was to celebrate this great news.
No wonder he asked me to keep this little meeting on the QT. He’s Andy’s best friend, for Christsakes!
The table Paul had reserved for them was in a private alcove, and the hostess’s route had taken them past several of the Capitol’s biggest powerbrokers. Ben recognized all their faces, but Paul knew more of them personally. Or at least, they knew him well enough to call him over and pump his hand.
As their sumptuous courses were being delivered on silver platters by the club’s discreet butlers, Paul engaged Ben in small talk: the latest gossip raging through D.C.’s tony social set, and GOP insider buzz that wasn’t within hearing distance of Ben’s own informants. No, Ben’s contacts dwelled too far below the rarefied air inhabited by Paul, Andy, and their ilk—
He suddenly realized why Paul had insisted that they meet here.
Why, you sonofabitch! You want to intimidate me so I pull out of Andy’s campaign—
Or sabotage it.
“I know I sound like some kind of asshole, or traitor, to even suggest that. But it’s time to face facts. Look, let me level with you.” Paul leaned forward, though it wasn’t necessary. The drone of conversation in the room beyond, coupl
ed with the clink of polished silver to glistening china, was drowning out his traitorous offensive. “The guys who have supported Andy from the beginning—these guys who have made Andy—feel he’s jumping the gun. It’s just not his time. He’s still green. Another term in the Senate will season him, rid him of that idealism that seems to get him so far off course. He might even be tapped as the vice presidential nominee—”
“Well they’re wrong. Andy is the real thing, and it looks like the public knows it, too. And that’s the one thing that the power brokers can’t control.
“You’d be surprised by what they can—and do—control.” Paul looked around uneasily. “Unfortunately, Andy is making a lot of powerful enemies. He thinks he can stand between them and what they feel–what they know–is their legacies. Well, he can’t. Ben, trust me, these men will stop at nothing to control the outcome of this race.” He paused and took a gulp of his wine. “That’s where you come in. Look, everyone recognizes the role you’ve played these past few months to put our man on top. In the future, should you make a few miscalculations—say, in the directions you give either Eddie or Spike–or if you let a few of the senior staffers go and replace them with volunteers...Well, you know how fast things can go downhill from there.”
Ben sat in a stony silence while Paul twitched uncomfortably in his brocade Queen Anne wingback. Finally Paul murmured, “They realize that there is a price for such...an act.”
Yeah okay, now we get down to brass tacks. “How much?”
“Quadruple your rate. And—and the party’s presidential frontrunner, from here on out.”
All that, just for selling out Andy Mansfield.
The one candidate who could ruin Talbot’s chances for the presidency.
Ben let that sink in. No doubt about it, the money was tempting. But the brass ring was another twenty years of elections. He, too, would have a legacy, recorded in history books.
His name, right there next to their chosen few.
What had Digits called Padilla? Oh yeah, a puppet.
Now they wanted him to be their puppet, too.