Kiss the Girl

by Susan Sey

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  “Listen, if you agree to this, I’ll pack your ball with influential people and their checkbooks. But I want James on your arm, and I want you smiling at him.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “My influence works the other direction, too. This is a pretty risky cause for an incumbent to endorse so close to mid-term elections, you know.”

  Nixie’s eyes narrowed. “You’d keep a bunch of kids from breathing so strangers will think better of your son?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll bend over backward for these kids, Nixie. You’re the one putting them at risk so you can indulge a personal grudge.”

  Rage swelled up inside her, but she squashed it down. Losing her temper would only dig this hole deeper. “Okay, fine,” she said. “I’m willing to let Sloan squirm for a few hours if it means raising money for these kids. Tell James he’s got a date. But if he makes one move I don’t like--on me or Sloan-- I’ll knock his front teeth out just in time for the campaign trail. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.” Edward squeezed her shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Nixie. I don’t know how you managed to stay so good all these years.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Darryl Johnson spoke to the pretty reporter while Erik stood by, ready to slap some sense into the kid if he showed the slightest sign of veering into exhibitionism. So far, so good, but Erik stopped watching when he spotted a man with a conservative haircut and an expensive shirt standing near the bathroom with Nixie.

  He’d clearly cut her off from the herd and Erik didn’t care for the way his thick white fingers squeezed her shoulder, like she was a melon at the market.

  Mary Jane arrived at his elbow. “Hey,” she said. “Who’s the hair do feeling up Nixie?”

  “That would be Senator Edward Harper.”

  “Oooh.” Mary Jane’s eyes went wide and she peeked around Erik’s arm to get a better look. “As in the father of James Harper? The guy who--”

  “--cheated on her with her own mom? Yeah.”

  “Nixie should have accidentally stomped on the guy’s foot half a dozen times by now. If not for feeling her up then certainly for fathering such an asshole.” Mary Jane looked up at him. “You should go say hello.”

  Erik watched the Gentleman from Virginia knead Nixie’s shoulder with those soft white fingers. “Yeah, I might do that.”

  He waded through the crowd, making liberal use of his elbows. He planted himself at Nixie’s side, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.

  “Nice work today, Nixie,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He gave her a squeeze that forced Harper to release her. “You’ve worked a miracle. Mama Mel is now a celebrity in her own right.”

  “She was great, wasn’t she?” She patted Erik’s lapel and leaned in confidentially. “She only said cheap-ass once.”

  “I know. You did good work, Nixie.”

  “Thanks.” Nixie gave him a smile so dazzling and generous that he blinked, momentarily stunned.

  The Senator took advantage of his inattention to step forward and offer a hand. “I’m Edward Harper,” he said. “My son is an old friend of Nixie’s.” He gave Nixie an intimate smile.

  “Old is right,” Erik said cheerfully. He turned to Nixie. “Didn’t you kick that guy to the curb in Kenya a couple months back?”

  Nixie made some kind of noise.

  “Sort of,” she said, her eyes locked studiously on his lapel. She patted it again then stepped back so Erik could shake the man’s hand.

  “This is Dr. Erik Larsen,” she said to the Senator. “He’s a volunteer here at the clinic, as well as a board member. In his other life, he’s a cardio-thoracic surgeon at GW.”

  “Senator Larsen’s boy?” James asked, his eyes going bright with interest. Suddenly, Erik felt a lot like a melon up for inspection himself. “Impressive.”

  Erik didn’t think he was talking about his medical credentials as much as his bloodlines. The old claustrophobia crept up on him, a cloud of doubt covering the sun.

  “So.” The man released Erik’s hand and put his hand on Nixie’s elbow. “I’ll give James the message, will I?”

  Erik frowned again at the easy way he laid his hands on Nixie’s person. “Message?”

  Harper gave him a professional smile, this time with an ugly edge. “Nixie’s agreed to be James’s date to the gala.”

  “You did?” he asked Nixie.

  She edged away from the Senator. “Yes. It’s work.”

  “Every day is play if you pick your job right,” Harper said with a booming laugh. He gave Nixie a little squeeze. She took another step away from him.

  “I see.” Erik clapped the guy on the shoulder just a shade harder than necessary. “Well, I’ll be sure to say hello to James if I see him at the gala. As a board member, I’m required to put in an appearance, too.” He glanced at his watch. “But speaking of work, I’m about to cut out for the day. Are you almost done here, Nixie? Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and debrief?”

  She gave him a grateful smile and said, “That would be great. I’ll just alert the crew.” She broke Harper’s grip on her elbow with more tact than Erik thought strictly necessary, saying, “I’ll be in contact regarding the logistics for the fundraiser appearance, Edward.”

  She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Erik and Harper exchanging hostile smiles. “She’s a firecracker,” Harper said at last. “Always has been. My boy screwed the pooch when he ditched that one.”

  “Yeah.”

  Harper leaned in and lowered his voice to the just us guys register. “Though, seriously, you can’t really blame him, can you? I mean, if Nixie and her mom were both knocking at your tent flap, which one would you let in?”

  Erik’s hand curled into a fist at his side and he let the pause linger just a beat or two beyond comfortable.

  “I’m sure I didn’t hear you properly,” he said. “Say that again, please?”

  Harper’s eyes darted to Erik’s fist, then back to the crowd. He shrugged. “I was just saying that Nixie’s a firecracker.”

  Erik nodded. “That she is.”

  Harper cleared his throat. “Well, I should get back to the office. Nice meeting you.”

  “Same.”

  Erik watched him gladhand his way to the door, slapping people on the back, barking out his jolly laugh and asking after wives, children, and pets with no obvious interest in the answers.

  Mary Jane appeared at his shoulder. “Well?”

  “Nixie’s taking James Harper to the fundraiser.”

  She nodded, unsurprised. “No publicity is bad publicity.” She patted Erik’s arm. “Hold on tight, baby. This clinic’s about to go high profile.”

  Erik stared. “She’s doing this for us?”

  “You think she’d smile for the cameras with James Harper for fun?”

  The thought of Nixie selling her self-respect to the highest bidder--even for a good cause--sent a savage anger licking through his veins. He squashed it with precise care. “Like mother, like daughter, I guess,” he said. Remember that, he told himself sternly.

  She lifted a brow. “That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”

  Erik jerked a shoulder. “Hey, you pimp your private life for the cameras, you forfeit sympathy.”

  Nixie reappeared, with Karl in tow. “Oh good, you found Mary Jane,” she said. “Where to?”

  Erik glanced at Karl. “How about Steve-O’s?”

  “So you can feed Nixie another hamburger?” he asked. “I don’t think so.”

  “I know a place,” Mary Jane said. “You’ll like it. All of you. Let’s go.”

  Cuppa Joe’s squatted on a busy corner of South West, somewhere between the touristy bustle of the Fish Wharf and the self-importance of Capitol Hill. Nixie figured the place for a two-story row house that had been chopped into several smaller commercial spaces. Cuppa Joe’s anchored the groun
d floor corner space.

  Lavender trim and a funky, hand-painted sign gave the sober architecture a jaunty, carnival flair. Window boxes ran the length of plate-glass windows on either side of the building, clearly tended by somebody, Nixie decided, with a serious gift for gardening. Geraniums and poppies leapt out of them in a riot of mismatched enthusiasm.

  Karl expertly slid the hybrid SUV he’d rented into a street spot and Nixie stepped out onto the cracked concrete. Karl herded her toward the building while he remoted the locks and pocketed the keys.

  “This looks like a great place,” Nixie said as she opened the door. She stepped back so Karl could precede her, but he put a hand in the small of her back and propelled her through ahead of him. Nixie landed inside with an awkward hop. “Geez, Karl. Would it kill you to let me hold a door for you once in a while?”

  He frowned at her, confused. “Why would you want to hold a door for me?”

  “It’s symbolic. An outward demonstration of an inward respect?”

  “That’s sweet,” he said, patting her arm. “But taking care of you is my job. You want to do something nice for me, we could be on a plane to Bumani in an hour.”

  Nixie rolled her eyes. “I’d rather get the door.”

  Erik waved at them from a tall wooden booth in the corner. A giant fern dangled by a wire from the wood-beamed ceiling above his head, dipping into the booth and all but eclipsing Mary Jane across from him. Karl put his hand under Nixie’s elbow and steered her toward them. Nixie didn’t bother mentioning that she was perfectly capable of walking twenty feet without guidance.

  She hesitated at the booth’s edge, then slid in next to Erik. It was either that or let the two largest people in their party squash into one side of a small booth together.

  It was just a kiss, she told herself. Nothing to get all weird about.

  “Wow,” she said, doing her best to ignore the long stretch of hard thigh pressed against hers. “Cozy.” She reached forward and fingered the fern frond that hung at eye level.

  Mary Jane, sandwiched between the plaster wall and Karl’s considerable bulk, gave her a stiff smile. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Karl reached out and snapped off the offending frond.

  Mary Jane said, “I wouldn’t have done that.”

  A scandalized gasp had them all turning toward the aisle where a thin man with a white apron and accusing eyes stood covering his mouth with his hands.

  “That fern is a delicate living creature,” he said with great dignity. “Please refrain from doing it further violence.”

  Erik covered his face with a cloth napkin and hacked into it suspiciously. Nixie whisked the amputated frond off the table.

  “We’re so sorry,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I should say not.”

  Nixie handed the waiter the frond. He tucked it into his apron pocket with a stern look for Karl.

  “The flower boxes are lovely,” Nixie said. “Are they your work?”

  He nodded, breaking into a pleased smile. “Aren’t the poppies a smash?”

  “I’ll say. And I haven’t seen a trailing geranium like that outside Bavaria. Where did you find them?”

  “I smuggled a seedling through customs.”

  “Pre-9/11, I assume?”

  He threw a glance over either thin shoulder. “Post. Sister, you have no idea what I went through.”

  “If you’re half as committed to coffee as you are to your flowers, you must do pretty well.”

  “We brew the finest fair trade coffee in DC.”

  “And here I am, about to order tea. Is that a terrible faux pas?” Nixie asked.

  “I have a Lapsang Souchong that’ll put hair on your chest.”

  “Just what every girl needs,” Mary Jane muttered.

  “I’ll take it,” Nixie said.

  The rest ordered coffee--black, hot, unimaginative. The waiter sailed off to the counter, and Mary Jane said, “Well, I can never come here again. Thanks a lot, Fern Killer.”

  “I’ve been a vegetarian for thirty years,” Karl said. “I have great respect for life. But plants are food.”

  “Tell it to Cuppa Joe.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  A few minutes later, Nixie was sipping something that tasted like it had recently put out a campfire while outlining the highlights of her plan to save the clinic.

  “Today laid the groundwork for the gala we’re putting on two weeks from tomorrow,” she said. “It’s short notice, but I’ve called in a few favors and it looks like we’ll have a decent turnout among DC’s taste makers.”

  “Including Edward Harper and son,” Erik said, with an edge to his voice that had her setting down her cup with exaggerated care.

  “You can thank Karl for that one,” she said, giving Karl a pointed look.

  Karl consulted his phone, dragged a few things around the touch screen. “Edward talked to you about making nice with James, then?”

  “He asked me to take him to the gala,” she said, her lip curled in distaste.

  Karl shrugged his massive shoulders, pasting Mary Jane even more firmly against the wall. “I figured.”

  “Sloan’s going to have kittens,” Nixie said. “There’s no way she’ll show up for the gala if she knows about this.”

  Karl didn’t look up. “Are you kidding? Sloan’s a pro. Of course she’ll show up.”

  Erik leaned forward. “Show up, make a scene and stomp off?”

  “In full view of the press, yes.” Karl nodded absently, then set down his phone. “Like I said, she’s a pro.”

  Erik leaned back, his face dark and closed. Nixie’s stomach twisted. “She knows already? About my taking James to the gala?”

  “What does it matter? It’ll play the same in the press either way.”

  Nixie stared, stunned at this breathtaking bit of insouciance.

  Karl put his elbows on the table. “I have to admit, I wasn’t so hip on this childhood asthma thing, but it’s paying off. You can’t buy publicity like this. It’ll make a great jumping off point for Bumani.”

  “Good for you,” Nixie said. But her face was so tight with rage she didn’t know if she’d managed to move her lips. She’d walked away from all this, hadn’t she? Her mother’s endless publicity stunts? Her own frantic efforts to calm the waters and get something done while Karl milked it for every last charitable cent? She’d quit for heaven’s sake. How were they still using her to create this sick dynamic?

  “I’ve spoken to Chat Magazine, and they’ve agreed to give us a photographer starting this Monday,” Karl said. “Sloan’s agent is opening an auction for the documentary film rights tomorrow morning.”

  The furious pressure in Nixie’s head died and guilt rushed in to fill the vaccuum. “Wow. That’s fantastic.”

  “Just doing my job, kid.”

  “How did you get Chat Magazine interested in asthma?”

  “Asthma? No, Nixie, they’re coming with us to Bumani. The documentary crew, too. We’ll have to fly out first thing in the morning, but don’t worry. We’ll get you back in time for your gala.”

  “Bumani?” Nixie asked. The photographer, the documentary crew, the mock date with her asshole ex-boyfriend--none of it was for the clinic. Of course it wasn’t for the clinic. Karl’s agenda had only one item on it: putting Nixie where he thought she could do the most good, whether or not she wanted to be there.

  “We can hardly skip the gala,” Karl said. “Poor Edward’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up James’s redemption. Let’s not disappoint the guy. We can land in the afternoon, do the gala and let the publicity follow us right back to Bumani, where it belongs.”

  “I’m not going to Bumani, Karl.” Nixie locked her hands together and placed them on the table. “I told you that already. Several times, in fact.”

  He poked absently at his phone. “Hmmm?”

  “I’m not going to Bumani with you and Mom. I have work to do here.”

&n
bsp; He finally looked up. “What are you talking about?”

  “The gala is in two weeks, Karl. I have lunches, brunches, coffees, drinks, walk-and-talks. I’m meeting with anybody who’ll see me. Edward’s agreed to put me in touch.”

  “Nixie, I already put you in touch. With Bumani. Don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking about ignoring an entire nation of abused and impoverished women so you can buy asthma meds for fat kids?”

  Mary Jane sat up. “So our poor aren’t deserving of help because they’re American?”

  Karl glanced at her. “Poor kids in the rest of the world make soccer balls out of rags. Poor kids in America stuff their faces and play video games. Forgive me if I don’t see the comparison.”

  Erik smiled genially. “You want to make a ball out of rags and kick it around Anacostia, Karl? I’m sure it’s perfectly safe.”

  “Obesity is as much a consequence of poverty in America as asthma is, Dr. Dettreich,” Mary Jane said.

  “I recognize that,” Karl said, his eyes on Nixie. “But poverty in the Middle East kills children. Poverty in America makes them unhealthy. Not ideal, I understand. But it’s not as urgent a situation. A woman of Nixie’s means has to consider her responsibilities on a global scale. She can’t just follow her heart, she has to prioritize. You’re medical professionals; surely you understand?”

  “I’m not saying you should ignore Bumani,” Nixie said. “You’ve got Sloan. All you need now is a straight man, because I’m not doing it anymore.” A lightness rose up in her, fragile but gloriously buoyant. “I quit, Karl. I quit almost two months ago now. I promised you I’d find something worthwhile to do with myself, and I have. Now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain. Take Sloan and go save the world. I’m staying right here. At home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “This isn’t your home, Nixie, and Sloan’s not you,” Karl said. “She’s beautiful and she’s well-intentioned, but she’s also brittle, shallow and self-destructive. People tune in to watch her implode. They tune in to watch you endure it all with grace and serenity. They see something special in you.”

  “There’s nothing special in me,” Nixie said quickly.