Tomorrow's Promise

by Sandra Brown

  Through the hours of close confinement in the committee room she adroitly avoided any encounter with Dax, intentional or otherwise. He too had apparently decided that contact with her would be disadvantageous, for he didn't make any overtures toward her.

  They appeared to be strangers, unaware of each other, but beneath the surface the awareness was a choking reality. Keely often felt Dax's eyes on her. Remembering their early-morning telephone conversation, she blushed to the roots of her hair, whether she met his eyes or not. Glancing at him was an urge she didn't resist often enough.

  His mannerisms were becoming endearingly familiar. His tasteful neckties rarely remained knotted for longer than an hour. Impatient, restless fingers would tug on the knot until it loosened. The collar button of his shirt would be freed from its hole. The strong, tanned column of his throat would expand with his now unrestricted breathing.

  He sat leaning back with his elbow propped on the padded maroon leather arm of his chair. His chin rested on his thumb, three fingers covered his upper lip and mouth, and his index finger lay along his cheek pointing unerringly to the faint scar just below his eye.

  He listened carefully; he watched intently; he jotted down notes with a rapid scrawl.

  He looked at Keely.

  Once, his steady gaze was so compelling that she courageously, albeit unwisely, met it. Her heart skidded to a jarring halt. Her breath was trapped in squeezing lungs. Perspiration lubricated her palms. Her stomach knew the fluttering of a million wings. His eyes let her know that his thoughts were no more on what the speaker was saying than were hers.

  The finger lying along his cheek lifted in a silent hello. The motion was so subtle that no one would even see it unless the salutation was meant for him. Keely saw it and acknowledged it with a brief lowering of her eyelids. The message said more than merely hello. It said: I wish I could talk to you. I wish we weren't in this particular place at this particular point in time, doing what we're doing. I wish… So many things that were impossible.

  At noon of the third day, when Congressman Parker adjourned them for lunch, he recommended that they take the rest of the afternoon and the next day off.

  "We've had three full days of discussion, I think we all need time to digest what we've heard, assess our opinions, do our own research, and clear out the cobwebs, so to speak, before a final discussion." When the motion was unanimously agreed to, he banged the gavel and the committee hearing was adjourned.

  "What a break," Betty said gratefully. "I need a day to do my hair and nails. I'm running out of money too and need to find a bank. What about you, Keely? Want to get in some shopping this afternoon?"

  Keely smiled, but shook her head. "I don't think so, Betty, but I'm sure some of the others will go with you. If you don't mind, I'm going to beg off. I think I'll go to my room and collapse with a good book or a good nap."

  Betty laughed and patted the younger woman's arm. "Then I'll say goodbye. See you later for dinner?"

  Keely considered for a moment then said, "Sure. Call me when you get back to the hotel."

  Betty turned and walked away, but not before glancing worriedly behind Keely. Before Keely could wonder why, she felt the light tap on her shoulder. Dax was there, smiling too widely, too brightly, too openly, to denote intimacy. "Mrs. Williams," he spoke quickly. "I haven't had a chance to talk to you since we met at lunch the other day. I hope you aren't finding the hearing too tedious."

  "Not at all, Congressman. I more or less expected things to move slowly. It will be to our advantage, I think, for all of you to weigh the issue carefully."

  He nodded in deep concentration as though she were expounding on something of great importance. He moved closer, folded his arms over his chest, and studied the toes of his polished loafers. His voice was so low she could barely hear him when he said, "How are you really?"

  "Fine."

  "I have to go to a damn cocktail party tonight at the French Embassy. I was told to bring a date if I wished. You wouldn't consider…"

  The invitation was left dangling, but she supplied the rest of it. "No, Dax," she murmured. "You know that wouldn't be wise."

  His grim expression perfectly suited the topic they should have been discussing – the MIAs. "Yeah I know," he muttered. "Well, let's hope things work out for the best for everyone, Mrs. Williams," he said more loudly and stuck out his hand for her to shake. Their eyes locked when their hands clasped and, for a heartbeat, the rest of the world fell away. All too soon it came back.

  "Hey, Congressman," Al Van Dorf said from behind them. "I wondered if I might get a statement from you about that armaments proliferation bill being talked up in committee."

  "Sure, Al. Enjoy the time off, Mrs. Williams," Dax said politely.

  "Thank you. I will. Mr. Van Dorf." She nodded her goodbyes and left the two men. Leaden legs carried her out of the chambers. It took several minutes for her to hail a cab on Pennsylvania Avenue. She didn't mind. She almost wished she had agreed to go shopping with Betty. The afternoon hours yawned before her. Anything was better than sitting morosely in a lonely hotel room, yearning for things that couldn't be.

  * * *

  As is turned out, she remembered very little of that dismal afternoon. She returned to her room and immediately fell asleep, not waking until Betty knocked on her door several hours later. They decided to stay at the hotel and eat at Trader Vic's because of the inclement weather.

  When they were done with their meal and crossing the lobby toward the elevator, Betty said, "I bought a new suit today. Why don't you come up and I'll model it for you. There's an old Robert Taylor-Barbara Stanwyck movie on television tonight. Of course, you probably don't remember them."

  Keely laughed. "I certainly do! You won't mind the company?" She hated the thought of returning to her room. After her nap she knew she wouldn't be ready to go to sleep for hours.

  "No, I'd love it. Let's really misbehave and order up a bottle of wine," Betty said with adolescent enthusiasm.

  Several hours later Keely was feeling mellow after drinking a few too many glasses of wine and watching the sentimental, romantic black-and-white movie. She and Betty had giggled like schoolgirls over the wine and cried over the tender love story. She left Betty yawning sleepily and weaved her way down the deserted hallway.

  The elevator doors swished open. Keely was instantly sobered when she saw Dax leaning against the back wall. His previous gloomy slouching posture was replaced by one of rigid attention, as though an order had been snapped by a drill sergeant intolerant of laziness. He uncrossed his ankles and dropped the overcoat that had been draped over his shoulder and held by one finger. His face broke into a wide grin. "Going up?"

  "No, down."

  "Come along for the ride," he invited. When he saw her hesitate and glance around apprehensively, he said, "No one can blame us for meeting accidentally in a public elevator when we're staying in the same hotel. Besides that, what could possibly happen in an elevator?" He was teasing, but Keely's eyes dropped involuntarily, but significantly, to the lushly carpeted floor of the cubicle. "Forget I said that," he growled. "Get in."

  She stepped through the sliding doors and they closed behind her, sealing them in, separating them from the rest of the world, creating their own universe.

  She cleared her throat self-consciously. "How was the party?"

  "Loud. Smoky. Crowded."

  "Sounds fun."

  He hadn't given a damn about the party, could barely remember it though he had left it only minutes ago. He had had a terrible time. He had eaten the rich canapés, all the while wondering what Keely's favorite foods were, wishing they could be sharing a peanut butter sandwich and popcorn in front of a fireplace, on a couch, in a bed…

  He had drunk perhaps a tad too much of the limitless liquor, wondering if she liked chilled white wine. While listening to the shrill voice of the buxom, over-jeweled wife of a foreign diplomat, he was seeing Keely's mouth1 shimmering with spilled wine. He imagined his t
ongue lifting golden droplets from the petal-soft lips.

  The other men at the fete had ogled a senator's secretary whose well-known figure had been touted and tasted by every male on Capitol Hill. Tonight the generous body had been encased in a tight red dress. Pendulous breasts and broad hips had swayed invitingly. Only a week ago Dax's comments on the woman's anatomy would have been as clever and imaginative as anyone's. Tonight she had seemed obscene and stupid. His thoughts had centered around a much daintier figure. Softly feminine, yet neat. Curvaceous, yet compact. Touchable, yet … untouchable.

  "You're home," she said softly. The elevator had ascended to the top floor and the doors had slid open. Across the hallway was his suite of rooms, void of warmth. The only source of heat in which he found comfort this night was standing with him in the elevator, looking at him with bemusement.

  "Where were you just now?" he asked.

  "In Betty's room. We watched an old movie and demolished a bottle of wine."

  "Red or white?"

  She closed her eyes as if savoring the vintage. "Golden," she whispered. Her eyes flew wide when his anguished groan filled the small cubicle like the roar of an angry, thwarted tiger. His finger pressed the button for the seventh floor and it lighted up as the doors closed. "What—"

  "I'll ride with you to your floor," Dax said by way of explanation.

  "You shouldn't."

  "You don't have to remind me."

  She looked away, hurt by his sharp tone. "I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I'm not angry at you. I'm mad at—"

  "I know," she interjected quickly. The less said, the better.

  The elevator stopped on her floor and the door opened, but before she could step out, he pressed another button. She didn't notice which one and it didn't matter. The doors closed again. "Dax—"

  "I'm picking you up tomorrow morning in front of the hotel. Ten o'clock. Dress casual."

  "I can't," she objected, shaking her head.

  "Can't dress casual?" he teased. For the first time she saw the familiar smile, the one that deepened the dimple and lightened his dark eyes from ebony to chocolate.

  She gave him a withering look. "I can't meet you."

  "Sure you can."

  The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and Keely and Dax were both surprised to see a middle-aged couple standing on the other side. They had almost forgotten that they weren't the only two people in the world. "Good evening," Dax said genially. "Where to?"

  "Three," the man said.

  Dax pushed the specified button for the man and leaned negligently back against the wall as though he were only a casual passenger in the elevator. "Are you from out of town?" he asked.

  "New Mexico. Las Cruses," the man answered. The woman was staring at Dax's discarded coat still lying on the floor. She raised myopic, suspicious eyes to Keely, who smiled sickly. The woman grasped her husband's arm as though seeking protection from these immoral, large-city types.

  "Ah, there's a fine university in Las Gruses," Dax said.

  "New Mexico State," the man said proudly.

  "Right!" Dax snapped his fingers. Keely could have throttled him. He was enjoying himself.

  The elevator stopped at the third floor and the man ushered out his disapproving wife. "Have an enjoyable stay," Dax said with a smile that should have graced a Chamber of Commerce brochure. The doors closed again. "Now, as I was saying…"

  "No, I was saying that I can't go anywhere with you, Dax."

  "We're taking the day off. Having an outing. We've both been cooped up in that stuffy room for too many days and it's beginning to play on my nerves. And if I may say so, you're looking a little peaked yourself."

  In fact, the opposite was true. Her cheeks were flushed from recent embarrassment and wine consumption. Her eyes were large and shiny remnants of her uninterrupted sleep that afternoon and tearful enjoyment of the movie. Her hair was beguilingly mussed. She had never looked more beautiful, more alluring, sexier.

  His eyes riveted on her lips, which had parted with the intention to argue, but any arguments died unspoken. Even without the benefit of artificial gloss, her mouth shone with its own dewy softness and he longed to drink of it.

  "Why can't two friends spend a few hours in each other's company?" They weren't friends and never would be and they both knew it. But his gravelly words took up time and space necessary to keep him from crushing her against him as he ravaged that kissable mouth.

  They didn't speak again, only looked at each other, saying more silently than verbal communication would allow them. This time when the doors opened on her floor, he pressed the Door Open button.

  "Ten o'clock tomorrow."

  "Someone – anyone – might see us. Van Dorf…" Her objections meant nothing. There was no doubt in either's mind that she was going to meet him.

  "No one will notice. I borrowed a friend's car. It's a silver Datsun. I'll circle the block until you come out on the K Street side. Don't look furtive or guilty. Just open the car door and get in."

  "Dax—"

  "Good night." He placed his index finger on her breastbone and pushed her gently across the threshold of the elevator. He wasn't trying to get rid of her; he was removing the temptation to commit a criminal offense. He released the button on the panel and the doors closed between them.

  For long moments Keely stared at the doors, not seeing them, not seeing anything. Dazedly turning toward her room, she was already in a quandary about what to wear the next day.

  * * *

  Her final choice was a pair of gray flannel slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, and a herringbone blazer that matched both. Black suede boots would keep her feet warm, as the weather was cold and rainy, not yet conceding that spring was imminent. She had no idea where Dax was taking them, so she wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. At five minutes to ten she picked up her overcoat and left her room.

  Her heart was thudding with guilty anticipation as she crossed the crowded lobby with what she hoped looked like nonchalance. No sooner had she reached the broad doors than she saw a low, sleek silver Datsun slow to a crawl beside the curb. Pushing the door against the strong wind, she whisked through it, ducked her head to be sure it was Dax behind the wheel of the car, and opened the door. They both laughed when she plopped into the deep leather seat and sped away.

  "Good morning," he said, taking advantage of a red traffic light to turn his head and look at her.

  "Good morning."

  "You're right on time."

  "Punctuality is one of my virtues. How many times did you go around the block?"

  "Three. Impatience is one of my virtues." They laughed again with the sheer pleasure of being alone together. He resented the light for turning green and forcing him to pay attention to his driving.

  "Where are we going?" Keely asked, not caring.

  "Mount Vernon."

  "Mount Vernon!" She looked through the tinted car windows at the drizzle and low-hanging, ominously threatening clouds. "Today? Who would go to Mount Vernon on a day like today?"

  He stopped at another traffic light before answering her. Swiveling to face her, he tweaked her nose. "No one. That's why we're going there."

  She acknowledged his astuteness with a slight bow. "You're not a senatorial candidate for nothing, Mr. Devereaux. You're positively brilliant."

  "Sometimes I'm so smart it's frightening," he boasted and got an elbow in his ribs for punishment.

  She didn't bother him while he threaded his way through the traffic on Constitution Avenue toward the Lincoln Memorial. She folded her coat behind the bucket seats, placed her shoulder bag beneath her legs, and tuned in a stereo radio station agreeable to them both.

  They crossed the Potomac River on the Arlington Memorial Bridge and took the Memorial Highway along the river toward George Washington's homestead. The woods that lined the road were still-naked reminders of winter.

  "This will look lovely in a few weeks when the dogwoods and redbuds start blooming," Kee
ly mused.

  "Yeah. I love it at home when al the flowers bloom. We have azaleas on all four sides of the house, and it's a magnificent sight when they're in full bloom. We hire a man whose sole responsibility is to take care of the flowering shrubs."

  "We?"

  "Well, that's not quite accurate. I still consider the main house my parents' home. Several years ago they moved to a smaller house on the other side of our property. Ostensibly the move was to keep my father from having to climb stairs, but I think it was to make me feel lonely rattling around in that large house all by myself and to provide an incentive for me to find a wife and start having grandbabies."

  "Why haven't you?"

  "I haven't found anyone important enough to me to share my life with." His eyes wavered from the scenic highway to look across the narrow space of the car at her. "When I do find her, I'll fight like hell to get her into that house with me."

  Her throat closed as tightly as the fists she clenched in her lap. She looked away from the compelling force of his eyes. "What's it like? Your house. Is it antebellum?"

  He faced the road again. "No. The Devereauxs did have an ancestral home, but it was razed by the Union Army during the war. It took us until 1912 to recover our losses from the war and Reconstruction and build another. I love it, but I'm not going to tell you much about it. I want you to see it for yourself sometime."

  "Is it in Baton Rouge?"

  "Twenty miles from there."

  "How much land do you have?"

  He shrugged self-consciously. "Enough to farm profitably and raise a few horses."

  "Are you dodging my questions? You're not giving me straight answers, Mr. Devereaux, a talent you've no doubt perfected from dealing with reporters."

  He laughed. "You've found me out."

  She didn't press the issue and he didn't volunteer any more information. Obviously he was embarrassed by his family's wealth. It had been the topic of many unflattering editorials.

  The remainder of the fifteen-mile trip was passed in companionable silence. When the car pulled into the parking facility, it joined few others. Where usually there were dozens of tour buses, today only one was parked in the lot provided them.