He threw a pillow against the headboard and stretched out on the bed with the Coke can propped on his chest. As he leaned back and crossed his bare ankles, he looked a lot more comfortable than she felt.
“So you're not attracted to me.” There was a glint in his eye, a subtle male audacity that spoke of a wealth of sexual confidence.
She felt like a kid seeing how close she could get to the traffic before someone swatted her back. “I didn't say that.”
“You are attracted to me.”
“I didn't say that, either. And why should you care? After all, I kiss like a little girl.” She wanted to bite her tongue. Why hadn't she just let it go?
“I didn't mean it as an insult.”
“It's certainly not a compliment.”
“I apologize.”
“It's just not a nice thing to say.”
“I'll never say it again.”
The note of amusement in his voice made her snappish. “I supposed if I'd tried to remove your tonsils with my tongue, you'd have been happy.”
“I've already apologized.”
“I can't abide kisses like that. They're suffocating.”
“Each to his own, I guess.”
“Her own, and taking the plaque off someone's teeth is my idea of dental work, not a romantic kiss. People should keep their tongues in their own mouths.”
“I guess this means I shouldn't ask you about oral sex.”
“What?”
He threw back his head and let out a bellow of a laugh.
She flushed, but as she took a long sip of wine, she was surprised she wasn't more embarrassed.
“Come on, Nell. The night's long and we're all alone. Tell Father Mathias where this hang-up of yours comes from.”
“Mathias? I thought your name was Matthew.”
“Mathias is the Slovak version. It's Mat with one t. My sisters' doing. Unfortunately, it stuck. And don't change the subject on me. I take it your ex-husband isn't much of a kisser.”
She sipped her wine, then found herself saying, “Not with me anyway.”
“With someone else?”
She hesitated, then nodded slowly. He had no idea who she was, and she was so tired of pretending she and Dennis had been blissfully happy. At least Nell Kelly could tell some small part of the truth.
“A lot of someones?”
“No, only one. He was faithful. He just wasn't faithful to me.” She toyed with the pillow in her lap. “He wasn't anything with me.”
There was a long pause. “Are you trying to tell me you didn't have sex with your husband?”
She realized what she'd almost revealed. “Yes, of course I did. It just wasn't great sex.”
That was a lie. There had been a few weeks of fumbling attempts that had left her with this humiliating uncertainty about whether or not she was still a virgin. She felt like a fool. All through high school and college, her healthy body had ached for a man's touch, but she'd been raised to be daddy's good girl, so she'd said no the few times a boy had gotten up the courage to ignore the Secret Service.
“The guy must have a problem.”
A big one. He was buried six feet under at Arlington National Cemetery. She choked back a laugh that felt like a sob. “Are you sure I wasn't the one with the problem?”
He paused for a moment, and she realized he was really thinking it over. “Yeah, I'm sure.”
She found herself smiling. “Thank you.”
“Feeling a little insecure, are you?”
“A little.”
“So he had great sex with his girlfriend, but not with you.”
“I don't know what kind of sex he had with his ... his ... girlfriend.”
He straightened, and his eyebrows shot together. “Crap.”
“What?”
“It wasn't a girlfriend,” he said slowly. “It was a guy.”
Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass, and she sent the pillow tumbling as she jumped up from her chair. “That's ridiculous! Why would you say something like that? How could you even think it?”
“I don't know. It just popped into my head. And the corner of your mouth is tight again. Your ex-husband's gay. That's why you divorced him.”
“No! That's absurd. It's ridiculous.” She rubbed at the wine spill with her other hand. “If you'd ever met him ... He was—he is a very masculine man. Very good-looking. Athletic. The kind of man other men are comfortable around. You're completely wrong!”
He didn't say a word. He simply gazed at her, and his gray eyes were filled with pity.
She tried to curb her panic. Why had she been so reckless? It was a secret she'd kept for so long—the secret that would have brought down an administration and made the Clinton sex scandals look tame.
The married President of the United States was a homosexual.
The only person who had known besides herself was Terry Ackerman, Dennis's oldest friend, deputy chief of staff, and lifelong lover. She stepped over the pillow she'd dropped and walked to the window carrying her wine. Through the sheers, she could see the lights of the swimming pool, and just beyond a truck whizzing by on the highway.
Until Dennis and Terry had met during their junior year at Harvard, both had been in deep denial about their sexuality, but once they'd set eyes on each other, that was no longer possible. They had everything in common. They were from prominent families. Both were ambitious and popular with their peers, two young lions on the fast track to glory. They dated new girls every week and told themselves lies about the sexual fantasies they were having. But their attraction had been so strong that they were powerless against it.
She remembered the November night six weeks after she and Dennis were married when she'd finally forced her husband to confess the truth. They'd been campaigning in New York City and staying at the Waldorf-Astoria. She'd been miserable. Her marriage hadn't quite been consummated, and she'd finally realized it wasn't her fault.
Tears had clouded Dennis's eyes as he'd sat on the end of the bed and stared down at his hands, his voice so choked with guilt it had been hard to understand him.
“The moment Terry and I first looked at each other, we knew we'd found our only soul mate. Neither of us has ever looked at anyone else since.” He'd gazed up at her, his golden brown eyes stricken. “Except for Terry, you're the best friend I've ever had. I do love you, Nealy.”
“Like a sister,” she said dully. “You love me like a sister.”
“I'm sorry.” His tears had glistened. “I'm so sorry.”
His betrayal ran so deep, she wanted to die, and at that moment, she'd hated him.
“I had to have a wife if I wanted to be President,” he said. “I'd always been so fond of you, and when your father started pushing us together, I—I—”
“You decided to use me,” she'd murmured. “You knew I'd fallen in love with you, and you used me.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“How could you do it?”
“I want to be President,” he said simply. “And there'd been some whispers.”
She hadn't heard them. She'd never suspected a thing, not even before their marriage when he'd used the microscopic scrutiny they were receiving from the media as an excuse to postpone making love until they were married.
The morning after his confession she'd fled to Nantucket, where she'd sealed herself in the guest house of her father's estate and tried to come to terms with what had happened. She'd made up her mind to get a quick divorce. Dennis deserved nothing better.
But every time she picked up the phone to call her attorney, she set it back down. Dennis had betrayed her, but he wasn't evil. In every other way, he was the most decent man she knew. If she divorced him as he was launching his presidential campaign, she would ruin him. Was that what she wanted?
Part of her craved the revenge she deserved. But she'd never had an appetite for bloodlust, and her stomach rebelled each time she looked at the telephone.
It was Terry who'd finally talked
her into continuing with the marriage. Terry, the funny, irreverent man she'd known as Dennis's oldest friend, had barged into the guest house, poured her a drink, and looked her straight in the eye.
“Don't divorce him, Nealy. Stick it out. You know there's not another man running who'll make as good a President.“ His expression had been filled with urgency as he took her hands and squeezed them. ”Please, Nealy. He never meant to hurt you. I think he convinced himself he could pull it off and you'd never know.”
“The lies people tell themselves.” She'd walked out on Terry and wandered the beach for hours, but he was still waiting when she returned.
“I'll give him one term, and then I'm filing for divorce.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew that something was dying inside her, all her romantic dreams.
Terry, who did deadly imitations of their political opponents and loved to laugh, had started to cry. She realized he'd made a devil's bargain of his own.
Afterward, Dennis did everything he could to show his gratitude. In all ways but the most essential, he was a wonderful husband. Although she could never entirely forgive him for his deceit, she didn't want to become a victim of her own bitterness, and she forced herself to accept his friendship.
Her relationship with Terry was more complex. She held the place that was rightfully his, and some part of him resented her for it. At the same time, he was an honorable man, and he tried to compensate by becoming her tireless defender. It had been he, rather than her hardworking husband, who protected her from her father's meddling. The night Dennis had died, she and Terry held each other, but even in the midst of her grief, she'd known his own ran deeper.
“How long did you stay married to him?”
“What?” She jumped as Mat's voice penetrated her thoughts.
“Your gay husband. How long were you married?”
“A—a few years. And he wasn't gay.”
“Come on, Nell. Why are you still trying to protect him?”
Because now she had his legacy to guard, and in some ways that was an even bigger responsibility than being his First Lady.
Mat set his Coke on the nightstand. “There's a big hole in your story, you know. It's a little hard to imagine why he's trying so hard to find you.”
“It's his family that wants to find me,” she managed. “They're very conservative, and they're determined to protect their image.”
He rose in a movement that was curiously graceful for such a large man. “Nell, I hope you've taken care of yourself. There are a lot bigger problems for women with gay husbands than a broken heart.”
She didn't have to ask what he meant, and she wasn't going to explain that there was no need to worry. “My husband was never promiscuous; he just loved someone else ... another woman,” she repeated out of habit. “I'm not a fool, and I'm not a health risk to anyone. I was a blood donor less than a month ago. Can you say the same?”
“I'm not a fool, either,” he said quietly.
There was only one reason to have a discussion like this, and she felt too raw at the moment to face it. She set down her wineglass and stood. “I'm tired.”
“The night's young.” He gazed over at her and smiled. “I'll bet I was wrong about that kissing thing because you sure don't look like a little girl, especially in that nightgown. Maybe we should try it again and see.”
“Maybe we shouldn't.” Oh, but she wanted to, which was why she made herself head for the door. “Thanks for the wine.”
“1 guess you don't have the courage of your convictions.”
“I guess I wasn't born yesterday, either.” She heard him chuckle as she closed the door between their rooms.
Her skin felt hot. She couldn't believe how much she'd wanted to stay. But he was still only a step away from being a stranger, and she needed more time to think about this.
Button lay curled next to Lucy in the double bed. Nealy made a place for her on the floor, then gently picked her up. The baby snuggled against her breast. She brushed her lips against that warm, downy head, then gently laid her on the makeshift bed and crawled in next to her sister.
It was a long time before she fell asleep.
* * *
As soon as Nealy awakened the next morning, she crept into Mat's room to steal his keys so he couldn't take off in the Oldsmobile and leave her behind. Once she got inside, however, she simply stared.
He lay face down across the bed with the white sheet tangled at the base of his bare, tan back. His hair was dark against the pillow bunched so aggressively beneath his head, his hand curled in a fist. As she stood there watching, he stirred and shifted his weight so that one leg angled out from beneath the sheet. It was strong and muscular, lightly dusted with dark hair. The sight of him filled her with a deep, un-Cornelia-like hunger.
She remembered everything she'd told him in her reckless confession last night. It had been so tempting to hide inside another person's identity and spill her secrets. Tempting and foolish. She palmed the Olds keys, crept from the room, and made her way to the bathroom. This new day was a gift, and she refused to spoil it with old heartache.
An hour later and freshly showered, Mat poked his head into her room. He frowned as he saw the padding beneath her top. “I thought I told you I didn't want you wearing that again.”
Button let out a squeal of delight as she caught sight of him. She began to squirm to get away from Nealy, who was trying to dress her in her last clean outfit. “I believe you mentioned it.”
“Well?”
“Are you under the illusion that I pay attention to you?”
“Da!”
“I want to go to the mall,” Lucy said as she came out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet from her shower and, for once, it wasn't maroon.
“Nell's not pregnant,” Mat announced. “That big stomach under her clothes is a pillow.”
“No way.”
He poked the padding before she could stop him. “It's bogus.”
Lucy studied Nealy's stomach. “Why?”
“She robbed a bank, and she's on the run.”
“Cool.” For the first time Lucy regarded Nealy with respect. “So did you kill anybody or anything?”
Nealy spent a moment enjoying the fantasy of herself as Bonnie Parker. “1 didn't rob a bank. Mat's just being cute. I'm ... hiding from my ex-husband and his fam-ily.”
“That's dumb.” Lucy shoved her clothes into her bag.
“Yes, well, I'd appreciate it if you would keep this to yourself.” She shot Mat a dark look. “Unlike some people who need to tell the world everything.”
“Da!” The baby squealed as Nealy fastened the final snap on her romper and released her.
Mat winced.
“I'm going to the mall today whether anybody wants to or not,” Lucy said.
Nealy saw trouble brewing, and to arrest it she imitated Mindy Collier, her perky social secretary.
“I thought we might all go on a picnic.”
“Picnics suck. I'm going to the mall.”
Button scrambled to the end of the bed closest to Mat and would have fallen if Nealy hadn't grabbed her by the ankle, then gently lowered her over the side. “I don't think there are too many malls around here.”
“There's one in the next town,” Lucy countered. “This girl at the pool told me.”
Button pulled herself up on the side of the bed and shrieked at Mat, who was looking around the room for the keys that were tucked into the pocket of Nealy's shorts.
“Let's go to the mall and then go on a picnic,” she said reasonably.
“What's this thing you've got with picnics?” Mat stopped just behind her. “And where are the keys to that old junker?”
“I think picnics are fun.”
But she'd grabbed for her stomach too late. He'd already reached under her top from the back and pulled open the ties. “First I'm going to burn this, then I'm heading down to the garage to hold all the mechanics hostage until Mabel's fixed.”
She grabbed the pad
ding from him and thrust it in her satchel. “We can stop at the garage on our way to the mall before the picnic.”
“Ohmygod, look!” Lucy exclaimed.
Nealy turned just in time to see Button take three tottery steps across the open carpet toward Mat.
“She's walking!” Lucy's eyes danced. “I was getting so worried. She's a year old, and her dad was a moron, and—” She snapped her mouth shut, unwilling for them to see any emotion from her except disdain. Even so, she still couldn't quite hide her pride, and Nealy wanted to hug her.
Button made a lunge for Mat's leg, but he was too far away, and she began to tumble. He scooped her up like a linebacker retrieving a loose football.
“Daaaa . ..” She gazed at him worshipfully.
Mat frowned.
She cocked her head to the side and fluttered her lashes.
“I think I'm gonna hurl,” Lucy said.
Nealy giggled.
He shot her a sour look, then tucked Button under his arm like a potato sack. “Nobody's going anywhere if I don't find the keys.”
“I'm driving,” Nealy said brightly. “You had a hard day yesterday.”
“You've got them?”
She'd had years of practice avoiding answering direct questions. “I just hope it doesn't rain today. Grab the diaper bag, Lucy. We're off!”
She snatched up her own purse, along with the satchel that held her things, clutched them in front of her flat stomach, and charged into the hall. The doors of the elevator were starting to close, but she managed to slip inside, leaving the rest of them behind. When she reached the lobby, she didn't glance either right or left, just kept her stomach covered and headed for the parking lot.
As she settled into the antique Oldsmobile, she reached for her satchel, then had second thoughts about putting the padding back on. Mat clearly detested it, and he was perfectly capable of making a public scene. With her short hair and cheap clothes, she was a far cry from America's stylish First Lady. Would it be riskier to test Mat or go without and hope that she could pull it off?
As she debated, Mat came out of the lobby door with a scowl on his face, while Lucy trailed behind carrying Button.
Nealy stared at the Fed Ex envelope he was holding and realized she'd once again let the business of daily living get away from her. Three years of enjoying the efficiency of the White House mail room had made her lose touch. But this package had been too important for her to forget, and she needed to remember she no longer had an army of secretaries ready to hand over her private mail.
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