Mortal Friends (8 page)

I looked around to see where Violet, Grant, and Cynthia were sitting. Cynthia was seated at Lady Morely’s table, along with Grant, but
not beside him. Violet was at a good table nearby. I was standing there in a kind of stupor, wondering how many people in that room were hiding secrets or pretending to be something they were not, when who should come and offer to pull out my chair for me but Senator Grider. I’d forgotten all about Araminta’s comment that someone had requested me, but the minute I laid eyes on his dour farmer’s face, I knew it was he.

“No Congress tonight?” I said as we sat down.

“All work and no play makes Zack a dull boy. Get it?” he said with a hopeful little smile.

“I got it. Zack, that’s you, right?”

“That is correct.”

He was so corny it was kind of disarming in its own blunt way.

“What’s new in the Senate?” I asked.

“Do you care?”

“Uh, no. Not really.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Because this is a dinner party, and we have to make conversation.”

“No, we don’t. Trouble with people is, they always think they have to talk. Know what the world fears most?”

“Another designer handbag?”

“Nope. Silence. If we had one mandatory Silent Day a month in the Senate where everybody had to just sit and think, you can bet your boots there’d be a lot less haggling and a lot more action.”

“Why don’t you propose it?”

“’Cause it’d take too much talking.” He cranked up that rusty-hinge laugh of his.

I picked at the appetizer, which was described as roasted red and yellow peppers and foie gras terrine. Grider eyed me as he wolfed his down.

“You don’t look as fresh and carefree as the last time I saw you. Got something on your mind?” he asked.

I thought this was pretty perceptive, but I wasn’t ready to answer his question honestly.

“Did you request me?” I said.

“Yup.”

“How did you even know I was going to be here?”

“Got the list. Saw your name. Had my secretary call up.”

“And why did you request me?”

“’Cause I like you. Why else? You gonna ask me why I like you? I’ll tell you. You’re pretty. You pretend to be dumber than you are, which is a welcome change from most of the people around here. You’re not in politics, so I don’t have to talk shop. And you remind me of my late wife when she was young. She always said what was on her mind. You could either take it or leave it. She didn’t give a hoot. That answer your question?”

“Yes, but I’m curious. If she was so outspoken, how did you get elected? I thought politicians’ wives had to be as careful as the candidates.”

“First time I ran for office, I told her, ‘Flora, say what’s on your mind, ’cause if they elect me they’re gonna be stuck with you.’ She did. They did. I’ve been in the Senate twenty-seven years.”

“Your wife’s name was Flora?”

“Yup. She was pretty as a rose too. Know what kind of flower you remind me of? A daffodil.”

“That’s too bad. I think I’d rather be an orchid. A lovely hothouse orchid.”

“Nope. Daffodil. What do I remind you of?”

I drew back to appraise him. “A great big ear of corn.”

“Yellow corn, white corn, Indian corn, Kandy Korn? What kinda corn you got in mind?” he said without missing a beat.

He looked dead serious for a second before a dry smile twitched across his straw lips. His gray eyes twinkled at me. Grider was a disarming combination of sternness and whimsy. I couldn’t help but like him. We talked straight through the entrée, and I suddenly realized that he’d actually managed to get my mind off my current problems.

During dessert, Sir James tapped his glass and rose to his feet. He made a toast welcoming us all to the embassy at this “Dinner for Friends.” Then he introduced Dr. Ranvaneer Singh, a special guest who he said would tell us about “a subject that is very near and dear to Constance’s and my heart: childhood lupus.”

Dr. Singh was a short, stout, bearded man in a neat white turban who explained what childhood lupus was and described some of the advances being made in the field. He lauded Lady Morely’s Childhood Lupus Foundation, which, he reminded us, had been started in mem
ory of her deceased child. He spoke in a lilting Indian accent, reminding us all that death is where it all ends up, no matter how much we eat, drink, and make merry. It was rather a strange speech which had little to do with the evening. When he finally sat down, people looked as if they’d been drenched by a hard rain. We all thought that was the end of it when, suddenly, Lady Morely stood up and tapped her glass.

“I had not planned to say anything,” she began in her clipped British accent. “But something so extraordinary has happened that I must share it with all of you here tonight….”

An expectant hush filled the room as we all wondered what joy could brighten the gloom of Dr. Singh’s speech.

Lady Morely went on: “The Childhood Lupus Foundation has received a most generous pledge of
one million dollars
—from Ms. Cynthia Rinehart!”

My heart sank. I immediately focused on Violet across the room. She was giving Cynthia the thumbs-up sign. Cynthia stood up as everyone applauded—everyone except Senator Grider, that is. He crossed his arms, sat back in his chair, and looked impassively at Cynthia as she gave her stock speech about the importance of philanthropy in today’s world.

“I put my money where my heart is,” Cynthia said finally, looking soulfully at Lady Morely, who would have burst into tears if she wasn’t English. The English know how to stow it in public.

As soon as Cynthia sat down, I leaned in and said softly to Grider, “What do you think of her?”

“Never met her. You’re the one decorating her house, aren’t you? What do
you
think of her?”

I’d forgotten that I’d told him that, and I was surprised he remembered. I knew I had to be careful what I said now.

“I, um…well, working for someone is different from knowing them socially—”

“First time I’ve seen you shy about speaking your mind. How come you don’t want to tell me what you think? Don’t you like her?”

I paused, then said firmly, “No. I don’t.”

“How come?”

I actually thought about telling him she was having an affair with my best friend’s husband, but I refrained. Instead, I said, “She’s imperious and self-important. She thinks she’s God’s gift. She has her own
agenda, and I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”

“She’d be right at home in the Senate. Sounds like a few of my colleagues,” he said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“How does she pay you?”

“By check probably…when she does pay me,” I added slyly.

“She owe you money?”

“A little.”

“Personal check?”

“I think so. Actually, I’m not sure. She might do wire transfers. I leave the bookkeeping to my assistant, Rosina.”

“You mind taking a look?”

“Okay. I’ll let you know. Why is it important?”

“It’s important how people pay for things in life.”

I suddenly wondered if Grider had requested to sit next to me for reasons other than the ones he stated. Did he have a hidden agenda as well? Was he really just after information about Cynthia?

“Like to see you home, if I may,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but I’m here with someone.”

“Who?”

“Bob Poll. You know him, don’t you?”

Grider nodded up and down, up and down, with a fixed expression on his face. He looked like one of those dolls you stick on a dashboard whose head slowly bobbles as the car starts to move. At that moment, Bob stood up and signaled to me he wanted to leave. He rose before either the ambassador or Lady Morely, which was considered an act of lèse-majesté. He started walking out of the ballroom. I had no choice but to follow him.

“Sorry, Senator, I have to go. It’s been interesting talking to you.”

“You’re not a hothouse flower, you know. You could grow in a nice plain field.”

I had no idea what he meant, but I suspected it was his idea of a flirtatious remark.

T
he minute we got into the car, Bob started ranting about the evening. He didn’t hear Maxwell when Maxwell said, “Where to, sir?” So Maxwell just started to drive.

“Worst dinner I’ve ever been to at the Brits!” Bob fumed.

He criticized everything. The food: “Inedible. A drawback in food, dontcha think?” The company: “Second-raters, all of ’em.” The ambassador: “Doesn’t understand the first thing about Washington. God help the Queen.” Even the flowers got a hit. He referred to the pretty, colorful mixed bouquets as “tacky FTD deliveries.”

I didn’t agree with Bob about the evening or about the charming new ambassador and his wife, but his anxiety struck a chord in me. I felt sorry for him and the fact that he let his feelings show over a stupid social slight—i.e., seating him in the Falklands while his ex-girlfriend got London. If anyone was at fault for this, it was Araminta Upton. Minta’s jolly demeanor hid a canny talent for arranging some truly diabolical seating assignments. If she didn’t like you, you’d know it the minute you sat down. I guess she didn’t like Bob.

When he finally calmed down, I put my head on his shoulder and snuggled up to him. His mood changed on a dime.

“I’m sorry. Thanks for putting up with me,” he said.

Maxwell tried again, and Bob told him to drive to my house. I finally got up the courage to ask him the question I’d been dying to hear the answer to all night: “So did you know your former girlfriend was going to be there?” I said it lightly, teasingly, so it wouldn’t sound as desperate as it felt.

“Mel? No, I didn’t know.”

No Academy Award for him. Of course he knew. That’s probably why he was in such a foul mood when he picked me up. But I didn’t press the point. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind raising the glass shield between us and the driver. I didn’t want Maxwell eavesdropping. Bob flicked a switch, and the partition glided up.

“How much does Melody know about us?”

Bob shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

I studied his face for a long moment. “You
really
don’t care?”

“You care more than I do. I’m with you. I’m happy I’m with you.”

“Are you really?” I knew I sounded insecure. I was.

He stroked my hand. “You don’t trust men at all, do you? Why is that?”

“Experience, I guess.”

“And you’ve been hurt,” he said matter-of-factly, like it was par for the course.

“Let’s just say…disappointed.”

“You know, I’m doing my best to remedy that. I really am.” He sounded so sincere.

“I know.”

“Are you saying I don’t pay enough attention to you? Because if that’s the case, I’m gonna pay more attention to you. I’m gonna pay so much attention to you, you’ll get sick of me.”

I smiled. He really was being adorable. “No, it’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“Okay, well, it’s just that we never seem to go beneath the surface. We’re always sort of skimming along on top of the wave. You know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“It’s kind of hard to explain because you’re so attentive and wonderful, and it’s such fun being with you. But…it’s all kind of one note. On one level.”

I felt him deflate. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

I gripped his hand tighter to reassure him. “Look, I really want this to work out for us, Bob. You make me so happy, and I think I make you happy.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“But right now I don’t feel as if we’re getting to know each other
any better—just
longer
. If that makes any sense.”

Bob clenched his jaw and turned away, humming with agitation. He stared out the window. The whole evening seemed to have derailed him somehow. We drove in silence for a long time, with Maxwell sneaking peeks at us in the rearview mirror.

I didn’t know what else to say. I was kicking myself for having said too much already. I thought I’d succeeded in plunging Bob back into his black mood. When we pulled up in front of my house, Bob walked me up the steps to my front door. I invited him in for a drink. He accepted. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we were in bed.

That night the sex was wilder than it had ever been. Afterward, instead of him getting up and leaving, we talked. It was the moment I’d been hoping for. He told me all about Melody and how painful it had been to break up with her, but how he just didn’t want to marry her, and she told him to take a hike. He told me how he was terrified of commitment, and how he didn’t want to make another mistake. He told me about his arid marriage, and how he started cheating on his wife right after their first child was born. We talked about his childhood—his distant, pious mother and his controlling, abusive father, who demeaned him constantly and made him feel inadequate no matter what kind of success he had.

I told him a lot about my own life too. The miracle was that he listened. I confessed how weird it felt that things just hadn’t turned out for me the way they were supposed to, given all my early promise. I admitted I was a little jealous of Violet because she’d started out with so little and made so much of her life, whereas I’d started out with so much and let all my opportunities slip through my fingers. I thought about telling him about Grant and Cynthia, but I decided against it. This was our watershed moment. I didn’t want to pollute it with other people.

We talked for a good two hours. At the very end, I said tearfully, “I just can’t seem to get it right.” Bob took me in his arms, kissed my tears away, and said tenderly, “Until now.”

God, what a moment. I felt so safe with him. And I knew I could help him too, because for all his money and power, he was actually quite a lonely man. I asked him to spend the night, but he very sweetly said he had to go.

“It’s almost two. Big day tomorrow. I’ve got this business thing I'm working on. Forgive me?”

I put on a bathrobe and saw him downstairs. As we reached the front door, he took me in his arms one more time and said, “I’m not good at expressing myself. I want things to work out between us, Reven. I really do. Just give me some time, will you? And trust me a little. You’re wonderful. I love being with you. I love you.”

The magic L-word! And I didn’t have to say it first or coerce him into saying it. He’d said it all on his own, with no prompting.

Naturally, I replied: “I love you too, Bob.”

He blew me a kiss at the door. Even though it was chilly, I stood on the threshold and watched him trot down the steps toward the waiting Rolls. He tapped the passenger window to wake up Maxwell, who was asleep in the driver’s seat. Bob got into the car and waved at me as they drove off into the night.

Did I love him? I certainly loved the idea of him. And I really loved that he loved me.

Or so he said.