"I didn't tell her anything of the sort-just that I'd give her a hand now and then, whenever it didn't conflict with my own schedule. I'll have to go back at least once, to pick up my paycheck."
"Hmph," said Cheryl, only partially appeased. "Your big fat check. Minimum wage, I believe you said?"
"Every little bit helps."
"Well… I guess if you weren't a sucker at heart I wouldn't want to be your partner."
"You put things so nicely. Now where were we?"
The telephone rang again. "I'm going to take the damned thing off the hook," Karen said irritably. "Hello? Oh. Hello, Tony. Cheryl is right here if you… Oh."
Her altered expression and tone brought a faint smile to Cheryl's face. She gathered up the papers and retreated into the dining room, carefully closing the door behind her.
This demonstration of tact only made Karen more self-conscious. "No, I can't tonight. Oh, I understand, I know you can't always tell in advance when… It isn't that. I just… Tomorrow night? I guess so. All right. Yes."
After she had hung up she went to the dining room door and threw it open, in time to see Cheryl hastily thrust one piece of paper into the pile.
"What was the object of that?" she demanded.
"I thought a little privacy-"
"Oh, crap," Karen said. Cheryl's eyes opened wide. Karen went on, "You knew what he was going to ask me. You put him up to it, didn't you? Poor Karen, she hasn't had an honest-to-God date in ten years, why don't you give the girl a break? I don't want you, so-"
"Just a goddamn minute," Cheryl exclaimed. She bounded up from her chair, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. "That's a lousy thing to say!"
"It's the truth, isn't it? You're not interested, so you kindly hand over-"
"Hand over? Tony Cardoza? You think I can give him away like I would a-a raw oyster? Tony?"
Her voice rose in outrage, ending in an absurd coloratura squeak. Alexander jumped up, barking insanely. Cheryl's lips twitched. "Hey," she gasped. "Look at us. We're having our first fight. And over Tony Cardoza."
Karen found it was impossible to hold on to her indignation. They fell into one another's arms, shaking with laughter.
"I'm sorry," Karen said after a while. "I don't know what got into me."
"It's more a question of getting something out of you," Cheryl said profoundly. "That awful inferiority complex. I mean, just look at the two of us. What man would pick a short, fuzzy-brained woman with a fat tush when he could have you?"
"I suspect Tony Cardoza might," Karen said soberly. "Cheryl-"
"Look, don't push, okay? I'm glad we had our fight, we were being so damned sweet to each other it wasn't natural, but one fight per day is enough."
"More than enough. Let's get back to work. What's that paper you were trying to hide?"
Since one corner was sticking out of the pile, she found it without difficulty, despite Cheryl's laughing attempt to prevent her. As she had suspected, it was the listing of the house in Leesburg.
"I was just looking at it," Cheryl explained. "No harm in looking."
"Or in dreaming. I wish we could, Cheryl. I like it too."
"Maybe he'll decide to rent after all. We could make him an offer."
"Why not?"
This time it was not the telephone but the doorbell that interrupted. Karen swore-Cheryl's uninhibited vocal habits were having a decided effect on her own-and Cheryl said, "If it's that Julie, don't let her in."
"I'm not letting anybody in," Karen said, going to the door.
Mindful of Alexander, among other matters, she left the chain in place when she opened it. For a moment she thought she was hallucinating. A second look told her her eyes were not deceiving her. The wavy, silver-gray hair, the aristocratic features, even the faint frown that was his normal expression when he looked at her…
"Jack?" she whispered.
"Karen? Is that you? What the devil are you doing? Open the door."
"I don't open doors without looking," Karen said. "I was mugged the other night, if you remember."
"Oh, yes. Well, I'm not going to mug anyone. Let me in."
"When did you get to Washington?"
"I arrived this afternoon. I have my ticket to prove it, so don't try accusing me of anything. I came to talk to you, in the hope that we can cut through some of the legal red tape… For God's sake, Karen, are you going to let me in or do you want everyone in the neighborhood to learn about our private affairs?"
"You really want to come in?"
"No, I'd prefer to stand here and shout at you through the crack," said her husband, with heavy sarcasm.
"Okay," Karen said. She opened the door and stepped back.
After Cheryl had detached Alexander and carried him off to the kitchen, Karen followed Jack into the parlor.
He sat down and fixed her with the icy stare that had so often reduced her to sick silence.
"I hope that childish demonstration made you feel better."
"Yes, it did," Karen admitted. "What do you want, Jack?"
He opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. Placing them on the coffee table, he studied her curiously. "You look different. I can't quite decide how… Have you lost weight?"
"Yes. I'm rather busy, so please get to the point."
"I brought these papers for you to sign. Since you chose not to reply to the letters from my lawyer-" He broke off, staring pointedly at the doorway, and Karen turned to see Cheryl hovering, not certain whether she was wanted or not.
"Come in," she said.
"Really, Karen, this is between us," Jack protested.
"I want her here," Karen said. "She's my-er- accountant."
She had planned to say "lawyer," but thought that was putting an unfair burden on Cheryl's powers of dissimulation. Jack's eyebrows lifted in a well-remembered and thoroughly hated expression, as he contemplated Cheryl's cotton dress and her bare feet. Cheryl smiled broadly and sat down, crossing her legs in such a way that the dusty sole of one foot was visible.
"Hi," she said. "Go right ahead, don't mind me."
"Accountant," Jack repeated. After considering the options for a few seconds, he selected charm. After all, he was supposed to be irresistible to women.
"I'm delighted Karen has found someone to advise her on business matters," he said in a confidential tone. "You can tell her what a mistake it would be to let personal grievances blind her to her real interests. The sooner we settle these unpleasant but necessary financial questions, the better it will be for both of us. Lawyers merely exacerbate the bitterness in a divorce. The longer they drag things out, the more money they make-and the less there is left for the parties themselves."
"I s'pose that's true," said Cheryl, widening her eyes.
"So if you'll just sign here, and here." Jack offered Karen his pen.
Karen took it. A faint shadow of anxiety crossed Cheryl's face, but she didn't move or speak.
Karen didn't know what to do. Conflicting emotions came and went with such bewildering rapidity she was unable to focus on any one.
She opened her fingers and let the pen fall to the floor.
"You have to be out of your mind," she said. "Did you really believe you could con me into doing something that stupid?"
"Now see here," Jack began angrily.
"Excuse me." Karen rose. "There's someone at the door."
As she left the room she heard Cheryl say earnestly, "You see how she is, mister. I just can't get her to do a thing. No sense in you hanging around, is there? Hey, Karen, maybe that's your friend, that nice policeman."
Karen rather hoped it was. She didn't bother putting up the chain; hearing Jack's footsteps behind her, quick and heavy with anger, she flung the door wide.
The two men confronted one another as she involuntarily stepped aside. Mark was the first to speak. "Just leaving, were you? Don't let me stand in your way."
For a moment Karen thought Jack was going to swing the briefcase he carried in a futile, spiteful blow; but he thought better of it. Mark was coatless, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow; the tendons in his forearms twitched as he flexed his hands.
Jack edged past him without speaking. Once safely on the sidewalk he turned; before he could say anything, Mark had pushed Karen out of the way and closed the door.
"I'm not sure I could control myself if he started sounding off," he explained apologetically. "My constituents would hate it if I were arrested for assault and featured prominently in the evening news-"
"I'm not sure I can control myself," Karen said. She folded her arms. "What are you doing here?"
"I just happened to be… No, I guess you won't buy that. So, all right, I was parked down the street. I saw him go in; when he didn't come back out, I started to worry."
"And who licensed you to worry about me?"
"Uh-Karen-" said Cheryl, from the door of the parlor.
"Keep out of this," said Karen. "I don't blame you, Mark, for taking precautions on Cheryl's account. That's between the two of you. But if you think you can come waltzing in here whenever some situation arises that you believe I can't handle… I didn't need you. I had everything under control."
"She really did, Mark," said Cheryl. "You should have seen her. She was-"
"Keep out of this," said Mark. Cheryl threw up her hands and vanished. "Okay, you didn't need me," Mark went on. "Fine. Great. I humbly apologize."
"Don't you see, you only made matters worse! He's already been abusive and insulting, now he's going to think-"
"I
get the point," Mark interrupted. "Don't worry, I'll stay out of his way from now on. I don't want to make matters more difficult for you. Good night, Karen."
The door slammed as she stood openmouthed, her hand half-extended-too late to stop him.
He had misunderstood. Small wonder; she hadn't made it clear that she was primarily concerned about the verbal vitriol Jack could throw at him. His constituents wouldn't like to hear on the evening news that their congressman had been arrested for assault? They wouldn't be too happy about the insinuations Jack was capable of feeding the press either. He could play the injured, betrayed husband to perfection. Those who lived "inside the Beltway," as Washington was sometimes designated, were cynically casual about sexual misconduct; the small-town Midwest was not.
Karen reached for the doorknob. She didn't want Mark or anyone else rushing to her rescue all the time. Affectionate concern could be as destructive of independence as Jack's domineering contempt had been. She had to learn to handle her own problems. But she might have put it more gracefully, and expressed her appreciation for his intentions, if not his actions. An impractical, romantic gesture, and wholly typical of Mark-not the cool, calculating politician he had become, but the quixotic boy she remembered. He couldn't possibly mount guard over them every night, he had to sleep sometime! He was probably out there now, sitting in his car and sweltering in the summer heat. He wouldn't go off in a huff, however badly she treated him. She knew she would toss and turn half the night, in a turmoil of self-reproach, if she didn't set things right.
It was very dark outside. She stood uncertainly at the gate, looking up and down the lines of parked cars. Then she saw him, across the street-only a shadow moving, but the glimmer of his light shirt and the very way he moved made her certain. She called out and started after him. It was hard to find a way between the cars. Many were parked almost bumper-to-bumper. Half-running, she passed out of shadow into the patch of yellow cast by a streetlight, and went back into shadow before she found a way to cross the street.
She never actually saw the car. Without headlights it was only a shape of greater darkness, suddenly growing larger. She heard it, though-a squeal of tires, the roar of abrupt acceleration. Midway across the street, which was narrowed to a single lane by vehicles on either side, she wasted several vital seconds trying to decide whether to retreat or go forward. A voice shouted; then, as the car hung over her like a moving cliff face, she was struck and flung back. She felt his arms close bruisingly around her body; pain stabbed her thighs as she was squeezed and thrust into a space too small to admit her, between the close-parked vehicles. A rush of hot air fanned her face and lifted her hair.
Then there was nothing but the rapidly fading sound of the engine and the crumpled shape at her feet. It took her a while to extricate herself from the cramped space where she was pinned by metal and hard plastic. As she crouched beside him, fumbling with numbed, frantic fingers in the darkness, she felt the sticky wetness of blood on her hands and heard Cheryl screaming her name.
"GET
away from me." None too gently, Mark pushed his sister aside. "I'm not going to the Hill tomorrow swathed in bandages. It's just a scratch."
"Suit yourself," Cheryl said. "It's your face. What's left of it."
Her pallor belied her sharp tone. Suddenly she sat down hard, her legs folded under her. "My God. I've never been so scared in my life. Hearing those tires squeal, then going down and finding the door wide open, and not a sign of either of you…" She covered her face with her hands.
Karen wanted to reach out to comfort her, but she couldn't seem to move. The air in the room felt abnormally cold; she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
"Calm down," Mark said. "Nobody is hurt. I knocked myself out for a second when I fell, and scraped some skin off my face. That's all. It could have been worse."
It would have been worse if you hadn't thrown yourself in the path of the car. The words formed in Karen's mind but some substance filled her throat and blocked their utterance. Cheryl took her hands from her face. She was still pale, but she had herself under control.
"Drunk driver?" she suggested.
"Could be." Mark started to shrug, winced, and changed his mind. He had fallen heavily; he'd have bruises and sore muscles next day.
"His headlights weren't on," Karen said.
The others stared at her in surprise, as if a table or a rock had spoken. She had not uttered a word since Cheryl found them-Karen sitting stupefied on the pavement, Mark trying to pull her to her feet.