Mirror Image

by Sandra Brown

  “Don’t forget to remind him about his shirt,” Ralph said.

  “Oh, yes, wear a blue shirt, not white. White doesn’t photograph as well on TV.”

  “All my blue shirts are dirty.”

  “I told you to send them out to be laundered every day.”

  “Well, I forgot, okay?” Suddenly he swiveled around and snatched the scissors from the barber’s hands. “I don’t want my hair cut any more. I like it like this.”

  In a tone of voice he might have used on Mandy, Dirk said, “It’s too long, Tate.”

  He was out of his chair in an instant. “Who says? The voters? Those workers out at GD? Channel five’s viewing audience? Or just you?”

  Avery wanted to applaud. Unlike everyone else, she hadn’t been caught up in the pandemonium going on around her. She’d been watching Tate. The more he read of the papers Ralph had given him to study, the deeper his scowl had become. She had sensed that his temper was about to erupt and she’d been right.

  He whipped the drape from around his neck, sending hair clippings flying. He fished into his pocket and came up with a fifty-dollar bill, foisted it on the barber, and walked him to the door. “Thanks a lot.” Tate shut the door on him.

  When Tate turned back into the room, his expression was as ominous as the low clouds that still scuttled across the sky. “Next time, Dirk, I’ll let you know when I need a haircut, if I deem it any of your business, which, frankly, I don’t. And I would also appreciate it if you’d stay out of my closet and consult me before moving in on my family’s private quarters.”

  “There was no place else to meet,” Eddy said.

  “The hell there wasn’t, Eddy,” he shouted, rounding on his friend, who had dared to intervene. “This hotel has several hundred rooms. But since you’re already here,” he said, picking up the sheets of paper he’d tossed down on the dresser, “I’d like to know what the hell this is supposed to signify?”

  Ralph leaned over and read a few lines. “That’s your position on the new education bill.”

  “Like hell it is. This is bullshit. That’s what this is.” He slapped the sheet of paper with the back of his hand. “Whitewashed, watered down, wishy-washy bullshit.”

  Zee left her chair. “I’ll take Mandy into the other room to watch TV.” She led the child away by the hand.

  “I have to go potty, Grandma.”

  “Okay, darling. Fancy, you might want to come with us.”

  “Hell, no. I wouldn’t budge for ten million bucks,” she said from her position in the middle of the bed. She opened a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit and added it to the one already in her mouth.

  When the door had been closed behind Zee and Mandy, Ralph ventured forth with a conciliatory explanation. “We simply felt, Tate, that your position on some of the campaign issues should be softened.”

  “Without consulting me?” Tate demanded, bearing down on the much shorter man. “It’s my position,” he said, thumping his chest. “My position.”

  “You’re trailing in the polls,” the man pointed out reasonably.

  “I was doing that before you were retained to advise me. I’ve sunk lower since then.”

  “Because you haven’t been taking our advice.”

  “Uh-uh,” Tate said, stubbornly shaking his head. “I think it’s because I’ve been taking too much of it.”

  Eddy stood up. “What are you implying, Tate?”

  “Not a damn thing. I’m outright stating that I don’t need anybody to pick out my shirts and suits or hire my barbers. I’m saying that I don’t want anybody to put words in my mouth. I’m saying that I don’t want anybody softening my position until it’s so soft that even I don’t recognize it. The people who have pledged their votes to me on the basis of those positions would think I’d gone crazy. Or worse, that I had betrayed them.”

  “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  Tate confronted his brother. “It’s not your hair they’re trying to cut, Jack,” he said heatedly.

  “But it might just as well be,” he fired back. “I’m in this as much as you are.”

  “Then you should know how important it is to me that I’m my own man.”

  “You are,” Eddy said.

  “The hell I am! What’s wrong with the way I dress?” He gestured down to the clothes he’d worn to breakfast. “Do you really think it matters to those workers out at GD what color shirt I have on? Hell, no! They want to know if I’m for a strong defense program or for cutting the defense budget because my Senate vote may determine whether or not they’ll have jobs for the next several years.”

  He paused to draw a breath and plowed his hand through his hair, which, Avery was glad to see, the barber hadn’t gotten too much of. “Look, guys, this is me.” He held his arms out perpendicular to his body. “This is the ticket. This is how I originally went to the Texas voters. Change me and they won’t recognize me.”

  “We don’t want to change you, Tate,” Dirk said expansively. “Only make you better.”

  He clapped Tate on the shoulder. Tate shrugged off his hand. “Gentlemen, I’d like to speak to my family in private, please.”

  “If there’s something to discuss—”

  Tate held up his hand to ward off their objections. “Please.” They moved toward the door reluctantly. Dirk shot Eddy a telling glance before they went out.

  “Carole, would you pour me a cup of that coffee, please?”

  “Certainly.” As she rose to do so, Tate dropped into an easy chair. She brought the requested cup of coffee and sat down on the upholstered arm of his chair. Tate took the coffee with one hand and casually draped his other over her knee.

  Eddy said, “Well, that was quite a speech.”

  “I tried it your way, Eddy. Against my better judgment, I let you hire them.” His gaze was direct and so was his statement. “I don’t like them.”

  “I’ll talk to them, tell them to back off a little.”

  “Wait,” Tate said, as Eddy headed for the door. “That’s not good enough. They don’t listen.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell them that by the end of this tour we want to see drastic improvements in the polls or else.”

  “Still not good enough.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  Tate looked at everyone in the room before saying, “Give them their walking papers.”

  “Fire them?” Jack exclaimed. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not? We hired them, didn’t we?”

  “You just don’t shrug off a company like Wakely and Foster. You’ll never be able to use them again.”

  “I don’t consider that any great loss.”

  “You can’t do it,” Jack said stubbornly.

  Eddy pleaded, “Tate, I beg you to think about this carefully.”

  “I have. I don’t like them. I don’t like what they’re trying to do.”

  “Which is?” Jack’s tone was snide, his stance belligerent.

  “Which is to mold me into what they think I should be, not what I am. Okay, maybe I need some grooming. I could use some coaching, some finesse. But I don’t like things to be mandated. I sure as hell don’t like words put in my mouth when I don’t even agree with them.”

  “You’re only being stubborn,” Jack said. “Just like when you were a kid. If I told you you couldn’t do something, that’s exactly what you became damned and determined to do just to show me up.”

  Tate expelled a long breath. “Jack, I’ve listened to your advice, and it’s always been sound. I don’t want to second-guess you on this decision—”

  “But that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

  “It was my decision, too,” Tate said, raising his voice. “Now I’m changing my mind.”

  “Just like that?” Eddy said, snapping his fingers. “With the election only a few weeks away, you want to switch horses in the middle of the stream?”

  “No, dammit, that’s what they were trying to do!” He shot out of his chair and
pointed toward the door through which the two under discussion had passed.

  “They wanted to bend and shape me until I wouldn’t be recognizable to the voters who have backed me from the beginning. I’d be selling out. I’d be no better than Dekker. Slicker than owl shit. Two-faced. Double-dealing.” He was met with a wall of silent opposition from Eddy and his brother.

  He turned to Nelson. “Dad? Help me out here.”

  “Why ask for my help now? You’ve already let your temper get the best of you. Don’t ever get mad, Tate. Get even.”

  “How?”

  “Win.”

  “By keeping my mouth shut and taking their advice?”

  “Unless you feel that you’re being compromised.”

  “Well, that’s exactly where I am. I’d rather lose the election being myself than win and know I’ve had to compromise on everything I stand for. I’m sorry if none of you agrees.”

  “I’m on Eddy’s side,” Fancy said, “if anybody’s interested in my opinion.”

  “Nobody is,” Jack said to her.

  “Carole?”

  She had refrained from entering the verbal melee. Until Tate asked for her opinion, she intended to withhold it. Now that he had, she raised her head and looked up at him with newly formed intimacy and the wordless communication of lovers.

  “Whatever you decide is all right with me, Tate. I’m with you all the way.”

  “Oh, yeah? Since when?” Jack rounded on Tate. “You talk about compromises. Sleeping with her again is the biggest compromise you ever made, little brother.”

  “That’s enough, Jack!” Nelson bellowed.

  “Dad, you know as well as I do that—”

  “Enough! When you can control your own wife, you can start criticizing Tate.”

  Jack glared at his father, then at his brother, then hunched his shoulders and stormed out. Dorothy Rae rose from her chair unsteadily and followed him.

  “I guess you’ll walk next,” Tate said to Eddy in the tense aftermath of their departure.

  Eddy smiled lopsidedly. “You know better than that. Unlike Jack, I don’t take these things personally. I think you’re wrong, but…” He gave an eloquent shrug. “We’ll know on election day.” He clapped his friend on the back. “Guess I’d better go break the bad news to our former consultants.” He left; Fancy was hot on his heels.

  Zee brought Mandy in. The atmosphere still crackled with animosity. Uneasily, she remarked, “I heard a lot of shouting.”

  “We got some things sorted out,” Nelson said.

  “I hope my decision is okay by you, Dad.”

  “As you said, it was your decision. I hope you’re prepared to live with it.”

  “For my peace of mind, that’s the way it had to be.”

  “Then stop apologizing for something that’s already done.”

  “I told Mandy we would walk down to Sundance Square for a while,” Zee said, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation. “I don’t think it’s going to rain anymore.”

  “I’ll come along,” Nelson said, scooping the child into his arms, his good humor seemingly restored. “I could use the exercise. And we won’t mind if it does rain, will we, Mandy?”

  “Thanks for backing me up,” Tate said to Avery when they were finally alone. “You haven’t always.”

  “As Jack rudely reminded me.”

  “He was upset.”

  “More than that, Tate. Jack despises me.”

  He seemed disinclined to address that. Perhaps he knew, as Avery did, that Jack didn’t like Carole, but he desired her. Maybe Tate ignored that calamitous fact in the desperate hope that it would go away.

  “Why’d you do it?” he asked. “Why’d you take my side? Did you feel like it was your wifely duty?”

  “No,” she said, taking umbrage. “I sided with you because I believe you’re right. I didn’t like them or their meddling or their advice any better than you did.”

  It had occurred to her that the men from Wakely and Foster might somehow be connected to the plot to assassinate Tate. That was another reason she was so glad to see the last of them.

  After the recent heated discussion, the suite suddenly seemed very quiet. Paradoxically, without all the other people, the parlor seemed smaller, not larger. Their silent solitude pressed in on them.

  Avery clasped her hands at her waist. “Well, I—”

  “Good of Mom and Dad to take Mandy for a walk.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “She’ll enjoy the outing.”

  “And it’ll give you a chance to study your speeches without interruption.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Although I don’t think you really need to study them.”

  “No, I feel comfortable about today’s schedule.”

  “That’s good.”

  He contemplated the toes of his boots for a moment. When he looked up, he asked, “Do you think it’ll rain?”

  “I, uh…” She gave the window a cursory glance. “I don’t think so, no. It—”

  He reached for her, pulled her against him, kissed her neck.

  “Tate?”

  “Hmm?” He walked her backward toward the sofa.

  “I thought, after last night, you wouldn’t want…”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Thirty-Nine

  “Boo!”

  Fancy sprang out from behind the door as soon as Eddy entered his hotel room. He didn’t even flinch. “How’d you get in here?”

  “I bribed a maid.”

  “With what?”

  “Uncle Tate’s jockstrap.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “Don’t ya love it?”

  “What’s that?” He pointed to a table in front of the large window. It was draped with a white cloth and had two place settings laid out on it.

  “Lunch. Crab salad in cute little avocado halves.”

  “You should have asked me first, Fancy.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I were. I’ve only got a minute.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone. After consulting the piece of scrap paper in his shirt pocket, he punched out the number. “Mr. George Malone, please.”

  Fancy stood on her knees behind him and ground her pelvis against his spine. “Mr. Malone? This is Eddy Paschal, with the Rutledge campaign. You called?” Eddy ducked his head when she leaned over his shoulder and bit his earlobe.

  “Mr. Rutledge’s schedule is tight, I’m afraid. What did you have in mind? How many people? Uh-huh.”

  She kissed his neck, lightly sucking the skin up against her teeth. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Cut it out, Fancy. I’m busy.”

  Pouting, she flounced off the bed. Moving to the bureau mirror, she paused to plump her hair. Bending at the waist, she flung the thick mane upside down. When she straightened up, she was encouraged to notice that Eddy had been looking at her ass. Facing him with her feet widely spaced, she gathered up her short skirt, flirtatiously raising it an inch at a time.

  “How soon do you have to know?”

  As Eddy continued to speak smoothly into the telephone, she ran her splayed hands up the fronts of her thighs. Her thumbs met at the red satin triangle covering her pubis. She stroked it once, twice, then peeled the panties off and dangled them in front of his nose.

  “I’ll speak with Mr. Rutledge and get back to you as soon as possible. In any event, we appreciate your interest. Thank you for the invitation.”

  He hung up. To Fancy’s dismay he brushed past her and went to the bathroom, where he combed his hair and washed his hands.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” she demanded when she joined him.

  “Nothing. I’m in a hurry, that’s all.”

  “You’re mad because Uncle Tate had you fire those assholes, aren’t you?”

  “Not mad. I just disagree, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t take it out on me.”

  “I’m no
t.” He straightened his tie and checked his cuff links.

  “Quite a scene this morning, wasn’t it? I’ve never seen Uncle Tate so hot. He’s kinda cute when he’s in that mood. I love it when a man is on the verge of losing his temper.” She slipped her arms beneath Eddy’s, reached around him, and pressed her hands against his fly. “That potential violence is so sexy.”

  “I haven’t got time for you now, Fancy.” He removed her hands and stepped back into the bedroom.

  She flopped down on the bed and watched as he sorted through the papers in his briefcase. He looked so handsome when his brow was furrowed with concentration.

  Inspired, Fancy scooted up the bed until her back was against the headboard. She peeled her white cotton sweater over her head and tossed it on the floor beside her discarded panties. Then, left only in her miniskirt and red cowboy boots, she softly called his name. He turned. Slowly, she dragged her tongue over her lower lip and whispered, “Ever had a cowgirl?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said blandly. “Last night. In the ass. Or don’t you remember?”

  Fancy’s widespread knees snapped together like the jaws of a sprung trap. She rolled to the edge of the bed, picked up her sweater, and worked it over her head, furiously thrusting her arms into the sleeves.

  When she confronted him, her eyes were shimmering with tears. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “You seemed to think so last night.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she yelled.

  Eddy calmly closed his briefcase and picked up the jacket of his suit. “Nice is a strange word coming from you.” He headed for the door.

  She caught his sleeve as he moved past her. “Why are you being so hateful to me?”

  “I’m in a hurry, Fancy.”

  “Then you’re not mad?”

  He sidestepped her. “I’m not mad.”

  “Will I see you later?”

  “At the rally this afternoon.” He patted his pocket to make sure he had his room key, then reached for the doorknob.

  She flattened herself against the door. “You know what I mean. Will I see you later?” Smiling seductively, she squeezed him through his trousers.

  “Yes, I know what you mean.” He brushed aside her caressing hand and opened the door, despite her efforts to keep him from it. “In the meantime, try and stay out of trouble.”