Fair Game

by Doreen Owens Malek

  They went into the hall and headed for the conference room.

  * * * *

  Meg was stepping into her shoes that Thursday night when Ashley knocked at her hotel room door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Ashley entered and saw the navy silk tailored dress, the sapphire earrings, and said, “Big date?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see,” Meg replied.

  “Is this the same guy who sent you the flowers?”

  Meg nodded.

  “He must be really taken with you.”

  “So far, anyway.”

  “Don’t be such a pessimist.” Ashley sat on Meg’s bed, crossing her legs at the ankle. “What does he do?”

  “He leases commercial real estate. He’s working on getting his own agency.”

  “Sounds prosperous. How did you meet him?”

  Meg grinned at her. “Have you been taking lessons from my mother on the sly?”

  “Sorry,” Ashley said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to grill you. But you don’t usually show this much interest in your social life, and I’m curious about him.”

  “I met him when he fixed the flat on my car.”

  “Ah-ha. The chivalrous type. I’m a sucker for them myself.”

  “It’s too soon to mail the wedding invitations, Ash.”

  “Spoilsport. When do I get to meet him?”

  “All in good time. I want to make sure I’m sold on him first, all right?”

  “You’re sold on him. I haven’t seen that dress since the famous Carter Hastings affair. And that was a long time ago.”

  Meg groaned. “Did you have to bring him up?”

  “You were besotted with him at the time.”

  “Please don’t remind me of my past stupidity.”

  “Nobody could have guessed he was using you to get to my father. He was much cleverer than most of them. We were all fooled.”

  “I hope he went back to Arizona and drowned in that kidney-shaped swimming pool he was so proud of. What a jerk.”

  “I gather this new guy... What’s his name?”

  “Peter Ransom.”

  “Peter is different?”

  “Different from Carter, yes. For example, he listened to my gorilla-suit story with a fairly straight face and did not suggest my commitment at die end of it.”

  “Margaret Drummond, you didn’t tell him about that on your first date!” Ashley said, aghast.

  “Why not? I figure if they can’t pass the acid test they’re not worth it. Throw ‘em into the shark tank right away and see if they can swim to safety.”

  Ashley narrowed her eyes.

  “All right,” Meg admitted, seeing her expression, “I didn’t exactly mean to tell him. The story sort of slipped out because I was nervous, but he handled it very well.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s attractive. Not a showstopper, but certainly worth a second glance. And there’s something about him...”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, a seriousness or something. You feel it when you’re with him.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Don’t get carried away,” Meg said airily. “I’m going to take my time and be sensible.”

  Ashley coughed delicately.

  “Ye of little faith,” Meg muttered under her breath. She squinted at the clock. “What time is it?”

  “You’d better clean your contacts, Meg. You can’t see much if you can’t see that clock at six feet away. It’s five minutes to eight.”

  “Uh-oh. I’ve got to hurry.” She picked up her bag and began tossing in keys and other odd items.

  Ashley sighed. “And I’ve lots of work to do. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” She ambled out of the room, and Meg cast a parting glance at herself in the mirror, pausing to moisten her contacts with lens cleaner and then drop the bottle into her purse.

  She was as ready as she’d ever be, and as she walked into the hall she stopped to lock her door behind her.

  The two cops were lounging outside the Senator’s suite, smoking and talking. They nodded to her as she passed. Fair was in a meeting with his advisers, and she was glad to have been excused.

  Ransom was waiting for her in the lobby. This time he was wearing a slate-gray suit with a gray-and-black striped tie. He smiled when he saw her and walked over to her, taking both of her hands in his.

  “It’s so good to see you,” he said warmly.

  “Hi, Peter,” Meg greeted him.

  “My car is waiting outside with the valet,” he told her, leading her toward the front door.

  The car was the same 300D he’d had when she met him. They drove to the restaurant, a French provincial chateau only a few miles away, and were shown to a table immediately. A screen of standing plants separated them from the rest of the patrons and created a tiny alcove where they could dine in complete privacy.

  “This is wonderful,” Meg said to him as they sat facing one another across a square glass table covered with a snowy linen cloth. The waiter lit the fat beeswax candle, which was surrounded by a ring of miniature carnations and set inside a crystal hurricane lamp. The flame burst into life, illuminating their faces with a flickering glow.

  “Would you like a drink?” Ransom asked her.

  “If you’re having something,” Meg replied.

  Ransom consulted the wine list and ordered an expensive Taittinger brut champagne. The sommelier brought the bottle, wrapped in a cloth and set in a bucket of ice. Ransom tasted it when half a glass was poured out for his consideration.

  “That’s fine,” he said, and the server filled his glass, then Meg’s, and replaced the bottle in its icy bed.

  “Some people like this at room temperature, but I prefer it cold,” he said to Meg.

  “It’s very nice,” she said appreciatively, sipping slowly from her glass.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this very much,” Ransom said.

  Meg smiled and said nothing.

  “So tell me what’s new with the campaign,” he prodded her, sitting back and observing her.

  “Things are quiet at the moment, but that won’t last,” she replied sagely.

  “How do you know?”

  “After a while, you learn to recognize the lull before the storm. There will be a crisis soon. I can feel it.”

  “How are you getting along with your police escort?”

  “Oh, they’re all right. They’re trying to keep a low profile, but it’s difficult, because they’re both pretty big.” She grinned.

  “I didn’t see them at the hotel.”

  “They were upstairs with the Senator. They stick pretty close to him all the time.”

  “So do you, no?”

  “Not physically, but I have to keep track of what he’s doing.”

  “What do you use, notebooks, tape recorders, videos?”

  “Computer. I’m hooked into a main frame at the office, and I have a desktop model for travel.”

  “A very modern approach. My secretary uses an IBM, but I understand they’re quite complicated. Is that right?”

  She nodded, taking another sip of her wine.

  “What kind do you take with you when you move around?”

  “An Apple. It’s the easiest to use.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  She nodded. “I keep it in my room.”

  Ransom exhaled silently, guarding his expression. “I think we’d better look these over,” he said, indicating their elaborate, tasselled menus, still closed on the table.

  “That waiter over there keeps looking at me expectantly.”

  Meg opened hers and examined the two sheets of foolscap fastened to the cover with a cotter pin. The dishes offered were handwritten and obviously changed every day.

  “What’s good?” Meg asked, her appetite fleeing before the onslaught of the visual stimulus.

  “I’ve had the seafood Provencale, and I can recommend it.”

  “Fine,”
Meg said, closing her menu.

  “And how about the pate de foie gras first?” he asked.

  She nodded. She didn’t care.

  Ransom gave their order to the waiter and then refilled Meg’s glass, saying, “I guess you haven’t been here before, have you?”

  She shook her head. “A campaign is more about tuna sandwiches in hotel rooms than dinners in a place like this.”

  “Then I’m glad I was able to provide you with a change of scene from all that.”

  “I must admit it’s very restful to get away from it for an evening,” Meg said to him. “As soon as I left the hotel, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.”

  “Is all the hype getting to you?”

  “The frenetic pace is. I didn’t have such a key position during the last election, and so I’ve never experienced the fever from this perspective. Sometimes I don’t know how the Senator keeps on going. He just gets up every day and plunges back into the game.”

  “He doesn’t miss many of his scheduled engagements, then?”

  “No. He keeps on plugging even when he’s sick.”

  “I guess he doesn’t want to disappoint anybody.”

  “He rarely does.”

  The waiter brought the appetizer and Ransom prepared it for Meg, spreading the pate on thin slices of baguette and adding purple onion and finely chopped egg. Her reaction was enthusiastic, and he kept her wineglass filled during the first course and the main dish as well, encouraging her to feel at ease.

  By the end of the meal she wasn’t drunk, but she was relaxed.

  “So what’s your itinerary for the next few weeks?” Ransom asked as the waiter cleared the plates and swept the table free of crumbs.

  “Everywhere,” she replied. “Crisscrossing the state.”

  “How do you keep track of where you’re going?”

  “It isn’t easy. I have a separate disk just for the schedule of appearances.”

  “So I’ll have to trail you all over like a camp follower?” he said, smiling.

  “If you want to see me ”

  “I want to see you,” Ransom replied quietly, holding her gaze.

  The waiter placed a glass dish of almond chocolate mousse in front of each of them. He brought a chased silver pot of coffee and filled two thin china cups, setting a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar in the center of the table.

  “Tomorrow it’s back to room service,” Meg said glumly, sipping her coffee.

  “Another campaign sacrifice? I would think that the cuisine at some of the affairs you attend might be quite good.”

  “Who gets to eat at those things? I run around the whole time and wind up having egg salad on rye back in my room.”

  “Yet you wouldn’t trade your job for anyone’s.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re a complicated woman.”

  “More than you know,” she replied mysteriously.

  By the time Ransom had paid the check and called for the car, Meg was feeling the effects of wine, food, and a full day. She was openly yawning as Ransom drove back to the hotel, and hadn’t the energy to protest when he said he would walk her to the elevator.

  He pushed the button and watched the light go on as the car descended to the first floor.

  “Here we are,” he said as the doors slid open in front of them.

  Meg turned to him. “Thank you. I had a lovely time.”

  He lifted her chin with his forefinger and bent to kiss her lightly on the mouth. “Good night, Meg. I enjoyed myself too. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Peter.” She stepped through the doors, and they shut behind her. She was exhausted. The prospect of getting undressed for bed was overwhelming, at the moment ranking right up there with cleaning the refrigerator and emptying the vacuum bag. She decided to compromise and sleep in her underwear. That monumental decision made, she leaned against the wall of the elevator with her eyes closed until it stopped at her floor.

  Ransom walked back through the lobby, his mind racing.

  * * * *

  The next day, Capo sauntered into the lounge of the Senator’s suite where Martin was reading a newspaper, and said cheerfully, “Guess what? We’ve got the weekend off.”

  Martin looked up at him questioningly.

  “The Senator’s canceled his appointments for the next couple of days to spend the time ‘closeted with his advisers,’ according to the press release.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, there’s some kind of media crisis. I heard them talking. The Republicans dug up a bunch of new dirt and word leaked that they’re planning a negative ad campaign. Fair’s press people need this time to figure out how to counteract it, and they don’t want the Senator exposed to reporters until they can decide what to do. So he’s holing up here, and we’re not needed.”

  “What about his daughter?”

  “Are you ready for this? She’s slipping away for a romantic weekend with Dillon aboard the family yacht, no less. Our presence will not be required there either, so we’re sprung until Sunday night, when they’re having the charity auction at Penn’s Landing.”

  While Martin should have been pleased at the prospect of the free time, the knowledge of how Ashley would be spending it dulled his reaction.

  “When did they tell you this?” he asked.

  “While you were downstairs. Good news, huh?”

  Martin nodded thoughtfully.

  “You could look a little happier about it,” Capo said.

  “The fundraiser tonight is canceled too?”

  “Yup. Everything. I already called Lorraine, and she says to come to dinner at eight o’clock. She’ll make the pot roast you like, and get that cheesecake too.”

  “Sounds great. Thanks,” Martin replied absently.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Capo asked him. “We’re out of here, old buddy, we’re on the lam until Sunday night. I’ll tell you something. The Senator may be the last, best hope this country has, like the TV spot says, but I’m not sorry that I won’t be looking at his face for a couple of days. And I’m sure he feels the same about me.”

  Martin said nothing.

  “But of course, the girl’s easier on the eyes,” Capo said, watching his friend’s face.

  “The yacht’s already in?” Martin asked thoughtfully, ignoring the comment.

  “Docked last night. Dillon and the girl are driving back to Philly this afternoon.” He frowned. “What do you care?”

  “I just wondered.”

  “Well, stop wondering. Until we get back she’s not your responsibility, so forget her.”

  “When can we leave?”

  “As soon as she does. She’s packing for the weekend in the other room right now.”

  Martin got up and headed for the connecting door.

  “Where are you going?” Capo demanded.

  Martin didn’t answer, just kept walking, and Capo stood looking after him with a concerned expression on his face.

  Ashley glanced up from loading her overnight bag

  and saw Martin standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

  “Hi “she said.

  He nodded.

  “I guess you heard about the change of plans.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure you’re looking forward to the time off.”

  He didn’t respond to that, but asked instead, “How come the auction is still on? Why didn’t you cancel that too?”

  “The plans were too elaborate. The furniture and art works have already been shipped to the docks and stored in a warehouse there. Plus I think Roger Damico is pretty certain they’ll have something worked out by then.”

  “Are you concerned about the ad campaign? Capo told me what’s going on.”

  She sighed and pushed back a pale lock of hair. “These things always come up in politics. You have to be ready to deal with them at a moment’s notice. And we are. I wanted to stay and
help Roger, but my father is insisting I take some time off. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t give him a big argument. I’m beat.”

  “Does the problem have anything to do with that other family you told me about, the printing Finns?”

  She smiled. “No, it’s a little worse than that, although having them surface right now would not exactly be helpful.” She closed the hasps on her case and straightened up. “When my father was in law school, he was accused of cheating on the moot-court competition. He was later exonerated and the whole thing was dropped. But the other side has gotten wind of it. They’re trying to make it look bad, like Dad really did cheat and my grandfather bought everybody off to keep it quiet, shove it under the rug.”

  “How could they make it look like that?” Martin asked.

  “My grandfather endowed a chair in international law at the school the same year.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He gave the school the money to hire an expert in the field, pay his salary, buy the required books, et cetera.”

  “I see. It seems like he came across with the goods to keep his kid in the school.”

  “Right.”

  Martin leaned back against the doorjamb and folded his arms. “What’s a moot-court competition?”

  “It’s the trial by fire at the end of the first year of law school. You’re given a fictionalized case and you have to do the research, prepare the arguments, write the briefs, and represent your client before a panel of teachers, with one of them playing the role of the judge. It’s important to do well, because it’s the closest you come as a student to participating in the real thing.”

  “Who accused your father of cheating?”

  “I don’t know all the details, but apparently my dad was representing the defendant in the case and the student representing the plaintiff left his notes unattended in the library. My father was seen in the vicinity and was suspected of reading the notes and getting a jump on the opposition’s argument.”

  “But wasn’t that the other kid’s fault for leaving his stuff around to be seen?”

  “That was stupid, maybe, but not a violation of the honor code. Stealing his ideas would have been. But all the reference materials to be used in the case were gathered in that one area of the library, so my father had a valid reason for being there, and that’s why the whole thing eventually became so cloudy.”