Pauline sighed. “More like our mothers arranged a marriage when we were ten, and they’ve convinced themselves that we’re the last two humans on the face of the earth.” She gave Maggie an exhausted smile. “James’s mother doesn’t have the crazy market cornered, you know.”
“So why do it?”
Pauline turned her full attention to Maggie. “Because, in my world, love is an unfortunate by-product, one that can be remedied by getting your heart broken a few times. Children are bargaining chips to be used. Happiness is not relevant. Power is everything. The only thing.”
The sadness in her voice was familiar—too familiar. Maggie knew the feeling of having no control over your life, of being nothing more than a commodity for other people to use and abuse. Pauline was a beautiful woman, but she still let herself be used. And that made Maggie sad for her.
“Things can change,” Maggie heard herself saying. “But only if you want them to.” She’d said the same thing to James once. Maybe he believed it, maybe he didn’t.
“Maybe I don’t know what I want.” Even as she said it, Pauline’s eyes searched the room.
“Who is he?”
“No one important.” With that blanket dismissal, Pauline ground out her cigarette into an empty glass.
Maggie was going out on a limb here, but what the hell. “What if James decides he doesn’t want to get married?” She left off the “to you.”
Anything “warm” about Pauline vanished. Her eyes cut back to Maggie with lethal efficiency. “You’re obviously not from around here, so I’ll give you a little tip.” Her words came out with the same lethalness—machine-gun bullets hell-bent on cutting Maggie to shreds. “Men like James—like his father—don’t love anyone. Not their wives, not their children, and most certainly not their mistresses. Don’t be one of those sad, pathetic women who thinks they can change him,” she said, making air quotes around the word, “because men like James never change. Certainly not for the likes of you.”
And then she was gone, stalking away on her thin heels so fast that smoke-flavored air spun in little eddies after her. Her words swirled in the smoke, bouncing off each other until it seemed that the whole room rang with them.
The likes of Maggie? Had she been deluding herself into thinking that someone who came from this cat-and-mouse world, who was raised by people who valued appearances and power above all else—someone like James—could possibly love someone as poor and screwed up as her?
Certainly not.
Fifteen
“You’re out of your mind.” James wrenched free from his mother’s iron claws and looked back toward the door. Damn it, Maggie was out there. Alone.
“James, it’s time.” Dad used his no-argument voice. “Bachelors may get elected to the House of Representatives, but hell, son—any idiot can do that. You have higher aspirations. If you want to go anywhere in this town, you have to have a wife.”
That crap might work on deputy assistant undersecretaries, but not on James. Not since he was fourteen. “If you want a Carlson to be president that bad, Dad, you run.”
“Look at Bill and Hillary, darling,” Mother pleaded. Her approach was different, but no less annoying. “Think of what they’ve accomplished because they got—and stayed—married. Think of all the good you could do with Pauline by your side.”
While they attempted to boss and persuade him, he worried about Maggie. Damn it all, he’d promised not to leave her alone out there.
“And I miss you,” Mother went on, turning on the waterworks. James rolled his eyes. She only cried when she wanted something. He’d seen her break down everyone from art dealers to PTA moms with a few well-placed tears. It even worked on Dad, if she did it right. “You’re my only child. I hope that I live long enough to see my grandchildren…” Her voice trailed off as she hid her muffled sobs behind her hands.
Oh, for God’s sake. Even though he knew it was just another weapon in her arsenal of guilt, he still felt an irritating pang of responsibility. Quickly, he shoved it away. The last time he’d let her manipulate him like this, he’d agreed that marrying Pauline wasn’t a bad idea. And see where that had gotten him? Trapped in a back room, being browbeaten by his parents. The only way to win this game was to refuse to play it. “Are we done yet? I’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.”
“James, please!” Tears gone as quickly as they’d started, his mother was now glaring at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove staying out there in that hellhole, but enough is enough. You’re not doing your career any favors. Your place is in D.C., with your family—who loves you.”
The awful thing was, she was serious. This twisted version of ownership was love to his parents. As if they had to prove its validity to themselves and the rest of the world, they demanded James replicate it.
He turned and began to walk away, but his father grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back with enough force that James almost lost his footing. “Your mother is right. Enough is enough. It’s time to stop dicking around. I’ve already discussed it with Lenon. He’ll be recalling you by the end of the month.”
“You what?”
Dad’s eyes glittered with a victory that left James cold. “Your case is collapsing. Who cares about one old judge, anyway? It’s not worth it. It’s better to let the case die than risk the public humiliation of a loss. You’ll receive a promotion, of course. It’s been settled.”
James gaped at the man. He’d pulled plenty of dirty tricks before—too many to count—but James had clearly underestimated the depths to which he would sink.
Having Lenon recall him to D.C.? After James had sat in the man’s office today, wringing a green light out of him? Had it all been for show, then? Maynard would go free, no matter whether or not Yellow Bird’s lead produced anything usable. And what would happen to Maggie? Her name had been handed over to the defense as part of discovery. He was responsible for her now, whether or not she testified, regardless of his feelings for her.
His mother continued glaring at him. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his parents in such agreement—and it was because he wasn’t toeing the family line. He was looking at his future, he suddenly realized. He could talk about his father sleeping with female staffers, but the truth was, James had slept with Maggie. He could no longer claim the moral high ground. He’d pushed their relationship to that point, and if he came home to D.C., he’d never see her again. He’d marry Pauline and watch as she started sleeping with the help. How long would it be before James found himself growing fond of another underling, when faced with a wife who had never loved him? How long before he sacrificed more of his morals for power? How long before he turned into his father?
No. If being a career politician meant that he sacrificed what he believed in, he wouldn’t do it. The only way to win this game was not to play it.
The next thing James realized, he’d shoved his father. Hard. The old man stumbled back, the surprise writ large on his face. His mother gasped in real shock, but James didn’t care. He was not playing this game anymore.
“You listen to me, both of you. I’m your son, not your pawn. I have a job and a life—and neither of them are here. I’ll quit before I move home. I won’t marry anyone just because you think it’ll look good in the papers—least of all Pauline. If I run for office, it’ll be because I want to, not because you tell me to. And you can be damn sure I won’t be letting any children I may or may not have near you.”
His mother made a strangled noise in the back of her throat before she came up, both barrels blazing. “We’ll cut you off. You’ll have nothing. You’ll be nothing.”
“There are worse things in the world than being poor,” he said, and in his head, he heard Maggie say that in her quiet, serious voice.
His mother was wrong. It wasn’t money that made a person powerful. That kind of power was based on fear and jealousy. That power was temporary, liable to change with the next election. He understood that now. He’
d always known that—felt it, deep in his soul—but he hadn’t realized how wrong she was until Maggie had shown him that real power came from love. Real power didn’t come from bending someone to your will, or from being bent. Real power came from the freedom to choose—to give yourself freely.
Your choice, he thought. Maggie had told him that, too. And to think, she’d tried to convince him she wasn’t that smart.
He turned away from the two of them and walked. His father roared something demanding and insulting, but James didn’t listen and he didn’t stop. To hell with them. He had to find Maggie.
She wasn’t where he’d last seen her, at the bar. Pauline was gone, too. Doom crowded around the anger in his stomach. He couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes—where could she be? Ladies’ room, maybe? But something told him that wasn’t the case.
“Have you seen the woman I was with?” he asked as he worked his way through the crush of people.
A few people shook their heads no, some shrugged, but most couldn’t care less. No one remembered seeing the beautiful American Indian woman in the slinky black dress.
He made his way outside. Relief washed over him when he saw her standing by the fountain. Suddenly, he was tired. He’d forgotten how hard it was to play the mind games this place required. He wanted to go home—and he knew now that home wasn’t here anymore. What he wouldn’t give for a flight out of Dulles tonight, so he could get back to the wide spaces of South Dakota. Back where he could breathe without someone ascribing ulterior motives to his oxygen status.
Back where Maggie could be Maggie, not some fictional version of herself. Her eyes had a faraway look to them, as if she’d already gotten on that plane out of town. That feeling of doom got a little stronger. Pauline wouldn’t have cut her down—would she? Maybe Maggie was just tired. It had been a long day, after all. He had to get her out of here.
“Maggie.” She didn’t react—not even a flinch—when he put his hand on the small of her back and guided her away from the fountain. “Let’s go.”
Silently, they got into a waiting taxi. It was still early for most partygoers, so the traffic wasn’t horrendous. Maggie sat on her side, staring out the window.
She was obviously overwhelmed—hell, after that little chat with his parents, he was nearing overload, too. So he let her sit. He let himself sit, too.
His mind was a jumble. Perhaps it was the universal nature of parents to refuse to admit that their children had grown up into fully functional adults. He couldn’t be the only person in the world whose parents wanted him to move closer to home. Hell, he wasn’t even the only person whose parents had delusions of higher-office grandeur. And Lord knew there were plenty of parents out there who had lost touch with reality.
He shouldn’t let Alex and Julia Carlson get to him—but they did. And, given her silence, they’d gotten to Maggie, too.
If the case was dead, then Maynard would go free, damn it all. There would be no justice for Maggie or all the others like her. That bothered him. But if he knew Yellow Bird—and he liked to think he did—he knew that the FBI agent would keep digging whether the case was alive or dead. If he found something new, something that wouldn’t drag Maggie back into this mess, James knew Yellow Bird would get it into the right hands. Just because James wouldn’t personally get to put Maynard away didn’t mean he was giving up on justice, even if it felt like justice—or at least the Department of Justice—was giving up on him.
But then he realized there was a bright side to this. With the case dead and Lenon recalling him, he would quit. He’d submit his resignation first thing Monday morning. He didn’t need his parents’ money. He had an excellent track record—it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to get a job on his own. He wouldn’t have Bentleys and drivers, but he didn’t need that stuff anyway. He wouldn’t be rich. But he would be free.
And once he was out, he no longer had to worry about compromising a witness. There would be no conflict of interest, nothing to compromise. He could be with whomever he chose, and after tonight, he knew that wasn’t Pauline or anyone his mother might approve of. As the cab pulled up outside the hotel, he realized that he was free to be with Maggie—to love her, if that was what he wanted. The relief that came with this realization was so powerful that he broke out into a smile. Suddenly, the future looked a hell of a lot brighter. Because right now, he was pretty sure that loving Maggie was exactly what he wanted.
When they arrived at the hotel, he paid the driver and then offered Maggie his hand to help her get out of the cab. But he didn’t let go once she was safely on her heels. Her hand was warm and soft against his. She was someone real and solid and honest, and right now, he needed to remember that those kinds of people did exist.
She didn’t pull away as they walked across the hotel lobby, nor did she remove her hand from his in the elevator. James couldn’t say if their silence was comfortable or not, but he didn’t care. They headed down the hall to the hotel room—complete with multiple beds.
He held the door for her, then he let go of her hand so he could hang out the Do Not Disturb sign and throw the bolt. Whether he slept in his own bed or someplace else, having Housecleaning bust in on them was not how he wanted to start his morning.
When he turned back around, he saw that Maggie had walked over to the windows. Except for the bare skin of her legs, her black hair and black dress made it almost impossible to see her. As he watched, she took one, then another small step out of her shoes and kicked them away. But her focus remained out the window.
“Maggie?”
“It’s so beautiful,” she said in a low, awestruck voice as she stared out at the twinkling lights of his hometown. “Even better than in the movies.”
He moved toward the window, trying to see what she saw. Just the bright lights of a big city. Something he took for granted, he guessed. He’d grown used to the absolute darkness of a moonless Pierre night, where no light pollution marred the twilight with its ugly red glow.
He got the feeling this wasn’t about the view, though. So he waited, standing a few steps behind her.
She leaned forward, putting her palms flat on the glass. “From up here, it looks…perfect. Clean and bright and smart. Not like home, where everything’s always dusty,” she added, sounding a little more like herself.
“But?”
“But…it’s a trick. It’s not real—like the necklace isn’t real. I thought…” She leaned forward, her head resting on the glass. “I thought things might be different here, but they’re not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, everyone’s got money, that’s different. Money and cars and clothes and houses. People here don’t freeze to death in the winter or starve in the summer.”
That was how she’d grown up. Rosebud had taken him through her reservation when he’d first come out to South Dakota, to show him how people out there had to live. It had been a hard thing to see, harder to know that someone he cared for had lived like that. But the hardest thing had been to know that he could have offered to take her away from that—brought her here to this world, with its money and cars and houses—and Rosebud would have refused.
Just as Maggie was doing right now. Refusing. She was making a choice—and that choice wasn’t James’s world.
“But how people use people—that’s the same.” She sighed, a sad sound full of a lifetime of disappointment. “People let themselves be used. I didn’t think it would be like that.”
Then she hit him square between the eyes with the shot he should have seen coming. “I didn’t think you would be like that. I thought you were different.”
Pauline. And his mother and father. And Lenon. The cumulative effect of the entire day must have led to one inescapable conclusion—that James was one of them, someone not to be trusted. He would give it all up for her, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he would always be one of them.
No doubt, she couldn’t love him.
He should tur
n around and go to bed. She’d clearly made up her mind, and he didn’t have a defense ready. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave her there, looking down on the sparkly world that hid humanity’s ugliness.
He stepped in closer, wanting to touch her, to reassure himself that she was still really there. He saw the tension ripple down her arms and up to her flattened palms, but she didn’t stop him as he put his hand on the small of her back, above the swell of her bottom. But that was all—a simple touch to remind him that she was a real, honest person.
Honest enough to tell him he wasn’t.
“The thing I can’t figure out, though, is why you’re not like them.” Her voice was down to a bare whisper. He had to lean in close to make out the words, smelling her clean scent under the dirty odor of cigars and lies. “Why aren’t you like them?”
“Consuela. And Desmond, and other people like them—a few teachers in school, my softball coach. People who were real and honest and treated me like all the other kids instead of like the ruler of the world.” He closed his eyes. He’d lost Consuela, that grounding force gone forever. But she wasn’t gone as long as he remembered her and everything she’d taught him. “People who expected more of me. People like you, Maggie. You make me a better man.”
For a moment, she didn’t move, and James knew that even though he’d spoken the truth, he still wasn’t good enough for her. But then she leaned back, the warmth of her body pressing into the side of his. They stood there, watching the D.C. lights twinkle under a rusty sky.
“I take it back.” A warmth had crept into her voice, one that made him all kinds of hot. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder and turned her face into his neck. He felt her sweet breath blow away the last of the evening’s frustrations. “You’re not like them. You’re better.”
Sixteen
A Man of Privilege Page 14
