Suddenly, Griff jumped up. “You want to know why we don’t have children? I’ll tell you why.” He looked over at Lorelei. “I wouldn’t touch that—that—redhead with a ten-foot pole, that’s why.”
The senator couldn’t believe his ears, his gaze jumping from one to the other. “Do you mean to tell me you ain’t even... not even once?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I meant to tell you.”
“Well I knew something like this was goin’ on, but that’s been... I thought by now... my god, what man don’t boink his wife now and again, even if he is playin’ around?” The senator looked over at Griff. “You and me got some problems, boy. Not only have I put a damned Yankee in the White House, but a crazy one at that.”
After the senator spent a good portion of the day stomping and yelling, he went to work and managed to wring the whole story out of the Post. He learned that Sidney Wilde had planted the girl at the party to lure Griff into the bedroom. As she was working her seductive magic on him, Sidney’s job was to keep Lorelei occupied. He hadn’t planned on Lorelei seeing them go up the stairs, but since she had, he simply followed her up, allowed her to lead him to the right bedroom, pushed her aside and—voila!—front page story. Sidney had obviously counted on Griff’s weaknesses—but he didn’t count on losing his job, which the senator saw that he did.
The senator yelled into the phone, insisting on a retraction with a story describing Griff as the victim of a sleazy reporter out to ruin his career. With a little pressure, he got what he wanted, and Griff came out smelling like a rose. The retraction that was printed contained phrases such as...
—she was dropped in his lap—
—the poor devil was framed—
—he’s only human—
—he’s just a man—
Lies. Nothing but lies. But they slathered a fresh, white virginal coat of deception over the tarnished White House and soothed the country’s wounds.
The pace in Washington was accelerating. Parties, functions, and money-making dinners were planned for almost every night. If one could afford to pay a thousand dollars a plate, one could reserve a place at a round table and be served rubber chicken, tasteless vegetables, and watered-down tea.
But no one cared. The president was there for everyone to gaze upon.
On this particular evening, Griff knew he looked unusually handsome. As he sat at the head table conversing with those around him, a young woman walked up and asked for his autograph. She was a striking brunette, and as Griff took the paper and pen out of her hand, she made a point of stroking his hand. When her fingers slid over his, Griff looked up into her eyes, but quickly winced in pain as two hard, pinching fingers dug into his thigh. He looked over and saw his redheaded wife carrying on a conversation with someone next to her at the table as if she hadn’t seen a thing. A combination of tears and anger filled his eyes as he quickly scribbled his name. Then pushing the pen and paper back at the beauty, he kept his eyes lowered.
“Thank you,” she purred.
“My pleasure,” he croaked.
After the woman turned away, Griff looked down at his thigh, expecting to see blood, but instead he saw Lorelei’s claw-like fingernails ready to dig into him again. Despite a surge of outrage, he forced a smile and put his arms around her. In front of the whole room, he drew her into his arms as if he were going to kiss her, and whispered in her ear. “You little bitch. How would you like my autograph carved into your black heart?”
Lorelei looked around at the smiling faces that were looking at them and laughed as if he’d made a lewd suggestion. “Why, that would be perfectly lovely, darlin’, but here? You’ve got to try and control yourself, suga.” She pulled herself out of his arms and turned to the crowd. “Griff is such a bad boy.” She laughed, then turned back to him and with eyes full of reprimand, continued with, “A bad, bad boy.”
When the food was served, a minister from one of the largest and most prestigious churches in Washington got up to the microphone to lead everyone in the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our Father which art in Heaven—” the strong voice echoed out, “—hallowed be Thy Name...”
Griff had his head bowed, but he was looking up, searching for the brunette as he... well... repeated the words, “Oh, Father, how did ya know my name—”
“Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.”
“—can’t wait to come... and then be done... and be in Heaven.”
When the senator heard him, he almost choked on his own spit.
Griff felt a kick, looked toward the white-haired man, and frowned.
“Give us this day our daily bread—”
“Give me this day my daily bed—”
The senator sighed and shook his head.
When several eyes turned toward Griff, he realized he must have said something wrong. He cleared his throat self-consciously and tried to look pious. With a frown creasing his forehead, he mumbled a hearty, “Amen,” before the moderator had even finished.
Realizing the mess he had made, Griff slid his guilty gaze toward the group of frowning Republicans, embarrassed that he had bungled the prayer so badly that it must have made even the Supreme Being scratch His head.
* * * *
Later at the White House, the senator ranted and raved. “Well, if I don’t know anything else, I know not to ever ask Griff Nyle to lead a group of people in the Lord’s Prayer.”
“Give me a break, for god’s sake.”
“Don’t call on god after the way you ripped up that prayer tonight.” The senator frowned at him. “Give me this day my daily bed? Boy, I do believe you’ve got sex on the brain. And what was this... can’t wait to come... and then be done... and be in heaven? You sounded like you was beggin’ god for a friggin’ orgasm slap dang in the middle of a prayer before hundreds of people. What in hell was you doing behind that table, jerkin’ off?”
“All right, so I don’t know the Lord’s Prayer. Big deal.”
“You didn’t have to know it. All you had to do was repeat it along with the rest of us.”
“I was tryin’ to make a good impression. I thought—”
“Oh, you made an impression, all right, but I wouldn’t call it good.”
“What about Lorelei pinching me? My god, she almost drew blood.”
“Too bad she didn’t,” the senator huffed as he glared at them both. “I feel like I’m tryin’ to corral two eight-year-old kids. My god, when are the two of you...”
“Me?” Lorelei yelled, “I haven’t done anything.”
“All right, Griff, then.” The senator looked over at Griff, who sat quietly with a petulant look on his face. “Hell, it ain’t no use,” he said, deciding to give up. He gathered up his things to leave, then right before he walked through the door, he turned and looked back. “Good night, you two.” He hesitated a moment, giving Griff a reproving look. “And Griff, leave the prayin’ to someone else, okay? God will understand. In fact, he’ll probably be grateful.”
* * * *
As soon as the senator was out the door, Griff slammed it, rattling the door in its frame. “Bastard,” he muttered, then noticed Lorelei walking down the hall toward her bedroom. He wasn’t blind to the way her hips swayed or oblivious to the enticing fragrance of her perfume that still lingered in the air. He saw the way she reached up, pulled a pin from her hair, and allowed it to billow down her back. It might be red, but it was so beautiful—so sexy. He followed her, and when she turned to close the door, she saw him standing there.
“Hi,” he said smiling down at her.
“Hi yourself,” she answered, turning from the door, but keeping her focus riveted in his direction. When he just kept standing there, she slowly began taking her jewelry off and placing it inside the ornate jewelry box. “What is it, Griff?”
He came in and closed the door behind him. “I just wanted to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.”
* * * *
She knew something was
up and kept her gaze on him. “Thank you,” she said as she kicked her shoes off, but when she reached back to unzip her dress, he stood behind, helping her.
“Here, let me do that.”
The cool air of the room hit her skin as the zipper plunged, and then Griff’s warm hands reached inside to caress her body. She closed her eyes and leaned against him.
“Oh, god, you feel good,” Griff whispered against her hair.
His fingers brushed along her back and pushed the dress off her shoulders until it tumbled in a glittering pool around her feet. She turned around, and Griff’s hungry gaze lingered on her jutting breasts. She could almost see him salivating. He pulled her to him and began kissing her neck.
Was this it? Were her fantasies at last about to come true?
His breath jerked with passion as he pressed his lips to her ear. “Oh, god, Lorelei, I’ve been without a woman so long, even you’re beginning to look good to me.”
Lorelei’s eyes opened wide. “What?”
“I said...”
“I know what you said, you bastard.” She pushed him away and pulled her dress up around her, hiding herself. “What the hell am I, the consolation prize?”
Griff frowned down at her. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“The consolation prize, Griff. The cheap, trivial piece of junk they give you when you don’t win the big prize. Plastic instead of gold? Water instead of champagne, glass instead of diamond, and tin instead of silver?” She waited for his response. “Well? Is that what I am to you?”
“I don’t know. What the hell are you babblin’ about, woman?”
“The brunette, Griff. She was first prize, wasn’t she? But you didn’t get her, so you have to settle for me. Me, the plastic... the water... the glass... the tin.”
He turned, lifted his hand, and began raking it through his hair.
“Get the hell out of my room,” she said with her teeth clenched. “The day I lie down for you, buster, is the day you want me, and not just anything in a skirt. Do you hear that, Mr. President? Me, and only me. Lorelei Comfort Bliss... Nyle!” she yelled, sputtering out the last name as if it were a curse.
He whirled around and looked at her. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? I thought this was what you wanted. Well, here I am ready to hit the sheets and give you the night of your life.”
She roughly pushed him toward the door. “Don’t do me any favors, you bastard. Go on back to your room and get out your sex toys, you pervert. Or maybe your Debbie Does Dallas blowup doll will do it for you. I have a feelin’ I’d have more fun sleepin’ with Jack the Ripper.”
“Lorelei, honey,” he said weakly just before the door slammed in his face.
Lorelei turned and leaned on the door with tears streaming down her face.
What the hell is wrong with me? He was willin’ and I threw him out. Then she heard his words again in her mind—
I’ve been without a woman so long even you’re beginning to look good to me.
Even you!
She lowered her head and cried into her hand as she wilted to the floor. Daddy had said it would happen, and it had. But one thing Daddy didn’t count on was self-respect. This was one hell of a time for it to show up, but there it was, big as life, and it hurt like hell. She didn’t want Griff for only one night, she wanted him for always. She wasn’t eighteen anymore, and that fantasy, although still alive and living in her heart, just wasn’t enough. She had to have all of him—or nothing.
Chapter Six
The night was dark, and a whipping wind was blowing up a storm. The weather had been unusually hot for Washington. It had been twelve days—twelve hot and humid days of mid-ninety degree temperatures, twelve days of irritation, twelve days of road rage, and twelve days of senior citizens dying in their homes. But now, a cold front had dipped down from the north, and a tempest was brewing.
The wind seemed to be alive, pushing tree limbs down and leaving many homes powerless. Trash cans turned over and tin cans made eerie clanking sounds on asphalt as they scuttled along in the wind. But that night, there was more in the air than the smell of rain. There was unrest, rising anger, and hatred that had nothing to do with the temperature, and everything to do with Griff Nyle.
Few people knew about this cavernous old building, because it was a government secret. Many life-altering decisions had been made sitting at the large, oblong-shaped table that filled up almost half the room. Tonight, it had scraps of food wrappers, soft drink cans, and ashtrays full of crushed cigarette butts littering its once beautiful, wood-grained top. A newly replaced bulb in a dented, cone-shaped metal cover with a silver chain hung from the ceiling. Its brilliant light encompassed the table making the darkness in the rest of the room even deeper. Just beyond the bright light, phantomlike figures gathered with curling tendrils drifting upward from red-tipped cigarettes to join the ash-colored smoke that hung heavily above.
A frowning, wrinkled-up face pushed itself into the light and peered through the thick, smothering fog. “He’s making a damned mockery of the high office of president.”
A set of glittering eyes stayed well into the darkness, but the sound of his voice and accent were well known. “Well, I say we get his ass out of the Oval Office even if we have to strap it to a runaway bull.”
“You know how he got in, don’t you?” a cherubic face with a conspiratorial leer said. “Senator Bliss paved the way for him, and now he’s got a son-in-law who’s president.” The wavy salt-and-pepper haired head shook in amazement as his gaze raked over the silhouettes. “That old man sure as hell knows how to feather his own coop, don’t he?”
“I don’t give a good goddamn if the bastard is kin to the pope himself. I want the young pussy-chaser out of there. We can’t stand another scandal. After the last one, the whole damned world is laughing at Washington.”
“Yeah? And how do you propose we do that?” The leader of the group looked from one to the other. “His popularity rating is so goddamned high we can’t even call him up for questioning.”
One small, slim man, who had been silent, spoke up timidly as he shifted his eyes around to the others. “I... know someone.”
Every voice gave way to a guilty silence, and each man listened as the midnight wind whistled and whined through the eaves of the old building. Angry, beady eyes darted around the room, the leaning shadows providing a welcome veil for the savage look on each of their faces.
A tiny whisper came out of the darkness. “We couldn’t.”
“Why the hell not?” a frightened murmur replied.
“It’s got to be done right,” an urgent voice demanded.
Suddenly, everyone was talking at once. Some voices screeched high with anger, some dipped low with threats, some were indecisive, and others were imperious. Fists pounded on the table as one industrious man sat in a corner writing. The husky leader of the group marched over, grabbed the tablet from his hands, and looked at it. “What the hell are you doin’?”
“I’m just makin’ some notes.”
The angry man grabbed the paper, tore it off the tablet, and crumpled it in his hand. He threw the tablet back down in front of the timid man. “You’re makin’ notes on how we’re gonna kill someone? You idiot. If the right person ever got their hands on that, our asses would fry. You make notes on how we’re gonna end inflation or lower taxes. You don’t make notes on how we’re gonna kill someone, for god’s sake!”
“I was just tryin’ to help.”
“Well, do us all a favor and don’t try.”
The meeting continued until well into the morning, and under the bright yellow hanging light, the men exchanged heated words, made plans, and settled angry arguments. Smoke blew from fat lips, thin lips, well-defined lips, or lips that twisted and curled with deceit, and by the time the meeting was over, a decision had been made—by the Republican Party.
* * * *
A few days later, a lone man walked along the street looking in store windows w
ith a phone up to his ear. Instead of examining the merchandise, he looked at a sun-splashed reflection across the street from him. “You’ll wear a blindfold,” he heard the tiny phone voice say. “You’ll be taken somewhere and seated behind a screen while the meeting takes place.”
“That’s okay for you, but what about me? I want my whole face covered.”
“Then wear one of those black things... what are they... skull caps? It’ll cover your whole head.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Well, hell, I don’t care. Wear a goddamned mask.”
“A mask with a blindfold underneath? Sounds crazy.”
“Hey, I don’t care what you do, but remember, we don’t know each other, understand? You’re a friggin’ nobody. I don’t give a rat’s ass what your name, rank, or serial number is, and I don’t care if you’re fat or skinny. Don’t tell me the name of your barber, how long your cock is, or who you screw. You got any scars, keep ’em a secret, got it? We stay completely anonymous.”
“But my phone...”
“What phone? Who the hell are you? I don’t know you from Adam. You got a wrong number creep, so get the hell off my phone, you’re usin’ up my minutes.”
“All right, I get the idea. Where...”
“At two in the morning be at a little place called Gardena Square. It’s in the Twining District.”
“Is it a park?”
“Hell, no. It’s just a lot of shrubs and trees thrown down in the middle of town. You know what I mean. Washington’s lousy with them. It’s an island in the middle of two streets that meet at a round point. There are some benches here and there, but you take the one at the fork and wait there.”
“Wait there with a goddamned blindfold and mask on? I’ll be friggin’ arrested, if they don’t haul me off to the loony bin first.”
The Sweet Thief Page 4
