by Carol Storm
“You mean being lazy and screwing around aren’t enough?” Unexpectedly, Joe Sullivan started to laugh. Before long father and daughter were both laughing their heads off.
“What the hell’s so funny?” Red Kelly demanded, muscling his way into the plush hotel suite. Lately he was starting to drop over uninvited, acting as though he gave the orders. “We’re in trouble, boss. The press caught Kenny Marigold kissing Kick at the Cuban festival.” The veteran political man chuckled grimly. “Try saying that last sentence six times fast.”
“It’s all right, Red,” Joe Sullivan said gently. “Kick told me all about it. This Marigold, he’s a real up and comer. As a matter of fact, Kick thinks I should throw in the towel right now. I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe I should just give up.”
“I never said that!” Kick felt a stab of pain. “You could do all kinds of things if you retired. You know, like coaching golf. Why not try teaching some of our new neighbors, or their children? There are lots of people in Miami who don’t have access to the things we have. You could teach them, maybe set up a foundation over at Crandon Park.”
“Have you both gone crazy?” Red asked incredulously. “Kick, I taught you to be tough. How can you give it up for this Marigold guy just because he gave a good speech last night?”
“It wasn’t the speech,” Kick said pointedly. “It was meeting his family. Kenny Marigold works for his people, even when it means giving up what he really wants. I can relate to that.”
Kelly looked hard at her. “It was stupid of you to kiss him, Kick, but it’s not a fatal mistake. We can counteract that with other stuff.”
“What other stuff?” Kick asked. She wished she were dressed, instead of wearing a monogrammed hotel bathrobe like her father. Both of them had slept late this morning. Kick had been out all night with Kenny Marigold, trying to make a deal, while her father had been busy screwing one of the hotel maids. The girl had left her frilly white apron on the floor.
“Dirt.” Kelly said succinctly. “I’ve already got people tailing Kenny Marigold. I know he’s seeing some woman for sex. I just need to get pictures, that’s all. Something hot.”
Kick took a deep breath. “Daddy, if you let Red bring back those kind of gutter tactics, then I’m through. I’ll endorse Kenny Marigold for real. I’ll even tell people I’m the woman he’s secretly screwing! I bet that’ll cost you a few votes. Maybe even more than it’ll cost him.”
Joe Sullivan looked stunned. “Would you really do that to me, baby?”
She nodded, grimly. “If you drive me to it. Remember, I can be just as mean as Mom. Don’t force me to choose between loving you and doing what’s right.” She got to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet my personal trainer at the Shore Club. I’m overdue for a full-body workout and a spa treatment.”
Kick’s father slumped his flabby shoulders, looking totally defeated. “That’s right, baby. You go to the club and relax. Red and I have some things to talk about.”
“You’re not really thinking of dropping out, are you Joe?” Red Kelly asked, after a stern and determined Kick had marched off to her own bedroom suite to get dressed.
“I don’t know, Kelly. I don’t know.” Joe sighed, watching the tall, slender palm trees waving gracefully just outside the window. “Better put a tail on my little girl, just in case. In the meantime, I think I’ll set up a nice man-to-man talk with the great Kenny Marigold.”
* * * *
Kick really was due for a day at the Shore Club’s private spa. But she needed to see Kenny first. In the car she grabbed her cell phone and dialed the special number, feeling breathless and excited. Kenny never answered, but she left a shaky message after the beep.
“Damn!” Traffic was moving fast on the Dixie Highway, yet Kick felt trapped in one spot. She kept thinking about Kenny, until suddenly she noticed someone was following her. It wasn’t as if her father rated Secret Service protection, at least not yet. Kick shifted from lane to lane a few times, trying to lose whoever it was. It was funny, being shadowed, but she couldn’t really think about it right now. All she could think about was Kenny.
“The media are onto us,” Kick cried breathlessly. The posh hotel suite was cool and quiet, a great relief after the noisy, crowded highway. “I saw them this morning, tailing me.”
“Someone has been shadowing us for days,” Kenny told her. He was lying naked in bed, looking warm and sleepy and utterly desirable. His long, lean arms and legs were flexing, the muscles stretching and tightening deliciously as he stretched and yawned.
“You slept here over night?” Without thinking, Kick sat down at the foot of the bed.
“I didn’t give you permission to sit. Stand up and ask politely if you may sit down.”
“May I please sit down, Master?” Kick jumped to her feet. She’d let her guard down only because Kenny looked so inviting lying there in bed. But he was still her Master.
“Kick off your shoes first.”
“Yes, Master.” Kick tried to conceal a knowing smirk as she removed the offending footwear, tossing the glossy black shoes to land in the deep-piled carpet several feet away. Kenny was Master, but there was no hiding the hunger in his eyes when he looked her over. She had dressed in a way sure to provoke him, choosing a dark blue suit that concealed her submissive side and advertised her daytime identity as professional woman. Knowing he was hungry to strip her bare gave her courage to venture into forbidden territory. “May I ask, Master, if your family was pleased by the way things went at the Calle Ocho Festival? I’m sure they saw the pictures of the two of us kissing down on Eighth Street.”
The naked man laughed, deep in his chest. “My mother was furious. She swears that Little Havana is through with me. Of course she’s dead wrong, as always. A connection with the glamorous Sullivan political dynasty is just what I need to launch my own career.”
“That’s what I think, too.” Kick paused. “Master, there’s something you should know. This morning I had it out with my father. I told him I wouldn’t let him use dirty tactics to stop you. If he does, I’ll switch sides. You could use me on your staff. Then he’ll have to drop out.”
“I could use you in my bed,” Kenny growled. “Who gave you permission to pressure your father to drop out? Take off that stupid lacy-looking thing around your neck. You look like an English duke from the 1700's. The kind who likes to tumble with stable boys and footmen.”
Kick giggled, pleased that the frilly lace cravat had sparked Kenny’s interest. “You know I love my father, but I just couldn’t take watching him run such a lazy campaign. Red makes all the decisions. All Dad wants to do is play golf with his buddies! You’d be a much better candidate.” Kick gave him a look, tossing the flimsy scrap of white cloth to the floor. “Master.”
“I am your Master. But this isn’t about politics.” Kenny frowned at the prim row of tiny pearl buttons running up Kick’s pristine white silk blouse.
“What do you mean?” Kick asked. She froze, her fingers on the top button of her blouse. “You saw the cameras – you knew who I was. Isn’t that why we kissed at the festival?”
“Keep unbuttoning,” Kenny told her. “Last night was entirely selfish, honey. I wanted you a lot more than I wanted to win. That’s why my mother kicked me out of the house.”
“Oh.” Kick gave him a knowing look and went to work unbuttoning her blouse. “I know how it is, Master. You’re only human. We just need to keep our secret thing under control.”
“Sure, I’m only human,” Kenny agreed. “That’s why I’m dropping out of the race.”
“You’re what?” Kick’s blouse fell open, revealing a very sexy white lace bra. “You can’t drop out, Master! You’ve got the chance to make a difference. Politics is about public service. It’s not personal!”
“Helping your father is personal,” Kenny pointed out. “You know he doesn’t really want it. I don’t want it either.” He sat up on the bed and gently removed her blouse.
“But why?” Kick tried to protest, to rise from the bed, but Kenny easily held her fast. Then he began running his large, warm hands slowly up and down her bare arms.
“Look, Kick. I’m no Prince Charming. I put on an act in public, but deep down I’m just a bastard at heart. My father wasn’t even a real Cuban! His name was Joey Marigold. He was a wise guy from New Jersey who made a fortune on the Miami waterfront back in the eighties. God only knows why my mother married him. I guess she thought she could change him.”
“You’re not a bastard.” Kick touched his unshaven cheek, letting her fingers caress the velvet roughness of his heated skin. She wanted Kenny to defeat her father. She wanted him to take her tight and aching nipples into his mouth and suck until she screamed.
“Bastard,” Kenny insisted. He took her thumb into his mouth and sucked gently, his tongue rasping against the sensitive pad of flesh. Kick felt the thrill from her nipples clear down to her toes. “When I’m with you, Kick, I forget all about being loyal to my own. All I want is you. All I can think of is you.” His clever lips encircled each finger in turn, sucked and released in time to the hypnotic rhythm of his husky voice. “Let’s forget about politics and the media and doing what’s right for the community. Let’s do what’s right for us.”
“Oh, Kenny!” Kick closed her eyes, pictured the two of them alone, lost in sheer passion. Then she saw the young volunteers she had recruited for her father. “It won’t work,” she sighed.
“Why not?” Kenny took both her hands and held them tightly in his. “My father was a crook, but he left us plenty of money. There’s millions we could spend. I want to spend it on you. I’m tired of pretending to be good. I want to be me for once. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” Kick opened her eyes. “I’m just not that kind of girl.”
He frowned. “You’re my girl. You’re my slave.”
Kick shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I know who I am in bed. I love being your submissive, and I’ve learned to respect you for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with sex. But I’m not giving up my ideals for any relationship, because politics is who I am.”
“I could order you to stay,” Kenny pointed out. “I could order you to forget everything in the world but the sound of my voice. Would that make it easier for you?”
Kick nodded. “Yes, it would. But it would be like pretending the rest of me didn’t exist.”
Kenny released her hands. “Well, then, maybe we should just stop seeing each other for a while. If I drop out of the race, it’ll help your father so much that the gossip about the two of us won’t matter. People will think you were just using me to help him win.”
“I wanted you to win,” Kick said bitterly. She rose to her feet and began gathering up her clothes. “I love my father. But I thought I saw something different in you. A real leader. That’s what you could be, if you would just stop feeling sorry for yourself and being selfish.”
Kenny cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m being selfish? Your father just wants to relax and play golf with his buddies. But you force him to keep on pretending, to be the daddy you remember from years ago. You want to play games with him, that’s fine. I like games, too. But when I play games, I’m the one in control.”
“But this isn’t a game. This is life!” Kick felt just like her mother, screaming at her dad.
“Your life,” Kenny said bluntly. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for, Kick. But I can still help you out. Maybe I could make a contribution to your father’s campaign.”
“Go to hell!” Kick turned away, hiding her tears as she hastily buttoned up her clothes. Mother was right. A woman had to control herself around men or she lost all pride, all independence. “I’d rather you didn’t contribute,” she said stiffly, her tone now icy and remote. “People might wonder how I got you to give me the money.”
“They’ll wonder, all right,” Kenny said quietly. “They’ll wonder how good it was.”
* * * *
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bartholomew. I know how much you’ve contributed to the campaign. But my father has an important fund raiser this afternoon. No, it’s not on the golf course!”
Kick was steaming as she slammed down the phone. Even when Joe Sullivan’s campaign was in deep trouble, his rich good-time buddies thought they could dial him up any time for a round of golf. It was true the old boy network had really come through with money and support. But younger voters had gone sour on the Sullivan campaign, ever since Kenny Marigold mysteriously dropped out of the race. There were all kinds of conspiracy theories. A lot of them focused on Kick. The scandal in the newspapers, and the sexy photos of the two of them kissing, had totally transformed her image, from Joan of Arc to Jezebel. When she walked down the hall, Kick sensed the young volunteers gossiping about her. The hushed whispers sounded hurt and angry. Some were disillusioned – and some were just plain jealous.
Of course, Red Kelly was still around. Kick passed his office every time she went down the hall. With Joe sinking lower and lower in the polls, the seasoned veteran was already talking about dumping all the minority outreach and social programs overboard. Kick felt so guilty about torpedoing her father’s campaign that she just couldn’t argue with him. Besides, with Kenny gone, there was no real alternative. Without the young vote, their core constituency was rich guys who really didn’t care about the poor. It was all very depressing.
“Still feeling down in the dumps, beautiful?” Red’s friendly personality hadn’t changed. Gruff voice, teasing on the surface but warm deep down. He was always telling stupid jokes, just to make her laugh, or patting her behind while she was drinking from the water fountain.
“I’m not down in the dumps,” Kick said, turning on a bright smile. “I’m working.”
Kelly gave her a searching glance, his shrewd blue eyes reading the obvious signs of strain on her tired face. “Are you really working for us, kid? The way you’ve been acting lately, I thought you were working for Kenny Marigold.”
“Oh!” Kick gasped with shock. “If that’s how you feel, Red, you can do without me!” She pivoted on one high heel, ready to walk off and abandon the whole rotten campaign.
Kelly caught her wrist in an iron grip. “Listen, Kick. No one’s making any judgments here. But we need to talk if we’re going to save your father’s campaign.”
Kick saw curious faces poking out from cubicles all down the hall. She was close to making a spectacle of herself once again. “You can’t save Daddy’s campaign,” she responded, in a low voice that was almost triumphant. “He’s losing ground every day. Half the time I’m covering for him when he’s nowhere in sight. Do you even know where he is right now?”
“No, I don’t.” Red led her to his private office and locked the door. It was quiet. “Joe’s not the problem, baby doll,” he said, sitting down at his battered, old-fashioned desk. “You’ve been walking around like a zombie ever since the Cuban festival. The volunteers have noticed your mood, and it’s hurting the campaign. These gloomy moods can be contagious.”
Kick knew he was right. “I never figured on Daddy taking a nose dive in the polls,” she confessed, sitting down wearily on a cushioned chair in the corner. “When Kenny dropped out I thought it would help the campaign. I mean, he was the competition, and when he quit, I thought kids would rally to us. Instead they hate us!”
Red shrugged. “It happens that way, sometimes. This Marigold kid is smart. He’s probably planning already for next time around.”
“He said he was dropping out for good,” Kick said, feeling stunned. “I believed him.”
“Welcome to politics, baby doll.” Red reached into his desk, drawing out a fifth of Irish whiskey and two glasses. He looked at Kick’s face, again reading her emotions and gauging her reactions. “Maybe he was on the level,” he said, pouring drinks for the two of them. “Sometimes people say something and mean it, but they change later on. Remember when you were ten years old and you wanted to marry Sean? My
boy was always crazy about you.”
“I remember.” Kick looked at the amber liquid in her glass. “I’ve been a fool,” she said, tossing her head and taking a deep drink of the burning liquor. “Kenny was a bastard, someone not fit to tie Sean’s shoelaces. But I fell for him, Red. I fell hard. What a dope!”
“You’re no dope,” Red replied, gruffly. “My boy Sean was soft. You’re tough as nails. Still, it takes time to heal after a relationship goes bad. Especially when it goes bad in public.”
“You can say that again,” Kick laughed bitterly. She swirled the liquor in her glass. “Why would anyone care what two normal people like Kenny and me do in private?”
“Kenny was a contender,” Red pointed out. “You have to keep an eye on people, Kick. But I want you to know that when we put a tail on him, I had no idea you were the woman he was seeing.”
“You spied on us? Red, how could you do that?” Kick was sickened by the invasion of her privacy. But she also felt all the old schoolgirl guilt. A man her father’s age, a man she respected, had witnessed her weakness first hand. “My God, you must really hate me!”
“How could I hate you?” Kelly asked. “My boy loved you. When he was killed in Iraq, I blamed you. Hell, I guess I even wanted to get even for a while. But when I saw those tapes, I could see why the two of you wouldn’t have been right together. Sean was the gentle type.”
“Does my father know?” Kick swallowed more whiskey. “Did he see those tapes?”
“Of course not,” Kelly said. “What do you think I am? Joe would die of a heart attack if he saw those tapes. I just told him that you and Kenny were dating long before the Cuban festival, and that you tried to keep it quiet but couldn’t because you loved the guy so much. That’s pretty much the truth, isn’t it?”
