"Dawn, we'd better go hit the books,” Erik said. He looked back at Leigh. “We're going to study for our Psych mid-term in my room.” He hesitated. “That's not a problem, is it?"
Leigh almost choked on the words. “It's your room, Erik. You don't have to ask permission to have friends over.” She didn't miss the flirtatious smile Dawn threw at Erik when she said “friends.” Her hand tightened on the sponge.
Erik smiled back at Dawn. “Shall we?"
"Good-bye, Mrs. Fallon. It sure was nice meeting you. Erik told me you're like a second mother to him, and now I can see why.” Dawn tucked her hand into Erik's, and they left the room.
Viciously, Leigh threw the sponge into the bucket, not caring that the filthy water splashed her jeans. With a harsh snap, she stripped off the gloves and hurled them into the sink. Wheeling around, she marched into the bathroom and flicked on the light. She groaned as her eyes met her reflection in the mirror. God, she looked awful. Her skin was lifeless, her hazel eyes dull. She wasn't wearing even a hint of make-up. A black streak of oven gunk smudged one cheekbone. As if that weren't bad enough, her hair was hidden under an old cotton scarf and she was wearing her oldest pair of jeans with one of Bob's over-sized jerseys from his college football days.
What a way to meet Erik's prom queen. After seeing that picture of young perfection, Leigh felt like she was ready for a wheelchair and a ten-year supply of Geritol.
What were they doing in his room anyway? Hardly studying. How could Erik possibly study with a girl like that around? She should march up there right now and put a stop to whatever was going on. A vivid image of glamorous Dawn in Erik's arms caused her to cringe with envy. If only she were Dawn's age and free and single, able to be with Erik without guilt. Why couldn't she have met him twenty years ago, before Bob?
Because, she thought grimly, twenty years ago, Erik had been only seven. “I've got to stop this ... insanity...” she muttered. She knew she had no choice but to control this ridiculous obsession. Yet, she couldn't stop her mind from imagining the scene upstairs in his room. Erik and Dawn...
She gave a frustrated groan and stalked out of the bathroom. She still had the damn oven to finish.
* * * *
Leigh glanced over at Erik's profile as the tenor on-stage at the Kennedy Center sang “Every Valley Shall Be Exalted” from Handel's “Messiah.” His face wore an expression of rapt enjoyment. A rush of pleasure swept through Leigh, and for the thousandth time that evening, she realized how glad she was that he'd come along with her, Mark, and Vicki. Mark had acquired the tickets to the “Messiah-Sing-Along” from Vicki's brother, a trumpet player in the National Symphony Orchestra. She'd been able to get only four tickets, which meant two unhappy kids were left at home. Aaron, because he wanted to go, and Mel because she was stuck baby-sitting on a Friday night.
The chorus joined in, and hastily, Leigh glanced down at her music sheet and began to sing along. She felt Erik's eyes upon her and looked up. He gave her a warm smile as he sang in a rich baritone. She felt herself blush and quickly looked away.
Moments later, at the overture to the “Hallelujah Chorus,” she stood with the rest of the audience. She bit her lip, determined to sing through the chorus tonight without choking up, something she'd never been able to do. The piece always caused an uncontrollable emotional reaction in her. Invariably her throat closed up with emotion and her eyes grew misty. It was so embarrassing. This year, she'd get through it.
It didn't work. By the last “hallelujah,” tears were streaming down her face. She turned away from Erik. She didn't want him to see her emotion. The concert ended. When the applause died out, the murmur of conversation filled the auditorium as the audience prepared to leave. Leigh continued to face away from Erik as she fumbled for her purse on the floor. His warm hand pressed upon her shoulder.
"Kayleigh, thank you for inviting me."
Quickly, Leigh brushed away her tears and turned to him, plastering a smile on her face. In astonishment, she saw that his blue eyes were watery and his face pink-tinged.
With a chagrined smile, he shrugged. “Handel always does this to me."
Leigh was glad Bob had refused to go with them. He would never have understood.
* * * *
When they arrived home, Leigh wasn't at all surprised to find the Mercedes gone although it was after ten o'clock. Erik and Mark headed to their rooms to study. Leigh felt restless, too keyed up to watch TV or sleep. Handel's music still played in her mind, joyous and uplifting. She decided to make herself a cup of hot chocolate and go for a walk out by the brook.
The December night was clear, but not terribly cold. There was no wind, just the lulling sound of the waterfall as it tumbled over the smooth rocks. Leigh sat on an antique park bench she'd found at a yard sale in Occoquan a few years back. The hot chocolate was at just the right temperature. Warm and velvety smooth. But even after she'd finished it, she didn't feel like going in.
As a child growing up in a rural area of Ohio, she'd had many hours to spend alone. Barb, at five years older, had had her own friends and was always off with them. Leigh hadn't minded. She'd liked being alone, spending hours drawing, writing or making up songs to sing. One summer, her dad had hung a swing from the branches of a big old oak in the back yard, and there, Leigh had spent many hours, just swinging and singing softly to herself. Those had been some of the happiest hours of her childhood.
"For unto us a child is born...” The anthem wouldn't leave her mind. Under her breath, she began to sing it. At the points where she didn't know the words, she hummed. It had always been her dream to sing Handel's “Messiah” in a choir, but at Bowling Green State, she'd been too involved with art and the piano to try out for choir. Tonight had been the closest she'd ever come. It had been a wonderful evening.
She reached the part where the males voices joined in. Her voice lowered an octave, “For unto us a child is born..."
"Unto us, a son is given..."
Her head whipped around. A few feet away stood Erik, hands in his jacket pockets. Even in the darkness, she saw the flash of his smile.
"Don't stop,” he said. “Come on, sing with me. ‘And the government shall be upon His shoulder..."
Softly, Leigh joined in. “And His name shall be called Wonderful..."
"Councillor, the Mighty God.” He came forward and sat down next to her.
"The Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace,” they finished together. It should've felt corny, but it didn't. Only right.
"I think we need a few more voices,” Leigh said with a self-conscious laugh.
He smiled. “I think we sounded grand. You have a truly lovely voice, Kayleigh. I meant to tell you that tonight."
On the pretense of making herself more comfortable, Leigh moved a few inches away. He was sitting too close for her peace of mind. “Oh, thanks. I've always enjoyed singing. To myself, anyway."
He reached out and touched her gloved hand. “Music is in your soul, I can tell. Have I told you my mother is a musician? She was a violinist for the Oslo Philharmonic before she married my father. I believe the love of music is in our blood.” His hand tightened on hers. “Let me see your hand. Here, lose the glove for a moment. I'll keep it warm."
He was flirting with her! Warning voices inside her brain told her to put a stop to it immediately. But tiny shivers were coursing through her as he stripped the leather glove from her hand. She could no more pull her hand out of his grasp than she could stop breathing. Besides, what was the harm in a little flirtation? It would never go farther than this. She would never allow it to.
He held her bare hand between his soft gloved ones, peering it. Slowly he turned it over and touched her palm, tracing her life-line with his index finger. Leigh held her breath, almost light-headed by the thrill of his touch. Even through the leather of his gloves, she could feel the heat of him. It was as if a fire raged inside his hands, burning through bone, skin and leather to scorch her.
He didn't
seem to notice her agitation. A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips. “Ah ... piano. You play it, do you not?"
"Not for a long time,” she said, a soft catch in her voice. “It was my major in college. I had planned to make it a career, but then ... well, other things got in the way, and I decided to switch to art."
"Bob?” A cool look came into his eyes. “That's where you met, isn't it? In college?"
Leigh looked away, concentrating on the waterfall's pale shimmer. “Well, actually, I met him here in Washington during the summer between my junior and senior year. He was an aide to my father during his last term in the Senate.” She gave a short laugh. “I took him to a couple of concerts at the Kennedy Center, but it was obvious he was bored to death. Eventually, I decided to give up the piano. The rehearsals and concerts were taking too much of my time."
"And you've regretted it ever since, haven't you?"
She felt his gaze, but refused to meet his eyes. “I regret a lot of things,” she said, and then was horrified by her candor.
"Is Bob one of them?"
The question hung in the air between them. His hand tightened on hers. Until that moment, she'd forgotten he still held it between his. Was it because it had seemed so right there?
"Kayleigh..."
Leigh drew her hand away and stood up. Things were getting too dangerous. Spinning out of control. She hurriedly pulled on her glove. “I'm freezing, aren't you? Tired, too.” She stifled a yawn. “I have a breakfast meeting with Ellen tomorrow. Guess I'd better get to bed."
Erik stood up. “Ja. I should, too. Come on, let's go in.” He didn't speak again until they were inside the utility room. He helped her out of her parka and hung it on the nearby hook, then shrugged out of his own. Leigh turned to the kitchen.
"Good-night, Kayleigh,” he said. “Sleep well."
Chapter 6
"Excuse me, Senator. There's someone over there I have to speak to.” With a polite smile, Leigh extricated herself from Senator Isaac Winston's much-too-friendly grip and casually moved away to join a group of women standing near the Christmas tree.
"I saw her at Mel Krupin's the other day ... and I swear, she looks fifteen years younger.” Belinda Winston paused and crammed an hors d'oeuvre into her fleshy mouth. “I have got to find the name of her plastic surgeon."
"Speaking of plastic surgery,” Janine Hudson chimed in. “Did you hear Cissy Heywood had breast implants? Jim says all the men at the club have trouble looking her in the eye now."
"Yeah, we know where they're looking,” said Sharon Reynolds. “That's Cissy for you. Has to have the biggest house, the biggest car and now, the biggest breasts."
The outspoken Carla Emmett, the wife of a congressman from Texas, gave a short, brittle laugh. She was one of the few congressional wives Leigh genuinely liked. Perhaps it was because she wasn't afraid to be more than her husband's shadow.
"Speaking of boobs, check out Rebecca kissing up to your husband, Leigh. Hot Damn! If my Ted looked like that hunk of yours, he'd have to kill me before I'd let him hire an A.A. like her!"
"Oh, Carla!” Leigh smiled. “As if you have to worry. Ted is nuts about you. Anyway, don't you think you're exaggerating? I wouldn't exactly call a conversation ‘kissing up.’”
One thin black eyebrow lifted. “I don't care what you call it. I'd just watch that little cupcake if I were you, Leigh. I've been on the Hill long enough to recognize her type. She's ambitious. And ambitious women in Washington know the best way to get to the top is through the bedroom doors."
"Well, I'll keep my eyes open,” Leigh said lightly. How could she explain to Carla that Bob wasn't interested in Rebecca or any other women? His ambition to get ahead took precedence over everything else. Besides, when would he possibly have time to have an affair?
The conversation swirled around her, repetitious and trivial, topics she'd heard discussed hundreds of times before. Finally, she decided she couldn't take another second of it and excused herself. No one noticed as she moved away, glancing around the room to make sure everyone had a drink and no one was left alone. For a moment, her eyes lingered on Bob and Rebecca standing in a corner, involved in an apparently absorbing conversation. Could Carla possibly be right? Was there more to their relationship than boss and employee? She just couldn't believe it. Not Bob. He was too staid, too fearful of scandal. And sex had never been a high priority for him.
The party appeared to be a success. Well, it should be, she thought. The cost of the buffet had set them back a small fortune, especially since Bob had insisted on the best. Pearly white Beluga caviar filled two huge Waterford crystal bowls on a sideboard and was surrounded by finger foods from around the world. A rented silver fountain spurted Bob's favorite champagne, Taitlinger Rose, 1976. The drinks were flowing, the food was disappearing faster than the hired servers could keep it on the buffet table, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Bob would have no cause for complaint.
She found Mark in the middle of a deep conversation with the Coe boy, the son of the Republican congressman from Idaho. Over by the Christmas tree, Erik stood surrounded by several teenage girls, including Mel. In spite of his sisterly treatment of her, Mel apparently still harbored a girlish infatuation with their Norwegian house-guest. And why not? Leigh was only too aware of his heady effect upon women.
She had just joined a group of the younger wives when she saw Bob take the glass from Rebecca's hand and stride over to the bar. A moment later, he appeared at her side. “The bartender is overwhelmed, and he's almost out of ice. Isn't there somebody else who's supposed to be helping him out?"
"I'll see what I can find out.” She gave Lois Judd an apologetic smile. “I'll be right back."
The kitchen was deserted. She supposed the bartender's assistant had stepped outside for a smoke or something, and she didn't intend to hunt him down. Instead, she went to the freezer to get the bag of ice herself. As she closed the freezer door, she heard a footstep behind her, followed by a slurred voice. “So, this is where you wandered off to!"
Leigh sighed and turned around. “Do you need another drink, Congressman?"
Isaac Winston, the congressman from Georgia who'd been on the Hill for years, was drunk—as usual. It happened at every party he attended. She wondered how he managed to stay in office with such an obvious drinking problem. He wasn't a bad-looking man, in fact, was relatively handsome, but his oily smile and cold brown eyes gave Leigh the creeps. Briskly, she emptied half the bag into the ice-bucket, anxious to return to the family room.
Winston gave her a greasy smile and lurched toward her on unsteady feet. “It's not a drink I want, Leigh. You know that."
Leigh edged along the counter, moving closer to the door. “Congressman, maybe you've had enough."
"Maybe you haven't had enough.” He grinned.
"Excuse me,” Leigh said coldly. “I have to get back to my guests."
"Oh, come on, baby.” He took a step closer. “I've seen the way you've looked at me tonight. You want it and you want it bad. And I'm the man to give it to you."
With a lightning movement, he was upon her, one hand fumbling her breasts while the other slid under her short velvet dress and moved up her thigh. Leigh reacted automatically, grabbing the nearest weapon, a liquor glass on the counter filled with half-melted ice cubes. Winston gasped and sputtered as the icy water hit the back of his neck.
"For God's sake, Leigh!"
She turned to see Bob in the doorway, his face white with shock. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He strode into the kitchen, grabbed a napkin from the table and turned to Winston. “Isaac! I'm so sorry! I don't know what to say...” He dabbed at the man's sodden neck. Leigh stared incredulously. Had Bob any idea how ridiculous he looked?
The cold water appeared to have sobered Isaac Winston for the moment. He gave a short, garbled laugh. “Don't worry, Bob. It was just a little joke between me and your lovely wife. Good thing I have a sense of humor.” He continued to chuckle, but
his eyes had hardened into dark brittle stones. “Guess I'll go scare up another drink."
After he made his way out of the room, Bob whipped around to Leigh. “Are you crazy?” he snarled. “Do you know what kind of power that man has? What are you trying to do? Ruin me?"
Stunned, Leigh stared at him, her body still trembling. Fury washed over her. “That man just attacked me! He practically raped me right here on the floor! Or in addition to giving your parties, do you expect me to also spread my legs for your fellow congressmen?"
Bob drew close to her, his anger matching hers. “You know something?” he said. “You're a very neurotic woman. The man has had a little too much to drink. So what if he flirts with you? That's no reason to dump a goddamn drink down his back! Now, are you going to bring out the ice or not?"
She turned, grabbed the bag of ice on the counter and thrust it into his gut. “Get your own fucking ice!"
For just a second, she thought he was going to hit her. His face had grown deathly white, his brown eyes as cold as the ice bag he cradled. But he didn't say a word. Just turned and marched out of the kitchen. Leigh stood still for a moment, her heart pounding. She looked down and realized she was still holding the liquor glass. Flirting? Her hands tightened on the liquor glass as blind rage engulfed her. She hurled the glass to the floor, releasing a cry of frustration.
She stared down the tiny shards glittering atop the blue ceramic tiles and the dam burst. Tears rolled down her face in a steady stream as she bent, sobbing, to pick up the pieces. Suddenly Erik was there at her side.
"Let me help.” He knelt down beside her.
A shard of glass sliced her finger. “Damn!” she yelped. Her finger began to throb, and she cried harder. Through her tears, she watched the blood ooze out of the wound, unable to move.
"Fordomme!” Erik exclaimed. He stood up and grabbed a dish towel from the counter and quickly wound it around her finger. “You're white as a ghost. Come sit down.” He pulled her to her feet and nudged her into a chair at the kitchen table. Leigh tried to stop the flood of tears, but her throbbing finger only made it harder to gain control. She felt ashamed to have Erik see her like this, but something in her had snapped, and there was nothing she could do about it. As she wept, he sat near her, silently cradling her injured hand tightly between his. He didn't try to console her with words—didn't attempt to stop her from crying. It was almost as if he knew how much she needed to release the pain. After a moment, when her weeping softenend, he drew away the bloody towel and inspected the cut. “It doesn't look too frightful,” he said. “Is there some antiseptic and bandages in the lavatory?"
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 6
