True Colors

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Tell her whatever you want. She already knows I’m responsible for the posts. But I’m sure she’d love to hear you knew about it well before she did.”

  Candy’s spray-tanned skin lost all its color. “What have you done?”

  “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

  Candy sputtered in disbelief as Robby took her by the arm and dragged her across the room. Robby showed her the door. Forcibly.

  “Enjoy your meal,” she said with a mock salute as Candy’s chauffeur helped her into the backseat of her limousine. “I hope you choke on it.”

  “How long have you been in bed with her?” Miles asked.

  Robby grimaced. “Do me a favor. Don’t ever use that phrase again.”

  “How else would you explain it?”

  “Certainly not in those terms.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “What else are you not telling me?”

  “What makes you think I’m keeping something from you?”

  “Because the Robby I know would never allow someone like that to get the best of her.”

  Robby’s bravado disappeared. The Robby Miles knew wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. The Robby he knew would have never allowed sentiment to override reason. The Robby he knew wouldn’t have taken her eyes off the prize. But the Robby he knew had ceased to exist. Would he ever find her again? Would she? Moreover, did she even want to?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Taylor returned to her room to find Candy Ferrell sitting on her bed. She lifted her eyes heavenward. She was starting to think this woman was put here to test her ability to be diplomatic.

  She hesitated, unsure whether to close her bedroom door or leave it open. She didn’t want to be alone with Candy, but she sure as hell didn’t want anyone wandering the halls to overhear whatever Candy had to say. “Give us five minutes,” she said as Steven positioned himself outside the door.

  “Five minutes?” Candy stretched out on the bed as if she owned it. “I need longer than that to get warmed up, even if you’re the one responsible for raising my body temperature.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Your mother invited me. We had quite a lovely visit. When she was called away to take care of some last-minute details for this evening’s function, she asked one of the staff to show me where James and I will be staying when we’re in town for the Cherry Blossom Festival.”

  “Sorry. Wrong room.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” Fixing her with a look that made Taylor feel dirtier than the copious amounts of sweat dripping from her body, Candy patted the spot next to her on the bed.

  Taylor refused the invitation with a polite but firm shake of her head.

  Candy rubbed her leg against the thick cotton comforter covering the queen-sized bed. “I’m sorry to hear about you and Robby.”

  “How did you know we broke up?” Candy was even better at digging up dirt than Robby was. And that was saying a lot.

  Candy smiled. “As I told you at the inaugural ball, my dear, Washington leaks like a sieve. In case you’re wondering, the offer I made you that night still stands. Care to change your mind?”

  Candy’s voice dropped an octave to a register Taylor assumed she was supposed to find sexy. She didn’t.

  Candy sauntered across the room and trailed a French-tipped nail across Taylor’s sweat-soaked tank top. “If you’d like to share a nightcap after dinner, I’m just a phone call away.”

  “As intriguing as your offer sounds,” she said, “I’m going to have to pass. Steven, please make sure Mrs. Ferrell doesn’t get lost on her way out.”

  “Roger that.”

  After Steven ushered Candy away, Taylor locked the door behind her. She longed for the days when she could tell Candy to go fuck herself without having to worry about the repercussions, but she couldn’t afford to alienate a potential campaign contributor and future constituent. She hadn’t officially thrown her hat in the ring, and she was already making concessions.

  Was this how her father felt when he had sold his soul to win the office he now held? If so, her dreams of succeeding him one day might have to remain just that.

  * * *

  Robby tuned the TV to C-SPAN while she dressed for her shift at Virginia’s. She usually found the no-frills network deadly dull, but it was the only outlet offering live coverage of President Crenshaw’s state dinner. Therefore, it held her undivided attention.

  She watched the guests slowly parade in front of the assembled press, Capitol Hill’s version of walking the red carpet. The Red, Blue, and State Dining rooms were filled with celebrities who had current or former ties to the land Down Under. Luminaries from Cate Blanchett to Olivia Newton-John to Geoffrey Rush were in attendance. All that was missing were a kangaroo and a couple of koalas.

  Ignoring the men, who all seemed to be wearing different versions of the same tuxedo, Robby judged the women’s outfits. A New York senator’s wife’s chic Donna Karan sheath earned a definite A; Candy Ferrell’s ruffled monstrosity garnered a resounding F. The other guests ranked somewhere in between.

  Then Taylor walked in.

  Fashion critics often derided Hillary Clinton’s love of pantsuits, but even the most jaded observers would be hard-pressed to say Taylor was anything but devastatingly handsome in hers. Her tuxedo fit her so well it had to have been custom-made. With her slicked-back hair and smoky eyes, she looked like a distaff Rudolph Valentino, the 1920s era silent film star who had made women swoon—in life and in death.

  Robby was so taken by Taylor she almost didn’t notice the woman on her arm. Sheridan glittered at Taylor’s side, a low-cut Vera Wang gown on her toned body and a look of entitlement on her beautiful face. Her hand curled around Taylor’s forearm with a possessiveness that made Robby’s blood boil.

  Get your hands off of her, Robby wanted to scream. She’s mine. Except, of course, it wasn’t true. Her lies had driven Taylor away. Had they ended up driving her into Sheridan’s arms, of all places?

  Taylor looked tantalizingly androgynous. Sheridan must have been gushing like a river during rainy season. She had a weakness for girls who looked like boys but were all woman underneath. Tonight, Taylor definitely fit the bill.

  Did Taylor and Sheridan comprise DC’s new power couple? Robby watched them mingle with a Canberra-born comic actor and a Sydney-based pop star before they took their seats next to Taylor’s parents and Prime Minister Patricia Ogilvie. Taylor gallantly pulled out Sheridan’s chair for her. Sheridan responded with an appreciative smile. Taylor’s hand grazed Sheridan’s shoulder as she took her own seat. Robby couldn’t bear to keep watching, but she couldn’t turn away.

  As members of the Australian Chamber Orchestra provided background music, Sheridan leaned over and whispered something in Taylor’s ear. Her cupped hand hid her lips, but there was no hiding the amusement on Taylor’s face as she and Sheridan shared a private joke.

  Sheridan’s left hand rested on the nape of Taylor’s neck, the fingers of her right twined around Taylor’s. Taylor lifted Sheridan’s hand to her lips and gently kissed it.

  Robby absently rubbed Orson’s belly as she watched the love of her life drift further and further away.

  How was she supposed to fix something that was irreparably broken? And how was she going to convince Taylor to trust her when she didn’t even trust herself?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “You’re doing great,” Sheridan whispered. She gave the back of Taylor’s neck a reassuring squeeze. “Now try to act like you’re enjoying yourself. Look at me, smile, and laugh like I just said the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”

  Taylor forced the corners of her mouth skyward even though the piece the orchestra was playing had her on the verge of tears. The achingly romantic “Flower Duet” from Léo Delibes’ classic opera Lakme was remembered by most as the score for the über hot love scene between Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon in The Hunger. She recalled it as the m
usic that had filled Kramerbooks and Afterwords Café during her first date with Robby. She had thought at the time that the aria, a love song sung by two women, was a sign she and Robby were about to craft a love story of their own. Their tale had gotten off to a promising start, but the ending left much to be desired.

  Taylor kissed the back of Sheridan’s hand. “You’re a good friend.”

  Sheridan caressed Taylor’s cheek. “I have my moments.”

  Taylor could feel Candy Ferrell’s eyes boring into her back, but she refused to turn around. She silently thanked the seating committee for placing the Ferrells on the far side of the room.

  Prime Minister Ogilvie cleared her throat to get Taylor and Sheridan’s attention. “You two make a lovely couple.”

  “I’ve been saying the same thing for weeks, but Taylor keeps trying to convince me she and Sheridan are just friends,” Taylor’s mother said, jumping into the conversation with both feet.

  “You could have fooled me,” Prime Minister Ogilvie said.

  That was the point. Taylor needed to distance herself from Robby in order to protect herself from the potential scandal if someone discovered Robby was the author of The pH Factor.

  Shaking herself out of her doldrums, she began asking Prime Minister Ogilvie some of the dozens of questions racing through her brain.

  “I followed your campaign and eventual election with a great deal of interest. Your opponent said some hurtful things about you and your sexuality. How were you able to prevent yourself from stooping to his level?”

  “I learned to turn the other cheek. Whether in politics or in life, personal attacks are never the way to go. As I said during the campaign, if someone throws mud at you, don’t fling it back. Bake mud pies.”

  The surrounding guests laughed politely. Prime Minister Ogilvie warmed to her subject, continuing to address it even after the laughter died down. “Most politicians—present company excluded, of course,” she said, indicating Taylor’s father, “fall into the trap of thinking voters are stupid. They aren’t. If voters care enough to drag themselves to the polling station, they care enough to educate themselves before they get there. I try to talk up to the voting public, not down to them.” A knowing smile creased her tanned face, bringing out the tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her bright blue eyes. “Are you contemplating following in your father’s footsteps?”

  Before Taylor could answer, her mother inserted herself into the conversation once more. “Politics aren’t Taylor’s cup of tea. Thankfully, she would rather teach the next generation of rabble rousers than become one herself.”

  “Thankfully?” Prime Minister Ogilvie asked.

  “Ours is a progressive nation, but I don’t know if the majority of the populace is open to the idea of a woman as commander in chief.”

  The prime minister attacked the statement with the gusto of someone who enjoyed a good debate. “A woman or a lesbian?”

  Taylor’s mother pressed her lips together as if she found the topic of conversation distasteful. “In Taylor’s case, they’re one and the same.”

  “The same holds true for me. What do you think, Taylor?” Prime Minister Ogilvie asked, giving her a chance to respond.

  “I think I would love to put my mother’s theory to the test.”

  “Well stated,” Prime Minister Ogilvie said.

  Taylor’s mother obviously didn’t agree. Her dissenting opinion was already on record. Taylor gave her a defiant look, but her unspoken challenge went ignored. She caught her father’s eye. His face was unreadable, preventing her from gauging his reaction to her statement.

  “Perhaps we—meaning you, me, your mother, and your new campaign manager,” he said, winking at his Aussie counterpart, “can continue this discussion at Camp David this weekend.”

  “That’s a lovely idea.” Taylor’s mother brightened. “Sheridan, will you be able to join us?”

  Sheridan’s eyes widened. She looked at Taylor as if to say, “How far are we supposed to take this charade?”

  Taylor squeezed Sheridan’s hand. Sheridan had helped her save face during dinner, but enough was enough. “I’m afraid Sheridan has to work this weekend.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” Prime Minister Ogilvie looked genuinely disappointed, Taylor’s mother absolutely crushed.

  “Don’t be so hasty,” Sheridan said. “Let me check with…work and I’ll get back to you.” She reached for her vibrating cell phone. “Speaking of which.” She showed Taylor the display, which read, Ana. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course.”

  Taylor, her father, and Prime Minister Ogilvie stood as Sheridan left to speak to her girlfriend in private.

  “Aren’t you going to go with her?” Taylor’s mother asked.

  “I think this is one call she can handle on her own.” Taylor waited for her parents to resume their conversation with Holly Duvall and her husband before she asked in a whisper, “Are you seeing anyone, Your Excellency?”

  “Patricia. Not even my most ardent supporters call me ‘Your Excellency.’”

  “How hard is it to date when you’re such a public figure, Patricia?”

  “It’s impossible. You’re always wondering if she’s with you because of who you are or the position you hold.”

  “How can you tell the difference?”

  “Sometimes you can’t until it’s too late. I’ve been very fortunate. None of the women I’ve spent time with have sought to further themselves financially by selling their stories to the press.”

  Taylor wished she could say the same. Then again, Robby didn’t sell her story to the press. She was the press.

  “Even before I decided to run for office, I resolved that I would make politics the focus and not my love life. Now I’m too busy to have a love life.” Patricia chuckled. “I won’t complain, though. I actively sought the life I lead, which hasn’t been easy and gets terribly lonely at times. Like the old saying goes, uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.”

  “You’ve told me about the drawbacks. Aside from the power and prestige, what are the benefits? Is the end result worth everything you’ve sacrificed to achieve it?”

  “I used to think so. Then I saw her.”

  Taylor followed Patricia’s line of sight until she locked eyes on Diana Crawford, who was chatting amiably with a trio of Olympic medalists.

  “Diana’s married to her job,” she said. “If you want to be with her, I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for being her mistress.”

  “I can live with that. I’ve heard samples of her work. She has quite a way with words. Your father’s lucky to have her on his staff.”

  Taylor agreed wholeheartedly. Diana had a knack for injecting excitement into speeches about even the most mundane topics.

  “Will she be at Camp David this weekend?” Patricia asked.

  “More than likely.”

  “All the more reason to look forward to this trip.” Patricia paused as Sheridan returned to the table. “I hope you two will be able to join us. If, that is, Sheridan’s…employer gave her the go-ahead.” Her impish grin said she hadn’t been fooled by the work excuse or Taylor and Sheridan’s displays of affection.

  Sheridan’s gaze darted from Patricia to Taylor and back again. “How did you—”

  Patricia quieted Sheridan before she could draw attention. Then she turned back to Taylor. “If you intend to play the game, the first thing you’ll have to work on is your poker face. Anyone who knows what she’s looking for can tell you value Sheridan’s friendship, but that’s where you draw the line. And no one I know looks that happy to receive a phone call from her boss.”

  “I could learn a great deal from you,” Taylor said.

  “I would be honored to teach you everything I know. If you get me that gorgeous creature’s phone number.”

  Patricia cast another long look at Diana. Taylor had never seen Diana with anyone, male or female, so she didn’t know which team she played for. Then Diana looked up and
blushed, betraying her interest.

  Taylor grinned. “I think that can be arranged.”

  * * *

  The updates were coming fast and furious. Robby received so many text messages from her sources she was surprised the SIM card in her cell phone didn’t spontaneously combust from overuse. Each message was like a separate piece of a jigsaw puzzle. The pieces didn’t amount to much individually, but they combined to form a complete picture. When she was done assembling the pieces, she examined the finished product. She didn’t like what she saw, but she was obliged to report it.

  She uploaded her blog from her cell phone as she stood outside Virginia’s. Now that Taylor knew she was behind The pH Factor, there was no need to be discreet. She could post from anywhere.

  When she was done, she logged off and closed her Internet browser. Then she pressed the outgoing call icon and input Taylor’s number. Her thumb hovered over the button that would have sent the call through. She needed to hear Taylor’s voice, but she was at an uncharacteristic loss for words. The only words she could think of were someone else’s.

  Stay away from Taylor Crenshaw or she dies. And you get to watch.

  “Are you almost done?” Megan asked.

  “I’ll be there in a sec. I have one more call I need to make.”

  After Megan headed back inside Virginia’s, Robby hit the Back button and punched Steven’s number into her phone. No matter how badly she wanted to run to Taylor and beg her forgiveness, she had to stay away. She needed to keep Taylor safe. To keep her alive. And Steven was the best man for the job.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked after he answered the phone.

  “You can call Miles.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because none of this is his fault. It’s all on me. Don’t punish him for being a good friend.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration. Is there anything else I can help you with? If not—”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. Can you drop by my apartment later? It’s probably nothing, but I have a letter I’d like you to check out.”