“Of course it’s political, but I don’t know what the mayor’s angle is yet. I’ll find out.”
As Sarah pulled out of their space, Madeline’s wireless rang, preventing her from discussing it further. Annoyed, she checked to see who it was before she clicked on. It was Peter. She sighed.
“Hello. You’re a glutton for punishment tonight.”
“I’d like to see you—alone—tonight. How about a late-night dinner?”
“A date?” Madeline attempted to keep her voice light. Sarah snapped her head around and mouthed frantically, asking who it was. Madeline didn’t respond and noted that her assistant’s response was not one of pleasant surprise, but rather panic.
“Yes. Call it a date.”
“Later tonight? Gee, I was actually considering sleeping later…”
“I know. But there’s probably no other time between our schedules, our people and the press.” Peter’s voice sounded exasperated, almost impatient. She turned her head toward the window to let her small smile escape.
“There’s always, say, after the election, next year, next decade maybe, in another universe say.” She was at least half joking and a little incredulous.
“No!” Peter almost shouted his response. Now she was baffled. But she got serious quick and glanced at her assistant. Sarah turned her head away, grabbed her headphones in disgust to give her friend privacy.
“I don’t like secrets, Peter. It’s not smart for a public figure—in the middle of an election, no less—to be having a secret rendezvous.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s not a secret. It’s private. Like you always said, the people don’t have a right to know everything all the time. Besides, there’s nothing to know. Two old friends enjoying each other’s company, getting a much-needed respite from the rest of the world.”
“You must be pretty desperate if you’re actually saying those words out loud. You realize that no one past the age of ten would give that statement credibility.” She took a deep breath and cast another furtive glance at Sarah to see that she was studiously ignoring her conversation. She had to deal with him sooner or later and get him past their past. Get herself past it. She wasn’t sure she would convince him that she wasn’t going to join his campaign as his candidate for lieutenant governor, but she was up to the challenge of holding firm and continuing to say no.
“I won’t turn you away if you show up at my door. But I better not recognize you, and don’t blame me if I fall asleep on you.”
“Cloak and dagger—I love it. It’s a deal.”
“Oh—and you might just want to sign us both up for a sanity check in the morning.” She clicked the phone off and let out a very long breath. Sarah tore the headphone off and looked at Madeline, her face blank but hiding something fierce.
“I’m seeing Peter.” Madeline looked straight ahead and felt the weight of her dangerous decision pressing her backwards into an adolescent state of mind. She wished her friend would say something. She would not offer an explanation, though. In spite of everything, she really did believe some things were private. Besides, she wasn’t exactly sure what the explanation was at this point. She and Peter did need to come to an understanding about their past, to agree that it should remain in their past. It could play no role in their present contest. She didn’t think he would try to use it against her. They both had something to lose after all: credibility. But maybe not. He had a lot less to lose, if she thought about it. She had to make him understand that he had to play fair, and that meant they could have no relationship beyond professional in spite of—everything.
There was so much more to their past than he even knew. Madeline had to admit to herself that that was probably why she still had an emotional reaction to him. That was dangerous. She wasn’t sure exactly what her feelings were any more. There were a lot of feelings there and she needed to sort through them—but not now. Not in the middle of a campaign. She would have to put that on hold. She hoped she could keep a lid on her emotional reactions to him in the meantime, and resolved to do it.
Sarah glared at her as they sat at a traffic light. She would talk to Sarah after she talked to Peter. And this all had to remain private.
The only thing was, she knew it was next to impossible to have both a political career and a private life in this day and age. She shouldn’t have to give up so much, but that was not reality. Maybe. The errant thought snuck in but she shook it off and remembered: reality.
They drove the rest of the way in silence until they reached the hotel, entering the garage and going up to their floor in the elevator without a word. They got to their rooms across the hall from each other, both without a word and without encountering another person. Sarah turned, as Madeline was about to enter her room.
“I don’t have to tell you how goddamn unwise this is, Madeline.” Sarah’s voice was a low rumble like the sound of thunder that hadn’t quite reached you yet.
“Then don’t.” Madeline went in and closed her door and stood against it for a full minute, half expecting her friend to charge across the hall and start screaming. That Sarah felt betrayed was obviously an understatement.
But she could not afford to dismiss Peter. They had to get things resolved between them. Madeline knew Sarah was never thrilled about her relationship with him. She wondered, not for the first time, why exactly that was. It wasn’t anything simple like jealousy. Sarah was very serious and intense. Madeline wondered if she should be concerned about that, but then figured Sarah had a right to be stressed. After all, this campaign was the culmination of years of hard work and ambition for Sarah, her life’s dream. The Liskys were all into it. Some wealthy New York families ran horses at Saratoga. Sarah’s family backed candidates in political races.
Contemplating Sarah Lisky’s dreams and ambitions was a luxury Madeline could not afford to spend time on right now. But wait, wasn’t it supposed to be Mad’s ambition and her life’s dream on the line? It was odd, but she couldn’t feel it at that moment. Too tired maybe.
Tired or not, she had some writing to do. She walked over to her table and fired up her notebook computer. It was past midnight. This was the only time she had to write her weekly op-ed piece. She looked down at herself. She was still dressed up for the show, but she decided she wouldn’t take the time to change. She settled for kicking off her three-inch heeled shoes. Sitting at the table, she pushed a strand of her long blond hair from her face and concentrated on the screen. Then she tapped her fingers in rapid-fire at the keyboard without pause. She couldn’t let her fingers slow down in their race with her mind for fear she’d lose her concentration. That was how she kept going for a long time.
Until the sound of knocking at her door intruded.
Chapter 4
He looked around before he banged on the door again, louder this time.
“Come on, you promised you wouldn’t turn me away.” He didn’t know what he’d do if someone else actually opened the door. They wouldn’t recognize him, he’d seen to that. But they’d probably call security and then he’d be screwed. What was wrong with him? He may as well hand her the election, he thought, when the door opened.
She stood there disheveled and slightly off balance, eyes glossy and lids half closed, looking like the vulnerable waif he remembered. And sexy as hell. He walked in just as she opened her mouth. He shut the door behind him, ripped the silly hat and glasses off his head and took her face in his hands, his lips not hesitating to take her up on the invitation. The kiss felt dizzying in excitement, like coming home after years away. He knew he was taking shameless advantage of her disoriented state, but she was so inviting and willing.
He let her pull back from the warmth, but he stood close.
“I was doing some writing…” She smiled and looked around, waving her hand at the table where she left her notebook computer open. He took her hand and pulled her over to sit on the couch.
“Good idea. Were you writing about me?” He pulled her onto his lap and couldn’t h
elp his grin.
“You better watch out. You’re going to spoil your serious-minded public image if you let these goofy grins become a habit.” She sat straight and prim with her hands folded in her lap. She squirmed a little and he felt his heat spike and something else and commanded himself to behave. She looked down at her hands, but he saw her smile widen.
“Say what you want. I’m off stage now. None of that matters.” He nuzzled her neck.
“Now I bet you’re going to say ‘I’ve wanted to do that all night.’” She looked back up at him, stopping his kiss.
“So what you’re saying is I’m behaving like some character out of a 50s B movie?”
“Yes.” She grinned. He grinned back, thoroughly enjoying himself, and finally realized why people loved those old movies so much.
“Cool,” he said and she laughed at that and pushed him back.
“What’s this all about, Peter?”
“I should think it’s obvious.” He noticed her expression did not change; she still waited for his answer. He leaned back into the couch, put his head back and closed his eyes.
“It’s been goddamn disconcerting to have you running against me like this.”
“Yeah? Well, I made my decision in the beginning not knowing that you were running. I mean I knew it was a possibility, but I didn’t want to let that stop me.”
“Why not? Why couldn’t you just support me? Work with me? It’s not too late, you know.” He looked at her intensely now, waiting for her response.
“I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “There’s a lot to be recommended about you. But my cause is important. You’re part of the establishment. I’m anti-establishment.” She looked straight in his eyes. He closed his again and held her hand.
“So you’re a new-wave hippy now?” He leaned into the couch and opened his eyes to watch her response.
She arched her brow and pulled her hand away.
“Forget I said that. My point is you’ll get crushed. They’ll see you as vulnerable and go after you to marginalize you. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”
“Who’s they? You?”
“The other party. Not me. I’ll run a tight campaign. I swear it.” He looked at her again and saw that she believed him.
“You know I’m tough enough to deal with this, don’t you?”
“Yes. But I dread watching it.”
“Your confidence in me is underwhelming.” She didn’t bother to keep the bitter tinge from her voice. “You came here to talk me out of running.” It wasn’t really a question, and he watched her look away with a flash of annoyance.
“No. But I suppose that discussion was inevitable. And it’s inevitable that we’ll repeat it.” Now he looked away and sat back, closing his eyes again. “Not that I think I’ll convince you. I feel compelled to try nonetheless.” He could feel her eyes on him. He kept his eyes closed under her scrutiny and told himself it was not cowardice.
“If that’s not what brought you out, what did?” He knew she knew the answer. It made him feel better that she needed to hear him say it.
“You. Spending time alone with you.” He looked at her. She was beautiful. Six years hadn’t changed that. Nothing ever would. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead.
He took her face in his hands and allowed himself to ravish her lips.
Her mouth was warm and like he remembered it; the texture of the underside of her lips irresistibly wet and vulnerable. He was startled when she chose that moment to gently nudge him away.
“Peter. We have to stop.”
“Why?” He pushed back and nuzzled her neck. It was just her common sense talking. He could eradicate that. He knew how to drive all the reason from her mind. Then she pushed back again and slipped off his lap to sit next to him.
“I’m not emotionally there and I was never interested in detached sex.” She looked him in the eye with her hands pressed against his chest. There was no mistaking her this time. He’d seen this determination before, and it brought a wave of uneasiness through his body, causing him to clench every muscle.
“Goddamn it, Mad. Don’t do this. We’re alone. There’s no one here to be on guard against. Be yourself. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with me.”
He saw the flash of anger in her eyes at his words, but damn it, he was right and he wasn’t willing to take them back.
“What? I’m supposed to turn on a switch every time the crowd disappears and let down my guard with you—the person I need to be most guarded against? I don’t think so, Peter.”
He stood abruptly and walked to the window. There was nothing out there but the lights glinting off Boston Harbor, but he couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see her kind eyes just now, or her noble demeanor. He knew that was how she’d be; it was a defense mechanism unique to Madeline the psychologist. Her knowledge had given her too many weapons for a fair fight between them. He’d learned that sad lesson long ago. He was almost angry enough to not fight fair—at least in their personal war, but not quite, not yet.
“Why? What am I going to do to you? You think having sex with me will somehow weaken your resolve to campaign against me? You think I believe that you’re not still emotionally involved—or that I’m not? We both know we are.”
“Yes, but there’s too much unresolved and we can’t just skip over it and expect it to go away—especially not in the middle of a campaign. It’s more complicated now than ever. Sex will make it worse, even more complicated.” She said all this to him as if she were explaining a difficult lesson to a little boy for the hundredth time. That made him mad. And besides, he disagreed. He snapped around to look at her, tense with his anger, aware that he had to keep control.
“I disagree. I think sex would make it better.” Help keep things in perspective, but he didn’t say those words out loud. He stood and looked at her with a menace he could see reflected by her expression. Then he turned, grabbed his disguise and walked to the door. He didn’t expect her to follow him.
“Peter…I can’t do things the same way you do.” She said the words softly, consolingly, from behind him. He didn’t turn. He was not consoled. She was more confused than he was. Not a good state of affairs. He opened the door, looked down the hall to see that it was of course empty at 3:00 a.m., and walked out.
“That did not go well,” Madeline said to the empty hotel room, looking around for something. She had to remind herself that she had, after all, accomplished what she meant to—she’d placed boundaries between them and was hopeful he wouldn’t keep trying to cross them every time he saw her. Her eyes fell on the side table near the window. That was what she was looking for, what she needed. She walked over and reached into the open bag of brightly wrapped balls of exquisite chocolate to grab a handful. She might need to eat the whole bag.
She closed her eyes. Her mind raced now and she knew she would have to get up and finish writing before her thoughts overwhelmed her. It was the only thing that worked. But how was she going to fit an op-ed about the meaning of sex in a relationship into the context of this campaign?
Not without raising a few eyebrows. She got up and decided “what the heck?” She’d give it a try. Forgetting about the early morning date for a talk show taping, Madeline resumed tapping on her keyboard. There would be no sleep tonight.
At the TV Studio
“Today we’re going to talk about how to improve the justice system,” the PBS political talk show host told her imaginary audience. Madeline sat with her hands folded and ankles crossed while she was introduced first, ladies before gentlemen. Then Peter John Douglas was introduced, almost as her foil, as an old school, family-line, well-connected and very traditional politician. Once again she was cast as the maverick up against the stolid and seasoned old pro—which wouldn’t have been so bad if he was actually a bald and frumpy old man. Not hardly. She eyed him from under her lashes. There was no way around it. He was a vital and sexy man in his prime at the age of thirty-eight. He didn
’t come across as stolid, Madeline thought. More like solid—as a rock—with edges.
Mary introduced the front-running candidate for the other party, Jimmy McCormack, last. The rotund man appeared to bluster, even though all he did was nod and smile. Madeline thought old Jimmy Mack was a virtual poster child for the hopefully dying breed of hard-drinking, back-slapping good old boys who gave nothing but lip-service to professional women. She often felt like nothing more than a pesky child being relegated to a corner by him and his camp.
“The question is, ladies and gentlemen, which approach do we want, or more precisely, which approach do we need?” The host, Mary Porter, her friend and neutral supporter as Madeline liked to say, looked to her to begin the discussion. Madeline introduced her much publicized ideas about justice and the need for radical change. Mary turned to Peter for his response. He turned to Madeline and spoke.
“For a world-renowned psychologist, you’re shockingly naïve about the psychology of politics.”
Mary audibly gasped and her eyes widened, which amused Madeline. Madeline managed to maintain her serious demeanor. Jimmy McCormack laughed. This was going to be fun. And the political chips would have to fall where they may.
“I don’t think it naïve to be innovative and energetic, creative and daring.” Madeline turned to the camera and continued with, “Not afraid to try to make changes. Not afraid to count on the people to know and understand the rate of change of everything has escalated in this millennium.
“I think, Mr. Douglas, with all due respect, that your stodgy dinosaur-like slow-motion ways will not cut it in the twenty-first century. It speaks of fear, uncertainty, insecurity and no confidence in your constituents to rise to the occasion and meet the new challenges.” When she finished he smiled. Jimmy Mack rolled his eyes and couldn’t wait to speak, sitting on the edge of his seat.
Now it was Peter’s turn to not blink and hold his own under direct attack. Mary gave the stage back to Peter, skipping over Jimmy Mack’s turn. Madeline knew Peter wasn’t surprised and possibly even counting on her full frontal assault, since that was exactly what she was good at: put everything right out there and make him defend himself.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 5
