"What about me?" asked Tim, trailing behind.
"I'll be getting you something to eat in the dining room."
"Drats!" Drawing Cara to his chest, he kissed the top of her head. "Well, sweetie, I guess you're on your own. Don't worry. You're going to charm the pants off of him."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind," she laughed as she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away.
"Well, I'm glad we got you your sense of humor back." He smiled.
"Let's hope I'm still laughing tomorrow."
After a quick shower, Cara dressed in the Calian outfit she had worn to her first New York press briefing. He may as well see me in my native clothes, she thought to herself, as she rubbed Jessica's locket, dangling handsomely in the V-neck of the body suit. Her confidence bolstered, she felt the color return to her face and the inner trembling gradually subside. Running her fingers through the carefree shock of hair that tumbled onto her forehead, she walked down the stairs to the library.
Bob, the regular security man, recognized her immediately and motioned for her to wait in the adjoining lounge while he entered the library to announce her arrival. "You look spectacular," beamed Jessica, who returned with him. Acting as though he wasn't there, she wrapped both her arms around Cara and pulled her in close, feeling the beat of her heart in rhythm with her own.
"How are you?" asked Cara, pressing her forehead against Jessica's, their lips only inches apart. "Are things okay?" The agent nonchalantly turned his back to them as she lightly kissed the tip of her nose. "Do we need to talk before I meet your father?"
"Everything is fine. Let's just go right in," she replied, taking Cara by the hand.
The library at the Marion Estate was like no other part of the house. It was an austere room, used as an office for the working vacations of presidents. The main rooms in the house, redecorated during Henry Mooran's first year in office, were light and bright with lots of wicker and rattan and shades of pale green and coral. Not so this room. Untouched since the term of Patrick Olmstead, the library reflected the personality of its first presidential occupant. The ashen rug and ponderous furniture, gathering light from a window smaller than a poster, cried for fresh air. An odor of dank decay impeded the nostrils with its mustiness while the September dampness suckled on the bones.
This room does not suit this president, thought Cara as Henry Mooran came bounding over and firmly shook her hand, his long face displaying the smile that had earned him the nickname "photo op." Standing better than 6'5" tall and tapered to his toes like the tine of a fork, he replicated the small-boned structure of his daughter. But it was not the body build that astonished Cara—it was the cleft that dissected his chin. Identical to the one that she loved to kiss, it left no doubts about Jessica's heredity.
"Let's go out on the terrace," he said after Jessica made the formal introductions. "It's considerably more pleasant than this stuffy room." Pressing the under-desk button that opened the outer door, the president ushered the women through, one on each arm.
"Come sit next to me," said Jessica, reaching for Cara's hand.
"It's all right," said the president, noticing Cara's hesitancy. "My daughter has told me everything. I would expect you to sit next to her."
"There's no place I'd be more comfortable, Mr. President," she responded, winking at Jessica as she took her hand and sat down on the settee.
"I suppose you are expecting me to provide some explanation for my behavior after Jessica's sister died. Well," he said as he sat down in the rocking chair, crossing his long legs, one over the other, "the only explanation I have is that Margaret and I loved our daughters. We couldn't bear to give them both up. It was simple to switch the twins' identities thirty years ago and claim that the gene-positive child was the one who died. Fooling the authorities was easy. Hell, I almost fooled myself." He stopped speaking and stared into the dimming light, rubbing his forehead as though trying to keep memories from emerging. "Jessica grew up like any other little girl. She had dolls and toys and boyfriends and girlfriends. When she was older, she dated and went to all the right parties. She met all the right men. Nice men, like Roland. But... I never saw her react to anyone the way she did to you."
"Daddy," said Jessica, her cheeks turning the color of the setting sun, "you don't have to tell everything."
The president unwound his body and walked to the edge of the terrace, waving indifferently to the security agent who sat just beyond hearing. "Well, it's true." He turned around and looked directly at Cara. "I knew Jessica was discovering herself when she first wrote to Cali on my letterhead requesting your press clippings—"
"How did you know about that?" asked Jessica, her eyes wider than that of the doe peeking from the forest.
"Presidential letterheads are controlled items, sweetheart," he said, kissing the top of her head before he sat back down. "Jason Simcow, the chief of staff, immediately informed me of a mailing to Cali bearing the presidential seal. But, after reading the letter, I decided to allow it to go through. I had already interfered in Jessica's life enough," he said to Cara, apologetically. "I had to let the future rest in her hands."
They sat silently, watching the red sun descend in the direction of Cali, pink clouds floating on the horizon. "When did you know that she had decided her future?" asked Cara, putting her arm around Jessica's shoulder, rubbing her thumb against the silken flesh.
"Before you did, I think. It was in her voice. On the phone monitor. Her face told me. It began with your press briefing and escalated from there. By the time she visited me in Washington, DC, she was very much in love with you."
"Why didn't you tell her the truth at that time?" badgered Cara, not quite sure whether she should forgive this man.
"Because I didn't want to program her. She had to make her own decision by searching for the truth with you. That's what love is all about. It's a search for truth—something the first presidential occupant of this office never understood," he said angrily, his face screwed in contortions. "Patrick Olmstead was America's shame!" When he again spoke, his voice had returned to a normal level. "I know that you will be seeking Jessica's emigration to Cali. How do you propose to proceed?"
Cara outlined the plan Jody had prepared. "May we count on your help, Mr. President?"
"Definitely. I'll submit a statement to supplement Mrs. Anderson's. It never hurts to have the support of friends and family members in high places." His eyes twinkled. "Tell your friend Jody to coordinate her efforts with James Dowl. He's my personal attorney and can handle the legalities at this end."
Later, as they all sat at the dining room table while Mrs. Anderson, in a starched yellow apron, happily bustled about serving dinner, it was Tim who asked the question that had been concerning Cara. "After Jessica emigrates and the news hits the press, how will it affect your future as president?"
"Well," said President Mooran, peering over the glasses that sat on the tip of his nose, "I'm not sure how it'll affect my political future, but I know it'll make me a better president. It means I'll be able to do what I believe is right without fearing that the press will start digging into our family's past." He rested his arm lightly on the back of his daughter's chair. "I always worried about someone striking out at Jessica. Once it's out of the closet, I'll be able to stop worrying. Then, I can double my efforts to normalize relations with Cali. Hell, there are a lot of people out there, members of congress included, who've lost relatives to your country. Those people will understand why I tried to keep Jessica in the United States. They'll also understand the agonizing need of the American people to build normal alliances with the people of Cali. We need to take small steps in the right direction…out from under the shadows of Patrick Olmstead."
Cara, sitting on the other side of Jessica, nudged her in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't forget Sherry Ryan," she mumbled under her breath.
"Dad, there's a woman reporter we know who is as interested in improving relations with Cali as you. She even
has an inside track to the prime minister. What do you think? Can you use her help?"
"Hell, yes! Just give her name and address to Simcow. I can use all the help I can get with Ekstrom. She's a tough old bear. You know, Cara," he said, his voice softening, "I hope you'll be a little kinder to us when you're the prime minister."
Cara audibly gasped, almost choking on her own breath. "I don't know if that will ever happen, Mr. President, but if it does, it's a long way off. By then, you and Ms. Ekstrom will be old friends."
Mrs. Anderson, who had begun to clear the table, looked disapprovingly at the president, who had hardly eaten. He shrugged his shoulders. "That's always been my problem—I'd rather talk than eat. Well, I guess I'll be moseying off to my bedroom now. I still need to review the day's events, lest I give Simcow an excuse to scold me in the morning."
The three young people jumped to their feet as the president rose to say good night. "Cara," he said, removing his glasses as he hugged her to his chest, "I'll be leaving early in the morning, so I probably won't see you again before you depart for Cali. I want you to know how pleased I am that my daughter has chosen such a wonderful companion. It'll be my pleasure to take her to the Fantasia on the day of her emigration. And I look forward to the time when I can visit you both in your country."
"That will come, Mr. President."
"Well, my young friends," said Mrs. Anderson as the president disappeared from view, "It's past the time for me to rest my weary head, eh? So, I'll just be leaving these dishes where they are. I'll take care of it all in the morning." Removing her apron, she looked at Cara and winked.
"Will you love me forever?" asked Cara later in the privacy of the bedroom.
"Longer than that," responded Jessica, as she kissed her fervently. "And you? Will you always love me?" she asked as she held her around the waist.
Gently, Cara removed her hands and walked to the dressing table, returning with the small gift box. "Always," she said solemnly as they sat down on the divan in front of the blazing fireplace.
Sitting down, Jessica tugged off the gift wrap, her face softening as she slowed down to open the gray velvet box. Her breath caught as she looked at the bracelet. "It's beautiful."
"It's my heart," smiled Cara. The logs crackled warmly as she silently placed it on Jessica's wrist.
"Why the date January 1, 2056?" she asked as she turned the heart over, the silver flickering in the glow of the flames.
"I'm hoping you'll begin the new year with me in a commitment ceremony on January first." Cara picked up her braceleted hand. "I love your tiny fingers," she said as she kissed each one, eyes cast down, awaiting Jessica's response.
"That'll be a hard thing to do without my father there."
"Maybe by that time, he'll be allowed to be there." Pushing back the hair that fell carelessly across her forehead, she was beginning to doubt whether her proposal was going to be accepted.
"If he can't be there, can Barbra walk down the aisle with me?" Holding her hand out in front of her admiringly, she repositioned herself, resting her head on Cara's shoulder.
"As long as I'm at the other end, King Kong can walk down the aisle with you."
"Who is King Kong?" she giggled.
"That's a story for another day." Cara sighed. "Hey, where are you going?" she asked as Jessica suddenly jumped up and moved toward the door.
"I'm going to go pack our Ellyn Hargreaves records so she can sing to us during our ceremony."
"Forget it, my love," she said as she walked toward her and wrapped her up in her arms, her blonde hair reflecting goldenly in the glowing embers. "In Cali, the real thing will do the singing."
Thirty-Eight
On Saturday morning, Barbra telephoned. "I don't have good news, my dear."
Cara, hands numbing and muscles turning to mush, quickly flicked the switch to audible only and turned her back to Jessica who lay asleep at her side. "What do you mean?" she asked, feeling the chill of the damp September wind that gusted through the open window.
"Oh, my, don't be frightened my dear. It's not that terrible. No, not at all. It's just that I don't have an answer for you yet on Jessica's twin sister's Scarpetti records. I tried getting into the center several times this week. It was just too risky. There are too many people there on a normal workday who know me. So, it'll have to wait until tomorrow when only a skeleton staff will be on duty."
"What time Sunday?" asked Cara, stumbling over her words as Jessica began to show signs of awakening.
"It won't be until after your plane leaves. The center doesn't open till noon on weekends. I'm sorry, dear. I know how much this means to you. But don't you worry about a thing. I won't leave this country without an answer, and we'll get the answer to you somehow."
"I suppose there's nothing else we can do." Hearing the hammering of harsh rain, Cara pulled the phone across the bed to crank the window closed when she felt Jessica's gentle hands pulling her down on top of her. Too late, she covered her mouth to stifle a yelp.
"What's that? Did you say something else, dear?"
"No, it'll be okay," Cara answered, feeling her excitement mount with Jessica's strategically placed butterfly kisses.
"I'm sure it will. I'm sure everything will be just fine." Chuckling softly when she realized that she was listening to the activity of foreplay, Barbra barely managed to say good-bye before turning off her phone.
"You little devil," yelled Cara, looking down at Jessica who lay laughing with her eyebrow raised.
After a morning of lovemaking, Jessica lay on her back listening to the falling rain. "That's probably the next to last time we'll make love before I join you in Cali."
"Oh, did you have plans for tonight?" Leaning on her elbow, looking down at Jessica, Cara felt her heart surge. To know that she would be sharing her life with this woman filled her with a joy that extended through every fiber of her being.
"What do you think?" she asked with an impish grin, black ringlets tousled from the morning's activity.
Becoming serious, Cara gazed at the window, watching the droplets sway drunkenly in their tracks. "That was Barbra on the phone before. She won't be able to get into the Scarpetti Center today to verify that your sister's records are documented gene positive. She won't have an answer for us until after I leave on Sunday. I won't be here to celebrate with you."
"Do you have any doubts about the outcome?"
"No," lied Cara, not wanting to alarm Jessica into the realization that the legal proceedings would take longer and the commitment ceremony might have to be delayed if the twin's record did not support the statements of Mrs. Anderson and the president.
"Then let's celebrate right now while I show you why you shouldn't have any doubts," commanded Jessica as she pulled Cara back down on the bed.
Thirty-Nine
Sunday morning began bleakly. The raw rain pelted the windows as they arose to begin dressing in the September darkness.
"I wish there was a way to delay my departure time. I don't like leaving before Jocelyn's records are verified. My celebration should be here with you." Angrily, she pulled her Calian body suit from the hanger.
"It was! Or did you forget about yesterday?" asked Jessica with a familiar arch to her left eyebrow.
"Maybe I need a quick refresher course." Cara dropped her clothes and scampered across the bed, catching Jessica before she had a chance to move.
Twenty minutes later, they lay on the floor, still gasping for breath when Jessica stood up and put on her bathrobe. "I'd better go get my clothes or you really will miss that plane."
Cara stopped her at the door. "I don't think you should go with me to the airport."
Jessica looked at her quizzically, eyebrows furrowing over the dark gray eyes, saddened in disappointment.
"Come, sit next to me," said Cara, her heart breaking from Jessica's crestfallen countenance. She led her to the bed and sat down alongside, cupping her hand under Jessica's downcast chin. Tilting her head up, she lightl
y kissed the sensual cleft before she spoke. "Jessica, I come from a country where affection between two women is commonplace. For me to say good-bye to you at a public airport—not knowing how many weeks or months it may be before I see you again—and not be able to kiss you or embrace you with the passion that's in my heart would be more painful than I could bear. I'd rather leave you in this house—this wonderful house where the love grew. This is the memory I want us to nurture."
"How long do you think it will be before I am able to emigrate?" she asked, resting her head against Cara's breast.
"I don't know." She stroked her hair, her heart grimacing with pain.
"How will I be able to let you know when everything is okay? I'm not allowed to call. I can't write."
"You'll find a way," said Cara, kissing her forehead. "Now, you'd better leave before I forget my resolve."
"Just don't forget me." She jumped off the bed and was out the door before Cara was able to move.
"Never," she yelled through the open archway to the lithe figure running down the hallway.
Ignoring the emotions that were threatening to swallow her, she quickly dressed in Calian clothes and was ready when Tim came to the room. "It's time, beautiful. Will it just be the two of us?" he asked, looking around.
"Yes," she said simply.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they heard Mrs. Anderson bustling out of the dining room, yelling to them frantically. "Don't you be leaving without saying good-bye to me." Grabbing Tim by the collar, she almost lifted him off his feet as she pulled him in and, on her tiptoes, kissed him on both cheeks. "I'm sure going to be missing you, Mr. Felmar." Turning to Cara, she began to sniffle, tears running freely. "And you, Ms. Romero. You've become very special to me, eh? I know that Miss Jessica will be seeing you again. Do ya think I'll be so lucky?"
There are good-hearted people in America too, thought Cara, as she looked down at the caring tear-stained face. "I hope so, Mrs. Anderson. I certainly hope so."
The Meadowlark Sings Page 18
