Before they fell asleep, he said, “I don’t know what’s going on, Laura, but I’ve never felt this way before.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I feel—I feel contented and at ease with myself. You?”
“I feel—I feel contented and at ease with myself,” she parroted through a laugh. Thinking back to those late-night dorm discussions about older lovers, she added, “and very, very satisfied.”
At six A.M., the alarm went off.
“Good morning,” she said, snuggling against him.
“Good morning,” he said groggily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.
“It’s early,” she said.
“Too early. Sleep okay?”
“I slept fine. You?”
“Like a rock.”
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Naked, he reached for his robe and slipped it on, stood, stretched, and went into the bathroom.
Laura also put on a robe that he’d provided and wondered if it was his wife’s. She heard the shower come on and pictured him in it. She went to the window and looked down at the empty street in front of the building. It had been teeming with people the night before, and she’d suggested that they go to any one of a dozen bars that lined the block, but he’d firmly squashed that notion, explaining the need to keep what was developing between them secret and why they had to avoid public places.
“Of course,” she’d said. “I understand.”
And she did, at least then.
* * *
They hadn’t spent the entire night together the second time they’d made love at his apartment. He’d gotten them out of bed at three in the morning, spirited her down in the elevator, into his car, and dropped her in front of her building. They made a date for her to visit him again two nights later, and he’d told her that she was to come to the apartment wearing whatever she could to disguise her identity, a scarf, sunglasses, a baseball hat pulled low. “Never answer the phone at my place,” he’d told her. “If people ask where you go at night, tell them you go out with friends.”
Although she found the instructions amusing, she didn’t balk. He was, after all, a married man and a leader in the House of Representatives. The stakes were big, as he explained, and she was willing to play the game—because the stakes were big for her, too.
She’d already started to project herself into his life far beyond their sexual trysts. She pictured herself as the wife of a congressman, attending fancy formal affairs on his arm, helping him make sound legislative decisions, standing proudly at his side at fund-raisers where he spoke of a better future for America. But her projections went beyond even those. Her father had said on more than one occasion that Hal Gannon was possibly cut from future presidential cloth.
“Have you ever thought of running for president?” she’d asked him the second night they were together. He’d ordered in food, and they spent the evening watching TV and making love.
“Sure,” he’d replied, “but I’d have to run for another office before that was possible, the Senate, or the governorship of Florida. They don’t elect presidents from the House of Representatives.”
“Wasn’t Gerald Ford a congressman before he became president?”
“True, but he’d been appointed vice president before he went on to the White House. Abe Lincoln had been a congressman, but that was ten years before he became president. The only member of the House who went directly from there to the White House was James Garfield, and look where that got him.”
“Where did it get him?”
“Six feet under. He was assassinated, the shortest term as president in history.”
“But that’s not because he’d been in the House of Representatives,” she said.
“No, of course not. The point I was making was—forget it.”
“I’d like to take some history courses while I’m here in Washington,” she said.
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. If we’re going to be together it would be good if I knew more about the government and the presidency and—”
He abruptly got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a plate of cookies made by a constituent. “You don’t need a course in history,” he said. “It’s all pretty dull. Have a cookie.”
* * *
Laura’s roommate, Reis Ethridge, was aware, of course, that Laura spent nights away from their apartment. She didn’t ask questions, although her natural curiosity had been raised. It was Laura who initiated a conversation about her comings and goings.
“I’m in love,” she told Reis one morning.
“That’s good,” Reis replied as she mixed her usual breakfast of yogurt, nuts, and berries.
“He’s as handsome as any movie star, and he is very, very influential.”
“Someone you met at work?”
“You might say that,” Laura replied, laughing at the little inside joke.
“You stay with him at night?”
“Sometimes, only it will be more frequent. He’s—”
She stopped talking. While she was bursting to tell her roommate about her relationship with the congressman—tell anyone, for that matter—she knew it was premature. If word ever got back to him that she’d talked about it, he’d be furious, maybe enough so to break it off. She’d bought into his insistence that discretion was of paramount importance, at least until he’d formally separated from his wife and was free to conduct his new relationship publicly. But it wasn’t easy keeping it to herself. She wanted the world to know that she and Hal Gannon were in love and planning a future together. That day couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
Charlene Gannon came to Washington for the better part of a week and stayed at the apartment, which prevented Laura from seeing Hal outside the official confines of his Rayburn Building office. Laura had brought a few items of clothing to leave at his apartment, but he told her to take them away once he knew of his wife’s travel plans. This angered Laura; her fantasies about one day becoming Mrs. Harold Gannon were in full bloom, although it was not entirely inner-directed. He’d talked of marrying her once his divorce came through, not in concrete terms but in a what-if context. But as far as she was concerned, he’d already made a commitment, and that belief sustained her during the week that she’d been exiled back to her own place.
When not with Gannon, she went out a few times with Matt Caruso, the young Senate staffer she’d met at Lounge 201 her first day on the job. She mentioned it to Gannon, and to her surprise he encouraged her to see him.
“It’ll stave off nosy people asking about your life outside the office,” he explained.
“I’ll feel funny going out with someone else,” she protested.
“It’s just for a while, Laura. This is a tricky time for us. We really have to cover our tracks. Charlene will be gone soon and we’ll be together again.”
She went to dinner with Caruso twice during Charlene’s stay in D.C. He continued to try to advance the relationship, but she resisted, and he began to react with anger when she refused to go with him to his apartment.
“There’s somebody else in your life?” he asked after again being rebuffed.
“Yes,” she lied, “back home in Tampa. But I enjoy your company, Matt. Can’t we just see each other like this without having to sleep together?”
“Sure,” he said, not meaning it. His calls became less frequent after that conversation, but they did go to dinner occasionally when Gannon was tied up with entertaining his wife or was out of town on government business.
One week slipped by, and then another. Laura spent as much time as possible at Gannon’s apartment after Charlene left town—or, to be more accurate, as much time as he allowed. As Washington’s oppressive hot and humid summer descended on the city, Gannon seemed—at least it appeared to Laura—to grow more distant. Their sexual passion hadn’t abated; in fact, it became more intense and even desperate with each night spent together cooped up in his apartment, food
brought in, or an occasional dinner out in a restaurant in Maryland or Virginia, always far from the District where prying eyes might witness them holding hands over a table, or kissing in a parking lot.
It seemed to Laura that Roseann Simmons, Gannon’s chief of staff, might have developed an inkling of what was going on between them. She began asking Laura questions, nothing direct or specific, but with enough innuendo for Laura to keep up her guard. She mentioned it to Gannon, who suggested that they take a brief hiatus from their affair.
Laura railed at the term “affair.” It represented to her something tawdry and not descriptive of the love she and Gannon shared, and for the first time she took a stand.
“Don’t you think it’s time that we stopped playing this silly game?” she said, unable to keep the pique from her voice. They’d just made love and now sat at the kitchen table, Chinese take-out containers and chopsticks in front of them.
“Silly game?” he said. “That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
“But it is a silly game, Hal. It’s not like we’re having a one-night stand or anything. It’s gone far beyond a roll in the sack.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“I’m talking about us, damn it!” She picked up a chopstick and pointed it at him. “Look, Hal, I love you and I know that you love me. You say that your wife is sick. I saw her every day at the office when she was in town, and she looks fine, the picture of health. You’ve talked about us getting married once you’re divorced, so file the papers and let’s get on with it.”
He turned from her and tried to keep his anger in check. Although her direct confrontation had caught him off guard, he’d had a vague sense recently that things might be coming to a head.
She continued. “Roseann suspects what’s going on between us,” she said, “and you know that people are speculating about it around town. You said that life is a series of phases. Fine. Your phase with Charlene is over, and it’s time for us to start on our new phase.”
“I don’t like being browbeaten,” he said.
“Then do what’s right, Hal. If you’re worried about getting reelected, you know that’s not a problem. My father has always said that you could run for a Senate seat from Florida and win easily. He even talks about you being a great candidate for president someday. Charlene will never help you achieve that but I can. My father—”
“What about your father? Does he know anything about us?”
“No, but—”
“No buts, Laura. He mustn’t know until—until we’re ready to announce it. I’ll be the one to decide when that time is here.”
“That time is now, Hal.”
He got up, went to the living room, and turned on the TV. He seethed inside but managed to shield it from her when she joined him. Any thought of continuing the conversation was lost in the movie they watched. Laura fell asleep toward the end of the film, her head resting on his shoulder. He looked at her, and a wave of disgust consumed him.
One thing he didn’t need at this stage of his life was demands from a twenty-two-year-old intern.
She awoke and said, “I’m sorry, Hal. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
“It’s okay, Laura. I understand.”
“Good. I know the pressure you’re under, and I don’t want to be the source of more pressure. Forgive me?” She smiled and kissed his neck. “I enjoyed the movie, especially the love scenes.”
“I enjoyed it, too.”
“But we do love scenes better than what was in the movie.”
Her hand reached beneath his robe, and minutes later they were in bed.
* * *
Laura was right. Hal Gannon had been under a lot of pressure recently. His Blue Dog coalition in the House was being attacked by other Democrats who accused him and his caucus of being traitors to the Democratic cause. This was nothing new, but the assault had ramped up in recent weeks.
But he was suffering pressure of a different sort from Rachel Montgomery.
Furious that he’d dumped her, she’d begun sitting in her parked car across from his apartment building in Adams Morgan and observing his comings and goings, particularly the stunning brunette wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses even on the most overcast days, and a scarf wrapped beneath her chin. And she’d done her homework. The mysterious young woman now had a name: Laura Bennett, an intern in Gannon’s office.
She’d waylaid Gannon one day as he walked past a pocket park between the Rayburn Building and the Capitol Building and launched into a tirade punctuated with every four-letter word she knew. He managed to extricate himself from that encounter but had to deal with irate phone calls to his apartment until he had the telephone company block all calls from her home and cell numbers. While that proved efficient, he couldn’t block her mouth from telling friends of the affair, which, no surprise, quickly found its way into the hyperactive Washington, D.C., gossip mill.
Was Congressman Harold Gannon having an affair with one of his young interns?
If so, he must be mad.
He’d be up for reelection in less than a year.
He was known as a politician with strong moral and family values.
Could it be?
* * *
Laura had kept in regular touch with her parents. As the weeks slipped by, it was all she could do to not tell her mother what was happening with Gannon. She knew that her mother would understand her having fallen in love with the handsome congressman, but her understanding would go only so far. On the other hand, her father would come down hard on her, and on Gannon, too. But she had to share it with someone close. What was the use of being involved in such a delicious adventure if you couldn’t bask in it?
She had talked about it to her mother’s sister, Irene, when Laura went to Irene’s house in suburban Maryland one evening for dinner. Laura didn’t get specific with Aunt Irene, but she knew she’d said enough to allow her to add two and two—she and the congressman were sleeping together. If Irene had been shocked, she didn’t show it. She’d been trained as a Freudian shrink; listening without passing judgment was Psychoanalysis 101. But she did swear her aunt to secrecy about the relationship with Gannon.
The next person she confided in was Millie Sparks, a college friend who’d taken part in those late-night gabfests in the dorm.
Millie had come to Washington to interview for a job and met up with Laura the first night she was in town. They splurged on drinks in the sedate bar at the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown, where a pianist played show tunes and conversations were of the hushed variety, a perfect place to share such monumental, shocking news.
“I can’t believe this,” Millie said after Laura had told her of the relationship. “You and Congressman Gannon are going to be married?”
Laura put her index finger to her lips. “It’s got to be kept secret for a while.”
“My lips are sealed. How did it happen, Laura? I mean, isn’t he your father’s friend?”
“My father is a big supporter of Hal.”
“But what led to it? I mean, you came here to work as his intern. Did he—did he come on to you, make a pass?”
Laura nodded, sipped her cosmopolitan, and giggled. “Actually, we made a pass at each other. It was like it was meant to be, you know, written in the stars, love at first sight, kindred spirits, all of that, and more.”
Millie sipped her gin and tonic while formulating her next question, but Laura continued talking.
“It’s a really confusing situation. I mean, like, he’s still married, but his marriage is falling apart and he’ll be filing for divorce soon.” She became conspiratorial, leaning close and grabbing Millie’s arm. “Millie,” she said, “I think he’ll be the president of the United States someday and I’ll—” She trembled at the contemplation. “And I’ll be first lady. Of course that’s far in the future. Right now he has to deal with his divorce and handle the fallout when word gets around that he’s marrying me, an intern! You know what I thi
nk, Millie? I think that there is something true about fate, about the stars lining up and bringing soul mates together.”
“I can’t believe all this is happening to you,” Millie said.
“I pinch myself every day,” said Laura. “Look.” She held out her arm, on which was displayed an expensive gold-and-diamond bracelet that Gannon had purchased for her the week before.
“Wow!” said Millie. “He must have plenty of money.”
“He does,” confirmed Laura, although she was not aware that the bracelet, and other jewelry that Gannon had bestowed upon lovers, were purchased with money from his campaign fund, a violation of the law.
“Has he ever cheated on his wife before?” Millie asked, realizing immediately that it might be an inappropriate question.
Laura confirmed that it was. “It’s not cheating when your marriage is coming apart,” she said. “There are lots of women in this city after him. There’s one old blond hag who’s been parking outside our apartment building and calling him every damn hour. To be honest, I think I came along at just the right time and Hal knows it.”
A sudden silence ensued.
“I know what you’re wondering, Millie, and yes, he’s good in bed. He’s—he’s sensational in bed!”
Millie laughed.
So did Laura.
“Strictly between us?” Laura said.
“Strictly between us,” Millie confirmed.
* * *
During the fourth week of their relationship, Gannon flew to Dallas for a speaking engagement and told Laura that he’d be back in three days. She’d moped around his office on his first day away, her sullenness observed by the chief of staff Roseann Simmons, who called her into Gannon’s office and closed the door.
“Spill it, Laura,” Simmons said in her characteristic direct fashion.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and Hal. And don’t give me that exaggerated confused expression. I know what’s been going on, and I don’t like it.”
Laura was poised to strike back but didn’t.
“This isn’t a freaking game, Laura. The rumor about you sleeping with Hal is all over town. Do you know what that could mean for his political career?”
Margaret Truman's Internship in Murder Page 6
