Lord Valentine's Castle

by Marge Piercy

  “Yeah.” Melissa grimaced. “I think I saw something on TV.”

  Alison cautiously approached the subject of Blake. “So are you still seeing that young man who so upset your mother?”

  “I told her I wasn’t.” Literal truth.

  “You broke off with him, then?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal, until Mother made it one. He was just a guy I saw sometimes. I told him I had gotten involved with somebody else, and he believed me. I wasn’t his only interest either, so it was nothing to fuss over.”

  “It was quite a bit to fuss over for us, believe me, Melissa. Even having contact with such a person is dangerous.”

  “Bullshit! He’s just another student at Wesleyan. He doesn’t remember his father. The last time he saw him he was just five, so it’s a much bigger deal to you people than it ever was to him. The sins of the fathers. You were all paranoid.”

  “Your parents were truly, truly disturbed. Causing them such worry is nothing you should take lightly. They’re important people, Melissa, good people, special people. We have to help them, not cause them distractions.”

  Melissa turned on the radio. “Let’s get the news and weather. By the way, you never told me who else was coming to Thanksgiving.”

  “Let’s see,” Alison said as if having to remember with difficulty, although Melissa knew perfectly well that Alison’s mind was organized and could call up any of her hundred current lists at will. “Rich, Laura, Merilee, Billy and some friend of his—”

  “Male or female?”

  “An exchange student on his hockey team—from Norway, I think? But Billy swears he speaks English.”

  “And?”

  “Senators Dawes and Nottingham and Mrs. N., Audrey and her little girl. Eric. The representative from District Eight, Angus Spears. He’s recently divorced, and your father has taken him under his wing. He’s quite good looking.”

  “Does Rosemary intend him for Merilee or for me?”

  “Rosemary is simply being nice to him…. It’s possible Merilee might like him, and he’s certainly both available and suitable.”

  “Then he’s not for me.”

  “Unless Merilee and he do not strike it off, and he and you do. You might try being a little forthcoming at table.”

  “I’ll try.” Should she flirt with him outrageously to throw her mother off the scent? Could she pull that off? She had never been a practiced flirt. Neither Merilee nor she had picked up Rosemary’s almost professional skill.

  IT FELT STRANGE to be back in the house in Washington, where Blake and she had cohabited so merrily and pretended to be married. Now that was no longer pretense but fact, yet she felt less married to him now than she had those precious weeks of August. She did not want to be here, in the cement-hard bosom of her family. She could not escape a flush of guilt whenever she heard Rosemary discussing the Inquirer attacks. She repeated to herself the litany of Dick’s sins in office, but she still cringed. She began to study herself in mirrors, not from vanity but from fear of what her face might be giving away. Fortunately, the house was overrun with people, so that Alison and Rosemary were tied up with Thanksgiving plans—not only dinner but, on Sunday afternoon, a reception Melissa hoped she could avoid.

  Merilee, in her last year of law school, was busy until that night when she arrived with a backpack at ten, tossing it down in the room they shared. Merilee flung herself on her single bed—exactly like Melissa’s, with a matching Ralph Lauren spread—and closed her eyes.

  “Wiped?”

  “Totally.” Merilee did not open her eyes. “I hate law school and yet I wouldn’t be anyplace else. It’s absorbing—a constant challenge.”

  “I hear that a recently divorced rep from Pennsylvania is being served to you at Thanksgiving.”

  “Damn.” That was strong language for Merilee, who had never learned to swear. “Or am I being served to him?”

  “You’re not interested?”

  “It’s been lovely to have Mother off my case for a couple of months while they’ve been stewing about your déclassé boyfriend from the ’hood.”

  “He’s not from the ’hood, Merilee. He was raised by two affluent lawyers.”

  “The Ackermans. They’re both brilliant, by the way. I’ve read some of his appeals, and they are both ingenious and profound.”

  Melissa tried to imagine what an ingenious and profound brief would be like. She had glanced through Merilee’s law books and had yet to find anything remotely interesting.

  “Is that young man going into law?”

  “No. He’s into computers.” She felt a stab of fear. Blake had carefully not mentioned that to her parents when they had walked in that night. She had carefully not mentioned it since.

  But Merilee had lost interest. Her lids slowly lowered. “Um.”

  ALISON HAD GONE shopping and bought dresses for Merilee and Melissa at a boutique recommended by someone with taste Melissa found appalling. This was as bad as the thing she had worn at Rich and Laura’s wedding. Laura at any rate was allowed to wear something comfortable, a velvet maternity dress that made her look like an upholstered easy chair but had to be ten times gentler on the body than the blue sheath she had to struggle into. Merilee’s dress was black with spaghetti straps. Melissa guessed it was supposed to make Merilee look older and more sophisticated, presumably to appeal to Angus. Her dress seemed designed to keep her from eating too much. She wondered if it might not simply pop open in the middle of dinner, spilling her out onto her plate.

  She winced when she saw her father coming down the steps to the diningroom with Rosemary on his arm. He was so handsome it was unfair. He seemed to radiate confidence like heat. He looked presidential greeting everyone with a special smile, a special hand squeeze, that gaze into the eyes that seemed to shine with sincerity. He loved to work a roomful of people almost as much as he loved to work a crowd. Some politicians seemed to suffer the public gaze; he gathered it into himself and beamed it back, intensified. She had trouble meeting his eyes—if he knew what she had done, he would be so hurt and furious. She wanted to slink away and hide.

  Since she could scarcely breathe in the dress, she did not talk much at table. Nobody seemed to notice, although Billy’s friend Torval tried to engage her. He spoke English quite well, with a charming accent, but the interchanges were awkward. Besides he was two years younger, so she wouldn’t have been interested even if she weren’t married. It would be wonderful when she was allowed to put on her ring. She usually wore it around her neck, but Blake had vetoed that idea for Washington. It would be too easy to notice and too hard to explain, he said. But she missed it. Usually it was right there between her breasts, making her new condition real to her with its slight metallic pressure.

  Merilee did look spectacular in black. Merilee was slender with small breasts, but Alison had provided one of those push-up bras that could give cleavage to a cutting board. Her blond hair glistened. The representative was seated next to her, and after a while they fell into animated and almost private conversation. Rosemary smiled approvingly and concentrated on her favorite, Senator Dawes, and the elderly Republican Senator Nottingham from Mississippi. Nottingham had been elected so many times he scarcely bothered to return to his district on holidays. Washington said that after he died, he would be stuffed and continue to represent his state, still winning election after election, and no one would notice the difference. Rosemary had obviously been working on him for some project of Dick’s. Mrs. N. ate steadily without speaking. Melissa could tell from her glances that she did not like Rosemary. She was probably here under protest.

  Sometimes Melissa looked at her mother and was startled by how beautiful she was. Would her own life be better if she looked like that? But Blake liked her the way she was. He liked the breasts and hips and ass she had been trained to be ashamed of. All she could think of was how many hours she had to go before she could rip off this iron maiden of a dress.

  The representative—Angus—was tall
and bony with a neatly trimmed thatch of reddish hair. He was freckled, which was kind of endearing, and he had a deep bass voice that made her think perhaps he sang, like in a choir. He seemed an improvement on most of the politicians her father brought home as protégés. But he was about as sexy as an Irish setter. The conversation at table was mostly in-group Washington gossip: who had done what to whom, who had attended or snubbed what hostess, who was rumored to be divorcing over what, who was about to retire from the House or Senate or the bench. The interns were showing off their knowledge, glancing surreptitiously at Dick to see if he was impressed. He listened as if fascinated. He always encouraged his staff to pick up gossip. He knew how to be the center of everything without saying a word. Melissa was bored. She did not belong here, she did not belong to them.

  It was Saturday afternoon before Rosemary had the leisure to call her into her tidy office. Melissa had gone out with Jessica earlier, shopping for CDs. Jessica had to be back at her parents’ house by five, so Melissa had reluctantly come home. She had hoped to avoid this conversation, but short of running out into the street, she was stuck.

  “I was wondering with whom you’ve been socializing at school lately?”

  “I’ve been seeing a lot of Lindsey. We’re actually working together on a project for sociology.”

  “And boys?” Rosemary propped her sharp chin on her steepled hands, her light brown eyes fixed on Melissa, who was thinking idly that at least she had her mother’s eyes, if nothing else.

  “I haven’t really met anyone I’m interested in….” She had a quick idea that might throw her mother off stride. “But I really liked the guy at Thanksgiving, Angus. He seemed really cool. Very sophisticated.”

  “He’s a little old for you, Melissa. He’s been married and divorced. He’s thirty-seven.”

  “I liked him. I thought he was bright and articulate and really good looking.”

  “I believe your sister is interested in him, and he’s far more suitable for her. You need someone much younger and less…experienced.”

  “I don’t know,” Melissa said airily. “I like older men. In a way he reminded me of Daddy. His politics. His way of expressing himself.”

  “He’s a protégé of your father’s, yes, but not what you should be considering at this stage in your development.”

  “I don’t see why not. He could teach me a great deal.”

  Rosemary grimaced. “This is silly. But, yes, he is a more respectable and responsible sort than you were interested in earlier this year. Perhaps your taste is improving. But don’t get the idea of going head-to-head with your sister, if she does turn out to be interested in Angus…. Where did you and Jessica go?”

  BLAKE E-MAILED her around ten that night:

  Hope you had a chance to look around.

  She answered at once.

  No way. The house is teeming. Billy’s here with a Norwegian exchange student and they’re playing video games all the time. Bang bang. Alison hasn’t stopped hovering. Dick has been working on a speech about estate taxes with his writers in his downstairs office. Rosemary has been closeted with Senator Dawes or playing bridge with Mrs. Senator Nottingham and two administration wives. Rich is on the phone nonstop with the producer who did my father’s video for the last campaign. Laura’s lying around reading baby magazines and ordering things.

  She had not tried, because she just knew she would be caught if she did. He didn’t understand the situation. She thought she was doing pretty well fending off Rosemary’s attention, but she had to be cautious. She could scarcely wait until Sunday afternoon finally came and she could return to school and safety. And Blake, her secret husband.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN •

  Melissa was waiting for Blake. He said he had big news, and from his voice she figured it was good. Well, they could use some. She felt as if she had been living with tension for so many weeks that she was almost used to that tightness in her belly, in her chest, that anxiety that seeped through her dreams and woke her sweating. She wished she could just forget about the danger for a week, even for a day. Doing work for her classes was some kind of relief, because it took her mind off the fear. She was afraid of the FBI, afraid of the police, afraid of her parents. It was hard for her to remember that she had lived much of her life worrying about nothing more than being laughed at by other girls, dreading only her mother’s disapproval.

  Soon she would have to go home for Christmas. It had been relatively easy to avoid Rosemary during Thanksgiving, but Christmas they would spend in Philadelphia, in the much smaller town house, without all the bustle of staff and interns and assistants and secretaries coming and going. There would be people passing through, sure, but she would be stuck there with them for much longer, and inevitably, Rosemary would have more time to spend quizzing her, turning her inside out like the pockets of a pair of jeans going into the washer.

  She wished she could just announce she was married, let the whole family thing blow up and spend Christmas with Blake as a couple. After all, his family knew. When were they going public? It was time for honesty. Why was she so reluctant to bring that up with Blake? Maybe she did not want to hear his equivocations, his always good but never quite good enough reasons for procrastinating. Maybe she was afraid to push him too hard. Why? After all, they were legally married. Emily was tired of hearing about the situation. She was over at Mitch’s house tonight. Their off-again, on-again thing was hot and heavy at the moment. Em had gone through a pregnancy scare, and Mitch hadn’t bailed, so Em was feeling close to him.

  Blake arrived finally, carrying a paper bag. In it was a bottle of California champagne. “Got something we can drink this in?”

  “A couple of water glasses.”

  “It’ll taste just as good.”

  “What’s the occasion?” She clutched herself across her breasts, wishing he would explain already. What she did not know made her nervous.

  “I talked with Si. His friend who’s representing Roger passed on some information. Tom gave the FBI a description of the guy he met at Foxwoods.”

  “Why should we celebrate that? And what about me?”

  “His description is that I was a very tall Hispanic named Sam in his middle twenties with a goatee. As for you, all he could remember is that you were a blonde wearing a leather jacket.”

  “Blonde? Don’t I wish. Plus, where did the goatee come from?”

  “Damned if I know. Either he’s protecting us or he just didn’t look at us carefully. Maybe he was too nervous. Maybe he thought that’s what I should look like.” He popped the cork and poured. “Anyhow, let’s celebrate our freedom. With that description, they don’t have a trail leading to us in fifty years.”

  She lifted her water glass full of bubbly. “Here’s to Sam. Long may he wave.”

  “My sentiments exactly. We may never know if Tom was protecting us or just unable to focus.” He was leaning back on his crooked elbows on her floor.

  “Blake, when are we going to reveal our marriage?”

  “What’s the hurry? Once you do, you can’t go home again, and we’re cut off from a great source of info.”

  “Why do we need more? We’ve dug up plenty.”

  “The public has a right to know about their officials and what kind of shit they’re into.” He sat up on one elbow, fixing her with his large luminous eyes. “Until we have King Richard nailed, we’ve done nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Nailed? What was that supposed to mean? “Suppose the voters don’t give a damn. I’ve heard the word affable used about him five hundred times. Face it, Blake: people like him. He comes across on television. He’s handsome in a nonthreatening Yankee way. He’s a patrician who knows how to put on the just-us-folks voice. He’s weathered dozens of scandals over the years.”

  “It’s different now. He’s in the Senate. The appearance of propriety and operating by the rules counts there.”

  “Oh, sure. He’s got appearance to burn.”

  “Lissa
, I have to have justice. It’s our mission. I owe it to my father. I can’t live my own life till I’ve brought justice to the man responsible for my father’s execution. We simply can’t fail.” He took her cold hand in his warm dry hands and stroked it as if he could rub courage and conviction into her like hand lotion. “It’s like a sign that this guy Tom didn’t turn us in, that he protected us.”

  “Did he protect us, or was he too flustered to look at us? He certainly paid no attention to me.”

  “We’ll probably never know, but it comes out the same in the end.” He sat up and poured more champagne. “Let’s toast ourselves.”

  “To us. Our future together,” she said, clinking her water glass against his.

  “I’ll drink to that. To the rest of our lives, together.”

  ALISON CALLED on her cell phone as she was having lunch. “I tried your room. I spoke with your roommate—Emily?”

  “Is something wrong?” Melissa asked warily. Blake was right across the table from her. She motioned for him to be quiet, mouthing “Alison” at him.

  “It’s good news. Laura finally had her baby, two weeks overdue. It’s a healthy bouncing boy! She was in labor for eighteen hours.”

  “Wow. That sounds grueling. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, and the baby is wonderful. He weighs nine pounds, two ounces. We’re waiting to see him now. Rich and your mother think you should fly to Philly for photographs. This is a great time for Rich and good publicity.”

  “I can’t go now. It’s exam time.”

  “Just explain to your professors.”

  “That my sister-in-law had a baby and my brother wants me in the background of a couple of photos to aid his campaign? I can’t do it. Besides, I have a huge zit on my nose.”