Call My Name (23 page)

Eyes widened, she stared at him. “Your appointment—what time was it for?”

With deliberate nonchalance, he glanced at his watch. “They are expecting me in five minutes.”

“Five minutes? You’ll be late—”

The weight of his body fell across hers, one hand snaking out to grab the phone. Within minutes he had bought an additional half-hour. Then, with a pat to her bottom perfectly outlined beneath the smoothness of the sheet, he headed for the bathroom.

It was an experience of sheer delight to stand, wrapped togalike in that same sheet, at the bathroom door and watch the man at work. The towel around his hips, so slim as his body tapered from the breadth of his shoulders, was a merciful diversion without which she feared for her sanity. They talked softly as he shaved, then more loudly through the steady beat of the shower, then not at all when he whipped the sheet from her and hauled her into the torrent with him. It was a dangerous game, he told her tongue-in-cheek and hands about her waist, but neither shied from it. Fortunately the water turned cold in time to prevent Drew from having to make another call for time.

*   *   *

The weekend passed as in a dream, a perfect honeymoon before the fact. As Drew had predicted, his meetings took up no more than several hours of each of the days. During that time Daran explored and admired the maze of underground shopping malls for which Montreal was famous, though she was ever grateful to reemerge into the sunshine and await Drew’s return.

The streets of the city passed beneath their feet as they strolled, arm in arm, up one and down the next. From Drew’s viewpoint, half of the luxury was in the anonymity that the strange city and its country afforded. From Daran’s, it was his company, and his alone, which was the luxury.

A horsedrawn buggy carted them through the oldest section of the city, over cobblestone streets and past ancient landmarks. The extensive and efficient metro system delivered them to Olympic Park, where they viewed the swimming complex and its five pools, the velodrome and its helmut-shaped roof, and the stadium, where the Expos led the Yankees by a score of 10 to 3 at the bottom of the eighth.

They ambled through the parks, scattered about the city, talking of politics and love, academia and love, and then, marriage. By mutual agreement their wedding would be a private affair, taking place after the Senate adjourned for the year, thereby allowing them the sufficiently long honeymoon that Drew felt they both deserved. And, at his insistence, Labor Day would see them both in Cleveland to spend several days with her family.

There was but one blemish on the full run of her happiness. Drew did not yet know of her prior marriage, short and disastrous as it had been. He did not yet know about Bill Longley. Several times after that initial attempt she broached the subject; each time, he declared firmly that he did not want to hear, that he did not want her to recall that very painful experience again. In his mind the trauma had been a one-time physical ordeal; he knew nothing of her own folly in having married Bill, or that her former husband had gone on to become a member of the House of Representatives, or that it had been that very man whose appearance had so distressed her in the restaurant in Washington that last night.

The truth would have to come out before that trip to Ohio; of that Daran was certain. Her sureness did not extend, however, to the best way of divulging it. And her happiness in Drew’s presence was so great that she willingly let this one matter fall to the wayside for the time being.

Wearing the elegant aqua silk she had purchased in Washington a mere few days before—never imagining then that she would be wearing it under these circumstances—she accompanied Drew on Saturday night to an equally as elegant French restaurant in the old quarter of the city. Stained-glass windows were lit by the gaslights on the street outside; fine linen, china, and silver lay on the table before them. They were treated like royalty, with Drew’s anonymity intact. A gourmet’s delight, the fare was authentic and delicious, as was the wine they sipped, their eyes meeting in quiet communication throughout. Their lovemaking later that evening reflected the growth of their love in that one day alone. And it left Daran praying that the weekend would never end. For, despite those vows of love, there was still the world to face and, with it, the oft-times problematic twist of reality.

Once cynical about the brotherhood of politics as a whole, now she saw that error. For Drew was none of the things that Bill, and so many of the others she’d met in Ohio, represented. He was proud yet sensitive, demanding yet giving, practical yet honest, strong yet gentle. The months in which she’d come to know Drew Charles had quickly cured her of her own arrogant generalization. Yet there was another factor, one which continued to frighten her.

To be in love, on their own, in a faraway place, was one thing. To be in love amid a battalion of aides and colleagues, contributors and constituents, lobbyists, the press, and the public eye itself was entirely different. Would their love be strong enough to withstand the grueling late-night sessions, the interminable evening meetings, the frequent separations? Would their love be strong enough to counter the negative elements which might contribute to their alienation from one another? Legislative aides had been known to pull rank over wives in the past; would she fall victim to this? These were all worries of the future that only the future would resolve. For the first time in her life, however, she believed in true love and its power to succeed in taming, in this case, the political machine. Her love was so great that it was worth a try.

*   *   *

It was late Sunday evening when their plane touched down at Bradley Field to deposit Daran, then take Drew on to Washington. It had been agreed that he would return home the following weekend, and that, for the time being, they would say nothing of their plans, if for no other reason than to savor their own privacy a little longer. His kiss was long and hard, with a fervor to last the week, as they stood for those last few moments by the plane together. He, too, sensed the test to come. For, once back in Washington, he was the senator, subject to the very demanding forces that had wrecked many a home. Once he had sworn never to ask a woman to share his kind of life. Now he had repudiated that pledge. Within the endless power play of the political arena, there would be forces working against them daily. He could not forget that any more than he could forget the last miserable years of his mother’s life. Yes, he, too, had his doubts, but he also knew the strength of the love he felt for Daran. It
was
worth a try.

*   *   *

Each night she waited for his call. Each night it came. It was the highlight of her existence. For, though she found herself involved in meetings or on the phone with one thing or another, supposed vacation time notwithstanding, her thoughts rarely strayed from her love and her lover.

When she met him at the airport on Friday evening, she had never been happier. Tired as he was, Drew shared the sentiment. And though there were the usual appearances to be made during the weekend, they found time to be together, to talk, to love. The patience with which he discussed his work, outlining in particular the pressure he was under on the nomination of Rudolph Sweet to the Supreme Court, pleased her, indicative as it was of the sharing that would characterize their married life.

“My distinguished colleagues—” his frustration unleashed itself in part in the exaggerated drawl of the term “—have been on my back, pushing me to take a stand. But it’s not as easy as it sounds, and this confirmation could hinge on a handful of us. I want to be sure of my decision. It’s a controversial appointment.”

The night was warm and sultry, as late summer nights in the Connecticut Valley tended to be. From Daran’s house, where Drew was staying, they had followed the trail through the woods to his for an evening swim. Now they lay, talking, side by side on the large patio chaise. “Why the controversy?” she asked softly.

“The man had an alcohol problem over twenty years ago. There was an automobile accident in which his wife was crippled. He was drunk and slightly hurt himself, but there are those who still feel that he could have gotten help sooner. Since the accident he has been a practicing attorney, accepting cases that many another would have rejected. It’s a penance of sorts. Five years ago he was named to the bench in Toledo. His record is spotless.”

“No more drinking?”

“Not since the accident. His wife is an invalid. He has pampered her devotedly ever since.”

In a totally absent-minded gesture she rubbed her cheek against the texture of his chest. “I don’t see what the problem is then. If his qualifications are there, what stands in the way of confirmation?”

A kind and indulgent chuckle hovered by her ear. “You make it all sound so simple. Unfortunately he does have a past.”
Don’t we all
, she mused ruefully; as yet, she had not found the right time to tell him of Bill. “As a justice of the United States Supreme Court, he will pass judgment on many sensitive issues. His opinions will affect many people. Ironically, had it not been for a small and vocal group that opposes the nomination, the past might have been long forgotten, where I believe it should be. The issue, now, however, is whether he can be accepted as a symbol of lawfulness, a figure of authority. It boils down to the legitimacy of our government.” He paused, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Then, there is the usual politicking. You know, this one wants an Easterner in the seat, and that one wants a woman—”

“Most of which has little to do with the merits of that man who was nominated!”

“Touché!” His arms tightened in playful diversion. Suddenly this talk of Washington palled. What he really wanted at that moment was to make love to his woman, here, on the patio, beneath the moonlight. Which he promptly did.

*   *   *

For Daran, it seemed too good to be true. The end of the weekend found her, if possible, more in love than before. Parting on Sunday was the hardest of all, despite the knowledge that the following Thursday would see them together again and for the entire length of the holiday recess.

The odd premonition that gripped her had no basis in fact. Perhaps it was superstition; things were simply flowing too smoothly to be believed. Perhaps it was merely a reluctance to be away from him, even for those few days. Whatever, it disquieted her. In some odd way it was no surprise to find Stanley Morrow at the door of her hospital office the next morning, shortly before noon.

“Have you seen the papers, Daran?” he exclaimed loudly, his voice a mixture of anger and bewilderment. During the time that she and Drew had spent together in the state, she had come to know Stan Morrow well. Though the formalities of Mr. and Dr. had been dropped, the two got along only on a marginal basis. As had been her very first impression of the man, she found him far too pushy for her taste, though it was this trait that made him so valuable to Drew. Now she was perplexed.

“What papers?” Sleep had been slow in coming last night. In compensation she had arisen later than usual, having to forego her usual coffee and newspaper in her efforts to get to the hospital on time. Her two morning appointments had ended; now there was simply paper work to clean up.

“The
Washington Post
, for one. The
Hartford Courant
, for another. Take your pick. The
Bridgeport Post
. The
New Haven Register
. The
Waterbury American
. They’ve all got it!” For a man customarily in full control, at least outwardly, he had hit rock bottom. His hands gestured wildly, his eyes bore a frantic glint.

“Got what?” His mood was contagious, translating to fear in Daran as visions flitted before her.

With a sigh of exasperation he shoved the first of the papers at her. Her hand accepted it gingerly, her feet took her back to her chair behind the desk. Without further word Stanley Morrow entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Instant shock registered as the amber eyes perused first one, then the other papers. Worded differently, the headlines were substantively the same. CHARLES SCANDAL ERUPTS; SWEET HEARINGS HALTED. CHARGES OF BRIBERY ON SWEET CONFIRMATION CENTER ON SENATOR ANDREW CHARLES. CHARLES OF CONNECTICUT IS PAID TO SUPPORT SWEET NOMINATION. To her horror, they got worse. CHARLES SELLS OUT FOR LATEST WOMAN. THE INCORRUPTIBLE CHARLES TAKES FALL ON SWEET ISSUE.

“What is this all about, Stan?” she cried incredulously.

“I was hoping you could tell me that.” With the calming of his initial uproar, hardness had set into his voice, as it had into his eyes. “Read on.”

Mind whipping in every direction at once, she could not. “You tell me what they say. I can’t read them.
What is this all about?
”

There was undue skepticism in his study of her, undue sarcasm in his voice. “It seems that you have been paid on the side to woo Drew into supporting the nomination of Rudolph Sweet to the Supreme Court.”

Brows knit in puzzlement, face contorted in disbelief, she sat back in her chair. “
What?
”

Calmly, with accusation written clearly between the lines, he went on. “It seems that you are being paid by a Representative William Longley from Toledo, Ohio, who coincidentally is sponsoring the nomination personally in the House. Having wormed your way into the senator’s good graces on another issue, you are now pushing this one. Of course the bribery is not in the form of money to the senator himself. He has no need of that. Rather, it is in the form of favors.” He had saved the best for last. Opening a tabloid with deliberate slowness, he spread it on the desk before her. There, blown up in black and white, were pictures of the two of them, locked in each other’s arms, first at the airport the night he had dropped her back from Montreal, then at her front door—
her own front door
—this past weekend.

“How did they ever get these—” Her whisper of astonishment barely reached his ears.

“That’s not the point!” The roar that hit her sat her up straight in her chair. “The point is that this scandal could ruin Drew, after all he’s worked for. Why on earth did you do it? Were you that badly in need of money?”