Love Is Elected (11 page)

The next morning Mrs. Jordan's chauffeur-driven limousine deposited her and Kara at the main entrance of White Flint Mall. This was Kara's first visit to the posh three-story shopping center with its glass enclosed elevators and indoor gardens flanked by ceramic tile walkways.

She looked about her with interest at the enticing store displays featuring everything from expensive chess sets, with pieces decked out like lords and ladies at a medieval court, to antique oriental porcelain bowls, fine jewelry and designer lingerie.

"Would you like a cup of coffee and a croissant first?" Mrs. Jordan asked, steering Kara toward an indoor sidewalk cafe with old-fashioned wire frame chairs and brightly polished square copper table tops. "They have such marvelous blends here."

"That sounds terrific," Kara agreed enthusiastically, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "I didn't have much for breakfast."

"I think I'll have the Viennese coffee," Mrs. Jordan told the waitress.

Kara selected a Mocha Java blend to drink with her buttery croissant. When the waitress had left, Mrs. Jordan turned to her daughter-in-law. "Now, it's really none of my business," she began. "But I did notice a certain strain in the relationship between you and Matt at brunch yesterday."

Flustered, Kara took a sip of her coffee and touched her lips with her napkin. How would she respond to the older woman's remark? Finally she said, "I'm having trouble sorting out my feelings toward Matt. One minute we're getting along fine. But the next minute, we're at each other's throats. I don't know how he really feels about our marriage."

Mrs. Jordan reached over and covered Kara's hand with her own. "I think I know how you feel, my dear," she sympathized. "Ever since Matt's father died, when he was ten, he's kept his emotions locked tightly inside himself. Even I often have trouble knowing what he's really feeling. And then there's Lew. He's had a lot to do with Matt's upbringing, because I felt he needed a strong man's hand. But maybe it was a bit too strong. Lew isn't one to display the tender emotions. But I think it's important to repeat what I said yesterday. Matt's his own man and he'd never let himself be trapped into a situation that he didn't really want. If he went to the extreme of marrying you, you must be special to him."

Kara looked at her mother-in-law doubtfully. "I wish I could really let myself believe you. But I feel so vulnerable," she murmured, shaking her head and setting down her coffee cup. "I just don't know whether or not our marriage has a future."

"I think that time will straighten things out," Mrs. Jordan reassured. "And the two of you have had so little time together."

Then she glanced at her watch. "But speaking of time, we are going to have to get on with the business at hand if we're going to meet Matt for an early dinner. Where shall we begin our shopping expedition?" she asked briskly, taking a last sip of coffee before putting down her cup. "I think I'll take you to see Joyce at this end of the mall first," she said, not waiting for an answer. "She always seems to have just what I'm looking for."

Mrs. Jordan's remark conjured up the image of a bustling, helpful saleslady. It in no way prepared Kara for the reality of Joyce, the haughtily sophisticated grande dame of one of Bethesda's most exclusive department store salons.

The salon itself was like nowhere else Kara had ever shopped. There were no displays of clothes or racks of dresses. Instead, Kara and Mrs. Jordan took their seats on red velvet-covered Victorian couches at one side of the elegantly decorated room. Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, the young woman glanced nervously at her mother-in-law. But Mrs. Jordan seemed in complete control of the situation.

"We need a complete wardrobe for my new daughter-in-law," she told Joyce. The tall angular woman, who was dressed in a silk designer suit with her hair swept into a French twist, listened attentively.

"We want to suggest a young, vibrant wife. Nothing too conservative. But not too flashy either," Mrs. Jordan went on.

Joyce eyed Kara speculatively, taking in her beige pants suit. "With your coloring you can wear either the pastels or the bright colors," she told the young woman. "But I think you'll have a more romantic image in the pastels. Let me go and make some selections."

A few minutes later Joyce, followed by a model, stepped through the curtained doorway at one side of the room. The model was wearing a light blue linen suit dress. Its simple lines bespoke its expensive price.

"Oh, that's lovely," Kara exclaimed. "But how much does it cost?"

"Now don't worry about that," Mrs. Jordan reassured her. "Matt can afford anything you want." She turned to Joyce. "We'll take that one," she told her. "And we'll want coordinating shoes and a bag, as well as at least three other daytime outfits." Kara blinked and held back another protest. If Matt wanted to spend a fortune decking her out as a politician's wife, why should she object? she asked herself resignedly. In a few moments another model appeared, this time in a silk dress with a soft print of lavender and mauve flowers.

"Oh Kara, that's perfect for you," Mrs. Jordan enthused. "We'll take it."

The morning went quickly as Mrs. Jordan helped select what Kara thought was a complete wardrobe, with outfits for everything from tennis to evening dresses for a night at the opera. There were even sheer, sexy nightgowns that Kara was too embarrassed to protest she didn't need.

When Kara, exhausted by what was becoming for her an ordeal, finally glanced at her watch, she found it was almost lunch time.

Mrs. Jordan looked at her daughter-in-law sympathetically. "Shopping can be so tiring," she remarked. "We'll just have your measurements taken and arrange to have the altered garments sent to your house. Then we can have a light lunch."

After this business had been taken care of, Kara waited while her mother-in-law had a last word with Joyce. Then she followed the older woman up the escalator to the terrace level restaurant overlooking the main shopping promenade. They lunched on seafood salad and watched the bustling activity in the mall. Kara was grateful for a place to sit quietly. I'm glad
that's
over, she thought, taking a sip of iced tea. The new clothes were beautiful, but she felt a little as though she were being wrapped up in gold foil and delivered to Matt like a Christmas toy.

The idea amused her, almost making her laugh out loud. Smiling, she said to her mother-in-law, "I can't thank you enough for your help. I've never had so many stunning new outfits all at once in my life."

"But, my dear," Mrs. Jordan exclaimed in surprise. "We're only half finished. We can't leave without finding out what Bloomingdale's has to offer."

"Oh, no… of course not," Kara mumbled.

At the end of the meal, a messenger appeared from Joyce's salon with several boxes. Kara looked up in surprise.

"It's that first outfit we saw," Mrs. Jordan explained. "I asked them to hurry with it so you'd have something to wear this evening."

The afternoon was a repeat of the morning, with Kara adding a dozen more outfits to her political wife's wardrobe. By the end of this second shopping session she was truly exhausted and felt the beginnings of an unaccustomed headache.

"I'm afraid I've really worn you out," Mrs. Jordan remarked solicitously, noticing the slump to Kara's shoulders. "Why don't you step into the powder room, change into your new outfit, and fix your makeup. It's almost time to meet Matt."

The saleswoman showed Kara to a gilt and marble dressing area and lavatory where the young woman unfolded the blue linen suit from its box. Then she quickly changed her clothes, fixed her lipstick and eye shadow, and ran a comb through her dark curls.

Changing her outfit and renewing her makeup helped to lift her spirits. Despite her earlier cynicism, she had to admit she was pleased by her new image. "Matt won't have any reason to criticize my clothes now," she said aloud, eyeing her reflection with satisfaction. "That is, until he gets the bills," she added impishly.

With a lightened step she went out to rejoin Mrs. Jordan, but stopped short when she saw Matt, dressed in a dark blue blazer and gray slacks, lounging against the white plaster arch that led into the salon.

He looked at her with approval, his smoky eyes making a detailed survey of her changed appearance.

"Very nice, very nice indeed," he drawled. "And did you also buy something sexy?" he added suggestively. A vivid image of Matt looking at her, clad only in one of the low-cut, sheer nightgowns Mrs.

Jordan had insisted she buy, flashed through her mind, bringing a flush to her cheeks.

"I take that to mean the answer is yes," he teased, observing her heightened color.

"There's nothing sexy that you're likely to see," she shot back, trying to keep the quiver from her voice.

"We'll see about that," he challenged dryly.

Ignoring Matt's taunts, Kara walked back into the salon. Mrs. Jordan was just finishing a conversation with the saleswoman, but she turned to greet Kara and then Matt as he too entered the room.

"We've just finished up," she told her son. "And it has been a long day. I know you said something about having dinner with the two of you, but all I really want to do is go home, prop my feet up and have a hot cup of spiced tea."

"Are you sure?" Matt asked solicitously.

Mrs. Jordan nodded. "Stop trying to pressure me, Matt. You young people need some time alone. You don't require your mother as a chaperone."

Matt chuckled, shooting a surreptitious look at Kara through half-closed eyes. "All right, you've convinced me. But maybe my wife doesn't agree with you."

Kara wanted to protest, but thought better of it. Anything she said under the circumstances would be wrong.

After Mrs. Jordan had kissed them both goodbye, Matt led Kara quickly through Bloomingdale's toward another section of the mall. "There's this terrific little Mexican restaurant I want to take you to," he explained, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. Kara couldn't keep herself from smiling back at him.

Just then they passed in front of a cloth-covered table piled with stacks of political literature. Two well dressed, middle-aged women sat behind the table answering questions for a group of interested bystanders.

"We don't care which party you belong to," one of the women was saying. "But we do want you to consider consumer protection when you vote in the upcoming primary. Would you like a list of the candidates' voting records on consumer issues?"

Kara recognized the speaker. It was Alice O'Neal, an officer in a local women's political action group whom Kara had consulted several times over the toy safety bill.

She put a detaining hand on her husband's arm. "Wait a minute, Matt," she urged. "I want to say hello to these people."

Just then Alice looked up, her eyes warm with recognition. "Why, Kara," she exclaimed. "Congratulations. I heard about your wedding on television."

Kara blushed. "Thank you," she replied. Then an idea struck her. Suddenly she remembered a position paper of Matt's on consumer safety that had crossed her desk. "I'd like you to meet my husband, Matthew Jordan," she said, feeling a surge of pride as she drew the tall, handsome politician toward the table.

Matt gave the women his most charming smile.

"I'm so glad to meet you," Alice bubbled, her eyes wide with admiration.

"Are you familiar with Matt's stand on consumer protection?" Kara asked.

"I know something about it, but I'd really like to have more current literature," Alice replied.

Matt opened his mouth to answer, but Kara rushed ahead. "His support for consumer protection is very strong. You might even want to include his position paper with your handouts."

Matt shot her an amused and curious glance. He was obviously surprised to find her so knowledgeable about his political thinking.

In the next instant he had turned to Alice. "My campaign manager will send you the brochure tomorrow," he promised smoothly. "Actually consumer protection is an issue I'm very interested in. I'd be glad to speak to your group about it sometime soon."

"Well," the woman ventured boldly, glancing at her watch, "we happen to be having a short program here this afternoon. It begins in fifteen minutes. I realize this is awfully short notice, but would you be willing to join the other speakers?"

To Kara's dismay, Matt smiled broadly and accepted without hesitation. She felt a wave of fatigue sweep over her. Attending a long meeting was the last thing she felt like doing now. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick with her political assistance. She felt a dart of irritation toward Matt. He hadn't even consulted her before accepting the impromptu invitation. But she plastered a politician's wife's smile on her face as she hurried to catch up with Matt, who was already being led toward a cordoned off area at the end of the Mall. There, waiting on the platform, were candidates running for various offices in next month's primary. But, once the program started, Matt's stark good looks and charismatic assurance quickly won the largely female audience's favor.

Kicking off her shoes, Kara took a seat in the back. Although she was tired, Matt's hastily marshaled speech held her attention. She had to admire the way he pulled together his arguments and spun them out in polished sentences.

During the question-and-answer period, he fielded a variety of queries with knowing expertise. He seemed to relish the give and take with the crowd.

The program lasted well over an hour. When the crowd finally began to break up, Kara hastily pulled on her shoes and stood up. In the row in front of her, two women reached for their jackets. One, a short blonde, leaned over and confided to her companion, "I really liked that Matt Jordan. If he were in my district, he'd have my vote and anything else he wanted." Her friend giggled in agreement.

It was a full twenty minutes later before Matt had extricated himself from a group of potential voters and autograph seekers and begun to look around for Kara.

"Oh, there you are," he said at last. "Why didn't you sit in front where you could be seen? I would have introduced you to the crowd."