Love Is Elected (13 page)

Angrily, she flung back the covers and climbed out of bed. I'm not going to let that womanizer make a fool of me, she told herself briskly.

Kara dressed quickly, pulling on jeans and a flannel shirt. And then she went downstairs and fixed herself a substantial breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. While she sipped coffee and glanced at the paper, a story about Matt's campaign caught her eye. There was a picture of him talking to a crowd of Howard County farmers. Involuntarily she felt a surge of pride and smiled as she gazed at the image of the handsome, confident-looking man who was now her husband.

Refilling her cup, she put the paper aside and began to walk around the first floor. Entering the spacious living room she made her way across the wood expanse to the sliding glass door and stood looking out at the lake, sparkling like blue silk in the early morning sunshine. Well, Kara, where do you go from here? she asked herself wryly.

She took another sip of coffee and pondered.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Matt had left her alone after all. His absence would give her a chance to think things out. When he was around, his vital personality disarmed her, making it impossible for her to react in the logical fashion on which she prided herself. Should she do what Matt wanted? Should she play the dutiful politician's wife who stood by smiling passively? Or should she show him that she was more than an ornament and take an active role in his campaign? And then there was a third alternative. Should she repack her things and return to her apartment in Georgetown before she got in any deeper? Turning from the window, she wandered idly into Matt's study.

Of all the rooms in his town house, this was the one she liked best. Its warm colors and shelves lined with books made her feel comfortable and even offered her clues to her new husband's personality. Curiously, she explored the shelves, peering at titles on bookjackets. There she found all the political philosophers she would have expected him to know. She ran her fingers over books by Rousseau, Locke, Hobbes, Emerson, Thoreau, Tom Paine and Jefferson. A slim volume,
The Prince
, by Machiavelli, made her turn down her mouth. I should have guessed that despot would be one of his heroes, she told herself.

But the books of poetry on the shelf above surprised her. Collections of John Donne, Keats, Byron and Shelley sat alongside those of Shakespeare, e.e. cummings and Wallace Stevens. Taking out a volume by Donne, she casually flipped it open and was surprised to find the pages were worn.

"Matt must actually read poetry," she murmured in astonishment. The revelation startled her more than almost anything else she had learned about him.

The sound of the phone's shrill ringing jarred her from her musings. "Probably another one of Matt's girlfriends," the young woman muttered as she picked up the receiver.

"Well hello," murmured a familiar male voice. It was Wayne. Kara was taken aback. He was the last person she had expected to hear from in Matt Jordan's house.

"How did you know I was here?" she queried.

"I have my spies," he responded mysteriously. "Actually," he paused, "Jill told me. I've heard about getting married on the rebound, but this is ridiculous, Kara. I can't believe that my levelheaded girl would go out and marry some guy she didn't know just to spite me. You didn't know him, did you? You couldn't possibly love him. You'd make a terrible politician's wife."

Kara held the receiver away from her ear. Wayne's voice droned on in a distant angry buzz. He sounded bitter, like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. How could I ever have thought I loved that man? she asked herself shuddering. At the moment she felt nothing for him but distaste.

Bringing the receiver to her mouth, she said patiently and with great dignity, "I'm sorry Wayne. It's over. I really don't want to talk to you right now."

"Kara, I've got to see you. I really didn't want to break up. That story about Gloria Ferguson was just a ploy to get you to come around to my way of thinking. We've gotta talk," he insisted.

"No, Wayne," Kara said firmly. "It really is over. Good-bye." Very carefully and deliberately she replaced the receiver on its cradle.

The action made her feel more confident. If she could handle Wayne, maybe she could handle other things, as well. Wayne's spiteful words, "You'd make a lousy politician's wife," had smarted. She clenched her fist. Maybe she could show him that was wrong. Ironically, Wayne had unwittingly chosen the path she would take. Perhaps she could work behind the scenes on Matt's campaign. She was, after all, a public relations professional.

"Frank Adams," she said out loud. "That's it, I'll call him and see how I can make myself useful."

After getting the number of Matt's headquarters from information, she dialed the office. Tossing back her hair, Kara asked the volunteer secretary for Matt's campaign manager. While she waited, she tried to pull suggestions together.

"Adams here," a smooth voice replied a moment later.

"This is Kara Barnett, um, I mean Jordan," Kara corrected, catching herself.

"Ah yes, Mrs. Jordan," he said coldly. The distance in his voice made Kara lose some of her resolve. She rubbed the back of her neck nervously and blundered on.

"I was just going to ask, Mr. Adams, if there was some way I could help with Matt's campaign," she ventured.

"In what way?" he questioned sharply.

"Well, I've been a professional public relations person for Citizens for Consumer Protection. I've written press releases and brochures and planned campaign strategies," Kara began to rattle off her credentials. Adams, unimpressed, interrupted her brusquely.

"I've got plenty of public relations people," he said sharply. "I don't need you to throw Matt into impromptu campaign sessions the way you did yesterday at White Flint Mall. As far as I'm concerned that's a waste of his time."

"But Matt thought it was very effective," Kara defended, stung.

"Effective for what?" Adams shot back. "Few of his voters are in that district. In the future, leave those kinds of arrangements to me. That's what Matt pays me for."

"You've done enough for Matt's campaign already," he continued. "The best way you can help is to stay out of trouble, be a good little wife and smile when they take your picture." Kara stared incredulously at the telephone. Hot tears stung the back of her eyes. He sounds like a medieval throwback, she thought irately. Normally his callous manner and brusque dismissal would not have been upsetting. She had learned to handle all types of people in her job. But right now it was just another blow in what was beginning to look like an infinite series.

"I see," she quavered. "Thank you, Mr. Adams."

Hanging up the phone and dropping down into Matt's comfortable desk chair, she stared into space. What now? Kara wondered in frustration. And then she brightened.

"At least I still have my job," she told herself. Sighing, she picked up the phone and dialed the office where both she and Jill had been working for six months. Jill's sunny "Hello" sounded on the other end of the line.

"Oh Jill, it's so good to hear your voice," said Kara with relief.

"Kara, is everything okay?"

"I think so," her former roommate equivocated. "Can we meet for lunch this afternoon? I'm going to stop by the office and pick up the papers on the Toy Safety bill. I intend to come back to work this week. I'll explain when I see you, but I just wanted to let you know I'm okay."

"Are you really married?" Jill questioned with concern.

"I think so. But I hardly believe it myself."

"Well, it really sounds like a whirlwind romance."

"You might say that," Kara responded, smiling despite herself. "I'll see you at one-thirty," she told her nonplussed friend.

That afternoon Kara explained the whole story to the astonished Jill. "But how could you marry him when you still love Wayne?" Jill questioned.

Kara shook her head. "I know now that my feelings toward Wayne were just a mirage. It's over between us."

Jill clamped her hand to her mouth and looked apologetically at her friend. "I'm sorry, Kara. I guess I goofed. When Wayne called me yesterday I told him everything I knew. Fortunately, that wasn't much."

"It's okay, Jill," Kara reassured. "There's not much Wayne can do about it at this point."

After lunch Kara accompanied Jill back to the office, only to encounter another setback. When she asked for her project, her boss told her it had already been assigned to someone else and insisted she go home and take the two-week vacation Matt had arranged for her.

Defeated and angry, she went home and spent the rest of the week shopping and taking several trips out to Windy Willow Farm to help Matt's mother make arrangements for the reception. As Kara and Mrs. Jordan busied themselves with planning and preparations, Kara was drawn more and more to the older woman's warmth and vitality. By the end of the week, Kara found herself sharing little confidences—like the time when she was twelve years old and in a fit of anger had hidden Uncle James' briefcase. She had always been ashamed of the episode, especially since Uncle James, in his frantic search for the missing portfolio, had turned his den upside down while she stood by feigning innocence. Because of her, Uncle James had missed his plane and an important meeting. Now, after all these years she could finally admit her guilt and even laugh about it with this accepting woman.

But despite her newfound closeness with Matt's mother, Kara still hungered for a word from Matt. Evenings, at home in the town house, she waited for a call from her husband. It never came, but she did hear from Matt in another way. One night while half-asleep on the couch in the study, she saw clips from one of his press conferences on the eleven o'clock news. "With only a few weeks left before the primaries," the announcer intoned, "Matt Jordan is making his last bid for votes from farmers in the western part of his district." Pictures of Matt looking handsome and forceful flashed across the screen and Kara noted with irritation that Vera Caldwell was a prominent member of his entourage.

Upset, Kara snapped off the television, marched up to her bedroom and buried herself in a book. The words didn't seem to make any sense though, and she soon gave up trying to follow the plot.

Finally, two days before the reception she got a phone call from Mrs. Jordan.

"I just heard from Matt," the older woman explained. "He'll meet you at the reception, dear."

"Oh," was all Kara could muster. Another wave of rejection swept over her. Why hadn't he called her? She could think of no reason except that he was so busy with Vera Caldwell that he had forgotten his new wife entirely. Well, she would make him remember, she vowed, looking through the phone book for the number of Anton's—an exclusive salon in Columbia. On the afternoon of the party she had an appointment for a manicure, European facial and complete hairstyling.

"Mrs. Jordan, you have the perfect face for a Victorian roll," the hairdresser cooed, arranging her raven tresses in an upswept style that framed her delicate features and made her look romantically sophisticated. Kara nodded approvingly at the lovely image smiling back at her in the mirror. But there was more to come. When Anton had finished with her coiffure, his assistant had moved in with her makeup kit.

"With those fantastic eyes, I think we'll make you into a dreamy turn-of-the-century beauty," the assistant mused as she studied Kara's high cheekbones and large eyes. She set to work, pulling out sponges, brushes and tubes of color. Kara sat entranced watching the woman deftly transform her.

And that evening Kara pulled out the powder blue chiffon designer skirt and blouse. As she touched it she felt excitement bubble up within her. In spite of everything, I'm looking forward to this party and seeing Matt again, she admitted to herself. She felt a pang as she thought of her tall, handsome husband. Why hadn't he called? His neglect puzzled and angered her, but still she had to concede to herself that she was anxious to see him.

After slipping on the layers of blue chiffon and buttoning the matching satin blouse, she stood before the full-length mirror. Then she snapped the pearl-trimmed cummerbund around her waist, slipped on a pair of pearl earrings and stepped back and surveyed her reflection. The woman staring back was beautiful, and Kara turned from side to side, entranced by the effect.

"Oh," she smiled, pleased with herself, "Matt won't be able to ignore me tonight." With lifted spirits, she stepped into a delicate pair of silvery evening sandals and gathered up her silky ecru shawl. Minutes later she was in the Porsche heading toward Windy Willow Farm.

When she pulled into the circular drive, the porticoed facade of the old stone house stood ablaze with lights. Mrs. Jordan, elegant in a pale rose-colored sheath, greeted Kara with a warm hug. Then the older woman stood back and approvingly surveyed her new daughter-in-law.

"My," she exclaimed with a smile lighting up her aristocratic face, "you will knock eyes out tonight. They'll just drool over you all evening." Kara beamed, but her face fell when her mother-in-law went on to say, "Matt called. He's not here yet. His plane's been delayed so we'll have to greet the guests without him."

In the ballroom Kara was embraced affectionately by Lew McAlister, who looked uncomfortable in a tuxedo.

"Aren't you the little beauty," he exclaimed, inspecting her with glee. Kara chatted with him for a few minutes before Mrs. Jordan whisked her off to meet some of the other guests.

An hour later Kara found that her mother-in-law's prediction about her success had come true. She had been surrounded by admirers and had found, much to her surprise, it was easy to make conversation with the genteel Maryland society Mrs. Jordan had invited to the reception. Men, especially, hovered around her and many she discovered, to her delight, remembered her mother.

She was the center of a laughing group of admirers when she became conscious of a pair of eyes staring at her from across the spacious room. She looked up. The eyes belonged to Matt. Darkly handsome in expensively tailored evening clothes, her husband was scrutinizing her with an intent expression that she found difficult to interpret. Color flooded her cheeks as her eyes met his and locked. Deliberately setting down his untouched drink on a tray, Matt threaded his way toward her. When he reached her side he bent over and placed a light kiss on her cheek.