No More Lonely Nights (69 page)

Dominique gripped the back of a chair for support and stared fixedly at Stephen Hampton.

He took a step toward her.

Again, the woman spoke. “Stephen? Whatever is the matter?”

“Is that you, Dominique?” the man’s voice was strained with shock.

Dominique could scarcely articulate a reply. Even to her own ears, it sounded faint. “Stephen…” It wasn’t a question. There was no question. Then Dominique saw the woman over his shoulder.

Stephen followed her gaze and turned. “Oh… oh, forgive me, dear.” He took the woman by the elbow. His face flushed then turned pale. “Serena, this is someone I used to know in Egypt,” he said vaguely. “Dominique Avallon—” He suddenly stopped. “I beg your pardon, I’m sure you’ve a married name.”

“Parker,” Dominique said woodenly.

Hampton continued, his voice stronger now. “Mrs. Parker used to work for the RAF in Egypt.”

The woman studied Dominique from head to toe. “Ah yes,” she said, “Ismailia, wasn’t it? For whom did you work?”

The woman’s clipped tone helped Dominique recover her poise. She arranged her features in a polite mask. She smiled graciously at the woman. “No one in particular. I was in the typing pool.” Dominique tried to discern a resemblance between the long ago photo on Stephen’s desk and the woman before her now. Yes, the bones were the same. And the cool, measuring eyes.

“Well…” Stephen shifted nervously. “It doesn’t seem quite right just to say hello and move on. We were going to have a cup of tea. Would you care to join us?”

Dominique looked from one to the other. The woman said, “Yes, do. We have hours to wait for our connection. Such a bore. Unless, of course,” she paused in a manner weighted with meaning, “one runs into old friends.”

Dominique studied the man before her. He was still handsome, but he looked worn and somewhat defeated, not at all the dashing hero she remembered. “I’d like to join you, but my daughter, Gabrielle—” She stopped, a little confused.

“It’s okay, Mom, that would be cool.”

Dominique turned, surprised to find Gabrielle directly behind her.

They all sat down in a grouping of chairs and ordered drinks.

Egypt was hardly mentioned. Stephen told of the places he had lived since the Suez crisis. Dominique described her business in Washington. Gabrielle and Serena barely said a word.

All the while, Dominique wondered why Stephen had stayed married to the woman he had professed to no longer love—a woman who had been unfaithful to him. She watched the interplay between them. Dominating it was the tone of irritable affection that many long-married couples adopt.

Dominique tried in vain to associate with the man before her the burning, all-encompassing love she had felt at twenty-one. She remembered desperate unhappiness, ferocious passion. But none of it seemed remotely connected to this Stephen Hampton. There was nothing left of that old fire.

Stephen, in turn, searched Dominique’s face. She felt it. Wondered what he was thinking. But her curiosity had limits. She would never know the answer, and she found it did not matter.

They had one cup of tea, then it was time to go. Dominique held out her hand to Serena and felt the cool, limp contact in return. She turned to Stephen and held out her hand as Gabrielle said good-bye to his wife.

Stephen leaned toward Dominique and kissed her on the cheek. In her ear, he whispered, “I’ll never forget Ismailia.”

Dominique gazed into his eyes. They seemed desperate with a message she couldn’t read. Regret? Melancholy? Nostalgia? She didn’t know: they were the eyes of a stranger.

She shook his hand. “Good-bye,” she said.

Dominique and Gabrielle hurried to the gate, but unnecessarily. There was a line of people waiting to board, and they were at the end of it.

Dominique stood on tiptoe and looked impatiently at the ground attendant checking tickets.

She felt Gabrielle’s gaze on her and turned to face her.

Gabrielle smiled. “You know what, Mom?”

“What?”

Gabrielle’s voice was quiet with wonder. “You’ve still got it.”

Dominique blushed. “Don’t be silly! What are you talking about?”

“That man. He was in love with you, wasn’t he?”

Dominique shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know. It was so long ago.”

“
I
know,” Gabrielle intoned. “Because he’s still in love with you.”

Dominique looked in her daughter’s eyes and saw the admiration there. “Oh, you’re imagining things,” she said with a little laugh. But she was pleased. Not by Stephen’s admiration, but by Gabrielle’s.

Dominique was quiet during the flight home. Seeing Stephen made her reflect on what he had meant to her. Why hadn’t she been at all attracted to him? Though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she agreed with Gabrielle that he appeared to still love her—at least to carry the memory of his love within him. The look of resignation he wore caused Dominique to wonder if their affair had been a highlight of his life.

Yet, that wasn’t so for her. So much had happened since then. She smiled as she thought of it. She had been so young. So romantic! How had she rationalized their affair?

Not until Anton had she learned about consequences. She shuddered as she remembered the desperate isolation of her time with him, the harsh months afterward. But in those months, she knew, she had for the first time taken responsibility for her own fate. Then she had fallen in love with Clay. And, bit by bit, she had succumbed to the life prescribed by him, by her upbringing, by New Orleans society. She had done it of her own free will, glad to have found her place after losing the one she had had in Egypt.

Dominique stared at the vast blue sky outside and thought of Mark. To him, she wasn’t an accouterment, but rather a person apart. A person to be valued on her own terms, on equal terms. Why hadn’t she been able to make that distinction? She had fought so hard for her independence that she had failed to recognize that she had won.

She thought back to the night, right after the separation from Clay, when she had considered suicide. On that night, she had taken back her life. Since then, she had rebuilt it. Rebuilt it so that it was hers. And she knew Mark would never ask her to give it up. He, of all people, would understand why she intended to say no to Paris. That no matter how enticing the opportunity, she couldn’t give up what she was building in Washington. The process might be long and laborious, but she
was
succeeding. And Mark had encouraged her every step of the way.

So why was she denying herself the happiness of being with him? She had nothing to fear from him. Her heart expanded as she envisioned his good-natured face. He would never intentionally hurt her. He was not the sort of person to do that to anyone. He was tender and kind. He was, and had always been, her friend.

She closed her eyes and pushed her seat back. Mark was her friend, yes, but he had taught her about passion, too. He made her feel relaxed, yet wildly excited. What an odd congruence of emotions! It was what people searched for all their lives. It was the very meaning of love. Not even with Clay had she felt that particular harmony. And yet, she hadn’t cherished its uniqueness.

Regret, so bitter she could taste it, filled her. Was this what Danielle was going through? Why was it that people didn’t realize how lucky they were until it was too late?

Like snapshots in an album, memories of Dominique’s times with Mark began to flash through her mind. Vividly, she recalled lying with him in his canoe as he sang “Old Man River” at the top of his lungs.

She remembered another time. Mark had run out of gas and had wanted to push his car to a service station perhaps a half-mile away while she steered. Mark had labored for a quarter of the distance before he’d commented how hard going it was.

“Maybe I’ll just go get the gas and come back. I thought this would be easy, but there’s more of a grade to this hill than it looks,” he’d remarked with puzzlement.

It was then that Dominique discovered she’d forgotten to release the hand brake. She’d admitted it with trepidation, expecting the sort of angry outburst she was used to from Clay.

Instead, Mark had broken out laughing, and he had made Dominique laugh, too.

The crackle of the intercom broke into Dominique’s thoughts. The flight attendant instructed them to place their seats in the upright position. Dominique obeyed, then turned her gaze back to the window. They flew over the Washington Monument, then the Lincoln Memorial, then the Capitol. Traffic around the Capitol was congested. Watergate, of course, was keeping Congress busy.

Dominique knew that Mark was there, a few miles below. Her heart contracted at the thought, then she forced it from her mind. She was just making herself sad.

With a
thump,
the plane landed. After Dominique and Gabrielle claimed their luggage, they made their way through the jostling crowd to the taxi stand outside.

The taxi that stopped for them was overheated, but the warmth was comforting. Dominique leaned forward and gave the driver their address, then sat back and gazed out the window. Across the Potomac River, almost directly across, was the Capitol.

The driver fought his way through the traffic at the airport, then took the ramp onto the Fourteenth Street bridge. “You want to go M Street or the Parkway?” he asked over his shoulder.

Dominique thought for a moment. Suddenly she said. “Neither! Take me to the Dirksen Senate Office Building.” It was a crazy impulse, but impossible to fight.

Gabrielle snapped her head around in astonishment. “But—”

Dominique’s look silenced her. “I’ll explain later.” To the driver she said, “After you drop me off, take my daughter to the address I gave you before.” She handed him enough to cover both fares.

Gabrielle stared at her, mouth open.

“You’ll be okay for an hour or so, won’t you?” Dominique asked Gabrielle.

“Of course,” Gabrielle said with adolescent defensiveness. “I’m not a baby!”

Dominique laughed, then pulled her close and hugged her.

“Mom!” Gabrielle wriggled away, embarrassed, but smiling.

Dominique leaned forward in her seat, willing the taxi to go faster. Faster, before she lost her courage. Her heart was pounding with apprehension.

As the driver pulled up to her destination, Dominique patted Gabrielle’s hand and said, “See you later.” Then she charged out of the vehicle and into the building.

Her heels clicked noisily in the hall. She concentrated on the rhythm, refusing to focus on what might happen in the next few moments. If she thought about it, she would lose her nerve.

And then she was outside Mark’s office. She stood in front of the open door and watched the two receptionists field an incessant flow of telephone calls. She took a deep breath and stepped in.

“Hold please,” said a receptionist into the telephone. She looked up at Dominique and her eyes widened in recognition. Dominique did not recall ever before having met her, but it was likely the young woman had seen photos of her with Mark. “May I help you?” the young woman asked, her expression worried.

Dominique took a step closer to the desk. She thought her heart would burst from her chest. “Yes, please. I’d like to see Senator Patout, if he has a moment. I’m Dominique Parker,” she added unnecessarily.

The woman nodded. “Please have a seat,” she said dubiously.

Dominique sat down in a brown leather armchair in the corner of the room. Immediately, she sprang up again. She was too nervous to sit. She looked at the receptionist to whom she’d spoken. The young woman had turned her back and was speaking softly into the phone. The other receptionist continued to answer the ringing lines. Dominique couldn’t hear a word the first one was saying. Then, catching herself, she turned away. What would the woman think of her staring that way!

She sat back down and fiddled with the handle of her pocketbook.

Her eyes found the carved wood door that led to Mark’s office. It looked thick and impenetrable. She watched for the turning of the brass knob.

The young woman put down the phone and turned to say something to Dominique, but it immediately rang again. She held up her index finger as though asking Dominique to wait, then she picked up the phone.

Dominique felt unnaturally warm. She wanted to take off her coat, but, somehow, she found she couldn’t even make that easiest of gestures.

When would the receptionist get off the phone and tell her what was happening? The woman had turned away again, and Dominique wondered if she was avoiding eye contact with her. Suppose she had something embarrassing to tell her? Suppose she was going to say that Mark was unavailable?

Dominique had the sudden urge to flee. She stood up and went to the receptionist’s desk. She’d leave a note. Mark could call her if he wanted to—if he hadn’t fallen in love with the dark-haired young woman. This wasn’t the time or place —

His door opened. He stepped out quickly, a look of surprise and expectancy on his face.

Dominique gazed at him, the dear sight of him. Had it only been three months? She wanted to run to him. To throw herself against his chest and feel his arms around her. But she stood rooted to the spot in front of the receptionist’s desk.

Mark’s face lit with happiness. “Dominique?” His voice was uncertain.

An effervescent, soaring feeling took hold of her. It seemed as though there was no one in the room but the two of them. “Mark,” she blurted out, “am I too late?”

Mark stared at her, his expression all at once serious. Was it shock she saw there? Rejection? Regret? Why didn’t he speak?

Suddenly the phones stopped. Every line was flashing, all callers on hold. The receptionists no longer pretended to ignore the scene. They gazed, transfixed, at Dominique and Mark.

As though suddenly remembering an appointment, Mark looked at his watch. Then he raised his eyes to Dominique and gave her his irresistible lopsided grin. He relaxed with one shoulder against the door jamb and crossed one leg in front of the other. “Why, no,” he said, “I’ve been waiting.”

NICOLE MCGEHEE was born in South Carolina, but spent most of her adult life in the Wasington, DC, area. She began her career in politics as a lobbyist and event planner for several medical non-profits. Later, she worked as a speech writer and legislative aide in the U.S. House of Representatives. From there, she went to work in the West Wing of the White House.