The Test (20 page)

“It's for Dad. He wanted me to play a role in his foundation,” Ashley had countered.

“You will not go into New York for that Parnell Foundation board meeting. They have humiliated me. You don't need your family. They don't need you. I am your family now.”

Ashley had nodded a silent assent.

“I have to go out of town early, my love. You call Meredith and make any excuse you want, but tell her you're not going.”

“Yes, Conrad,” she'd said. He'd taken her in his arms, but what happened next she simply could not remember.

And that's what concerned Ashley the most. She had these complete blackouts. Always after she and Conrad had sex and sometimes for no reason she could figure out. What could be wrong with her? Why was her mind blanking out? Each time she woke up in Conrad's arms, she felt special and loved and cherished. And he, too, seemed satisfied. And because he did, she'd never mentioned her memory gaps, not wanting to upset him.

Another concern, she was quite sure that Conrad suffered from Peyronie's disease, a medical condition caused by plaques or scar tissue on the penis. With an erection, his penis was bent, and the first time she'd tried to touch it, he'd flinched and gently removed her hand. She'd never discussed that with him either. And because her memory was such a blank, she couldn't say whether sex for Conrad was painful as it often is with Peyronie's. Now that they were to be married, shouldn't they be discussing this?

Suddenly, the chauffeur jerked to a stop at the Verrazano Bridge toll-booth to avoid an aggressive lane changer. “Sorry ladies,” he said, sliding the partition just a crack.

“How are we doing for time?” Meredith looked up from her paperwork. “Ashley, are you okay?”

No, I think I'm crazy
. Ashley opened her eyes, letting the image of penises fade.

“Traffic's congested.” The chauffer slipped the Plexiglas barrier open to make this announcement.

Meredith checked her diamond-studded Piaget. Ashley recalled that the Christmas before her mother died, her parents had given the identical watch to her and Carla too. Ashley kept hers in a safe, since everyday scrubbing at the hospital and expensive watches did not mix. She wondered what had happened to Carla's.

“We can't be late.” Meredith glared at Ashley as if it were her fault.

“I'm sorry I wasn't ready,” Ashley said sheepishly. “I had to wait until Conrad left.”

“Now why's that?” Meredith asked, resuming her edits.

Ashley merely shrugged.

Because I defied him, she wanted to say, but didn't. Here she was in the car with Meredith, deliberately disobeying her future husband's explicit order.

By the time Ashley awoke that morning, Conrad had already left for the airport for an early flight. He'd left the airline confirmation on her bedside table. Round trip, first class to Cincinnati, returning the same day, arriving at ten fifty p.m. Why Cincinnati? she'd wondered. At Conrad's insistence, she'd taken the week off her residency program. A request that did not sit well with her chief resident. To get ready for the wedding, Conrad said. But what was there to do besides chose a dress? Then the call from Meredith, insisting that she accompany her to Manhattan for a special meeting of the Parnell Foundation Board. Meredith reminded her that it had been her father's dream that all his children participate on the board. How could she deny her father who had given them all so much? With Conrad out of town until late that night, plenty of time to shop for a dress later in the week, and yet another reason she needed to go to New York City, she'd made her decision. With any luck she'd be home before Conrad that evening.

Meredith and Ashley did arrive at the Waldorf on time. Frank greeted them at the registration desk and immediately pulled Meredith close.

“Today's the big day,” he said, nodding toward Ashley. “I'm glad you got her here.”

“Family solidarity,” Meredith said. “The whole team's here except Rory.”

Frank kept his arm around Meredith's slim waist. “Do I tell you enough about how much I appreciate you? How I could never live a day without you?”

Ashley watched with a twinge of envy as Meredith placed a light kiss on Frank's lips. Funny how controlling she'd always thought Frank, but compared to Conrad, he now seemed so spontaneous. She moved closer to Meredith and Frank, listening halfheartedly as Frank briefed his wife on congressional issues, specifically, the Mexican illegal immigrant situation. Vincente Fox was pushing Bush hard for resolution.

How could they be chatting about world affairs when in half an hour, they'd both be facing the cameras of a big press conference, Ashley thought. Thank God she didn't have to say anything. She just had to sit through the press conference before the board meeting. But afterward, Ashley had an agenda. She'd needed this excuse to get to New York City, but she had to be back home by eleven p.m.

Meredith, as chair of the Parnell Foundation, had called the press conference to announce the new members of the board of trustees, of which Ashley was one. Conrad had lobbied to take her place, but Meredith had refused. Conrad was irate. Understandably so, Ashley thought. But unknown to the media attendees, the real story to be unveiled today was the acknowledgment of Monica Monroe as a Parnell. And Monica's and Patrick's secret wedding. How romantic, Ashley thought, I wonder if my marriage to Conrad will attract publicity. She hoped not.

Despite Matt Cleveland's hard work, Frank knew that the day could well turn into a disaster. The truth about the relationship between Paul Parnell and Monica Monroe, both household names, would leak soon enough. The tabloids were already making outrageous speculations. Could Monica have been Frank's mistress? Had Monica been the late Carla's lesbian lover? Pure sleaze, but the only way to counter it was to come out with the truth. The Parnell-Monroe spin on the truth: Paul Parnell's long-ago sexual indiscretion paled compared with his determination to protect his daughter's life and ensure that she was raised in a loving family and later brought into the Parnell family.

Matt had had to negotiate every nuance of the media talking points with Monica's aggressive manager. Matt's goal was to position Frank as
the son of an American hero. Not a saint, but still a hero. The story of Monica's idyllic life should play well with the antiabortion crowd without overtly alienating the right-to-choosers whom Frank had tried so hard to dance around.

And thank God for small—or not so small—blessings. In Vegas the past week, undetected by the paparazzi, Monica and Patrick had been married. On that alone, the media would have a feast. Outing a Parnell family secret and a celebrity marriage in one swoop. The media didn't know yet that today's boring press conference would turn so juicy. As for his political future, with Monica representing hip, young swingers and Patrick's popularity with jocks around the country, Frank could feel his political base broaden. So today might be a smashing success. Or not.

“Ready, darling?” Frank checked his Patek Phillipe and straightened his tie. “Showtime.”

Meredith nodded and they strode out onto the Waldorf ballroom's platform hand in hand, parting in the center for their assigned podium. Meredith as the chairperson of the Parnell Foundation would open with introductions. Frank would follow, then Monica, and finally, Patrick Nelson. All had prepared statements. Afterward, they'd take questions at Matt's discretion.

In the foundation meeting to follow, Ashley, Terry, at Dan's request, and Monica, as well as Rory in absentia would be elected to the board of the Parnell Foundation. That would fulfill Paul Parnell's wish. If all of them stayed out of Meredith's hair, the plan could work out.

Frank stole a look at Ashley in the front row. He hadn't seen her since Carla's funeral, two months earlier. That morning when Meredith had called to set a time to pick her up, she'd said she was too ill to go into New York. But Meredith did not take no for an answer and when she arrived at the Devon house, Ashley was almost dressed and ready to go. Meredith did not tolerate insults to her meticulous schedule without major unpleasantness, but today she seemed sympathetic, surmising that Ashley might actually be ill.

Meredith now took her place at the podium, looking glamorous but professional in a canary yellow suit and matching heels that drew attention to her shapely legs. She exuded self-confidence as she pushed
her blunt bangs off her forehead and began to introduce the board of directors. The list read like a Who's Who of the mid-Atlantic, and included the former governor of Pennsylvania, the former CEO of Keystone Pharma, Philadelphia's favorite entertainment star, a New York City author-rabbi, and Cardinal Sean.

“But we're here today to announce an extension of this dedicated board,” Meredith's voice rang out.

Watching boredom replace curiosity on the reporters' faces, Frank could read their minds: why are we wasting our time on a self-serving tribute to the Parnells?

“My father-in-law created this foundation with a dream, and today that dream has come to closure. Paul's dream was to make the Parnell Foundation the core of the family's philanthropy.”

Frank suppressed a smirk when a middle-aged female reporter stifled a yawn, gathered her notebook and left. She'd be sorry.

Meredith was loving her role in the limelight. She'd often said to Frank that maybe someday she'd do the Hillary Clinton thing and go for the Senate. “As you know, I am privileged to represent the Frank Parnell branch of the family, and have served as chairperson since Carl Schiller stepped down. We are all so thankful for the leadership Carl has brought to the foundation, and we are grateful that he has agreed to remain as a trustee.”

What a lie, Frank knew, but beautifully delivered. Meredith despised Carl, and, although the old man was too much of a gentleman to admit it, the feeling was mutual. He had stayed on the board to look over her shoulder. He was already giving her a hard time about her revised portfolio of contributions, which leaned heavily toward those causes that would enhance Frank's political future. For crying out loud, Frank thought, the foundation owed its very existence to Dad's money, so why not use it to his advantage? Control of annual distributions of half a billion dollars could only help with his constituents.

“Today I am proud to announce four new Parnell family board members. Paul's daughters, Dr. Ashley Parnell, Mrs. Rory Stevens, and Ms. Monica Monroe, and his grandson, Mr. Terrence Parnell.”

There was a rumble of voices before Meredith called for a dramatic moment of silence in memory of Carla. The buzz hushed as the
reporters respectfully bowed their heads until Meredith uttered a throaty “Thank you,” dabbed at her eyes, and continued. “Now, I'd like to introduce my husband, Senator Frank Parnell.”

Frank walked out to the second podium. “I want to tell you a story of a courageous man,” he began as he laid out the story of his father's affair with a young woman and the story of Monica, as the videocams began to whir, the cameras to flash, and furious scribbling to appear on notebooks. When he finished, he thanked the media and was about to introduce Monica, when, to his surprise, the audience started to applaud. That was a first at any press conference he had ever participated in, and Frank could imagine Matt backstage, patting himself on the shoulder or more likely, sneaking a kiss from Frank's pretty niece.

“Now,” he announced as the applause dwindled and the throng settled back to think up questions. “Here's Monica Monroe with an announcement of her own.”

Cameras jockeyed for position and flashes went off from every direction. Soon Frank thought they'd start chanting, “Monica! Monica!” like her concert fans.

Monica approached the third podium with a flourish. After signifi-cant discussion had been held, she wore what she called her working clothes. Her manager had out argued Matt, who still remained appalled. Skintight black pants, a formfitting top that scooped almost to her navel, stiletto heels, long black hair flowing wild and reckless. Hardly the symbol of a philanthropic board of directors. “Image is all in this business,” her manager had preached. “Every appearance has to enhance the image of the glamorous entertainer. Business is business and she's a brand. Just like Tide or Tylenol. That's why she pays me. I gotta constantly promote her persona.”

Privately Monica might be a sweet, serene lady. Beautiful, ravishingly so, but unimposing in her personal demeanor. Publicly, she had to be a sensation—a star performer. Frank had seen her dynamite videos. But he'd never seen her do a live performance until now. The girl had real presence. Knew how to work a crowd. Well, why not? She'd been center stage at concert productions throughout the world. He could only salivate at the prospect of her at political rallies.

There was a new gush of applause and a few whistles.

“This is a very important moment for me,” Monica began and cameras flashed. “I'd like to tell you my story.”

In her crystal voice, Monica recounted her perfect life with her “real” parents, the Monroes. She directed the cameras to where her father sat in the front row, beaming with pride. Monica explained how she'd been adopted. How she had four older brothers. How her mom had died when Monica was fifteen of breast cancer. How she'd only recently discovered that Paul Parnell was her biological father. How he'd protected her life. She ended with a touching prayer she'd composed for her adopted mother, Denise Monroe, for Paul Parnell, and for her deceased biological mother, Abby Ames. There was not a sound in the room, other than the whir of camcorders.

A moment of silence. Then Monica switched to pure professional as she extolled the virtues of the Parnell Foundation, ticking off her favorite charities—breast cancer research, access to health care, shelters for abused women, teen mothers, hospice care for end of life. To these causes she vowed her personal attention. She appealed for volunteerism, financial support, altruism in general.