Call My Name (2 page)

The senator’s rejoinder came as no surprise to his good friend. “I want you to call her, John. Invite her down for a day or two—at our expense, of course, as a potential resource for the hearings. I’d like a chance to talk with her. She may be able to help us, if we can win her over.” The “we” was merely a figure of speech; both men knew that, in the end, it was Drew’s job.

“Right.” For now, that particular subject was over. “By the way, Senator Sharp’s office phoned to say that he’d like you to sit in on the budget hearings. They’re scheduled for eleven.”

Half-turning, the senator withdrew a small 3-by-5 card from the inside pocket of his tan suit jacket, which hung over the back of the chair. “I can manage it for a few minutes. I’m leaving soon to meet with the municipal leaders from Fairfield County, then there’s that briefing for the trip to Central America, but—” he scrawled the time of the extra meeting between the lines of the jammed schedule card “—I’ll be there. Henry Sharp is not one to be snubbed. We need his support.” Sliding the card back into his jacket, he picked up the phone to return the first of the several calls which time would allow. John Hollings quietly left the room.

*   *   *

The matter of the vocal Dr. Patterson was not brought up again until two days later as the senator and his administrative assistant strode side by side down one of the long Capitol corridors following a roll-call vote on the Senate floor. It had been a minor issue, but one which Drew had supported strongly—an amendment to the military-procurement bill for the year. Satisfaction that the amendment had carried buoyed him; it was this very elation that made the job as rewarding as it was. Yet there was always a new battle to be waged.

“What about the child psychologist, John? Were you able to reach her?” Neither man’s step faltered as they talked. It was commonplace, this communication-in-transit, the only drawback being the frequent greetings of passing legislators or the never-ending interruptions of visiting constituents, other aides, or the press. On this particular day, with a major hearing commencing in the Senate Caucus Room to which most attention had turned following the floor vote, the corridor was somewhat less congested.

John grimaced. “It took awhile, but I finally got through. She says to thank you for the invitation, but that she is busy.” His tone was blunt, as were the words themselves, though his eyes held a certain expectancy as they watched for his boss’s response.

“Busy?” Surprise brought Drew to a momentary halt, then, with a faint headshake, he regained his pace, deftly dodging a group of oncoming tourists who, mercifully, failed to recognize this, one of the younger and more dazzling members of the Senate.
Busy
 … he thought, a puzzled expression on his face. It had been his experience, even during the years that he served as a representative in the House, that the average American would never pass up such an invitation to come to Washington. If it weren’t the excitement of the town which lured him, it was the honor of taking part in the governmental process, even in the most indirect way. Dr. Patterson had given an outright refusal. And, knowing John Hollings as he did, every attempt had been made to twist her arm!

A corner was rounded to the chorus of several “Hey, Drew!”s, each of which was returned by name. Then the two headed for the stairwell. John had long since learned that this brisk movement from appointment to appointment was a source of exercise for Drew, who typically avoided elevators—even with top priority given to members of the Senate brotherhood—whenever possible for that same reason. Now his concentration was in part devoted to keeping up the pace.

“How did she come across on the phone, John? Reasonable? Flexible? Receptive?”

For the first time, his aide appeared to hesitate. “It’s strange. I can usually get a handle on someone through a phone conversation. But not this time. She seemed poised and intelligent, soft-spoken yet deliberate. She insisted—very politely—that her own schedule was nearly impossible, and that she just couldn’t come so close to the end of the semester. I almost sensed that it was Washington she didn’t want—that it had nothing to do with you or the bill.”

Drew glanced quickly at the bemusement on his friend’s face, then let the subject temporarily drop as they arrived at the suite of offices of the junior senator from Connecticut. There were nods and smiles from Drew to his staff as he passed the open-doored offices of legislative assistants, research aides, press coordinators, and secretaries, en route to the farthermost of the offices, his own sanctum. Only there did he turn to face John, who had followed him in.

“Call her again, John.” Determination was written all over the suntanned features. It was as though, in her own insistent way, Dr. Daran Patterson had thrown down the gauntlet. And Drew Charles, born competitor that he was, would not ignore it. “Set up a meeting for the weekend I’m to be home.”

“But your schedule—” John began in protest, only to be silenced by Drew’s own sigh, as the latter combed his fingers wearily through his casually groomed hair.

“I know, I know. And I’ve got to find some time, somewhere along the line, to spend with Dad. But this is important—I can sense it. She could be an important ally.”

The skepticism that came and went in John Hollings’s eye remained in his voice. “Is that the only reason? Or is curiosity getting the better of you? After all, it isn’t every day that a lady turns down the illustrious Senator Andrew S. Charles.”

It was a gentle teasing, from one friend to another, totally devoid of harshness, sarcasm, or jealousy. Drew acknowledged his friend’s perceptivity with a sheepish grin. “You may be right, pal. But indulge me and set it up anyway,” he ordered warmly, then raised his voice to signal a change in subject. “And get in touch with that feisty senator from Oklahoma with whom I’m supposed to be cosponsoring the alternative energy piece. We’d better get on the stick with that one—it’s critical.”

His administrative assistant smiled. “Isn’t everything?” he asked rhetorically, then left.

Shucking his jacket and tossing it more carelessly than usual onto one of the plush leather chairs, the senator turned to the pile of letters on his desk, pushing from mind the conjured image of a plain and staid, monotonously self-righteous crusader for the children of Connecticut.

*   *   *

“Ah, let me see,” the slender young woman hedged, tucking a long, dark wave absently behind a small gold-hoop-earringed ear. The refusal to journey to Washington had been simple and honest enough. Though it might have been arranged, a two- or even one-day absence, with exams fresh on the horizon, would have been difficult. But to spare at most an hour, and in the convenience of her own office no less, how could she decline the opportunity? This senator was certainly unusually accommodating; he had to have a motive. Perhaps her press attention was finally getting to him.
Well, it should
. His proposed bill was much too weak. If Washington was finally going to do something about the rights of minors in its domain, it ought to do it right. And, as she seemed to have become the local spokesperson for the cause, it would be irresponsible of her to squander this opportunity to communicate with the powers-that-be.

“Yes, noon would be fine, Mr. Hollings.” There was a pause as she listened to the apologies of the senator’s aide. “No, don’t worry about it. I have appointments in the morning anyway. Lunch is not important.” After another pause, she nodded. “Yes. My office then?” The traditional pleasantries of farewell followed before she replaced the receiver on its hook. Only then did she realize what she had let herself in for. This aide was a smooth one, his friendly banter temporarily taking her mind from her preset aversion to his line of work. Contact with Washington was the last thing she wanted from the personal standpoint, yet it was an unavoidable necessity professionally. In terms of the Child Advocacy Project, of which she was the director, access to Senator Andrew Charles and his proposed legislation was critical. It had been fortuitous that the impetus for this long-evaded issue should come from the home-state senator. But, aside from the merits or demerits of the bill, this particular senator would be an experience in and of himself. The image of the man was well known countrywide. He was a tough and dedicated politician, smooth and silky.
Aren’t they all
, she mused wryly,
when it suits them
? This particular senator was straightforward and hard-headed on matters he believed in. If his press was to be believed, the Rights of Minors Act was a cause from his heart. Though, technically, they were on the same side of the issue, there was plenty to argue about regarding specifics. She would have to be on her toes with this man, who was, no doubt, used to women falling all over him. The senator would have a rude awakening when he discovered that Daran Patterson was not his usual fawning fan. It had been a hard road, and one fraught with trial and error that she had traveled, but by now she hoped to effectively handle any good-looking, egotistical, basically ruthless—how overused that word, yet true, she thought—political star.

The shrill ring of her phone softened the scowl she had unknowingly donned. “Dr. Patterson speaking.” At home a simple hello would have sufficed. Here, in the office, the greater formality was expected and appropriate.

“Daran? It’s Glen. The switchboard said you were on long distance from Washington. Was it Charles’s office?” Excitement ran high in the attorney’s voice, coaxing a smile to Daran’s oval-shaped face.

“The way the senator’s aides announce him all over the place,” she quipped with easy sarcasm, “you’d think he was up for reelection
this
November. They never miss a chance to win a vote. Hmm, I wonder what they promised the operator,” she prattled on, her mockery now blatant. “Probably a signed picture of HIM, or, at least, a personalized letter of appreciation for plugging through the call.”

“Daran, Daran, Daran,” the male voice retorted amicably, “do you mean to say you
didn’t
vote for him?”

“I didn’t
live
here then, so I was spared the choice,” she declared with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “How are you doing, Glen?” The subject was detoured for but an instant, until a breath of impatience returned it to its crux.

“Daran—” the warning note was suffused in his use of her name once again “—was it Senator Charles?”

As comfortable as was her relationship with Glen Roberts, as close as they had grown during the six months she had served as executive director to his managing attorney of the Connecticut Child Advocacy Project, Daran knew when he wanted a straight answer.

“Yes, it was. He’s returning to the state next weekend. I have a meeting with him here at noon on Saturday.”

“Fantastic! You must have really gotten through with those interviews the papers printed. A personal audience with the man himself. Not bad!”

For some strange reason Daran did not share her friend’s wholehearted enthusiasm. As beneficial as it might prove to be, she was not looking forward to this meeting. “I suppose not,” she finally mustered up. “But don’t get your hopes up, Glen. He may give our project some publicity and a boost, but I doubt he’ll let us seriously affect his bill. Actually he probably hopes to mollify us, to silence any opposition to his work. I’m sure it’s just a token visit.” Her skepticism, unusual in this customarily optimistic professional, was immediately noted by her coworker.

“Why so down on it all of a sudden? Haven’t you been the one talking right and left about how little his legislation fits the realistic needs of minors? This is your chance; you’ll have his undivided attention. If anyone can convince him, you can. After all—” his voice softened, teasing her with the knowledge of personal experience “—all you have to do is bat those lovely amber eyes of yours and smile a bit, and you’ll have him in your pocket.”

“Hmmph! From what I hear, he’s apt to do just that to me. Have you ever met him, Glen?”

The voice at the other end of the line held no hesitancy. “Yes. I’ve run across him several times at one affair or another. Let me warn you—he is an impressive fellow. Makes eye contact constantly. Knows all the right words and motions and reactions.”

Daran laughed, a harsh sound, out of character with its cynical undertone. “Don’t they all! Those politicians are a breed unto themselves. They have such power at their disposal, yet…” Realizing the extent of her own overly personal response, she let her words fall by the wayside.

“Is something wrong, Daran? You sound unusually dismal. What is it?” Leave it to Glen to be so perceptive, Daran thought.

Grasping the telephone receiver tensely, she sought to quell his curiosity. “Oh, nothing. I guess I’m just skeptical. This is all happening so quickly. And it’s a bad time for me here at school. Once the semester is over, I’ll be able to think clearly again.” If only it were true! In fact, it was only this headlong immersion into both teaching and the Project that had been her salvation. Running to San Francisco had solved nothing. Oh, yes, there had been new faces and fresh scenery, but the hurt had lingered. Time had passed since, however, and the ache had eased. Life in Connecticut was treating her well,

“Say, Daran, why not join us for dinner tonight?”

“Thanks, Glen, but—”

“Why not?” Glen was at his most direct best. But then, that was one of his traits she so admired, second to his sharp legal mind and his uncanny sense of perception.

“You know me, Glen. I really hate the public life—”

“What public life?” he interrupted with gentle rebuke. “This is just Lois and me. Come on. We’re going to that new Italian place at the Civic Center. You’ll like it,” he coaxed persistently, knowing all too well that his efforts would be in vain.

“Thanks, really, but maybe another time.”

Several seconds’ silence dragged along the line. Carefully choosing his words, Glen finally spoke. “Daran, I’m not really sure what happened to you before you came here, but I do know that you’ve got to get out if you’re ever going to get over it. You are a beautiful woman. You could have dates every night—”