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“Then I met Chickering at my National Symphony audition.”

“My God! She plays the violin, too?”

“No, she was in the lobby of the Kennedy Center with Mrs. Marvel. It was love at first sight.” Rhoby sighed at me. “For Chickie
anyhow.”

I smiled back. “How long have you been together?”

“Two years. To preserve my sanity, I got this FBI gig. Now the only time we see each other is after dinner. If Paula doesn’t
need baby-sitting, of course. She thinks Chickie’s her slave. And Chickie sure loves her keys to the White House.” Rhoby finished
her Scotch. “This town sucks.”

Fausto brought over three bowls of bouillabaisse and a rare white wine. “Did she recover from her faint last night?”

“Oh yeah. She was her old self by the time I got her back to Annapolis. I guess she doesn’t like monkeys.”

Rhoby spilled the story of her life to the only people in Washington to have asked her for it since she moved here. Fausto
was an expert interrogator, smooth and cool as his bouillabaisse. Rhoby made conversation the same way she played chamber
music: oblivious of all other parts but her own. When Fausto rounded her yet again to her job at the FBI, I understood why
he had invited her over. “So you man the phones, eh? Who would call between midnight and eight?”

“You’d be surprised. People who are scared. Paranoid. People who have important information to pass on. This is great soup,
Fausto.”

“Thanks. What do you do? Meet them?”

“Screen them. Sort the nuts from the legit callers. You get pretty good at smoking people out after a while.”

Sure, Rhoby. “Sounds more interesting than playing in an orchestra.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the victim replied. “But there are psychos out there.”

Fausto refilled her glass. “Vicky was worried about a call you got the other day. Some madman insisting on seeing you after
your shift. Now that sounds dangerous.”

“She told you that? Stupid bitch! That stuff is all confidential!”

“
Please
don’t tell her I mentioned it!” If Fausto was fishing, he had just caught a whale. “Didn’t you call her that morning?”

“She likes to know when I leave work.”

“She was eating here when the pager went off. Poor thing was nervous for you.”

“She’s worse than a fucking mother-in-law.”

I stopped slurping soup. “So did you meet the guy?”

“No way. I called the cops. They carted him away. Along with two other guys he was fighting with. I saw it happen right outside
my window.”

“Three of them?” Fausto smiled insouciantly at me. “Good thing you played it safe. Don’t you wonder what your lunatic caller
had to say? What if he saw a real Martian landing? The Loch Ness monster in the Potomac? Now we’ll never know.”

“Not my problem,” Rhoby replied, swabbing her empty bowl with baguette.

It was nearly ten. “Don’t get up,” I said, bringing my china to the sink. “I’ll wait outside. Nice playing with you, Rhoby.”

She wrapped me in a ferocious hug. “Can I look you up if I’m in Berlin?”

“Sure.” I caught Fausto’s eyes on my ass. “Take it easy.”

He accompanied me out to the thick, hot night. No moon and the crickets were getting louder. I flashed back to Ek, suddenly
missing the clean life-and-death struggle of the jungle. I’d rather fight that waterfall again than deal with the perverted
bestiary here. “Hope you enjoyed yourself,” I told Fausto. “Whatever game you’re playing.”

“It’s no game,” he replied as a long, dark car rolled down the driveway. “Who’s that?”

“Who do you think.”

Lightning over the treetops. “Bobby Marvel.”

Fausto had merely to move one inch, brush me anywhere with any part of his body, say one word, blink an eye, clear his throat,
and I would send the car away. But he remained absolutely still as three vehicles halted beside Rhoby’s Hummer. “You’re right,”
I said.

He grunted quietly. “Leaving your violin behind?”

“I’ll come back for it.”

His warm, heavy fingers closed around my wrist. “Tonight?”

Great confusion, greater lust: I had to get inside that mouth again. “I don’t know.”

He watched me get frisked but he didn’t watch me leave. Great drops of rain pelted his stoop as I ducked into the armored
limo, where Bobby was relaxing with a beer. Tie gone, shirt unbuttoned: he looked whipped. “Hey, sugar. Was that your chaperon
out there with you?”

I flopped into the opposite seat. “You’re getting a little bold, aren’t you?”

“Paula’s in Seattle tonight with Chickering. Fausto knows when to keep his mouth shut.” Bobby handed me a glass. “You drink
gin, if I recall. What did you tell him?”

“That we were going for a ride.”

Bobby looked moodily out the window. “Come sit next to me. I won’t bite.”

Maybe not, with a driver and a Secret Service agent on the other side of the partition. I slid across the abyss. “Coming from
a fund-raiser?”

“No, I was at the hospital with Bailey. Poor bastard is nothing but a big blood blister. How he can still breathe is beyond
me.” Bobby inhaled his beer. “I wish he’d die. Put himself out of his misery.”

“How much longer do you think he’ll hang on?”

“No one knows. His doctors are astonished.” Bobby fell silent as great sheets of rain drummed the roof. “He was my friend.
We go back a long way. Matter of fact, your boy Fausto introduced us.”

Tread lightly, Smith.
“Really? Where?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got an hour. Where are we going?”

“Just for a drive,” Bobby sighed, abnormally flat. “As you wished.”

Poor schmuck. They all wanted to lead the world, inspire fear and awe in millions, and at the end of the day, when that charade
collapsed of its own weight, they always came crying to mama. I tossed back the gin, patted my lap. “Put your head down. I’m
listening.”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Bobby kissed my navel. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“You don’t play the violin.” The downpour outside slowed the limo to parade pace as I stroked his hair. “So how’d you meet
Jojo?”

“It was a long time ago. We were still in college.” Bobby closed his eyes, taking a few moments to arrange events with optimal
spin. “You don’t know this, but I used to date Justine Cartot. She was a very hot lady then. I guess she still is.” Couldn’t
argue with him: just two nights ago Bobby had been boffing her on top of Fausto’s piano. “She had been studying in England
on a Rhodes Scholarship. I came over for her graduation.”

“That was kind of you.”

“Actually, the purpose of my trip was to tell her I’d be marrying Paula.”

“If Justine was such a hot number, why were you marrying Paula?” I pulled his hair. “Never mind. So Justine was expecting
to become Frau Marvel?”

“Welllll.… we had been going out since we were twelve.… She may have been counting on it. So I took her out for dinner and
broke the news. Then you know what?” Bobby chuckled. “She shot me.”

“Jesus! In the restaurant?”

“No, no. In a field.”

“Aha. One last roll in the hay, then you told her. Weasel.”

“It was wrong, I know it. I should have written a letter.” Bobby smiled up at me like a kid who had just caught a touchdown.
“Aren’t you going to ask where I got shot?”

“Where you deserved it, I’m sure. And I’m not interested in seeing your scar. Didn’t the neighbors hear something and call
the police?”

“It was late. She only fired once.”

“Where’d Justine get hold of a gun? It’s a little tougher to carry one in England than it is over here.”

“You know, I never had the heart to ask. But I suspect Fausto. He has a talent for giving ladies their heart’s desire.”

I frowned. “What does this have to do with you meeting Jojo?”

“Okay, okay, I’m shot and bleeding badly. Realizing what she’d just done with her slightly illegal weapon, Justine called
her doctor friend. His name was Louis Bailey. He was studying medicine at Oxford. In ten minutes he arrived with Fausto.”
Bobby’s face nuzzled my thigh. “Who was a little slimmer back then.”

“What was Fausto doing in Oxford? I thought he studied in London.”

“Maybe he had a concert. In any case, they brought me back to Louis’s flat. The two of them slapped me on the kitchen table
and went to work. Bloody mess. Justine missed my femoral artery by half an inch. Afterward, Fausto drove me back to London.
I stayed in his place until I could walk again.”

“Some nurse he must have been.”

“Nurse, hell. The next day Louis dropped by with his little brother Jojo, who got baby-sitting detail. Louis and Fausto took
off.”

“Where to?”

“They didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Fausto flew me home in his private plane and managed to convince Paula that he had accidentally
shot me while we were fox hunting. It wasn’t a complete untruth.”

Bobby owed him big time. Justine had a major IOU floating in the ether as well. “I guess you and Jojo got to know each other
pretty well during your convalescence.”

“Better believe it. Fausto’s apartment was bigger than Buckingham Palace. Women broke down the doors to get in. He must have
had two hundred birds in his address book and they all showed up the next week.”

Outside, rain. Inside, thunder as I imagined the young, slim Fausto and an army of eager women … bah. Maybe they had made
him happy for a few moments. “Who knows about this little escapade?”

Bobby counted on his fingers. “Just the four of us. And you.”

Keep counting, honey: Maxine knew about it. So did Duncan. The ship wasn’t as tight as Bobby thought. “So why are you telling
me?”

“Because you asked. I suspect you won’t tell.” His smile disappeared. “And Jojo’s about dead. It’s one of those nights.”

Bobby’s head vacated my lap as he got another beer. “I guess you’ve forgiven Justine,” I said.

“She’s forgiven me is more like it.” Bobby burped softly as he lay down again. “We’re one big happy family. That includes
your sweetie pie Fausto.”

“Does it include Louis Bailey?”

“I haven’t seen him in years.” Bobby shuddered, or maybe he was just trying to mash his nose a little deeper into my belly
button. “Funny you mention it. I had a nightmare last night. I was back on Louis’s operating table. What was horrible wasn’t
the blood or the pain but the look in his eyes as he bent over me. I think he likes to dissect living things.”

“What was Justine doing with him?”

“They went to concerts together. Louis was fanatic about music. He’d drive all night to see an opera. At the time, Justine
was trying to swallow as much European culture as her cracker stomach could tolerate.” Suddenly Bobby laughed. “Know what
Louis was talking about all the while he was operating on me? Bendix Kaar’s opera!”

I needed another gin. “How’d Bendix get into this?”

“Doesn’t Fausto tell you anything, sugar? They went to school together.”

“Oh. Right. What was Louis saying about the opera?”

“He was trying to get Fausto to burn it. Fausto said he couldn’t do that, Bendix had been working on it for five years.”

Too bad no one had taken the doctor’s advice. “Did you ever ask Bendix about it?”

“Hell no. Music like that is an embarrassment for life, like herpes. Everyone makes a few youthful mistakes.” Bobby smiled
winsomely at me. “I just can’t figure out why Fausto had you play that awful thing last night. Aurilla was mortified. I had
nightmares afterward. Bendix was ready to kill. Fortunately no one was listening.”

“What can I tell you? Fausto picked the program. I assumed it was some sort of inside joke. All in the family.”

“Hmmm.” Bobby closed his eyes. We rode in silence for a mile. “How well do you know Fausto?”

“I met him a week ago.”

“Is he screwing you?”

“None of your business.”

“You spend a lot of time over there.”

“He’s a great pianist.”

A half dozen deep breaths, all of my mons veneris. “Did Fausto ever tell you about our little chat in his airplane? No?” Bobby
smiled dreamily. “We were flying back to the States after Justine shot me. Drinking champagne. I was all excited because I
was about to marry Paula and enter my first election, for state senator. Suddenly Fausto dropped something into my glass.
It was the bullet he and Louis had fished out of me. ‘Just a reminder that you sold your soul,’ he said. ‘What are you going
to buy with the proceeds, now that you’ve ditched Justine for Paula?’

“I told him I was going to be president. He looked me up and down, smiling in that twisted way of his. ‘Why would you want
that?’

“I said I wanted to be the most powerful man on earth.

“‘Powerful?’ Fausto laughed. ‘You’ll be nothing more than a rat in a cage. The lowliest animal could take everything away
from you like
that.’”
Bobby snapped his fingers. “I threw the bullet back at him. ‘Let’s see you try,’ I said. ‘When I’m president and you’re nothing
but a piano player.’

“Fausto said it was a deal. I never forgot that conversation because with every election I became a bigger rat in a smaller
cage while Fausto just spread his wings over Washington. On inauguration night he came up to me and dropped something in my
pocket. ‘Remember I’m just a lowly animal,’ he said with a wink. It was the bullet, of course.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“How would I know? But he’s had thirty years to think it over. God knows I’ve got skeletons in my closet and I’ll bet Fausto
knows every damn one of them. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I’m a poor trusting country boy.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to keep you humble. Like he did with Bendix by playing that awful sonata.”

“Oh, now Fausto’s our conscience? That’s a good one. Do me a favor, would you, sugar? Don’t tell him what I just told you.
Let him think I was just huffin’ and puffin’ here like an animal. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bobby dozed off. Two men asleep on me in two nights: I must be losing it. I let him be as our caravan rolled through the mist.
We were making a big circle, heading back to Washington, duration of trip one hour precisely. Why had Bobby told me this adolescent
tale? As Maxine had said, in this town subtext was god, and no one got to be president without mastering the art. Maybe, like
Fausto, Bobby was toying with me, dangling the bait, waiting for me to snap at it.… The oddest thing about his behavior tonight
was its reticence. Not one pass in fifty miles. But how would I react coming from the deathbed of an old friend? Wouldn’t
my thoughts dwell on how we had met? How we’d soon part? Wouldn’t I want my head in the lap of a neutral stranger?