Smoke and Mirrors (12 page)

Her curt, critical tone was another reminder that Erin was the new kid on the block, and no more popular with Rosemary's possessively adoring staff than she deserved to be. The others were beginning to unbend a little—Jackson had even asked her whether
she wanted sugar in her coffee at lunch—but Christie remained aloof. Once Erin would have assumed, smugly and simplemindedly, that Christie was just jealous of the attention Jeff and Nick were lavishing on another woman. She knew better now. People like Christie were more interested in power than in passion or popularity. But how could Christie possibly believe that she, Erin, was any threat to her ambitions? In training, experience, and education, if not in actual talent, her qualifications were so inferior to Christie's it was laughable.

Fran had not been invited in. Erin found her sitting on the porch steps with a cat on her lap and several others nudging for attention. Animals adored Fran, probably because she didn't particularly care for them. But these were Rosemary Marshall's cats, and therefore worthy of attention.

She jumped to her feet at the sight of Erin, spilling the lapsitter ignominiously onto the ground. "Hi. Is she here?"

Erin didn't have to ask who "she " was, nor did she feel obliged to answer. Eyeing the two big suitcases, she exclaimed, "What did you do, pack everything I own? "

"It's better to have too much than not enough. You never know what will come up, and you have to be prepared."

Fran had to be pushed toward the stairs; she eyed the closed doors longingly and asked question after question. "Which is her office? Is Nick here? What a great portrait! Do you suppose it's her husband?" Even the sight of Erin's unpretentious room didn't dim her enthusiasm. "Imagine being right here, in her own house," she exclaimed.

"Servants' quarters."

"Listen, kid, I'd sleep in a closet." She opened the adjoining
door. "Is this her room? It's just the way I expected it would look!"

Frilly and feminine and pink?" Erin inquired sarcastically.

"Get the hell out of there, Fran; that isn't Rosemary's room, it
belongs to her secretary, and you have no business prying."

"Oh." Fran closed the door. "Where is
her
room?"

"Never mind, you aren't going to see it. This isn't the historic-homes tour. "

Feeling like a sheepdog herding a recalcitrant ewe, she escorted Fran down the stairs and headed her off when she tried to
turn into the second-floor corridor. Kay was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"Oh, there you are," she said. "I couldn't think where you'd gotten to."

Erin had no choice but to introduce Fran, adding, "You remember, I told you she had volunteered to bring my clothes."

"Certainly I remember. How do you do, Fran." She bestowed a gracious smile on the potential voter and apologized for not offering her hand.

"Oh, gosh, that's a terrible shame," Fran exclaimed. "Erin said you'd had an accident, but I didn't realize how bad it was. Gosh, that's just terrible. Especially right now, with the campaign heating up and you so important to Rosemary. . . . Oh, gee, I should call her Mrs. Marshall, but honestly, I'm such an admirer of hers, I feel as if she's a friend, you know? I just wish there was something I could do to help."

The performance was so outrageously saccharine, Erin expected Kay to be as revolted by it as she was. Kay only smiled more warmly; of course she couldn't know that "gee" and "golly" were foreign to Fran's normal vocabulary.

"You're very kind. I presume you're one of our volunteers?"

Caught flat-footed, Fran looked her interrogator straight in the eye and lied. "Yes, ma'am. But if there's anything I can do for you personally—I mean, I can imagine how awful it must be for you, your hand and all. ..."

Feeling her self-control about to give way, Erin said firmly, "Thanks, Fran, I appreciate your help. I know you're in a hurry to get back, so—"

"Oh, no, I haven't a thing to do this evening," Fran assured her.

Erin glowered at her, and Kay said pleasantly, "We certainly can't let you make that long drive back to town without at least offering you some refreshment. It's about that time, I believe."

It was exactly that time, a little after five-thirty. Fran must have left work early in order to arrive at the conventional cocktail hour. She probably thinks we sit around swilling sherry and Chablis every afternoon, Erin thought disgustedly. She didn't quite have the nerve to appear at suppertime. . . .

But she managed to stay for the meal, such as it was. The intimate little dinner of the previous evening had been an aberration; Sarah's usual custom was to provide a cold buffet, in order to accommodate the unpredictable schedules and increasing work load. People wandered in and helped themselves to the covered dishes of salads and cold cuts, and expelled cats that had invaded the room— when they could catch them. From five to eight, and sometimes later, there was usually someone in the room eating and/or drinking.

It was exactly the casual ambience in which Fran shone. Though visibly disappointed not to find Rosemary, and to learn that she was not likely to return for several hours, she flattered the women, flirted with the men, and kept at a safe distance from Kay, who was inclined to ask embarrassing questions about her fictitious volunteer work.

It only required one look at Will to tell her he wasn't worth cultivating. After mumbling a vague greeting and fussing nervously with his glasses he sank back into obscurity behind his desk.

Erin was praying Fran would get bored and go home when Nick's appearance put an end to that hope. In Erin's opinion his greeting was far more enthusiastic than their brief acquaintance justified. Before long they were engaged in an animated discussion, and a couple of the others had joined them. Only Christie remained aloof; arms folded, eyes calculating, she watched the laughing, chattering group with a cynical smile. Erin was forced to sit with Kay, who couldn't manage her food with only her left hand; cutting Kay's cold turkey into ladylike bites, she watched her roommate winning all hearts and tried to think of reasons why she shouldn't kill her.

Fran lingered up to, but not quite beyond, the point of rudeness. The others had drifted away, and Nick was beginning to drop hints about work that awaited him before she gave up.

"I guess I'd better be going," she said to Kay. "I know how busy all you people must be, and I just want to thank you for letting me stay. I'll never forget this."

Erin leaped to her feet. "I'll walk you to the car." Talk about how to speed the parting guest," Fran said as soon as the door had closed behind them. "You could have let me go on being sweet and winsome for a few more minutes; that gorgeous man might have offered to see me to the door."

"That," said Erin, "was the most disgusting demonstration of bullshitting I've ever seen."

"Oooh!" Fran clapped her hand to her heart. "How shocking. You said a dirty word! What's come over Miss Prim and Proper? Once away from my restraining influence—"

Erin kicked the screen door open and propelled Fran out with more force than was strictly necessary. Recovering from the burst of giggles that had interrupted her last sentence, Fran went on, "You're a fine one to talk. Sitting there sweet as pie cutting up the old lady's food and looking demure. What kind of an act is that?"

"It's no act," Erin said slowly. "At least it wasn't, once upon a time. ..."

"That's true. Sweetness and light come naturally to you. Well, maybe someday you'll grow up. Listen, kid, there's something I want to talk to you about. A proposition you can't refuse—"

This time the interruption came from one of the cats, whom Fran had attempted to push aside with her foot. The animal retaliated with a snarl and a swipe of a clawed paw. Fran swore and clutched her ankle.

"I haven't time to talk now," Erin said, noting that the cat in question was a lean, gray torn. She must remember to give him a piece of chicken later. . . .

"No, this isn't the time or place," Fran agreed. "I'll call you. We'll have lunch. " She got in the car and turned the key; Erin's reply, a vigorous negative, was lost in the roar of the engine. Fran put her head out the window.

"What did you say?"

"Never mind. Good-bye, Fran."

"Say rather au revoir," Fran retorted, grinning. "You haven't seen the last of me. I have only begun to fight."

"I suggest you start by signing on as a volunteer," Erin said sarcastically. "A post-dated finding, so to speak. "

Fran only laughed heartily. "I had already planned to be at local headquarters first thing Saturday morning. Bye, bye, sweetie."

When Erin returned to the house she found Nick at the door, about to evict a cat. He held the door for her, then eased the intruder out. "Fran gone?" he asked.

"Yes."

"She's quite a character," Nick said admiringly.

"Yes."

"Did you get those clothes and things you wanted?"

"Yes." The repeated monosyllables sounded childish and sullen. She added, "Fran brought them. That's why she was here."

"Oh. I wondered."

"Oh, I see. You wondered. You assumed, I suppose, that I had the nerve to invite a friend to someone else's house for purely social purposes?"

"What the hell is the matter with you? A person asks a simple question or makes a harmless remark. ..."

He stopped, obviously expecting an apology or an explanation, but Erin was in no mood for either. She found it hard to admit to herself, much less to Nick, how sharply Fran's assessment of her character, or lack thereof, had stung.

"Oh well, that's okay," Nick said, after a prolonged pause. "I understand. It's been a long day for you. Kay isn't the easiest person in the world to get along with, even when she's in a good mood. Come on, let's sit down and swing for a while. Nothing like an old-fashioned porch swing to induce a gentle, relaxed frame of mind, possibly even conducive to a touch of equally old-fashioned and respectable dalliance."

It wasn't so much the fact that he took her agreement for granted, coolly seizing her arm and pulling her toward the swing; it was a number of irritations, from his unfortunate choice of words like "old-fashioned" and "respectable" to the insulting assumption that all she needed to put her in a better humor was a little kissing and fondling.

"I have to go in," Erin said, pulling away. "Go and—and swing yourself."

Nick followed her without further comment; he appeared to be more perplexed than angered, and she really didn't blame him for failing to understand her reaction. She was just beginning to understand it herself.

When she entered the commons room she saw Jeff sitting next to Kay, listening to her with the grave, courteous attention he always showed her.

"I didn't know you were back," Nick remarked. "How long have you been here?"

"I arrived about an hour ago. Hearing sounds of uncouth revelry coming from this room, I went straight to the office."

"The way you avoid harmless social activities is just plain unhealthy," Nick declared, throwing himself into a chair. "All work and no play makes Jeff a dull boy. I thought you were going straight home from the Hill."

"What is this, an inquisition?" Jeff demanded, frowning. "I brought those reports out for Rosemary to look over."

Nick cowered, covering his head with his arms. "Sorry, sorry, boss, sorry. I was just making conversation."

"Huh." Jeff relaxed. "Hello, Erin. I'd have greeted you properly if this clod hadn't started yakking. I was just telling Kay about the Buzzard's latest gaffe."

"I heard about it." Nick rubbed his hands together with an evil smile. "I've already started composing responses."

"What was it?" Erin asked.

Jeff chuckled. "You won't believe this. He was making a speech this afternoon in Warrenton, and after a lot of stupid remarks about giving the ladies the respect and admiration that is their due, he said, 'But we don't want to see a senator in hot pants, now do we?' "

"How vulgar," Kay murmured.

"Vulgar? It's beautiful!" Nick exclaimed. "He actually said 'hot pants'? Oh, boy, oh, boy—"

"You can't do it, Nick," Jeff warned.

"I don't have to. The phrase itself is enough. What speechwriter came up with that gem?"

"It's outdated," Erin said critically.

"It's also plagiarized." Will's head appeared over the stack of papers like that of a wary rabbit emerging from its hole. "Spiro Agnew said that about Abzug, back in 1972. Or was it 1971?"

"Who cares?" Nick demanded gleefully. "You mean we can get him on plagiarism as well as sexism, vulgarity, and remarks degrading to women?"

"I do think a statement might be justified," Will said mildly.

"You're damn right, Will." Nick reached for a pad of paper.

The statement didn't go together as quickly as it ought to have done because of the suggestions, some from Will, most from Nick, that reduced all of them except Kay to helpless laughter. "I can't see why you find it so amusing," she declared indignantly, after a particularly unprintable idea of Nick's that made even Jeff whoop with unseemly laughter. "Senator Bennett ought to be ashamed of himself. Rosemary never wore hot pants in her life, and she certainly wouldn't be ill-bred enough to wear them to the Senate."

"Exactly." Jeff wiped the tears from his eyes and patted her hand. "That's exactly what we're going to do, Kay—make him ashamed of himself."

"Maybe he's trying to imply that he's so uninterested in women he doesn't even notice what they're wearing, " Erin said. "Or not wearing."

"Oh, Lord, it is tempting, isn't it?" Jeff shook his head. "Can't do it without being coarse, though."

"What about something like 'Senator Bennett's contempt for women extends even to their attire,' " Erin suggested. " 'As the quintessential symbol of sexism in fashion . . .'
"

"That's not bad. " Nick began scribbling. "Go on, Erin, keep talking."

They were still hard at work when the frantic barking of the dogs announced the arrival of Rosemary. She looked tired and irritable; Joe, who had accompanied her, tossed his coat in the general direction of a chair and loosened his tie before proceeding with what was obviously a continuing argument.

"I tell you, I don't trust him. He's got something up his sleeve, or he wouldn't be playing footsie with you. Why is he giving you all this support?"

"I can think of several possibilities," Rosemary said. She batted her eyelashes and simpered.

Joe replied with a single emphatic word that made Kay turn to him in indignant reproof. "Oh, shut up, Kay," he snarled, before she could speak.