Paramour (19 page)

"There is one benefit," Powers said in a mock serious tone. "Uncle Sam is picking up the tab."

She returned his smile and shook her head. "How generous."

The waiter came to the table and refilled their glasses. The bottle empty, Powers ordered another.

"Will you answer one question for me?" she said, picking up her wineglass.

"Probably."

"Did you search my apartment?"

"Why do you ask?"

"If I'd been instructed to find out whether someone was a security risk, the first thing I'd do would be to see the way he or she lived."

He took a big gulp. "Great wine, isn't it?"

"That means you did search my place and you probably found the Minox camera I keep hidden in a hollowed book. If that's the reason you are so suspicious of me, perhaps you should know the camera is CIA property and I was issued it as part of an Agency photography course. I keep it in the bookshelf hiding place because, like everyone else who lives in DC, I'm worried about burglars."

"Thanks for clearing that up."

"I just hope my apartment was decent when you conducted the search."

"Spotless."

"You know a lot about me," she said, "but I know absolutely nothing about you."

"I've been on the White House Detail since-"

"Are you married, Jack?"

Powers shook his head.

"Why not?" she said softly.

"Never got around to it, I guess."

"Or never
wanted
to get around to it?"

"Actually, I've never met a woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. "

She was obviously amused. "That's a nice way of saying you're a confirmed bachelor. I know about you guys on the White House Detail. A bunch of rakes. "

"Actually a group of sensitive, caring chaps."

"I understand most of the secretaries on the White House staff have been cared for rather well."

They both laughed.

As they chatted, Powers found himself talking about the army and about working on his father's fishing boat. Marilyn talked warmly about her years at Princeton. Though they both avoided any discussion of the present, for the first time since they'd met Powers thought the ice actually had been broken. She was articulate, clever, and he found himself taken with her. It was midnight when he realized the place was closing.

"We'd better go," she said.

Powers paid the bill, and she gathered her purse and coat. Outside, though it had been warm all day, it had turned cold. As they walked down the sidewalk toward his rental car, they passed an orange neon sign over a door. It read TANZ CLUB TANGERINE. A young, modish couple was entering, and the sound of rock music came from inside.

Powers nodded toward the place. "How about one for the road?"

"Why not?"

He took her by the arm and, opening the door, entered a cauldron of sound. A young, well-dressed crowd was milling around the bar, and the cocktail tables were filled. The dance floor was full, and against the facing wall a disk jockey with blond spiked hair stood behind a record turntable and an array of stereo sound equipment. In the corner, a few younger men with short hair, who Powers thought looked like off-duty American soldiers, were huddled around a table.

A tall lady wearing skintight black pants, a red pullover sweater, and a stiff German push-up bra took their drink orders. Marilyn stared at the crowded dance floor as the woman prepared the drinks.

"Do you think I'm a security risk?" she said, turning to him.

"Frankly, I wish I hadn't accepted this assignment. I feel like some sleazy private eye."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No," he said after a while.

The bartender brought drinks. Marilyn picked up a glass, drank, and set it down on the bar carefully, as if it contained something valuable. "I don't believe you, but I want you to know I still think you're a nice guy. I mean that."

Powers felt chastened and small.

Marilyn turned toward the dance floor. "I haven't danced in years," she said. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'm not a very good dancer."

"I won't tell."

Deciding dancing with her was no more sinister than having dinner with her, Powers took her hand and, weaving through cocktail tables, led her to the dance floor. A romantic tune was playing, one he'd heard a thousand times, but what was its title?

She held herself politely away from him as they danced, as if to tell him in a nice way her invitation to dance was nothing more than that. "Thank you for dancing with me. I expected you to refuse," she said as they moved to the music.

"My pleasure."

"I'm going to resign from the Agency when I get back," she said.

Powers sensed the tension in her. "You're foolish to give up your career just because you're the subject of a security investigation."

"I'm tired of the bureaucratic intrigue, of living in a pecking order. I want to do something on my own-something in the field of art, hopefully."

"There won't be any record of this investigation, if that's what's bothering you."

"Are you really concerned about me?" she said, tilting her head back to look him in the eye.

"I don't want to be the reason someone gave up a career."

She stopped dancing. "I hope you're not trying to convince me you actually give a damn about what I do."

"Maybe it'd be better if I just drove you back to the hotel."

Her eyes flashed. "Maybe it'd be better if you went straight to hell. I didn't ask you to follow me here," she said angrily. Her lip quivered for a moment, and she dropped her head and broke into tears. Embarrassed, she covered her face quickly. They stood there for a moment, and Powers realized others on the dance floor were looking at them. Marilyn seemed suddenly embarrassed.

He stepped closer, slipped his arm around her waist, and took her arm. She tried to pull away but he led her, moving to the music.

"Let me go."

"I thought you wanted to dance."

She wiped tears away with her hand. "I'm sorry about that, but in the last few months I've been working a lot and . . . my personal life has gotten somewhat complicated. And now people watching me-"

"Forget about that."

"I've used some very bad judgment."

They continued to dance. When the tune ended they remained on the dance floor and danced again. Back at the bar, avoiding the topic of her proposed resignation, they talked about everything under the sun. They danced again and again, and Powers lost count of the drinks. Finally, at 2 A.M., she suggested they leave.

Outside the bar, the cold night air slapped them and brought them back to reality. On the way back to the hotel in the rental car they spoke very little. Powers found himself wishing she had chosen to sit close to him.

In the deserted hotel lobby a sleepy-looking desk clerk was shining the registration counter with a dirty cloth. He ignored them as they stepped on the elevator. The door closed.

Marilyn pushed the button for her floor, then his. The car ascended and the doors opened. She stepped out into the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your room," he said, following her out of the elevator.

"That's not necessary," she said, without looking at him.

Ignoring her protest, he accompanied her to the door of her room. She reached into her purse, took out the room key, and slid it into the lock.

"I know you were sticking your neck out by inviting me for a drink," she said, without looking at him. "Thanks. You have my word no one will know."

"I enjoyed myself."

"I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a date. Not that we're on a date, but-well, you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean."

Opening the door, she stepped inside the room. "Good night, Jack," she said, looking more alluring than ever.

He reached out to take her in his arms.

"I think we've both had too much to drink," she said, resisting him.

His lips found hers. Her arms slid up his back. Suddenly he realized what he was doing and released her. "I'd better not make things more complicated than they are," he said, stepping back.

They stood there looking into each other's eyes. "Good night," she said softly.

Powers closed the door slowly. Standing alone in the hallway, flushed, with the taste of her lipstick on his lips, he wanted to hold her, to take her, to be close to her, to bring his lips to hers, to have her under him, to have her on top of him, to please her, to bring her to ecstasy, to own her as much as a man can own a woman: to conquer and unite with her.

But she was the subject of an investigation, and an affair with her would be the kiss of death to his career. When they were back in Washington and the investigation was over and she was cleared, he could date her without risk.

The problem was he didn't want to wait.

Imagining her arms around him, he returned to his room. Inside, leaving the fights out, he opened the curtain a few inches. Marilyn was standing on her balcony. Her arms were crossed and she was gazing, as if transfixed, in the direction of the exhibition hall. Powers stepped back from the window to hide himself from her view. After a while, Marilyn rubbed her arms as if she was cold and stepped inside her room. The curtains closed. For the next few minutes her shadow moved intermittently behind the curtains and he imagined her getting ready for bed. Then, finally, the light in her room went out.

And, though he'd had his doubts since she'd first confronted him in the hotel dining room, at that moment Powers decided she wasn't a spy. There was no way to articulate his conclusion, but the fact was he had watched her, searched her apartment, talked with her ... and kissed her. She wasn't a spy. Her affair with the President was unsettling to him, all right, but he'd convinced himself she wasn't working for the East Germans or anyone else.

He paced the room for a while, then finally kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. But he didn't feel sleepy. Lying there in the darkness, he admitted to himself he was infatuated with her. Unable to sleep, he left the bed and returned to the window. He imagined the smell of her perfume, her hair brushing his cheek as they'd kissed. He wanted her. And he could tell when they'd kissed that she wanted him.

There was the sound of two soft knocks on his door.

Startled, he reached to his waistband. But his gun was in the trunk of his car in DC. He moved across the room and stepped to the side of the door in case someone shot through it. For the first time, he realized there was no peephole.

"Who's there?" he said.

"It's me," Marilyn said.

He turned on the light and opened the door. She had combed her hair and applied fresh lipstick. Their eyes met. He just stood there for a moment. Then he took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his. Their tongues met, Feeling the length of her body against his own, her arms around him tightly, he pulled her inside and slammed the door.

They undressed each other feverishly and Powers's breathing quickened. Marilyn shrugged from her brassiere. There was a small scar on her shoulder.