The Senator's Wife (21 page)

She batted her long eyelashes at Kenny, who looked momentarily dazzled at the sheer wattage of the sex appeal being turned his way.

Jesus Christ, the woman was a menace! She was flirting with poor, unsuspecting
Kenny
now. And all for his benefit, Tom knew.

He wanted to shake her till her teeth rattled. He wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to send time winging back to that hotel room in Tupelo and to roll on top of her in that bed and love her until she begged for mercy.

Even as his groin tightened at the images he conjured up, Tom saw the handwriting on the wall:
Time to get the hell out of Dodge
.

Chapter
24

F
OR THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS
Tom vanished from Ronnie’s life. Kenny seemed to have taken his place as her omnipresent adviser. Her schedule was crowded, and he attended most official functions with her and her entourage. Usually Thea came along too. From the way the two of them behaved, Ronnie sometimes felt like the third wheel at her own party. Even when crowds were present—no, especially when crowds were present—she felt lonely.

Only a fool would not prefer to be handled by Kenny rather than his missing partner, Ronnie told herself. As far as political consultants went, they were two very different animals. Kenny was always cheerful; he never criticized her clothing, her makeup, her hairstyle, her behavior, or the speeches she gave. He never criticized her at all. The few times he made a comment on something she might want to mention at an upcoming event, it was couched as a suggestion, not an order, sandwiched between loads of praise.

Kenny was a pleasant, undemanding, helpful companion.

She felt not the smallest degree of sexual attraction for him, although she liked him very much.

As days passed, the question that began to occupy her mind to the exclusion of almost everything else was, Where was Tom?

Unable to bear not knowing any longer, Ronnie finally swallowed her pride and asked Thea—very casually.

“Oh, Kenny says they’ve picked up some new clients, and Tom is busy with them. You know, mapping out strategy and all. I guess they think you’re doing well enough in the polls now that you don’t need him so much anymore.”

But I do need him
. Ronnie barely stopped herself from saying it aloud.

Let the polls go hang. She needed Tom.

He called at least once that she knew about. She was sitting behind the desk in her office when the phone rang. It was late afternoon, not long after Thea had gone home for the day. It wasn’t the house phone—Selma would have gotten that—but the personal line into her office.

Ronnie almost switched on the answering machine, thinking that it was probably someone wanting her to attend some event or other. But at the last minute she changed her mind and picked up the receiver, perfectly prepared to pretend to be her own secretary if necessary.

“Hello?” she said cautiously. “Ronnie?”

She would have recognized that deep, drawling voice at the bottom of the darkest cave on the farthest
side of the world. Her hand tightened on the receiver, and she pressed it closer to her ear.

“Tom.”

She should say more, she knew, but it seemed to be all she could manage for the moment, just his name.

“What’re you doing answering the phone?”

It’s my phone, why shouldn’t I answer it?
she thought. What she said was, “Thea’s gone home.”

“Oh.”

She could hear him breathing, slow and regular. He didn’t seem in a hurry to say anything, and she wasn’t either. The only thing that scared her was that he might hang up.

“How are you?” he asked after a moment.

“Fine. I’m fine.” It was stupid, but she couldn’t seem to think properly, much less summon up sensible conversation. “How are you?”

“Fine.” He took a breath. “Well …”

“Where are you?” she asked hurriedly, clutching the receiver tighter. It was her only link to him.

“Nevada.” She could hear a sudden smile in his voice. “There’s a governor’s race coming up. A tight one.”

“Bill Myer?” She named the Nevada incumbent.

“Nah. Matt Grolin. A challenger. Looks like he’s got a fair shot at an upset.”

“With you to help him.”

There was a brief pause. “My, that was an uncharacteristically nice thing for you to say to me.”

“I can be nice.”

The timbre of his voice dropped a notch. “I remember.”

“Tom.”

“Mmm?”

“Are you consulting for the candidate—or his wife?”

“Either or both, as needed.”

The thought of him advising some other woman on everything from her shoes to her speeches was not pleasant.

“Is Mrs. Grolin pretty?”

He laughed. The short bark of amusement was so familiar that it made her ache. “Very attractive—for a sixty-two-year-old.”

That made Ronnie smile. “Oh. Good.”

“Ronnie—” He broke off.

“Yes?” she asked after a moment.

“Is Kenny taking care of things okay for you?” Whatever he had been going to say, that was not it. Ronnie could tell from the change in his tone.

“He never criticizes me,” she said.

“Oh, God.” He laughed again.

“I got an advance copy of that
Ladies’ Home Journal
article. It turned out well.”

“I knew it would. How’s Davis?”

“Big and hairy.” Ronnie’s voice was dry. Tom chuckled.

“He still at Sedgely?”

“Yes. Selma’s taking him to obedience school. He has fleas, and he wants to jump in my lap all the time. And he keeps licking me. I think he’s looking for another piece of ham.”

Tom was laughing now. “Smart dog.”

“You wouldn’t think so if he was jumping on
you.
”

“Where is everybody tonight?”

“Like I said, Thea’s gone home. Kenny’s gone
home. Dorothy’s at a bridge game. Selma’s somewhere around. And Lewis is in—let me see—Friar’s Point, at the dedication of a memorial to Conway Twitty.”

“How is His Honor?” There was a subtle change in Tom’s tone. The mere mention of her husband erected a barrier between them, Ronnie realized, and she wished she could call back the words.

“Lewis is just fine.”

“He’s really the reason I called.”

“Oh?” Her voice cooled slightly.

“Yeah. In a minute, when you hang up, I’m going to fax him a sample storyboard for an ad campaign. He wanted my suggestions on some things he could use against Orde.”

“If you wanted to talk to Lewis, why didn’t you call his office?” she asked. “He has three. Downstairs, downtown, and in Washington.”

“I did. All three. Nobody answered.”

“I see.” Ronnie took a deep breath. “So you had to make do with calling my office instead. Lucky for you I was in.”

“Yeah. Lucky.”

“I guess I had better hang up so that you can send that fax.”

“Ronnie …”

“What?”

A slight hesitation. “You’re right. You had better hang up.”

“All right, then. Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

Ronnie took the receiver from her ear and looked down at it for a minute. She wanted to say—what did
she want to say?
When are you coming home?
Are
you coming home?

But she couldn’t. He hadn’t even called to talk to her. He wanted nothing to do with her, because she was a married woman and he wasn’t a jerk.

The jerk.

She hung up the phone. And almost cried.

She would have, if she hadn’t absolutely refused to let a jerk like Tom Quinlan reduce her to tears.

Besides her campaign-related appearances, Ronnie had plenty to do. She flew with Lewis to the funeral of a Senate colleague who’d been killed in the crash of his private plane, and she was gone for two days. She was on the boards of several organizations, all of which had meetings. A lot of her time was taken up by preparing for the International Ballet Competition, which came to the United States every four years and was scheduled for Jackson in 1998. The plans for Lewis’s annual birthday party were also proceeding apace. Someone had to supervise the arrangements, and Dorothy tired more easily than she had even the year before, which left Ronnie to make sure things got done. With all that going on, one would have thought that Ronnie would have had no time whatsoever to think about Tom.

One would have thought wrong.

She thought—she hoped—he would not miss Lewis’s party. She was almost sure he would come. Nobody who was invited missed the annual event if it could be helped.

On the Wednesday before the big day his RSVP finally
came in the mail with a handful of others. To make things simpler, they had started including reply cards in the invitations just as was done for weddings.

His invitation had been addressed to Mr. Thomas S. Quinlan and guest.

The reply card said two would be attending.

Would he be bringing his girlfriend, the one Thea said he was thinking about marrying? Ronnie wondered. The idea did not please her. She realized she was jealous of a woman she had never even seen. Tom’s girlfriend. Just formulating the words in her mind made her mad.

But at least he was coming.

Upon reflection, she didn’t care if he brought the entire Swedish bikini team, as long as he came with them.

All her animosity toward him had faded away; the only thing she could think of now was how much she wanted to see him again.

Chapter
25

Saturday, August 23rd

O
N THE EVENING OF THE PARTY
Ronnie spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready. She was nervous, which was unusual for her. It wasn’t the prospect of five-hundred-plus guests that put the butterflies in her stomach, or the knowledge that the press would be present as they were every year to record the festivities, or even thoughts of the dozens of things that could go wrong.

She certainly wasn’t worried about her appearance: She knew she looked good. She was wearing an Isaac Mizrahi gown of flame-red jersey knit, set with hundreds of crystal brilliants that glittered with her every movement. It had tiny spaghetti straps and a low neckline that showed plenty of cleavage. From her bosom to just above her knees it clung like a second skin, lovingly hugging every curve. From there it flared flamenco-style into a frothing cascade of ruffles. By itself the dress was knock-’em-in-the-aisles gorgeous. Worn with flame-red satin sandals with skinny three-inch heels and a delicate diamond necklace and earrings, the outfit was to die for.

Tom would probably say it was too sexy—for a senator’s wife. With a small smile Ronnie acknowledged to herself that for once Tom would be right.

Looking at her reflection in the huge mirror that made up one entire wall of her dressing room, she was pleased with what she saw. Her hair was twirled up in a soft french twist that allowed loose tendrils to frame her face. Her eyes were softly lined and shadowed in the smoky charcoal shade she had preferred before Tom and his polls had dragooned her into drabber earth tones. Except for the feather of blush accenting each cheekbone, her skin was milky white, and as flawless as fine porcelain. Her mouth was stained the same bright red as her dress.

She looked beautiful, she knew.

The band began playing right before Ronnie left her room. It was just after dark—a warm, beautiful late-August night. Everything was set. The party was getting underway.

Lewis, she knew, would be outside greeting the guests. Garrulous by nature, he was in his element as the star of a big bash. Dorothy was almost certainly outside, too, doing the honors as hostess as well or better than Ronnie could have done. Marsden and his wife, Evangeline, would be busy circulating and seeing to the guests’ comfort, as would Joanie and Laura and their husbands. Lewis’s party had been an annual event for years, growing bigger each time. The family members all had roles to play and with much experience, they played them effortlessly.

Ronnie was the newcomer. She knew that if she stayed in her room, she would scarcely be missed.

Other years, during other parties, she had thought
about it, hating to be the cynosure of all eyes. Ninety percent of these people had been friends of Eleanor’s.

But not tonight. Tonight a dozen nuts armed with paint cans couldn’t have kept her in her room.

Tonight she walked down the grand staircase, one hand on the rail, the ruffles around her calves rustling silkily as she moved, with a whole meadow’s worth of butterflies in her stomach.

Because tonight Tom would be there.

Chapter
26

T
HE BAND’S LEAD SINGER
was crooning “
You-ou take my breath away.…
” when he saw her.

Under the circumstances the aptness of the song was almost funny. Only it was hard to laugh when he felt like he’d been kicked in the gut by a mule.

He had come tonight thinking he was pretty well armored against her. One sight of her and he knew he had been wrong.

Just that fast and he wanted her so much he ached, so much that he felt as though his body had suddenly seized up and suspended all vital functions.

She literally took his breath away. He watched her and forgot to breathe.

For just a moment she paused on the back veranda, one hand on the railing as she looked out over the crowd of partygoers. Then she came down the stairs, her head high, her slender figure erect. Flashbulbs exploded like shooting stars around her as photographers took her picture. That light, and the light from hundreds of Japanese lanterns strung in the trees, seemed to catch on her red dress as she moved, turning it into
a column of living flame. Her hair was up, exposing her slender neck and shoulders and a whole lot of creamy white bosom. Her eyes were huge and smoky, her mouth crimson. Flashes of fire glittered around her neck and at her ears.

Fire and ice. That was Ronnie to a tee.

“Who’s
that?
” Diane said. She must have followed his gaze, because she was staring at Ronnie, too, with the faintest of frowns between her brows. Dear, sweet Diane, who was looking very lovely tonight herself in a slender blue satin evening gown with her blond bob fresh from the beauty parlor and her makeup all pink and tasteful.