The Third Child (28 page)

Merilee did look spectacular in black. Merilee was slender with small breasts, but Alison had provided one of those push-up bras that could give cleavage to a cutting board. Her blond hair glistened. The representative was seated next to her, and after a while they fell into animated and almost private conversation. Rosemary smiled approvingly and concentrated on her favorite, Senator Dawes, and the elderly Republican Senator Nottingham from Mississippi. Nottingham had been elected so many times he scarcely bothered to return to his district on holidays. Washington said that after he died, he would be stuffed and continue to represent his state, still winning election after election, and no one would notice the
difference. Rosemary had obviously been working on him for some project of Dick’s. Mrs. N. ate steadily without speaking. Melissa could tell from her glances that she did not like Rosemary. She was probably here under protest.

Sometimes Melissa looked at her mother and was startled by how beautiful she was. Would her own life be better if she looked like that? But Blake liked her the way she was. He liked the breasts and hips and ass she had been trained to be ashamed of. All she could think of was how many hours she had to go before she could rip off this iron maiden of a dress.

The representative—Angus—was tall and bony with a neatly trimmed thatch of reddish hair. He was freckled, which was kind of endearing, and he had a deep bass voice that made her think perhaps he sang, like in a choir. He seemed an improvement on most of the politicians her father brought home as protégés. But he was about as sexy as an Irish setter. The conversation at table was mostly in-group Washington gossip: who had done what to whom, who had attended or snubbed what hostess, who was rumored to be divorcing over what, who was about to retire from the House or Senate or the bench. The interns were showing off their knowledge, glancing surreptitiously at Dick to see if he was impressed. He listened as if fascinated. He always encouraged his staff to pick up gossip. He knew how to be the center of everything without saying a word. Melissa was bored. She did not belong here, she did not belong to them.

It was Saturday afternoon before Rosemary had the leisure to call her into her tidy office. Melissa had gone out with Jessica earlier, shopping for CDs. Jessica had to be back at her parents’ house by five, so Melissa had reluctantly come home. She had hoped to avoid this conversation, but short of running out into the street, she was stuck.

“I was wondering with whom you’ve been socializing at school lately?”

“I’ve been seeing a lot of Lindsey. We’re actually working together on a project for sociology.”

“And boys?” Rosemary propped her sharp chin on her steepled hands, her light brown eyes fixed on Melissa, who was thinking idly that at least she had her mother’s eyes, if nothing else.

“I haven’t really met anyone I’m interested in….” She had a quick idea that might throw her mother off stride. “But I really liked the guy at Thanksgiving, Angus. He seemed really cool. Very sophisticated.”

“He’s a little old for you, Melissa. He’s been married and divorced. He’s thirty-seven.”

“I liked him. I thought he was bright and articulate and really good looking.”

“I believe your sister is interested in him, and he’s far more suitable for her. You need someone much younger and less…experienced.”

“I don’t know,” Melissa said airily. “I like older men. In a way he reminded me of Daddy. His politics. His way of expressing himself.”

“He’s a protégé of your father’s, yes, but not what you should be considering at this stage in your development.”

“I don’t see why not. He could teach me a great deal.”

Rosemary grimaced. “This is silly. But, yes, he is a more respectable and responsible sort than you were interested in earlier this year. Perhaps your taste is improving. But don’t get the idea of going head-to-head with your sister, if she does turn out to be interested in Angus…. Where did you and Jessica go?”

BLAKE E-MAILED
her around ten that night:

She had not tried, because she just knew she would be caught if she did. He didn’t understand the situation. She thought she was doing pretty well fending off Rosemary’s attention, but she had to be cautious. She could scarcely wait until Sunday afternoon finally came and she could return to school and safety. And Blake, her secret husband.

M
elissa was waiting for Blake. He said he had big news, and from his voice she figured it was good. Well, they could use some. She felt as if she had been living with tension for so many weeks that she was almost used to that tightness in her belly, in her chest, that anxiety that seeped through her dreams and woke her sweating. She wished she could just forget about the danger for a week, even for a day. Doing work for her classes was some kind of relief, because it took her mind off the fear. She was afraid of the FBI, afraid of the police, afraid of her parents. It was hard for her to remember that she had lived much of her life worrying about nothing more than being laughed at by other girls, dreading only her mother’s disapproval.

Soon she would have to go home for Christmas. It had been relatively easy to avoid Rosemary during Thanksgiving, but Christmas they would spend in Philadelphia, in the much smaller town house, without all the bustle of staff and interns and assistants and secretaries coming and going. There would be people passing through, sure, but she would be stuck there with them for much longer, and inevitably, Rosemary would have more time to spend quizzing her, turning her inside out like the pockets of a pair of jeans going into the washer.

She wished she could just announce she was married, let the whole family thing blow up and spend Christmas with Blake as a couple. After all, his family knew. When were they going public? It was time for honesty. Why was she so reluctant to bring that up with Blake? Maybe she did not want to hear his equivocations, his always good but never quite good enough reasons for procrastinating. Maybe she was afraid to push him too hard. Why? After all, they were legally married. Emily was tired of hear
ing about the situation. She was over at Mitch’s house tonight. Their off-again, on-again thing was hot and heavy at the moment. Em had gone through a pregnancy scare, and Mitch hadn’t bailed, so Em was feeling close to him.

Blake arrived finally, carrying a paper bag. In it was a bottle of California champagne. “Got something we can drink this in?”

“A couple of water glasses.”

“It’ll taste just as good.”

“What’s the occasion?” She clutched herself across her breasts, wishing he would explain already. What she did not know made her nervous.

“I talked with Si. His friend who’s representing Roger passed on some information. Tom gave the FBI a description of the guy he met at Foxwoods.”

“Why should we celebrate that? And what about me?”

“His description is that I was a very tall Hispanic named Sam in his middle twenties with a goatee. As for you, all he could remember is that you were a blonde wearing a leather jacket.”

“Blonde? Don’t I wish. Plus, where did the goatee come from?”

“Damned if I know. Either he’s protecting us or he just didn’t look at us carefully. Maybe he was too nervous. Maybe he thought that’s what I should look like.” He popped the cork and poured. “Anyhow, let’s celebrate our freedom. With that description, they don’t have a trail leading to us in fifty years.”

She lifted her water glass full of bubbly. “Here’s to Sam. Long may he wave.”

“My sentiments exactly. We may never know if Tom was protecting us or just unable to focus.” He was leaning back on his crooked elbows on her floor.

“Blake, when are we going to reveal our marriage?”

“What’s the hurry? Once you do, you can’t go home again, and we’re cut off from a great source of info.”

“Why do we need more? We’ve dug up plenty.”

“The public has a right to know about their officials and what kind of shit they’re into.” He sat up on one elbow, fixing her with his large lumi
nous eyes. “Until we have King Richard nailed, we’ve done nothing. Nothing at all.”

Nailed? What was that supposed to mean? “Suppose the voters don’t give a damn. I’ve heard the word
affable
used about him five hundred times. Face it, Blake: people like him. He comes across on television. He’s handsome in a nonthreatening Yankee way. He’s a patrician who knows how to put on the just-us-folks voice. He’s weathered dozens of scandals over the years.”

“It’s different now. He’s in the Senate. The appearance of propriety and operating by the rules counts there.”

“Oh, sure. He’s got appearance to burn.”

“Lissa, I have to have justice. It’s our mission. I owe it to my father. I can’t live my own life till I’ve brought justice to the man responsible for my father’s execution. We simply can’t fail.” He took her cold hand in his warm dry hands and stroked it as if he could rub courage and conviction into her like hand lotion. “It’s like a sign that this guy Tom didn’t turn us in, that he protected us.”

“Did he protect us, or was he too flustered to look at us? He certainly paid no attention to me.”

“We’ll probably never know, but it comes out the same in the end.” He sat up and poured more champagne. “Let’s toast ourselves.”

“To us. Our future together,” she said, clinking her water glass against his.

“I’ll drink to that. To the rest of our lives, together.”

ALISON CALLED
on her cell phone as she was having lunch. “I tried your room. I spoke with your roommate—Emily?”

“Is something wrong?” Melissa asked warily. Blake was right across the table from her. She motioned for him to be quiet, mouthing “Alison” at him.

“It’s good news. Laura finally had her baby, two weeks overdue. It’s a healthy bouncing boy! She was in labor for eighteen hours.”

“Wow. That sounds grueling. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, and the baby is wonderful. He weighs nine pounds, two
ounces. We’re waiting to see him now. Rich and your mother think you should fly to Philly for photographs. This is a great time for Rich and good publicity.”

“I can’t go now. It’s exam time.”

“Just explain to your professors.”

“That my sister-in-law had a baby and my brother wants me in the background of a couple of photos to aid his campaign? I can’t do it. Besides, I have a huge zit on my nose.”

“Makeup will take care of that.”

“Alison, I’m in school. That matters to me, even if it’s of no discernible importance to my mother or my brother. I look forward to seeing the baby over Christmas.” She hung up and turned off her cell phone.

“The dynasty continues,” she said sourly and filled Blake in.

“They really don’t take your college career seriously, do they?”

“They don’t take anything I do seriously.” She let the corners of her mouth turn down. “That’s their mistake.”

“Absolutely. But I take you very seriously, don’t I, babes? You’re my Bible. My compass. My heart.”

“I’m your wife, which is more important.”

“You sure are. So, what will they name the baby?”

“Richard, of course. That’s what they call the firstborn boys nowadays. Richard the Fifth. Quintus.”

“She told you all that? I didn’t even hear you ask the baby’s name.”

“I don’t need to ask. I know how it works. The new king is born. I can just imagine the fuss, and it makes me want to vomit.”

“It’s not the baby’s fault. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a jazz musician or a horse trainer.”

“Never. He’ll draw himself up to the public trough. They’ll start grooming him before he’s five.”

Rosemary called next to issue her edict: Melissa had to go to Philadelphia. She flew down Saturday morning with a return ticket for Sunday night. It felt really lame to have given in, but the whole gang was there; even Karen had been summoned. This was the birth of the heir to whatever.

She walked into a hospital room crammed with flowers from local politicians, supporters, friends of Rich or Laura, friends of Dick. Her father was in a corner talking on his cell phone. Rich was outside in the hall in earnest conversation with his campaign manager, an oversize man who had played football for Notre Dame but carefully retained his South Philly accent. Actually she had heard him switch accents from phone call to phone call—like Blake, who could make his voice and language whiter, blacker, more streetwise, academic, hackerese. She barely fit in the room, but she had to make herself visible so that Rosemary would cross her off a mental list. See, I showed up. Give me one credit. The baby, red faced and crying, was clasped in Laura’s arms. Probably he needed to be fed, but there were just too many people.

“How come they made you come?” she asked Karen in the hall when she had a chance to get her out of earshot.

“Since Father left me the farm, I have a certain position. If they want to use it now and then in the summer or fall, they have to stay on my good side. But then I also have to pretend to be a member of the Dickinson mafia.” Karen glanced around. “So where’s Blake? Have you made your big announcement?”

“Not yet. I want to. But because so much is up in the air with your friend being busted, we’re hanging back and waiting to see what happens.” Melissa looked around nervously to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.

“He’s a cute little bugger—the baby, not Blake. Have you seen him yet?”

“Me and half of Rich’s constituents. I hate coronations. So is Rosemary enjoying being a grandmother? I’d think it would freak her out.”

Karen pursed her lips. “The line has to continue. But she isn’t going to do a lot of diaper changing. She’s found a nanny already, and she’s lending Rich and Laura her assistant Alison for a week…. It must be funny to be lent out like a lawn mower. Here, take her, she’s useful.”

“I don’t think Rosemary can do anything wrong in Alison’s eyes. But she’ll suffer, being away from Washington and Rosemary.”

“So Rosemary’s going back?” Karen glanced over her shoulder.

“Monday morning. She said, ‘The Senator has an important committee hearing.’” She imitated her mother’s voice referring to her husband as “the Senator,” as she so often did.

They were called in to view the baby. Melissa never understood what people meant by a cute baby, all red and squally. She supposed that if they had everything they were supposed to, the standard equipment and all functioning, that made them beautiful in the eyes of those who had spent so many months producing the kids. She wanted children, she wanted them badly, but she still couldn’t see that babies were cute. She was sure, however, when she had her first baby with Blake, she would change her mind. She would think that baby shone like a little sun. Not that she was in a desperate hurry to reproduce yet. Mostly she just wanted them to live together as husband and wife and be recognized by everyone as married. Then other girls would stop flirting with Blake and behave themselves. Then she would be free to show off her pride in her handsome brilliant husband.

Laura looked worn out but pleased with herself. She mostly concerned herself with little Dickey. Richard Potts Lee Dickinson. He would be wealthy and spoiled. He would go to the best schools, and trainers would be purchased to teach him whatever he needed to know to excel in sports. Why was she so jealous? Well, she just was. It was the same scene replicated. Rich Junior, heir apparent to the Dickinson political dynasty, now had his own crown prince. God help the girls who came along later. Blake was right: the dynasty would roll on and on unless someone threw up a roadblock. After all, she wasn’t dynastic. She was superfluous.

Dick took a moment to put his arm around her shoulders and smile into her eyes. “I’m glad you came to your senses about that Ackerman boy. He simply won’t do for you. You have to mistrust someone like that.”

“He’s just a student, Dad.”

“And you’re my girl. My little honeybee. We’re a family and we have to stick together. Strength comes from unity, you understand?”

She tried to wait him out, but he was not about to let her go without a response. “I understand what you mean.” Oh, did she.

“That’s my sweetheart.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze before letting
go. His blue eyes looked into hers until she just had to look away. She could not help the surge of guilt that swept through her, until she was afraid she was sweating it through every pore. “We’re all in the public eye, and we have to be conscious of our responsibilities—to ourselves and to each other. I know I can depend on you, the way I always have.”

Finally they went out to supper in a restaurant where Philadelphia politicians and bureaucrats ate, where her father was greeted even by the Democrats with unctuous goodwill and hearty backslapping. He strode among the tables like a conquering hero, Rich in his wake, and they both received congratulations as they passed out cigars and showed off photos from the afternoon. While Rosemary had insisted she attend, Melissa was left pretty much alone. Rosemary was running over arrangements with Alison, who was making lists and notes on her PalmPilot. Their two heads almost touched, sleek blond and cropped auburn, as they created a zone of intensity and concentration. Melissa could not stifle a pang of jealousy for their closeness, but she suppressed it quickly. To be as close to Rosemary as Alison was, it would only be necessary to relinquish any pretense of her own life. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

Afterward, they adjourned to the town house, except for Laura, who was at home with the baby and the new nanny. Merilee had been called back from interviews in Boston. She was busy already being interviewed in various cities. Melissa was surprised that her older sister wasn’t going to return as a matter of course to the firm in which she had interned the previous summer. Perhaps, Melissa speculated, the men who ran that firm were too close to Dick, and Merilee wanted a little more independence. Perhaps her sister hadn’t done as well as everyone expected and they didn’t want her back. Melissa was sure she’d never find out, unless she could get Alison talking. Sometimes Alison let things slip—but so rarely it was hardly worth the investment of effort. “So how did it work out with you and Angus?”

“Who?”

Rosemary heard that, her third and fourth ears pricking up. “That charming young man serving in the House. You got on so well with him at Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, him. What about him?”

“Have you seen him again? You seemed to hit it off.”

“Mother! I don’t have time for that.” Merilee sounded exhausted. “I’m on the Law Review. I’m trying to keep my grades up. I’m interviewing. I don’t have time to do my laundry, let alone worry about some representative who lost a wife and needs a replacement.”