change might be possible. The shocking assassination of three of Washington’s most prominent political animals was sure to force reform to the forefront.
O’Rourke walked across the street to Blacky’s Bar and entered.
Glancing over the crowd, he looked for a full head of black hair, and after two sweeps he found her. She was sitting at the far end of the bar surrounded by a group of men still in suits. The sight of her brought a smile to his face. An attractive woman walked up and grabbed O’Rourke’s arm. “Michael, you’re late. You’d better get over there and save her.
The vultures are closing in. O’Rourke continued to stare across the bar. “Yes, I see that.” He looked down and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Hello, Meredith, is she ready to kill me?”
“Michael, you could show up at midnight and she wouldn’t be mad. May I take your coat?”
O’Rourke remembered he was carrying his gun and politely said, “No, thank you.”
“Were things pretty tense on the Hill today?”
“Yeah, there was a lot of extra security.”
“Well, you be careful.” The owner squeezed his arm. “Get over there and save her.
I’ve got a booth ready for you, whenever you’re ready.”
O’Rourke weaved his way through the crowd and stood behind the pack of cruisers salivating over his girlfriend. He took a deep breath and watched for a moment. O’Rourke placed his hands on the shoulders of the two men closest to him. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
53
The two men turned around and made some room. Liz was wearing a white blouse, short black skirt, black nylons, and black suede heels. A smile spread across O’Rourke’s face, and he stepped forward to kiss her on the lips. Then brushing his nose along her cheek, he whispered, “You look great.” She smiled, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him closer for another kiss. After several moments, O’Rourke grabbed her by the hand and said, “Meredith has our table ready. Let’s go be alone.”
The couple walked over to the open booth and sat down across from each other.
O’Rourke grabbed her hands and stared at her. He loved her eyes.
He loved everything about her. her thick, black hair, her olive skin, her sharp mind, her great sense of humor, but he especially loved her eyes. Despite his bad attitude toward Washington she had managed to work her way into his heart. Liz was bright, she was aggressive, she was caring, she loved kids. She was everything he wanted. Liz
Scarlatti had entered his life a year ago, and even though the last thing he wanted was a relationship, he couldn’t resist her. They had met at a small blues bar in Georgetown. It was a busy weekend night and they happened to be standing next to each other when the band struck up a sultry version of “Sweet Melissa” by the Allman Brothers.
The female lead of the band sang it in a slow, seductive way that brought the entire crowd into a rhythmic sway. Standing by the edge of the dance floor, O’Rourke bumped a little too hard into whomever he was standing next to, and when he turned to apologize, there was Liz. The apology never got out of his mouth. He stared in awe at what he had no doubt was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. His face was frozen, eyes open wide, lips parted slightly. Liz looked up at him with her big brown eyes, and that was it. O’Rourke felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he couldn’t move. Luckily for him Liz didn’t freeze. She slowly took the beer out of Michael’s hand, set it on a ledge, and then grabbing him by the hand, she led him onto the dance floor. The rest was history. Over the next year their attraction grew into a serious love affair with marriage on the horizon. There was only one problem at present—Michael wanted out of D.C. and
Liz wasn’t sure yet. She liked her job less and less every week, but hadn’t grown to hate it yet. She had worked hard to get where she was and wasn’t quite sure she was ready to give it up and move to Minnesota.
Scarlatti smiled at O’Rourke and asked, “So, did you see me on TV yesterday?” The smile disappeared from O’Rourke’s mouth.
“What was that all about? You know how much I hate publicity.”
O’Rourke changed his voice and started to mimic her, “‘Mr. President, Congressman
O’Rourke says your budget is stuffed with more pork than a Jimmy Dean sausage.” Come on, Liz, I had reporters calling my office all afternoon.” O’Rourke had been mad as hell yesterday when he saw her get up at the press conference and quote him, but now, sitting in front of her, all that anger was gone. “Well, I’m sorry, Michael, you’re a public figure, and what you say is news.”
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“First of all, I’m not eligible, and I have no control over what some flighty gossip columnist writes. With you, that’s a different story.
All I’m asking is that in the future we keep our relationship a little more private. What is said when we’re in bed together stays between you and me.” Scarlatti leaned forward.
“If that’s what you really want, I will respect it, but I’ll never understand your aversion to the press. You’re the only politician I know who consciously tries to stay out of the limelight.”
“Liz, we’ve been over this before. Let’s not go over it again.”
Michael gave her a forced smile and then said, “By the way, congratulations! You looked very good yesterday. You were the only one who challenged him.
The rest of those pansies rolled over and gave him nice, easy questions.”
“That’s why they get called on. Those press conferences are the biggest scams. The
President calls on the same people every time because he knows they’ll toss him a nice big fat one.” The President was sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office wearing a dark suit, striped tie, and white shirt.
