“I insist.”
The woman was really beginning to get on Callie’s nerves. “Could you tell me what this is about? If you’re a reporter, you should be arranging this through our publicity person. I can transfer you.”
“I am definitely not a reporter,” she said with obvious distaste.
That left Callie at a loss. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I believe you know my son.”
“Your son?”
“Jason Kane.”
Jason had a mother? No, Callie corrected. What was unbelievable was that he had a mother like this. Then again, they did share a certain touch of arrogance. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pennington. Jason hasn’t mentioned you.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said drily. “He’d very much like to forget I exist.”
Callie had absolutely no difficulty at all understanding why. “I really am very sorry, Mrs. Pennington, but I can’t go out to lunch.”
“Cocktails, then,” she said, sounding very put-upon at having her plans upset. “The Oak Room at the Plaza. I will see you there promptly at six.”
She hung up before Callie could counter that that wasn’t convenient, either—that no time in this century would be convenient unless Jason himself deemed it so.
She promptly dialed Jason’s office and was put through immediately. It was Freddie Cramer, not Jason, who picked up.
“He’s meeting with some sponsors right now, Ms. Smith. Can he call you back?”
She heard a muttered exchange, then Jason’s voice. “Sorry. Freddie hates having my meetings disrupted.”
“And you? How do you feel about it?”
“The more often, the better, especially if it’s by you.”
“You may not feel that way when you hear why I’ve called.”
“Oh?”
“I just had a call from a woman who claims to be your mother. She has scheduled a command performance for me at the Plaza at six o’clock. Mrs. Harriet Pennington,” she said cheerfully. “Does the name ring a bell?”
“Damn.”
“I gather it does.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call her. She won’t bother you again.”
Callie impulsively changed her mind. Jason’s reaction roused her curiosity. “Actually, I’m thinking of going.”
“Why in God’s name would you do that?”
He sounded genuinely horrified, which made the prospect of meeting Mrs. Pennington more intriguing than Callie would have guessed a few short minutes ago. “Maybe she’ll have your baby pictures with her,” she told him.
“I doubt she owns any,” Jason said with surprising bitterness. “Unless, perhaps, they’re on some campaign poster.”
“Campaign poster?” Before Jason could explain, Callie made the connection. “Oh, my God, she’s that Mrs. Pennington?”
“The one and only.”
“Jason, I don’t get it. Why don’t you ever talk about her?”
“Why should I? She doesn’t talk about me.”
Undercurrents swirled, leaving Callie a bit dazed by it all. “Okay, there is clearly a lot more going on here than I know about. Care to clue me in?”
“No, just forget all about going to that little tête-à-tête. It’ll be a waste of your time.”
Callie was less convinced of that than she had been. “Uh-huh,” she murmured evasively. “Okay, gotta run.”
“Callie!”
“Bye.”
At five as she borrowed one of the more sedate suits the show had purchased for Cop Kelly’s professional wardrobe and dressed carefully. At five-fifteen, she convinced herself that going to meet Jason’s mother, especially over his rather adamant objections, would be a big mistake. At five-thirty, curiosity won out over logic and fear of displeasing Jason. This was her chance to gain more insight into the complex man she was falling for. She didn’t intend to miss it.
When she walked into the Oak Room promptly at six, she was greeted exuberantly by Charles, who insisted on hearing all about her soap opera experiences. He seemed even more impressed by her now than he had been when she’d multiplied his savings through savvy investments.
“Charles, I promise to fill you in on all the details some other time. Right now, I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
“I know,” he said with a subtle lift of his eyebrows that suggested he was well acquainted with the woman in question and didn’t approve.
“They’re right over there by the window,” he added.
“They?”
“Mr. Kane and his mother.”
Uh-oh, Callie thought. A very dry martini suddenly sounded extremely appealing. By the time she caught a glimpse of Jason’s grim expression and his mother’s equally hostile one, she decided to order a double. In fact, if she were smart, she’d duck out right now. Unfortunately, it was too late. Jason had spotted her.
As Charles led her to the table, Jason stood, scowling ferociously—at either her, his mother or women in general. Callie couldn’t be sure which. Only Charles seemed to escape his wrath. Of course, he scooted out of sight rather quickly as if he sensed the tension in the air.
“Mother, this is Callie Smith,” Jason said with clearly forced politeness.
Mrs. Pennington was too much a product of the campaign trail not to force a smile of her own and hold out her hand. “I’m very happy to meet you,” she said.
Callie beamed at Jason. She might as well lie with the rest of them. “I had no idea you’d be joining us.”
“Neither did I,” his mother grumbled with an accusing look at Callie.
“I couldn’t let you two get together without me,” he declared, as if they were the leaders of warring factions and he were the peace negotiator. He regarded his mother impassively. “Callie thought perhaps you’d have some of my baby pictures with you.”
There was an obvious barb in the comment, but Mrs. Pennington didn’t even flinch. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, reaching into her purse.
To Jason’s obvious astonishment, she flipped open not a campaign flyer, as he’d predicted, but her wallet. There were two fading photos facing each other. One was a studio shot of a smiling, bald, chubby-cheeked baby. The other was a snapshot of a gap-toothed boy of eight or so, holding a baseball bat in grubby hands, his elbows and knees skinned. Evidently facing the sun, he was squinting at the camera. Both were dog-eared from frequent handling, a fact Callie found a little poignant.
Although she would have loved to
