“You’re saying that Wolfinger is gay?” Savich said.
Belinda just shrugged.
A boy with a bad complexion stuck his head in. “They need you on the set, Ms. Gates.”
Belinda took one final swipe at her hair, nodded at herself in the mirror, rose, and smiled at them. “Sean’s his name? I’d like to have a little boy,” she said, nodded to both of them, and walked out of the green room.
Savich said, “I got turned on watching her with those rollers, Sherlock. What do you say we buy some of our own?”
“Some really big ones?”
“Oh yes,” he said, “bigger than the ones we used before,” and Sherlock laughed.
“My poor darling, how are you feeling?”
Nicola looked up at John Rothman, heard three of his aides speaking in the hospital corridor because he’d left the door ajar. His face was ruddy from a stiff Chicago wind and thirty-degree weather, his blue eyes bluer than a summer sky. She thought she’d first fallen in love with his eyes, eyes that could see into people’s souls, at least see deep enough that he always knew the right things to say when he was campaigning.
“I’m okay now, John, just a sore throat and my stomach feels hollowed out.”
“I’m here to take you home. I was thinking, Nicola, maybe you should just move in with me now. The wedding is in February, so why not speed some things up a bit?”
She hadn’t slept with him. The one night she’d decided she was ready, they were caught making out just outside one of John’s favorite clubs
He’d only given her light pecks on the cheek after that incident.
She said, “If I move in with you, people will find out. Don’t forget what happened before.”
He shrugged. “All right, then. Let’s move up the wedding. How about the end of the month?”
She was silent.
“I want us to begin our life together, Nicola, as soon as possible. I want to make love with you.”
She was still silent.
“I saw you naked, you know. You’re really quite beautiful.”
She smiled up at him as he took her hand, squeezed it lightly. “When did you see me naked?”
“I came over to get you, a couple of weeks ago. I rang the buzzer but you didn’t answer. I had a key, and so I let myself in. I heard the shower, and I watched you step out and dry yourself. You didn’t know I was there. I don’t know why I’m telling you this now, except to say I’d like to see you that way again. I’d like to lick you all over, Nicola.”
Maybe it was because she still felt utterly empty inside, but she didn’t say what she probably would have said with a smile two weeks before
“I’m very tired, John. Really, too tired to even think straight. I want to go home, lie in my own bed, get myself back together. Then we can talk about it. Did the doctor say anything more to you? About the food poisoning?”
“After speaking to each of us extensively, we figured out that only you had the raspberry vinaigrette dressing.”
“Dressing can cause food poisoning?”
John shrugged. “Would you like me to come back and take you home?”
Before she could say anything, one of John’s aides appeared in the doorway. “Senator, excuse me, but there’s a call from the mayor. He’s looking to speak to you.”
“Go, John. I’ll be all right.”
He leaned down, kissed her cheek. “You’re so pale,” he said, and lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Shall I get you a bit of lip gloss from your purse?”
She nodded.
She watched him walk to the small table on the opposite side of the hospital room, open her purse, and pick up the lip gloss. He looked at it, frowned. “It’s really light,” he said. “You need something to make you look healthier.”
“I’ll put on some colorful stuff when I get home. Will I see you later?”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve got a meeting with a very important lobbying group tonight. I put off my lunch with the mayor so I could grab a little time to come see you. Albia is coming by to take you home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She watched him walk out, tall, slender, so very elegant. Interestingly enough, he ranked nearly as high with male as with female voters. She heard the buzz of voices surrounding him, disappearing finally down the hall.
Albia arrived two hours later, sweeping into her room, two nurses behind her, not to chastise, but to bow and scrape and give her anything she asked for. Albia had that effect on people. She was a princess, well, perhaps now that she was in her fifties, she was a queen. She was regal. She was so self-confident, so self-assured, that sometimes even John would back down in the face of a single word from his sister’s mouth. She had been his hostess before he married Cleo, and then after she ran off with Tod Gambol. She was an excellent campaigner. It was rare that a reporter would ever ask her an impertinent question.
“Albia,” Nicola said.
Albia Rothman leaned down, kissed Nicola’s cheek. “Poor little girl,” she said. “This is so awful. I’m so very sorry.” She ran her finger over Nicola’s cheek.
“It was hardly your fault, Albia.”
“That doesn’t lessen my being sorry that it happened during my birthday dinner.”
“Thank you.”
Albia straightened, walked to the window, and looked out toward Lake Michigan. “This is a very nice room. John didn’t even have to insist. You were brought here right after they released you from the emergency room.” She looked at Nicola, then away again. Albia was a very tactile person, and now she was running her hand over the drapes, less institutional than in most of the rooms that had drapes, but still.
“I’ve had food poisoning before, Albia. This wasn’t like that other time.”
A sleek eyebrow went up a good inch. “Oh? How very odd. I suppose this sort of thing can affect a person in different ways.”
“I’m just having trouble understanding what I ate that could have caused it.”
“I see. Do you wish to pursue it any further then?”
Nicola wanted to pursue it all the way to the moon, if necessary, but she knew when something simply wasn’t possible. She shook her head.
Albia pulled a chair close to Nicola’s bed and sat down. She crossed her legs, quite lovely legs, sheathed in stockings and three-inch black Chanel heels.
“John tells me that he wants to marry you as soon as possible. He reminded me about that car that almost hit you, and now this. He wants you safe and sound, and to a man-to John-that means you’re in his house, in his bed, and he’s looking after you. When he’s there, that is.”
And Nicola said, without hesitation, “I don’t know, Albia. I don’t think I’m ready to rush things.”
“What is this? John is an excellent catch. He has more women chasing him-both here and in Washington-and he is charming to all of them, but it’s you he wants. And that is a miracle, to my mind.”
“A miracle? Why?”
“He loved Cleo so very much, loved her nearly to the point of obsession. When she ran away, I thought he would simply shut down he was so devastated. I was very worried about him, for months on end.”
“I remember. I felt so very sorry for him, all of the staff did as well as the volunteers.” Nicola remembered how stoic he appeared whenever anyone mentioned his wife’s name, how stiff and remote he became.
Albia said, shaking her head, her voice incredulous, “To think that Cleo actually ran off with Tod Gambol. Sure, he was something of a hunk, a lot younger than John, but for her to want him more than John, well, it still doesn’t seem possible to me.”
“I wonder where they are,” Nicola said. “It’s been three years and still no word?”
