Call My Name (9 page)

The jangle of the telephone echoed in every cell of Daran’s being. There was no excuse for ignoring it. Amber eyes fell with reluctance on the offending instrument as a slim and unsure hand reached for it. Mercifully it was Glen Roberts.

“Daran, Lois just informed me that she was going to do some late shopping tomorrow, since I have to work. How about joining me for a bite to eat before the meeting?”

Relief mixed with pleasure in her response. “That sounds great, Glen. Where should I meet you?”

“Why don’t you drive to my office, then we can take it from there. About six?”

“Fine.”

It was a simple enough exchange of words. Only when she thought back on it later did Daran begin to wonder. An hour-and-a-half bite to eat before the meeting—it could mean only one thing. Glen, too, was bidden by curiosity to hear of her meeting with Senator Andrew Charles. It seemed that everyone was smitten with the man and his power. Everyone, that was, except Daran.

Daran gathered her things together and left immediately for the hospital, bent on pushing the devil from her mind by an afternoon of intent concentration on the private patients she would be seeing. The tactic worked. Yet the problem remained, as she was quick to discover on her return to the college later that afternoon.

“Daran?” The bright smile of the department chairman, Hamilton Brody, emerged from behind the half-closed door of her office soon after she entered it. “Can I speak with you for a minute?” The robust figure moved forward; response was unnecessary.

Daran liked Hamilton. Not only was he well-read, well-spoken, and well-respected in the field, but it had been his firm recommendation that the school hire her in the first place. The two had gotten along from the start. A warm smile lit her face in the belated invitation which words had not offered. “Sure, Ham. I always have time for you. You know that.” A good twenty years older than Daran, the man’s surprising shyness brought out a certain protective instinct in her, one which softened her response to him all the more. In the short time she had known him, he had become a kind of father figure, appealing for both his brilliance and his reserve.

An apologetic smile twisted his lips to the side of his round, ruddy face. “They’re after
me
, now, Daran. You’ve got to get back to them!”

“What are you ever talking about?” Nervously she fingered the corner of her blotter; already she suspected the answer.

“The senator’s office—they’ve been calling all day. That fellow, Stanley Morrow, can be very persistent. He wants to speak with you as soon as possible.”

A long, slow breath filtered through Daran’s lips as she sought to control her temper. “I’m sorry, Ham. There was no need for you to be bothered.” Eyes studied the soft cuff of her pink blouse as it edged from the sleeve of her tan blazer, hiding as much as possible from her companion the dilemma she faced. He, too, however, was curious.

“I know that you had a meeting with the senator on Saturday about the Child Advocacy Project and his Rights of Minors Act. What is it they want now?”

“I only wish I knew.” The words escaped on impulse. Daran shot a quick glance at the man opposite her before lowering her eyes once more. “He wants me to do some work for him in Washington this summer. I assume that’s what this Morrow is calling about.” Whether her earlier slip had been covered, she did not know. Quickly she chattered on. “I’ve had a hectic day and it’s far from over. I’ll give this fellow a ring in a few minutes; if he’s not in, I’ll just have to speak to him in the morning.”

Hamilton Brody shook his head gently from side to side. “He won’t like that. It sounded as though his patience was beginning to wear thin when he called me just before you came in.”

Daran’s own patience waned. “That’s his problem, not ours. I’m only sorry that he disturbed you. I will try him now, Ham. Thanks for tipping me off. These politicians and their aides can be royal pains at times.”

A gray-tipped eyebrow, bushy in contrast to his bald head, rose in surprise. “You sound as if you’ve had prior experience.”

Relaxation had always been natural with this gentleman; today was no exception. “My stepfather has been into politics for years. You could say I was weaned on it.”

“Does he hold office now?”

Dark waves bobbed about her shoulders as she shook her head. “No. As a matter of fact, he has never been the office-holder, merely the man behind who pulls the strings.” Her smile succeeded in softening the harsh implication of her words. “He is a major fundraiser for the state committee back in Ohio. I’m really very proud of him. His hard work behind the scenes has resulted in much of the progressive action in the state over the last years.”

“And now you’re following in his footsteps?” The soft voice and its words startled her. Was this eminent psychologist correct in his analysis? Is that what she herself was doing with her own work—and those press interviews which she was fast coming to regret?

“No, sir!” It was a vehement denial aimed as much at herself as at Hamilton Brody. Yet she was to spend much time pondering the possibility in the days ahead.

Mercifully Stanley Morrow was not in his office when she finally got around to calling later that afternoon. Soon after, she left the office to catch a light supper before crossing the campus to attend a rescheduled class of the modern-dance group that she had joined several months earlier. The exercise was potent medicine for her taut muscles, the pleasant company of the ten other women equally as restorative. When several of them invited her to a local coffee house for a snack after the class, she gladly accepted. Ranging in occupation from housewife to fashion designer, her fellow dance enthusiasts were an interesting and diversionary group. The time they spent around the small, dark corner table passed all too quickly for Daran, whose days were so packed with work that she rarely made time for the cultivation of leisure friendships. Here, however, she was accepted as one of the group, and she opened up accordingly, offering her share of anecdotes of on-campus happenings, joining the others in hysterical laughter at someone else’s light-hearted rejoinder. Reassured by the prospect of seeing these women next week on Wednesday night, she finally dragged herself from the warm group and headed home.

The face of her watch read eleven o’clock when, back in Simsbury, she closed her front door behind her. Exhausted, she fell promptly into a sound sleep, blissfully ignorant of the repeated peal of her telephone while she had been out, and equally as ignorant of the caller who grew more and more impatient. It was only natural, therefore, that his entrance the following morning would be an exaggerated one.

It was barely 8:45. Sipping slowly at a cup of hot coffee, Daran ran through some notes for her morning class, enjoying the relative quiet of her office at this hour. Absently she traced the large curve of an earring as she leaned back in her seat, a soft smile on her face. Academia rushed nowhere; aside from those of her colleagues who had early classes, the rest straggled in to the department in random and unpredictable sequence. Daran was the odd one of the bunch, up early and at her desk, running from appointment to appointment, cramming her days full. She was a doer; perhaps Hamilton Brody had been right in his analysis of her.

The muffled sound of voices, growing louder and more distinct by the minute, a steady drum roll approaching with frightening speed, brought her back from her musings. The slender body straightened instinctively. Amber eyes shot to her door as it opened to reveal a group of no less than four people, three men and one woman, poised on the threshold. The fact that she had never laid eyes on any one of them was irrelevant; Daran knew immediately who they were.

“Dr. Patterson?” the man in front, the leader-apparent, began. “I’m Stanley Morrow. I manage the Hartford office of Senator Charles. May we come in?” He was good-looking and tall, the most impressive of the group, yet Daran suspected, in the instant, that this one would have paled sadly had the senator, himself, been around.

As though buoyed by this thought in her imminent discourse with his underling, Daran found the composure she needed. “By all means, please do.” Her eye skimmed the other three for a brief and cursory instant, during which she assumed them to be local staffers, from the uniform crispness of their dress and the aura of gameful participation which suffused their bright features. This other was, for the time being, their overseer, and they seemed perfectly happy to function beneath his whip. The others now made themselves more evident, following the forefinger that ordered them, silently but definitively, to follow him into the small office. Daran could not contain her amusement when the last of the four, the woman, slithered gracefully behind the others to the side of the room. It was as though each was to study her closely while the leader spoke. But it was Daran, emboldened, strangely, by the more intimate time she had spent with the senator several nights before, who spoke first.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Morrow? I’m sorry I’ve missed your calls. Unfortunately my schedule is particularly hectic at this time of year.”

It became immediately clear to her that the man did not forgive her even one of those futile phone calls. His annoyance was etched in the muscles which tightened at his jaw, and in the taut band of skin on either side of his nose. But control was the thing in his line of work.

“You are, indeed, a difficult woman to reach. But,” he quipped with a pasted smile that failed to move beyond the harsh curve of his mouth, “if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain, as the saying goes…” His words trailed off, those unspoken ones well taken. Daran ignored them; she could play the game as well.

“What can I do for you?” she repeated gently.

“Senator Charles insisted that we keep in touch with you on the Rights of Minors business. He wants you to know that we are here to give you any assistance you may need in researching or compiling your position paper.” His use of the we was token, as the others appeared unable to speak, move, or do anything besides stare at her.

“That’s a very kind offer.” She thanked him, purposely including the others in the spread of her vision. “But I believe I can handle everything myself. My own thoughts are quite well-formulated on the issue of children’s rights; it’s what I work with so much of the time.” The invasion was beginning to irk her, knowing as she did of the forty-odd students who would be awaiting her arrival in the lecture hall within the next five minutes. “I do appreciate your gesture. If there’s anything I can think of for you to do, I’ll give you a call.” Would they take the hint and leave?

She had made the mistake of taking Stanley Morrow at face value. Obviously he had more on his mind than a simple offer of his assistance. “One other thing, Dr. Patterson. I know that you must be busy right now—” the gist of his lip service fell flat beneath the hardness of his glance “—but I would like to mention the press. Watch out for them. They can be quite skillful in turning words around to most powerfully attract attention. If you would like, I could easily arrange to be with you whenever you meet with the press on this issue.”

At last the purpose of his visit was clear. Anger welled within her, but was barely hidden by the thin mask of indulgence when she finally responded. “Again, I appreciate your concern. I believe that I know what to expect from the press. Actually, so far, they have interpreted my comments quite accurately.” The smug grin that had made its appearance quickly disappeared as she went on more soberly. “If you are asking that I restrain my criticism of Senator Charles, I’m afraid I cannot comply. I do believe very strongly that his bill is a beginning; it’s up to people like me to convince the senator to take it further.” The hardened expression on the face opposite her told her that her assumption had been correct; he had come to mollify her. The only thing that riled her more at that moment was the thought that Andrew Charles had put him up to it.

“In the end, Dr. Patterson, your own cause could be hurt if its image becomes one of extremism.” The warning note in his voice was unmistakable.

Incensed, she stood silent for a moment. Then, with a deliberateness born of years in the political arena, she began to gather up the books and papers for her class. “If that is a threat, Mr. Morrow,” she ventured calmly, “I will just have to risk it. My cause is a good one; I’m prepared to fight for it. Now, you’ll have to excuse me—” she gestured with an impulsive shooing motion toward the door “—I’ve got to leave. My class begins in—” her arm brought its watch into view “—two minutes. I’d rather not be late.”

Reluctantly the group parted to let her through. There were no trite words of farewell to follow her down the hall; neither did she offer anything herself. It was all she could do to curb her irritation and make her exit as smooth as she willed it. The composure was all at surface level; beneath, annoyance reigned.

It was not to be eased when, later that day, the inevitable showdown came with Glen Roberts. In his own gently forceful way, he would be put off no longer. Hedging wherever possible, Daran related to him the brief course the meeting had taken that Saturday as well as the unexpected and unwelcome visit of the troops that morning. Noticeably absent in her report was any mention whatsoever of that other encounter, the one at her home on Saturday night. Her justification was that it had had nothing to do with either the Rights of Minors Act or her Child Advocacy Project. In reality, it had not, and that fact continued to perplex her.

Respite from contact with Senator Charles was elusive. Wednesday morning the calls from Stanley Morrow resumed. This time, and with as much curtness as she could get away with, Daran returned the call promptly, floored by the pert demands—politely phrased as requests—for her resume, a short bio on her, and a photograph.

“What on earth do you need a picture for?” she had asked in dismay. Against her will, it sounded as though she was getting herself deeper into something by the minute, though that something was a mystery to her.

The voice on the other end of the line had been suitably patronizing. “Oh, it’s just a formality. We like to have these things on file, should we need them at some point. And particularly with a woman as attractive as you are, the publicity never hurts.”