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"It was my decision, too," Tate said, raising his voice. "Now I'm changing my mind."

"Just like that?" Eddy said, snapping his fingers. "With the election only a few weeks away, you want to switch horses in the middle of the stream?"

"No, dammit , that's what they were trying to do!" He shot out of his chair and pointed toward the door through which the two under discussion had passed.

"They wanted to bend and shape me until I wouldn't be recognizable to the voters who have backed me from the beginning. I'd be selling out. I'd be no better than Dekker. Slicker than owl shit. Two-faced. Double-dealing." He was met with a wall of silent opposition from Eddy and his brother.

He turned to Nelson. "Dad? Help me out here."

"Why ask for my help now? You've already let your temper get the best of you. Don't ever get mad, Tate. Get even."

"How?"

"Win."

"By keeping my mouth shut and taking their advice?"

"Unless you feel that you're being compromised."

"Well, that's exactly where I am. I'd rather lose the election being myself than win and know I've had to compromise on everything I stand for. I'm sorry if none of you agrees."

"I'm on Eddy's side," Fancy said, "if anybody's interested in my opinion."

"Nobody is," Jack said to her. "Carole?"

She had refrained from entering the verbal melee. Until Tate asked for her opinion, she intended to withhold it. Now that he had, she raised her head and looked up at him with newly formed intimacy and the wordless communication of lovers.

"Whatever you decide is all right with me, Tate. I'm with you all the way."

"Oh, yeah? Since when?" Jack rounded on Tate. "You talk about compromises. Sleeping with her again is the biggest compromise you ever made, little brother."

"That's enough, Jack!" Nelson bellowed.

"Dad, you know as well as I do that—"

"Enough!When you can control your own wife, you can start criticizing Tate."

Jack glared at his father, then at his brother, then hunched his shoulders and stormed out. Dorothy Rae rose from her chair unsteadily and followed him.

"I guess you'll walk next," Tate said to Eddy in the tense aftermath of their departure.

Eddy smiled lopsidedly. "You know better than that. Unlike Jack, I don't take these things personally. I think you're wrong, but. . ." He gave an eloquent shrug. "We'll know on election day." He clapped his friend on the back. "Guess I'd better go break the bad news to ourformerconsultants." He left; Fancy was hot on his heels.

Zee brought Mandy in. The atmosphere still crackled with animosity. Uneasily, she remarked, "I heard a lot of shouting."

"We got some things sorted out," Nelson said. "I hope my decision is okay by you, Dad."

"As you said, it was your decision. I hope you're prepared to live with it."

"For my peace of mind, that's the way it had to be."

"Then stop apologizing for something that's already done."

"I told Mandy we would walk down to Sundance Square for a while," Zee said, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation. "I don't think it's going to rain anymore."

"I'll come along," Nelson said, scooping the child into his arms, his good humor seemingly restored. "I could use the exercise. And we won't mind if it does rain, will we, Mandy?"

"Thanks for backing me up," Tate said to Avery when they were finally alone. "You haven't always."

"As Jack rudely reminded me."

"He was upset."

"More than that, Tate. Jack despises me."

He seemed disinclined to address that. Perhaps he knew, as Avery did, that Jack didn't like Carole, but he desired her. Maybe Tate ignored that calamitous fact in the desperate hope that it would go away.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked. "Why'd you take my side? Did you feel like it was your wifely duty?"

"No," she said, taking umbrage. "I sided with you because I believe you're right. I didn't like them or their meddling or their advice any better than you did."

It had occurred to her that the men from Wakely and Foster might somehow be connected to the plot to assassinate Tate. That was another reason she was so glad to see the last of them.

After the recent heated discussion, the suite suddenly seemed very quiet. Paradoxically, without all the other people, the parlor seemed smaller, not larger. Their silent solitude pressed in on them.

Avery clasped her hands at her waist. "Well, I—"

"Good of Mom and Dad to take Mandy for a walk."

"Yes, it was."

"She'll enjoy the outing."

"And it'll give you a chance to study your speeches without interruption."

"Hmm."

"Although I don't think you really need to study them."

"No, I feel comfortable about today's schedule."

"That's good."

He contemplated the toes of his boots for a moment. When he looked up, he asked, "Do you think it'll rain?"

"I, uh. . ." She gave the window a cursory glance. "I don't think so, no. It—"

He reached for her, pulled her against him, kissed her neck.

"Tate?"

"Hmm?" He walked her backward toward the sofa.

"I thought, after last night, you wouldn't want. . ."

"You thought wrong."

THIRTY-NINE

"Boo!"

Fancy sprang out from behind the door as soon as Eddy entered his hotel room. He didn't even flinch. "How'd you get in here?"

"I bribed a maid."

"With what?"

"Uncle Tate's jockstrap."

"You're sick."

"Don't ya love it?"

"What's that?" He pointed to a table in front of the large window. It was draped with a white cloth and had two place settings laid out on it.

"Lunch. Crab salad in cute little avocado halves."

"You should have asked me first, Fancy."

"Aren't you hungry?"

"It wouldn't matter if I were. I've only got a minute." He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone. After consulting the piece of scrap paper in his shirt pocket, he punched out the number. "Mr. George Malone, please."

Fancy stood on her knees behind him and ground her pelvis against his spine. "Mr. Malone? This is Eddy Paschal, with the Rutledge campaign. You called?" Eddy ducked his head when she leaned over his shoulder and bit his earlobe.

"Mr. Rutledge's schedule is tight, I'm afraid. What did you have in mind? How many people? Uh-huh."

She kissed his neck, lightly sucking the skin up against her teeth. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Cut it out, Fancy. I'm busy."

Pouting, she flounced off the bed. Moving to the bureau mirror, she paused to plump her hair. Bending at the waist, she flung the thick mane upside down. When she straightened up, she was encouraged to notice that Eddy had been looking at her ass. Facing him with her feet widely spaced, she gathered up her short skirt, flirtatiously raising it an inch at a time.

"How soon do you have to know?"

As Eddy continued to speak smoothly into the telephone, she ran her splayed hands up the fronts of her thighs. Her thumbs met at the red satin triangle covering her pubis. She stroked it once, twice, then peeled the panties off and dangled them in front of his nose.

"I'll speak with Mr. Rutledge and get back to you as soon as possible. In any event, we appreciate your interest. Thank you for the invitation."

He hung up. To Fancy's dismay he brushed past her and went to the bathroom, where he combed his hair and washed his hands.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" she demanded when she joined him.

"Nothing. I'm in a hurry, that's all."

"You're mad because Uncle Tate had you fire those assholes, aren't you?"

"Not mad. I just disagree, that's all."

"Well, don't take it out on me."

"I'm not." He straightened his tie and checked his cuff links.

"Quite a scene this morning, wasn't it? I've never seen Uncle Tate so hot. He's kinda cute when he's in that mood. I love it when a man is on the verge of losing his temper." She slipped her arms beneath Eddy's, reached around him, and pressed her hands against his fly. "That potential violence is so sexy."

"I haven't got time for you now, Fancy." He removed her hands and stepped back into the bedroom.

She flopped down on the bed and watched as he sorted through the papers in his briefcase. He looked so handsome when his brow was furrowed with concentration.

Inspired, Fancy scooted up the bed until her back was against the headboard. She peeled her white cotton sweater over her head and tossed it on the floor beside her discarded panties. Then, left only in her miniskirt and red cowboy boots, she softly called his name. He turned. Slowly, she dragged her tongue over her lower lip and whispered, “Ever had a cowgirl?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," he said blandly. "Last night. In the ass. Or don't you remember?"

Fancy's widespread knees snapped together like the jaws of a sprung trap. She rolled to the edge of the bed, picked up her sweater, and worked it over her head, furiously thrusting her arms into the sleeves.

When she confronted him, her eyes were shimmering with tears. "That wasn't very nice."

"You seemed to think so last night."

"That's not what I meant," she yelled.

Eddy calmly closed his briefcase and picked up the jacket of his suit."Niceis a strange word coming from you." He headed for the door.

She caught his sleeve as he moved past her. "Why are you being so hateful to me?"

"I'm in a hurry, Fancy."

"Then you're not mad?"

He sidestepped her. "I'm not mad."

"Will I see you later?"

"At the rally this afternoon." He patted his pocket to make sure he had his room key, then reached for the doorknob.

She flattened herself against the door. "You know what I mean. Will I see you later?" Smiling seductively, she squeezed him through his trousers.

"Yes, I know what you mean." He brushed aside her caressing hand and opened the door, despite her efforts to keep him from it. "In the meantime, try and stay out of trouble."

As the door closed behind him, Fancy swore liberally. She'd planned an intimate little lunch, then a quick, raunchy tumble. Or, depending on his schedule, a long leisurely afternoon of lovemaking.

So much for that, she thought resentfully. Nobody did or said anything anymore unless it related to the election. She was damn sick and tired of hearing aboutthe election.She would be so glad when it was over and done with so Eddy could concentrate solely on her.

She propped herself against the headboard again and turned on the TV. A soap opera couple were smooching beneath satin sheets. Angry and jealous, she mashed the button on the remote control to switch channels. Geraldo Rivera was refereeing a shouting match between a fundamentalist preacher and a cross-dresser. On another station a group of housewives was sniffing open jars of peanut butter. She went back to the soap opera.

She loved Eddy passionately, but admitted that part of his appeal was his remoteness. She'd known guys who screwed their brains out, literally. The building could fall down around them and they wouldn't know it until after they climaxed.

Not Eddy. His physical performance was excellent, but his mind remained detached from his body. Even the most intimate acts never required emotional involvement from him. His participation was almost that of an observer.

That steely control excited her. It was different, intriguing.

But sometimes she wished Eddy would gaze at her with dopey adoration like the hunky male soap star was gazing into the face of the gorgeous ingenue . His eyes spoke volumes of unqualified love while his lips nibbled her fingertips.

Capturing Eddy Paschal's heart would be a real coup. She would delight in knowing that he couldn't take his eyes off her, that they would hungrily follow her as she moved about a room.

She would love for Eddy to be totally absorbed with her like that.

She would love for him to be absorbed with her the way Uncle Tate was with Aunt Carole.

Dorothy Rae launched her attack while they were sitting in the limousine waiting for the men to rejoin them. One second she was staring docilely out the window at the red, white, and blue bunting flapping in the wind, the next she was hissing at Avery like a she-cat.

"You loved it, didn't you?"

Mandy's head was resting in Avery's lap. The child had become tired and restless at the outdoor rally, so she had returned to the car with her before the program was over. Mandy was asleep now. Dorothy Rae, who had accompanied them back to the car, had been so quiet that Avery had almost forgotten she was there.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked vaguely.

"I said you loved it." .

Her meaning escaped Avery completely. She shook her head in confusion. "Loved what?"

"Loved making Jack look like a fool this morning."

Was she drunk? Avery took a closer look at her. On the contrary, she seemed in desperate need of a drink. Her eyes were clear but had the blazing wildness of someone gone mad. She was wringing a damp Kleenex between her hands.

"How did I make Jack look like a fool?" Avery asked.

"By taking Tate's side."

"Tate is my husband."

"And Jack's mine!"

Mandy was roused, but after opening her eyes once, she fell back asleep instantly. Dorothy Rae lowered her voice. "That hasn't stopped you from trying to steal him away from me."

"I haven't tried to steal him."

"Not lately, maybe," she said, taking a swipe at her leaky eyes with the Kleenex, "but before the crash you did."

Avery said nothing.

"The thing that makes it so despicable," Dorothy Rae continued, "is that you really didn't want him. As soon as he became interested, you spurned him. You didn't care that your rejection crushed his ego. You only wanted to get at Tate by flirting with his brother."

Avery couldn't deny the ugly allegations because they were probably true. Carole wouldn't have had any scruples against having an affair with her husband's brother, or, just short of that, making out like she was open to one. Most of her pleasure would be derived from the disharmony and devastation it would cause within the family. Perhaps that was all part of Carole's scheme to destroy Tate.