No More Lonely Nights (52 page)

“Ah, Madame Filmore, thank you so much for coming.” The brunette presented a graciously outstretched hand. “I am Michelle de la Croix.” The wife of the French ambassador.

Dominique liked her for not using her title of Countess. She smiled as the woman turned to her.

Mrs. Filmore put a maternal hand on Dominique’s arm and said, “This is one of our associates, Dominique Parker. As I told you on the phone, not only is she a former citizen of your own lovely country, but she’s an expert on large galas.”

The Comtesse de la Croix widened her eyes in delight and rattled off a welcoming phrase in French. Dominique replied in the same language, but then switched to English, in deference to her two superiors. However, the comtesse continued to address most of her remarks to Dominique. It was clear that she felt comfortable with her. So did the other ambassadresses, who seemed to recognize in Dominique a person who shared their background. Dominique chatted briefly with the Italian ambassadress in her own language, then won points with the British ambassadress by relating amusing anecdotes of her time with the Royal Air Force.

Mrs. Filmore beamed as she observed the immediate rapport between Dominique and the other women. Sylvia Brussels glowered.

When the presentation was over and the three were back in Mrs. Filmore’s car, the older woman said in her usual understated way, “I believe we’ll get that account.” She gave Dominique a kindly pat on the hand.

And it turned out to be true.

More surprising was the announcement at the staff meeting a few days later that Dominique would be in charge of the event. Until then, Sylvia had assigned Dominique to work under a supervisor, clearly not trusting her to perform on her own. So when Mrs. Filmore announced the new assignment—while Sylvia looked on with an expression that held a blend of challenge and cunning—Dominique’s joy was tinged with apprehension.

“I can’t afford to make a mistake,” she confided to Felice over lunch. They had taken a break from the office to go to the Greenery, a stylish restaurant of blond wood and ferns that specialized in vegetarian fare. The dusky-eyed woman nodded understandingly as she munched on her salad.

Dominique stabbed a piece of raw broccoli and regarded it with distaste before she bit into it. She wasn’t fond of broccoli, but it satisfied her appetite. Thanks to her careful regimen, she now weighed less than she had when she’d married Clay. Her new slenderness suited her, emphasizing her high cheekbones and large eyes.

Felice took a sip of water and said, “You just watch your back.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And lock your desk.”

Dominique’s eyebrows shot up. “Lock my desk? Are you saying that Sylvia would actually go through it?” She shook her head with incredulity. “Why? What could she possibly be looking for?”

Felice shrugged. “Fishing expedition. She does it to everyone. She makes such a big deal about coming in on weekends and working late—you know, the whole martyr thing—but half the time I think she’s searching through people’s desks.”

“What could she possibly find?’ Dominique asked, truly bewildered.

“You’d be surprised what people keep in their desks,” Felice said knowingly. “Résumés, past-due work, letters about problems that might have come up with a job,… lots of stuff.”

Dominique still couldn’t believe it. She had never in her life read another person’s mail, much less searched through their things. “How can you be sure she’s doing it?”

Felice gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “She makes no bones about it. If she finds something incriminating, she confronts the person with it. Makes up some feeble excuse about why she was looking through the desk. A woman got fired last year because Sylvia found an old bill from the caterer stuck in the desk drawer. The caterer had been complaining about not being paid, and the woman claimed to have submitted the bill to accounts payable. It’s true that she made a mistake, but it would have been resolved. Then Sylvia found the bill and went crazy. Called her at home and fired her.”

The story depressed Dominique. It was impossible for her to understand the motivations of a person like Sylvia. Why was she so sour? “I can’t believe Mrs. Filmore supports this kind of behavior.”

Felice shook her head. “Who’s going to tell her? If someone does something wrong and Sylvia catches them, what do they possibly gain by confessing it to Mrs. Filmore?” She paused, then added, “Sylvia’s tough on everyone, but she really has it in for you. If she could catch you in a mistake…” She didn’t finish her sentence, but her ominous tone left no room for misunderstanding.

Dominique sighed. “I do a good job. I don’t understand what she has against me.”

Felice raised her eyebrows. “You don’t?” She let out a short, sardonic laugh, “jealousy, pure and simple.”

“But she’s my boss! And Mrs. Filmore seems to have complete faith in her. Depends on her to run the office… everything. Why should she be jealous of me?”

Felice gave Dominique a look of exasperation. “You’re being dense. Don’t you see? You’re from the same world as Mrs. Filmore. Sylvia Brussels can never fit in like you do. You’ve got style and class and everybody likes you. And one day you just turn up on Sylvia’s doorstep.” Felice threw up her hands comically. “Sylvia hires
everyone
at Capital Events. But you just turn up.” Her eyes gleamed naughtily and she leaned closer to Dominique. “Can’t you see that Sylvia Brussels is scared to death of you?” Felice giggled, obviously enjoying the thought.

Dominique turned her hands up in a gesture of appeal. “But I don’t want anything of hers. I’m just grateful to have a job. And if I do well, it’s good for everyone in the firm, including Sylvia.”

“If you say so, but I doubt she sees it that way,” Felice said ominously.

Dominique was silent as she contemplated this. It was disturbing to think that someone she relied upon was hoping for her failure. Finally, she sighed. “Well, I just have to make sure I do a great job.” She paused. “If I can get a good guest of honor—someone really important—that’ll go a long way.”

Felice took a bite of salad and nodded in agreement. “Guest of honor’s the whole thing in Washington. Get a good name on that invitation and no one will dare refuse.”

“You would think an invitation from thirteen embassies would be enough to bring in the entire Congress,” Dominique grumbled.

“You know better than that,” Felice said with a nod of emphasis.

Dominique twisted her mouth into a half-smile and recited in a weary voice. “Right. White House comes first in rank, then important senators and congressmen—”

Felice grinned. “Then big lobbies: American Medical Association, AFL-CIO.”

Dominique laughed. “National Rifle Association!”

“Mmm hmm,” Felice said. “And all the other moneybags. The Harrimans, Mary Lasker,…”

“And then all those lobbyists who take congressmen on junkets. Hunting, golfing,…”

“Hawaii, Bermuda…” Felice said dreamily.

“And finally”—Dominique made a little flourish with her hand—“the embassies.”

The two women burst into laughter.

“So…” Felice put down her knife and fork and leaned her chin on her hand. “You know anyone with clout?”

Dominique patted her mouth with her napkin, then replaced it on her lap. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sure Mrs. Filmore does, but I have a feeling it would be better if I did this on my own.” She met Felice’s inquisitive gaze. “I know one member of the Senate.”

Felice’s face lit up. “An important one?”

“Ye-e-es.” Dominique drew out the word. “He’s chairman of one of the top committees.”

Felice turned her hands up. “Can you get him?”

Dominique looked down and twitched the teaspoon that rested beside her plate.

Felice leaned forward, her palms on the edge of the table. “Well?” she persisted.

Dominique refused to meet her friend’s probing eyes. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in a couple of years.”

“Yeah. So? Were you friends?”

Dominique lifted one shoulder and let if fall. “Sort of. My ex-husband and I had him over a few times. I met him a long time ago. He was host of an event I organized when I was at Orman’s. And I also volunteered for his senatorial campaign. We got to be pretty friendly.”

“Oooh. Juicy!” Felice said with relish. “You mean you had the hots for him?”

“Of course not!” Dominique said more sharply than she intended. She shook her head with rapid little movements. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the long white apron of the waiter. He reached for Dominique’s plate and she was forced to sit back and meet Felice’s eyes. She encountered a sly look.

“So… did he have the hots for you?”

Dominique blushed furiously. “No! I mean… I don’t know. Maybe at first. A little. But he’s married. Well, not any more, but he
was.”
She stopped, aware that she sounded flustered.

Felice gave her a knowing look. She was silent for a moment, then a smirk appeared on her face. “You’re a lousy liar,” she teased.

Dominique wished the hot flush in her cheeks would subside. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin, determined to regain her composure.

Seeing her friend’s discomfiture, Felice erased the smirk from her face. In a more serious tone, she asked, “Who is he?”

“Mark Patout.” Dominique couldn’t keep the pride from her voice. His was an impressive name in Washington. What’s more, he was known for integrity in a city where that quality was rare.

“Mark Patout?” Felice repeated.

“From Louisiana,” Dominique clarified.

Felice widened her eyes. “I
know
who he is. Everyone knows who he is! You’re saying you could get him as guest of honor?”

Dominique turned down her mouth in a Gallic expression of uncertainty. “I don’t know. That’s just it. As I said, we were once friends.”

Felice emitted a short, incredulous laugh. “No wonder you have the hots for him! He’s divorced, powerful, and a hunk! What more could a gal want?”

Dominique’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I never said he was anything more than a friend!”

Felice rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Right.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.” Dominique’s voice softened. “If you’d ever seen my ex-husband, you’d understand why I wasn’t attracted to anyone else.”

“You still carrying a torch for Clay?” Felice asked sympathetically.

“Of course not!” Dominique immediately turned in her seat to hail the waiter. She made a writing motion in the air to indicate that she wanted the check. Then she bent down to pick up her purse.

“Hey…” Felice said softly.

Dominique raised her head.

“Because if you
are
still carrying a torch for him, you’ve got to stop that right away. From everything you’ve said, the guy’s a grade-A jerk.”

Dominique’s impulse to defend Clay was automatic. “Look, he fell in love with someone else, and that hurt me. But he’s a lot better than some ex-husbands. At least he pays for a good school for Gabrielle. And my alimony’s not so bad.”

Felice snapped her fingers in front of Dominique’s face. “Oh, wake up, honey! He’s a millionaire with enough money to support you in comfort for the rest of your life, isn’t he? If he’d done right by you, you wouldn’t be working.”

Dominique shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like to be reminded of the raw deal she’d gotten from Clay. It made her feel foolish. And yet, she had fought back to the best of her abilities. It was just that he—and his attorney—had been planning their strategy for months, maybe even years. And all the while she’d loved and trusted Clay blindly. It was too painful to admit.

“I’d probably go crazy if I didn’t work,” Dominique rationalized. She shook her head. “I never wanted a life of leisure in the first place.”

Felice’s expression turned hard. “That has nothing to do with it and you know it.” She brought her fist lightly down on the table. “You always make excuses for him!”

“I don’t.” Dominique’s voice was defensive. “I just see a lot of divorcees worse off than I.” She paused. “Besides. He’s Gabrielle’s father. It doesn’t help her if I act bitter toward him.” She gave her friend a look of appeal.

Felice swept the air in front of her face with her hand. “You’re too forgiving,” she groused.

Dominique smiled wistfully. “When you have children, you’ll understand.”

“DOMINIQUE!” Mark’s warm, rich voice resounded with pleasure.

“Mark!” Dominique pulled the phone cord away from the kitchen wall and sat down at the little table in front of the window. A bowl of green beans rested there, waiting to be cleaned. But Dominique was too surprised to continue her work. Why had Mark called her at home? She had left only her office number. She swallowed and tried to recover her presence of mind. “Thank you for calling me back so promptly. I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow.”

“Now, would that be any way to treat an old friend, not to mention the best volunteer I ever had?” Mark teased.

Dominique smiled and relaxed. She had expected him to sound more distant, perhaps more self-important. But he had the same ease about him as before—as though his conversation with Dominique were the only demand on his time. “I know you must be busy,” she murmured.

His voice dropped a register. “Don’t be silly,” he chided her gently.

Dominique could hear the smile in his voice. She curled one of her legs under her and leaned back comfortably in her chair. “It’s nice to talk to you again,” she said, meaning it. “I guess you know we’re living here now.”

“We?” Mark’s voice sounded sharp. “Someone told me that you and Clay…” He didn’t finish.

“I meant Gabrielle and Mother and I,” Dominique said hastily.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Mark was the first to speak. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult for you.”

Dominique could feel his sympathy for her. Had his own divorce been as painful? Dominique attempted a light laugh, but it came out sounding abrasive. “It was a shock,” she confessed. “I’m still a little…” She sighed. “It’s hard to get used to.”

“When did you move up here?” Mark asked.

“Late July, right after we finalized the separation agreement.”