Smoke and Mirrors (29 page)

And you'd be right." Rosemary accepted the implicit challenge head-on, as if she refused to insult Jeff by pretending there was no problem. "My father was the biggest good-ol'-boy bigot in
Virginia. The only reason he didn't join the Klan was because he was such a famous drunk they wouldn't take him."

"I can't imagine the Klan turning anybody down on those grounds," Nick said.

If he was trying to lighten the tension he failed. Jeff looked around the circle of sympathetic faces and then fixed an unsmiling stare on Rosemary. "I don't get it. '

"I didn't want to embarrass you," Rosemary said quietly. "But if you insist, I'll make a speech. You gave up a good job to join a campaign that appeared to be doomed from the start. God knows I'm not paying you what you're worth, and if we lose, which is quite possible, you'll be out of a job. You've worked outrageous hours and put up with my tantrums and Joe's rudeness, and tried to keep the peace—"

Jeff stopped her with a brusque gesture and turned away, his face averted. After an aching pause Rosemary went on, "Don't make a big deal of it, Jeff. What the hell, it's not a family heirloom, Pop won it in a poker game. I should apologize for insulting you with a secondhand present. Look at it as a gift from one gambler to another. Or ... or as a token of esteem and affection from a friend."

The voice was the one she used in public, every inflection controlled and skilled. Erin had heard it before, mouthing the common catchwords of modern politics. Even so, she had a lump in her throat and two of the girls were frankly sniffing.

But the one who appeared most affected was Kay. She had participated in the festivities with the pained smile of someone who is ill-adept at friendly foolishness; her gift had been appropriate and unimaginative—a handsome fountain pen. Like all the others, Erin had been focusing on Rosemary and Jeff during the little drama and she was caught by surprise when Kay suddenly rose and blundered out of the room. The silly paper party hat looked grotesque above her strained face and haunted eyes.

10

Erin went to bed
early and dreamed she was trying to climb a tree whose upper branches burned like a giant torch. On the tip-top branch perched Miz Marylou; and though the flames curled all around her, her clothes didn't even smolder and the expression on her plump pink face, as she peered down at her would-be rescuer, was one of amused interest.

Erin found it hard to get back to sleep after that. As she turned and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, the disquieting ideas Nick had planted in her head took on new and more alarming dimensions.

Kay had returned to the commons rooms after only a few minutes, perfectly composed; she had made no reference then or later to her precipitate departure from the party. Erin might have supposed she had imagined the look of strain and horror if there had not been other evidence that something was bothering Kay.

If Rosemary knew the reason for the campaign of harassment, Kay surely must know too. The relationship between the two women was much more complex than Erin had originally supposed; undercurrents of jealousy and resentment blurred what had appeared to be a long-standing, easygoing friendship. But the one thing the two undoubtedly had in common was their familiarity with intimate details of Rosemary's life with Edward Marshall.

Kay must know why these things were happening. Either she knew more than Rosemary, or she was less skilled at concealment. Her reaction to the poppet, her sleepwalking . . . What could have happened to upset her at the birthday party? Something
about the watch? Had it really belonged to Edward, and not to Rosemary's father?

No, that was impossible. Erin didn't doubt that Rosemary could lie like a trooper when she had to—she would never have succeeded in politics without that skill—but not even Rosemary would produce so flagrant a falsehood in the presence of someone who knew the truth. If the watch had been Edward's, though, Kay's reaction would be understandable. She would feel that Edward Marshall's possessions ought to be preserved like holy relics, not given so casually to a mere acquaintance.

Erin rolled over and pounded the pillow. The whole situation was impossible. Perhaps she and Nick were both losing their minds. Infectious insanity . . . Nick was such a smooth talker, he could hypnotize a listener into believing anything he said.

She hadn't mentioned the sleepwalking incident to Nick. Rosemary had asked her not to. It was a confidence not to be violated lightly, especially since she couldn't see that it added anything to their understanding of the problem. So Kay was upset. Nick must know that; he had seen her collapse at the sight of the poppet, he was fully aware of her relationship with Edward and with Rosemary. Why hadn't he suggested spying on Kay? What did he know that she didn't? What did either of them know, in fact?

She finally did fall asleep, but the matter was still on her mind when she woke next morning, and when she heard the soft sounds from the next room she went at once to the door and knocked. That was her job, after all, to be of assistance to Kay.

Kay was sitting on the edge of the bed. She had pulled the sheet around her, and her bra lay beside her on the bed.

Kay's modesty had surprised and annoyed Erin at first; it made the task of helping her dress doubly difficult. She was beginning to understand that a woman may not enjoy baring sagging breasts and lumpy thighs in the presence of a girl who is still some years away from those disasters, and now a certain degree of sympathy tempered her impatience.

"Let me help you with this," she said, picking up the brassiere. "It takes a contortionist to fasten one of the darned things, even with two good hands."

Kay turned her back and let the sheet fall. "Thank you," she
said in a muffled voice. "I've been wearing the ones that fasten in the front, but my—my arthritis is bad this morning, and I couldn't reach. . . . Thank you. I guess I'll wear slacks today. Putting on panty hose is beyond me."

Erin knew better than to offer assistance with the last-named garment. Kay had been crimson with embarrassment the first and only time Erin had smoothed and shaken her into them.

"You look just fine in pants," she said tactfully, turning and plumping up a pillow while Kay got into the pants. "Can I . . ."

Kay submitted to having her blouse and pants buttoned up. "I hate depending on people, ' she grumbled.

"I don't blame you. Surely it won't be much longer, though. "

"I hope not. My hand feels much better."

After Kay had gone downstairs, Erin made a whirlwind toilette and set to work straightening up the rooms. The maids—a fancy title for the two local girls who came in three days a week— had enough to do keeping the rooms on the lower floors clean. She stripped Kay's bed and wrapped the sheets around a bundle of her own clothes that needed washing.

When she entered the commons room with her armful of linens, she found Rosemary with Kay. Dressed for the day in one of her soft pastel suits, the congresswoman leaned forward at an acute angle to avoid dripping coffee on the immaculate white bow at her throat. "Good morning," she said. "What on earth is that?"

"Laundry," Erin said. "Is it okay if I use the machine?"

"Of course. But those look like sheets. You don't have to change the beds; ask Mary to do it."

Kay's lips pursed and she made clicking sounds of disapproval. "Now, Rosemary, you know I've always taken care of my own room. Those shiftless girls barely get through their work as it is. If you ask them to do something extra, they'll sulk and scamp the downstairs rooms. If I could do it myself—"

"I don't mind," Erin said quickly. She hoped to avert an explosion from Rosemary, whose countenance betrayed her annoyance, but she only succeeded in making matters worse.

"You interrupted me, Erin."

"I'm sorry—"

Rosemary banged her empty cup down on the table. At least
she didn't throw it, though she looked as if she would have liked to. "For God's sake, Kay, don't pick on her! It's damned nice of her to do this dirty work; you should thank her instead of lecturing her about her manners!"

Kay did not reply. Eyes lowered, mouth a drooping curve, she radiated hurt feelings. Rosemary drew a long breath. "Sorry, Kay."

"That's quite all right, dear. Better you should shout at me than at a voter."

"Huh," said Rosemary. "We're all a bit edgy. Have you been taking those sleeping pills, Kay?"

"I don't believe in them." Kay's mouth set stubbornly.

"Honestly, Kay! The doctor said—"

"Excuse me," Erin said, and left them to it.

She stopped for a little gossip with Sarah and ended up sitting at the kitchen table pigging out on toast and homemade strawberry jam while she told Sarah how her mother used to make jam every summer—until this last year.

"I worry about her. She just sits around and mopes and feels sorry for herself, and my aunt is no help, she's five years older than Mother, and she loves to run other people's lives for them. She's babying mother instead of encouraging her to take control of her life."

"That's not so easy to do when you've always had somebody to look after you," Sarah said soberly. "There are a lot of women like your mama, Erin, and the men the age of your daddy, they wanted it to be that way."

"You're absolutely right. He did everything for her—balanced the checkbook, took care of the cars, argued with repairmen—and kidded her about how sweet and inefficient she was. She ate it up, she'd giggle and smile at him. ..."

"So she let him do it to her," Sarah said, passing the toast.

"She not only let him, she collaborated with him. She liked being ..." Erin's voice caught. "Being a little girl. Daddy's little girl. Just like me. And I collaborated too, I loved it. Why did it take me so long to see. . . . Sarah, you're a witch. Or a closet psychoanalyst. How did you do that?"

"You're making an awful mess with that piece of toast," Sarah
said. "I didn't do nothing, you did it. Things boil around in your insides long enough, they finally have to come out."

"Poor mother," Erin murmured. She had squeezed the toast in her clenched hand; absently she smoothed it out and took a bite. "What's going to become of her? I should have seen it happening. I should have done something."

"No, I doubt you could have, honey. Sounds like your mama's all right. She's got a roof over her head and enough to eat and somebody to look after her like your daddy did. There's plenty not so well off. You can't change her now. You can't really change anybody, you got to take them the way they are. All you can do is love them."

Erin made a face, and Sarah laughed. "Or hate them. Nothing wrong with some good healthy hate. Just don't waste any on your daddy. He didn't mean to do wrong. He didn't even know he was doing it."

"You scare me sometimes," Erin said with a smile. "You're right; for a while I almost did hate him, without realizing it. I've stopped dreaming about him."

"That's a good sign."

"I think so. And I know it's foolish to waste time regretting what might have been. But I wish I had been more forceful, and more aware those last months of his life. I might have made it easier for him if I had insisted on knowing more about his business affairs. There was something on his mind, I'm sure of it. But whenever I asked him a question, he'd just laugh and—and lie. He was gong to be fine, he'd be on his feet again in no time, no need for me to worry my pretty little head; one of these days I'd find some nice young fellow who would take care of me. . . . Oh, damn it, Sarah, I'm dumping on you, like everybody else around here. Why don't you tell me to shut up?"

"I'll send you my bill," Sarah said placidly.

When Erin opened the kitchen door she saw Kay standing a short distance away. Her face was a trifle flushed, and there was something awkward about her pose, as if she had come to a sudden stop, or had stepped back instead of forward.

"Were you looking for me?" Erin asked.

"Yes. No. ..." Kay's laugh had a strained note. "I've got so
much on my mind I don't know what I'm saying. I came—I came to tell Sarah we are having extra people for supper. And I wanted ... I wondered if you could do a few errands for me later. There's cleaning to be picked up, and a prescription to be filled. ..."

"I can go now, if you like. "

"No! That is . . . the cleaning won't be ready until after noon."

"Whenever you say."

"I'll talk to you later." Kay passed her and went into the kitchen.

Erin tried to remember exactly what she had said to Sarah. If Kay had been eavesdropping . . . But of course she hadn't, Kay wouldn't do such a thing, and anyway she wouldn't have heard anything important. Just family worries, some intensely personal, to be sure, but nothing she need be ashamed of.

It was slightly before noon when Kay called her into the inner office. "I'm leaving for a luncheon appointment," she said. "I'd like you to—"

"Drive you? I'd be glad to."

Kay's forehead creased. "That is a very exasperating habit, Erin. Please allow me to finish my own sentence."

"I'm sorry. I thought you wanted me to run some errands. "

"I've changed my mind." She looked challengingly at Erin. Having been slapped down once, Erin was not about to venture an opinion, but Kay knew what she was thinking. "I am perfectly capable of driving," she said firmly. "What I want you to do is sit here and wait for a call I'm expecting. Actually, I don't believe it will come through today, but there is a possibility that Mr. ..." She hesitated for a moment and then went on, "Mr. Brown will call earlier. Take notes of the information he gives you—"

"Shall I turn on the recorder?"

Kay's frown deepened. "I could do that if I wanted the information recorded. I said, take notes. On paper. Put them into this drawer, and close the drawer. It locks automatically."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kay reached for her suit jacket. Erin moved to help her.

"I apologize," Kay said, her face averted. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"That's all right."

"I have a lot on my mind," Kay said, half to herself. "Make sure that drawer is locked after you close it, Erin. But as I said, it's unlikely the call will come through before I get back."

"I'll make sure."

Kay started for the door. Then she turned. "You understand, I'm sure, that this information is confidential. I don't want you to mention the call to anyone."

"I won't," Erin said shortly.

"Of course not." Kay forced a smile. "You're a good girl, Erin. I have every confidence in you. This information I'm expecting isn't important except—except to me. It's a—a personal matter. Don't even mention it to Rosemary. She has enough on her mind, and I don't want her worrying about my problems. '

"Whatever you say."

After Kay had gone, closing the door carefully behind her, Erin allowed her face to relax. What was that all about? she wondered. Kay's compliments had been as unconvincing as her stammered explanation. She didn't have to explain an order; the very fact that she had done so suggested that there was something peculiar about this task. Erin had no doubt that the call was political in nature and that she had been selected to receive it because she was too ignorant to understand implications that would have been immediately apparent to Christie and the others. The idea only whetted her curiosity.

By one o'clock it seemed unlikely that her curiosity would be satisfied. That was when Nick found her, bursting into the office with an exasperated "What are you doing in here? I looked all over for you. Christie said—"

The phone chose that most inconvenient moment to ring. Erin's hand hovered over the instrument. Then she picked it up, said, "Hold, please," and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. Not only was Nick standing in the doorway, Christie was right behind him, remonstrating with him.

"Nick, you can't go in there; Kay said Erin wasn't to be disturbed till she—"

"Oh, for God's sake, what is this, the War Room at the Pentagon?"

"Five minutes," Erin said, hoping she was right.

The door slammed. Erin made a wry face. At least the caller didn't resent having to wait; from the earpiece came a mellifluous crooning. "Bringing in the sheaves ..." Mr. Brown must be a member of a church choir.

"Hello, " she said.

"Who's this?" asked a gruff male voice.

"Is this Mr. Brown?"

"Yes. Miss Goodrick?"

"This is her secretary," Erin said. "I was instructed to take down the information you have for her."

"She didn't say nothing about a secretary."

"She had to leave for an appointment, and she wasn't really expecting you to call until later."

"So I'm efficient. She told me—"

"See here, Mr. Brown. This number happens to be private and unlisted. Here I am, and there you are; how would I know your name unless Miss Goodrick had told me?"

A gruff chuckle vibrated against her ear. "Okay, sister, it's no skin off my nose anyhow. Got a pencil?"

"Go ahead."

It didn't take long. A few names, a few dates.

"That's all?" Erin asked.

"That's it. I'll send my bill. In a plain envelope like she said." Another hoarse chuckle, and then a click. Mr. Brown had hung up.

Erin looked at the sheet of paper in front of her. It told her nothing. Five first names—two male, three female—eight dates. As she studied them, a pattern began to emerge. Each name was followed by at least one date; these ranged in time from March 19, 1957 to December 10, 1966. All but two names had a second date following the first. And all the second dates were identical: July 4, 1967.