‘What do you mean, “straight-line guy”? That sounds stuffy.’
‘Not at all. It’s one of your. . . charms. You get right to it, no fussing around. Now most men would have brought me out here, wined me, had a little dinner catered in a pretty picnic basket, made love to me all night, then made their little farewell speech two minutes before we docked. You gave it to me before we even got out of the harbour. And I like that about you. The only problem is, you’ve been acting like a little boy who did something wrong ever since.’
‘Well I —,
‘It’s not guilt. Guilt is not one of your problems.’
‘I guess I figured, when you close the door it isn’t fair to climb back in the window.’
‘How about me? How about the way I feel?’
He drew her closer to him, his fingers searching the jacket, feeling her nakedness under it. He remembered a time in Virginia, one of the first times she stirred feelings in him he thought he had lost forever. His hand moved around her and up until he felt the curve of her breast and she turned slightly so it rested against his palm.
Out beyond the cove a foghorn sounded, its mournful tune going sour at the end of the bleat.
‘That’s old Jerry Stiliman’s tugboat,’ Hotchins said. ‘That foghorn’s had a frog in its throat since I was a kid.’
‘You know what, Hotch? I knew you were going to be a good lay the first time I ever saw you.’
‘Oh?
The remark startled him. Her uninhibited observations always caught him off-guard. He laughed and said, ‘You mean, you thought about bedding me down the first thing? Right in the middle of a cocktail party?’
She thought about that night. She had seen his picture in the newspaper, seen him on television, and had wondered about him the way any woman wonders about a man of prominence. It was Victor who had introduced them.
‘Want to meet the next president?’ he had asked her.
‘Of what?’
‘The United States.’
Now who could turn down an invitation like that? Of course she wanted to meet him. There had been a fund- raising dinner to save the historic old Fox Theatre, with a private cocktail party beforehand.
‘He is a lonely man,’ DeLaroza had told her casually.
‘Does it show?’
‘Only to those who know him. The public sees only what he wants it to see.’
‘Bad marriage?’
‘Typical. He married a small-town glr1 when he was quite young. She has not kept up. She is uncomfortable in the political arena.’
‘Suicide,’ she had said. ‘She better get used to it.’
‘Too late.’
She had been overwhelmed by his personal charm, a charisma that television never adequately captured. He was commanding, charming, friendly but formal, and she had watched him from across the room. Several times she had caught him staring back at her.
Thinking back on it, she knew now that it had been more than just Hotch. She had known commanding, charming, friendly, and formal men before, but never one who was going to run for president. It had been a challenge, no question about it. Yes, there had definitely been a challenge there.
What had Victor said? ‘ You are attracted by power.’ No, she thought, not really. She had known from the beginning that the benefits of power would be denied to her. From the beginning she had been a closet mistress. Nothing would ever have changed that. And there had been affection. But love? No, that was the delusion.
And so she too was relieved that it was over.
‘Hey,’ he said, snapping her back to the present.
‘Hey yourself.’
‘I said, did you really think about bedding me down right there in the middle of that cocktail party?’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t I what?’
‘Think about laying me the first thing?’
‘Jib no, but —,
‘But you would now?’
‘I’ve got prior knowledge now.’
‘Hotch, if you met me in a restaurant right now, for the first time, what is the first thing that would go through your mind?’
‘You win.’
‘Thank you. Now you understand. I looked across the room at you and I said to myself “He’s going to be great in bed.”’
‘Why did you think that?’
‘I saw your hunger. Not for me, not for any other woman in the room. But you were hungry. And a powerful, hungry man is a powerfully good lay.’
He turned and looked down at her. The jacket had fallen open and he could see her breasts swelling against the cloth.
‘Did I disappoint you?’
‘Of course not. It was fun, like waking up a sleeping tiger. Oh, you were a little shy at first, but...’
She smiled and let the sentence drift away in the fog, then after a few moments she said, ‘You’ve been a very good lover.’
More silence. She moved again, this time against him, and he could feel the heat from her body through the jacket.
‘How long have we been lovers?’ he said.
‘Seven months this Thursday.’
‘Have you been marking the calendar?’
‘I never forget good things. It’s a lesson I learned from my dad. If you don’t expect anything from the world, everything you get is a surprise. And that makes the really good things that much better.’
‘He must’ve been a very wise man.’
‘Nope, he never kept a promise in his life. But . . he made some beauties, so he also taught me the value of dreaming.’
‘That’s a very generous way of putting it. What was he like?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘You know, we’ve known each other for seven months and I don’t know a damn thing about your life away from me? I don’t even know your real name.’
‘You don’t like Domino?’
‘Well it always struck me as a bit melodramatic.’
‘Intriguing. I like intriguing. It’s a much better word.’
‘Okay, intriguing.’
‘Good. And that’s the way we’ll keep it.’
‘1, uh, I feel . . .‘
She sensed the awkwardness in his voice and held a finger to his lips.
‘Shh,’ she said. And then: ‘I want to make love to you. Right now. Because it’s something we both enjoy and because I find you most appealing out here like this and because I’m horny as hell.’
She made a sound in her throat and moved a hand up his leg, sliding her fingers down the inside of his thigh. He turned towards her and kissed her arid she reached up between their mouths with two fingers and squeezed his lips very lightly between them, and his mouth opened and their tongues touched, flirted with each other, and she moved against him, very lightly, so he could feel the fullness of her. She slid one leg up over his lap, drew her mouth away from his, and lay her head against his chest. Then she took the zipper of his jacket between her teeth and very slowly moved her head down, unzipping it almost to the waist. Then, raising her head, she kissed him again and this time both their jackets were open and as they kissed she moved her breasts lightly against him and he felt her hard nipples caressing his chest.
He was totally captivated by her, the thought of having her was dizzying to him. He felt her hand touch him and felt himself responding. He reached up, stroked her face and throat, gradually widening the circle his hand was making until it brushed her nipple. And then he knew she was already starting the build-up and at that moment Hotchins realized fully what his obsession to become president had cost him.
Chapter Seventeen
The Majestic Grill was an obscure and unrecognized landmark that had endured on the same Street corner since 1934, oblivious to the changes that had occurred around it. The shoe repair shop beside it had become .a magazine store which had become a head shop which had become a natural food store which was now a pinball parlour; the theatre up the Street had declined from first runs to double features to porn; and if the Majestic was a monument to early Thirties style, the hotel across the street was a sixstorey monument to Early Nothing architecture. It had been boarded up for years. But the Majestic never changed. It had resisted time and transition, catering to a clientele that defied demography or caste. A bum nursing a cup of coffee received the same curt service as a college president.