on?
Why hadn't she gotten it? Or had she, but was too afraid to act on it. Was she stupid, or was she a coward? Whatever, the result was the same. No help could be expected from that quarter.
Vanessa had thought herself clever to use the reporter as a vessel. The idea had hatched when she'd spotted Barrie
EXCLUSIVE 53
at a recent press conference on the east lawn. Wasn't she the one who'd broken the story of Supreme Court Justice Green's "death"? Wasn't it she who'd asked an incredibly dumb question at a press conference that had caused a spontaneous burst of laughter?
Barrie Travis's poor credibility had made her a perfect choice for Vanessa's purposes, which was to drop a few hints to an irresponsible reporter, someone who would get the ball rolling, would begin asking questions that seemed outlandish at first, but to which the important players eventually would seek answers. If Vanessa had planted the seeds of her story with one of the network heavyweights, she would have been dangerously exposed. This way, it would get out, but not directly through her.
Or so she had hoped. Obviously, Barrie Travis had been a poor choice. She wasn't only reckless, she was brainless.
So where could she turn next?
Out of habit, Vanessa reached for her telephone.
"Hi, Daddy."
"Hello!" the senator said. "I was going to call you later. How're you doing?"
"Fine."
"Quiet evening at home?"
"David's making a speech to some labor union convention. I forget where."
"Want me to come over and keep you company?"
"No, but thanks." She couldn't drink as much when her father was around.
"You shouldn't be alone, sweetheart."
"David's coming back tonight. It'll be late, but he promised to wake me."
After a pause, during which she could envision her father's steep frown, he said, "Maybe you should go back to
54 Sandra Brown
your gynecologist. See if he can give you some hormones or something." He attributed all female ailments to a hormonal imbalance.
"That would hurt George's feelings."
"Screw George and his feelings," the senator boomed. "We're talking about your health here. George is a nice guy, and I assume he's a competent physician for routine stuff like bellyaches and flu shots. But you need a specialist. You need a psychiatrist."
"No, Daddy. No, I don't. Everything is under control."
"Losing little Robert has thrown your whole system out of kilter."
Vanessa took a sip of wine to deaden the sharp pain of remorse that his words sent through her. "David wouldn't approve. The First Lady can't have a shrink."
"It can be handled confidentially. Besides, who'd think badly of you for getting some help when you need it most? I'll talk to David about it."
"No!"
"Baby-"
"Please, Daddy, don't worry him. I'll get through it. It's just going to take me a little more time than we thought."
She had learned at the knee of the master, Senator Cletus Armbruster, how to practice politics. By the time they said good night, she had his promise not to confront David about her health.
To calm herself, she washed down another Valium with her wine, then floated into the bathroom and changed into a nightgown and robe. Propped up in bed, she tried to attend to some personal correspondence, but she couldn't control her fountain pen. She tried to read the new bestseller that had everybody talking, but she found it difficult to focus her eyes and make sense of the words. She was about to give up and turn out the lamp when someone
EXCLUSIVE 55
knocked on her door. She got out of bed and crossed the room.
"Vanessa?"
She opened the door. "Hello, Spence."
"Were you asleep?"
"I was reading." Spence never failed to rattle her. She ran her fingers through her hair. "What do you want?"
"The President asked me to check on you."
"Really?" she said sarcastically.
"He regretted having to leave you alone tonight."
"Why should tonight be any different?"
Spencer Martin's eyes didn't even flicker. It took a lot more than impertinence to provoke him.
Why hadn't she gotten it? Or had she, but was too afraid to act on it. Was she stupid, or was she a coward? Whatever, the result was the same. No help could be expected from that quarter.
Vanessa had thought herself clever to use the reporter as a vessel. The idea had hatched when she'd spotted Barrie
EXCLUSIVE 53
at a recent press conference on the east lawn. Wasn't she the one who'd broken the story of Supreme Court Justice Green's "death"? Wasn't it she who'd asked an incredibly dumb question at a press conference that had caused a spontaneous burst of laughter?
Barrie Travis's poor credibility had made her a perfect choice for Vanessa's purposes, which was to drop a few hints to an irresponsible reporter, someone who would get the ball rolling, would begin asking questions that seemed outlandish at first, but to which the important players eventually would seek answers. If Vanessa had planted the seeds of her story with one of the network heavyweights, she would have been dangerously exposed. This way, it would get out, but not directly through her.
Or so she had hoped. Obviously, Barrie Travis had been a poor choice. She wasn't only reckless, she was brainless.
So where could she turn next?
Out of habit, Vanessa reached for her telephone.
"Hi, Daddy."
"Hello!" the senator said. "I was going to call you later. How're you doing?"
"Fine."
"Quiet evening at home?"
"David's making a speech to some labor union convention. I forget where."
"Want me to come over and keep you company?"
"No, but thanks." She couldn't drink as much when her father was around.
"You shouldn't be alone, sweetheart."
"David's coming back tonight. It'll be late, but he promised to wake me."
After a pause, during which she could envision her father's steep frown, he said, "Maybe you should go back to
54 Sandra Brown
your gynecologist. See if he can give you some hormones or something." He attributed all female ailments to a hormonal imbalance.
"That would hurt George's feelings."
"Screw George and his feelings," the senator boomed. "We're talking about your health here. George is a nice guy, and I assume he's a competent physician for routine stuff like bellyaches and flu shots. But you need a specialist. You need a psychiatrist."
"No, Daddy. No, I don't. Everything is under control."
"Losing little Robert has thrown your whole system out of kilter."
Vanessa took a sip of wine to deaden the sharp pain of remorse that his words sent through her. "David wouldn't approve. The First Lady can't have a shrink."
"It can be handled confidentially. Besides, who'd think badly of you for getting some help when you need it most? I'll talk to David about it."
"No!"
"Baby-"
"Please, Daddy, don't worry him. I'll get through it. It's just going to take me a little more time than we thought."
She had learned at the knee of the master, Senator Cletus Armbruster, how to practice politics. By the time they said good night, she had his promise not to confront David about her health.
To calm herself, she washed down another Valium with her wine, then floated into the bathroom and changed into a nightgown and robe. Propped up in bed, she tried to attend to some personal correspondence, but she couldn't control her fountain pen. She tried to read the new bestseller that had everybody talking, but she found it difficult to focus her eyes and make sense of the words. She was about to give up and turn out the lamp when someone
EXCLUSIVE 55
knocked on her door. She got out of bed and crossed the room.
"Vanessa?"
She opened the door. "Hello, Spence."
"Were you asleep?"
"I was reading." Spence never failed to rattle her. She ran her fingers through her hair. "What do you want?"
"The President asked me to check on you."
"Really?" she said sarcastically.
"He regretted having to leave you alone tonight."
"Why should tonight be any different?"
Spencer Martin's eyes didn't even flicker. It took a lot more than impertinence to provoke him.
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