the
house. As always when he was left alone, he had been a slob: Clothes were
strewn everywhere, and an empty pizza box lay on the kitchen table along with
the remains of a bucket of Southern-fried chicken. Disregarding her
admonitions, he had eaten all the wrong foods.
Getting clean sheets and pillowcases, he made the bed, not
without difficulty and with mediocre results. But at least Lily would see his
valiant effort, and she would remake it anyhow. Then he vacuumed the carpets,
tidied up the bathroom, and piled all the rubbish into a plastic bag and put it
into the hallway for collection. Making a mental note to buy a good bottle of
wine and some pâté for a nice welcome-home gesture, he rushed off to the
office. The anticipation of her return made a considerable impact on his
attitude. He felt good. Damned good.
The weather had turned a bit warmer, although the forecast
called for strong winds and possible snow again by morning. Because he wanted
to be home when she arrived, he checked the schedule of the incoming planes
from L.A., assuming she would take the one that arrived by 10:00 P.M.âthe only
sensible one if she was to spend any time at all in L.A. It didn't seem logical
that she would take the "red eye." She had never been able to sleep
on an airplane.
The day was an extremely busy one. The Congressman wanted
changes in a speech he was to deliver on the floor the next day. Edward had to
write the speech himself, while Harvey Mills worked on a press release, all of
which had to be run off and be ready first thing in the morning.
It was nearly eleven o'clock in the evening when his mind
was finally able to focus on anything else.
"Damn."
"What's wrong?" Harvey Mills asked.
"Lily!" He felt awful. How could he have
forgotten?
Quickly, he called home and let the phone ring until he was
sure no one was there. Then he called the airport and found that the plane from
L.A. had arrived on time. If he left now, he might make it home before her.
It was then that he discovered he had forgotten all about buying the wine and
the pâté. She sure is right about me, he thought, rushing to his car and
speeding homeward, feeling waves of guilt and sentiment. He felt unworthy of
her.
There were no lights in the windows, which disappointed
him. He half expected her to be home, irritable and tired, waiting to rebuke
him. Well, he deserved it. Returning home after a long journey to an empty
house was always awful. When he confirmed that she wasn't home, he felt a deep
sense of disappointment. He missed her then, really missed her. Scrounging in
the kitchen, he found a bottle of white wine, put it in the freezer, made some
cheese and crackers, and arranged them in a circular design on a plate. At
least he would make it warm and cozy for her arrival, he thought.
When she did not come by midnight, he called the airport
again and got the same story that the plane from L.A. had already arrived. It
occurred to him that she may have taken the "red eye" after all, but
since she had not called the office to tell him that, he partially rejected the
idea. Then he had second thoughts. She might have called, but someone could
have neglected to give him the message. The office was not exactly a model of
efficiency. He had often encountered that problem.
He called Jan Peters at home. Her voice was hoarse with
sleep, her mind foggy. Ignoring her irritated reaction, he identified himself.
"Well, well..." she cracked in a hoarse voice.
"Sooner or later they respond..."
"Nothing like that, Jan."
"At this hour, what then? My bed is cozy, my instincts
sound."
He ignored the coy enticement.
"Did I get any messages from Lily today?"
"Lily!" The enthusiasm went out of her voice.
"I didn't see any. Maybe Mairy took one." She was referring to the
office receptionist.
"She's flaky most of the time."
"That's unkind."
"Forgetting to give me personal messages." He
felt a growing sense of unreasonable anger, knowing he was reacting
house. As always when he was left alone, he had been a slob: Clothes were
strewn everywhere, and an empty pizza box lay on the kitchen table along with
the remains of a bucket of Southern-fried chicken. Disregarding her
admonitions, he had eaten all the wrong foods.
Getting clean sheets and pillowcases, he made the bed, not
without difficulty and with mediocre results. But at least Lily would see his
valiant effort, and she would remake it anyhow. Then he vacuumed the carpets,
tidied up the bathroom, and piled all the rubbish into a plastic bag and put it
into the hallway for collection. Making a mental note to buy a good bottle of
wine and some pâté for a nice welcome-home gesture, he rushed off to the
office. The anticipation of her return made a considerable impact on his
attitude. He felt good. Damned good.
The weather had turned a bit warmer, although the forecast
called for strong winds and possible snow again by morning. Because he wanted
to be home when she arrived, he checked the schedule of the incoming planes
from L.A., assuming she would take the one that arrived by 10:00 P.M.âthe only
sensible one if she was to spend any time at all in L.A. It didn't seem logical
that she would take the "red eye." She had never been able to sleep
on an airplane.
The day was an extremely busy one. The Congressman wanted
changes in a speech he was to deliver on the floor the next day. Edward had to
write the speech himself, while Harvey Mills worked on a press release, all of
which had to be run off and be ready first thing in the morning.
It was nearly eleven o'clock in the evening when his mind
was finally able to focus on anything else.
"Damn."
"What's wrong?" Harvey Mills asked.
"Lily!" He felt awful. How could he have
forgotten?
Quickly, he called home and let the phone ring until he was
sure no one was there. Then he called the airport and found that the plane from
L.A. had arrived on time. If he left now, he might make it home before her.
It was then that he discovered he had forgotten all about buying the wine and
the pâté. She sure is right about me, he thought, rushing to his car and
speeding homeward, feeling waves of guilt and sentiment. He felt unworthy of
her.
There were no lights in the windows, which disappointed
him. He half expected her to be home, irritable and tired, waiting to rebuke
him. Well, he deserved it. Returning home after a long journey to an empty
house was always awful. When he confirmed that she wasn't home, he felt a deep
sense of disappointment. He missed her then, really missed her. Scrounging in
the kitchen, he found a bottle of white wine, put it in the freezer, made some
cheese and crackers, and arranged them in a circular design on a plate. At
least he would make it warm and cozy for her arrival, he thought.
When she did not come by midnight, he called the airport
again and got the same story that the plane from L.A. had already arrived. It
occurred to him that she may have taken the "red eye" after all, but
since she had not called the office to tell him that, he partially rejected the
idea. Then he had second thoughts. She might have called, but someone could
have neglected to give him the message. The office was not exactly a model of
efficiency. He had often encountered that problem.
He called Jan Peters at home. Her voice was hoarse with
sleep, her mind foggy. Ignoring her irritated reaction, he identified himself.
"Well, well..." she cracked in a hoarse voice.
"Sooner or later they respond..."
"Nothing like that, Jan."
"At this hour, what then? My bed is cozy, my instincts
sound."
He ignored the coy enticement.
"Did I get any messages from Lily today?"
"Lily!" The enthusiasm went out of her voice.
"I didn't see any. Maybe Mairy took one." She was referring to the
office receptionist.
"She's flaky most of the time."
"That's unkind."
"Forgetting to give me personal messages." He
felt a growing sense of unreasonable anger, knowing he was reacting
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