Final judgment

THIRTY-FOUR

By the time Mason got back upstairs, the crowd was streaming into the ballroom, people threading their way among the closely packed tables. Abby found him, her eyes wide, breathing like she’d just finished a set of wind sprints.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“Makes us even. I was looking for you until I was buttonholed by another lawyer wanting to talk about a case. She dragged me downstairs to the lobby and held me hostage.”

“She?” Abby asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Jealous?”

“If she wants you, she can have you,” Abby answered, the gleam in her eye exposing the playful lie. “C’mon, I want you to meet someone.”

The head table was set on a raised dais at the front of the ballroom. As Abby led Mason closer he recognized the mayor, a couple of city councilmen, a few state representatives, a congressman, the governor, and Senator Josh Seeley, most of whom were accompanied by their spouses. The highest-ranking office holders were at the center of the table with lesser lights strung out to the end. Patrick Ortiz and his wife were at the end of the table next to the stairs leading up to the stage. Mason clapped him on the shoulder as he followed Abby toward the senator and his wife.

Mason had never met Seeley. He hadn’t purposely avoided it, but he hadn’t pursued the opportunity either. Mason and Abby had still been together when she started working on Seeley’s primary campaign. He’d told her that he was too busy when she invited him to campaign events, which was sometimes true. The rest of the truth was that he would rather have a tooth pulled slowly than stand in a crowd and shout slogans or be solicited for a contribution while chitchatting about core values over cocktails.

Later, when his relationship with Abby hit the skids, there were no invitations to decline. Instead, he watched her on television, hovering at Seeley’s shoulder; throwing her arms around his neck on election night. Seeley was married, his wife a good-looking woman with high cheekbones and knowing eyes she burned into the back of her husband’s head as he and Abby embraced. At least that was the way Mason read the scene. He suppressed his jealousy, hopeful that Abby wouldn’t sleep with a married man, especially one who was her boss and a United States senator.

None of which made Mason look forward to the meeting that was about to happen. Seeley rose from his chair. He was taller than Mason, his silver hair, blue eyes, and dimpled chin straight out of central casting. Mrs. Seeley kept her seat, the temperature at her chair hovering at the freezing mark.

“Abby,” the senator said, grasping her by the shoulders, then quickly letting go when his wife shot him a glance. “Wonderful job on the arrangements, as always. Introduce me to your friend.”

“Senator and Mrs. Seeley. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Lou Mason.”

“Boyfriend,” Seeley boomed, shaking his hand. “Good for you, Mason. I was worried that Abby was going to wither away in the service of my constituents.”

Seeley had been a wealthy businessman before running for the Senate, his first shot at elective office. Some said he bought the election. Others said every candidate buys their election; Seeley just used his own money. Seeley was in his early sixties, the current Mrs. Seeley his second wife and ten years his junior. Mason wondered if she’d earned her position at the expense of the first Mrs. Seeley, making her naturally suspicious.

Mason didn’t blame her, especially since Abby had never once introduced him to anyone as her boyfriend. It was a term he bet she hadn’t used since the eighth grade, and her use of it now made him feel the fool, more so in light of their recent rocky history. She had brought him to the dinner to calm the fears of her boss’s nervous wife. He didn’t know whether the fears were justified, only that he wanted no part of this charade. He wondered if their afternoon delight had been part of the script or whether Abby had ad-libbed that to give her performance tonight the ring of truth.

He wanted to punch the senator in the mouth, yank Abby off the stage, and get the hell out of Dodge, with apologies to Mrs. Seeley. Abby slid her arm around his, squeezing it. He felt the plea in her grip and swallowed hard.

“Nice to meet you, Senator,” he said, matching Seeley’s grin and grip. Turning to Mrs. Seeley, he added, “A pleasure,” and offered her his hand.

She looked up at him, her lips pursed. “You’re the boyfriend?”

“So I’m told.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” she said and turned away.

Abby murmured to him as they walked to their table. “Thank you. I’ll explain later.”

He didn’t reply because a formal dinner with one thousand of his closest friends was not exactly the time or place for a come-to-Jesus session with Abby. He chewed his food slowly so that he wouldn’t drink as much as he wanted to, though getting drunk was more appealing than the chicken Kiev he was pushing around his plate.

Lari Prillman was the other reason he didn’t get drunk. He surveyed the room, catching a glimpse of her at a table several rows away from his. Al Webb sat next to her, their heads tilted together, Lari pointing her index finger at his chest like it was a steak knife. He looked their way again somewhere between the salad and the chicken. Webb was gone.

He kept tabs on Lari throughout the evening but still maintained a passable line of small talk with the accountant sitting on one side of him while avoiding eye contact with Abby. Dessert was served at ten o’clock, the speeches moments away. Lari stood and looked directly at him as if she’d been watching him the entire evening as well.

“Is that her?” Abby asked.

“Who?”

“The woman who just gave you that look. Is she the lawyer you were talking with earlier?”

“I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention.”

“Since you’ve hardly spoken to me all evening, I’ve got to pay attention. What’s eating you?”

Mason pushed back from table, dipping his chin, keeping his voice low. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Seeley…”

“Nothing’s going on!”

Mason nodded, trying to read her, afraid that he couldn’t. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. You’ll have to take a cab home,” he said, getting up.

She stood next to him, taking his hand. “Will you call me?”

He squeezed her hand and let go without answering.