Shall We Tell the President?

Thursday evening 10 March

7:00 P.M.

Mark arrived in Georgetown at seven that evening. He had gone to Simon’s wake and paid his respects to the bewildered parents that afternoon. They had five other children, but that never helped. Their grief made Mark long for the warmth of the living.

Elizabeth was wearing the red silk shirt and black skirt in which he had first seen her. She greeted him with a cascade of words.

“I don’t understand what’s been going on. My father called earlier and told me you tried to save Senator Harrison’s life. What were you doing there anyway? My father is very upset about the shooting. Why have you been following him around? Was he in any danger?”

Mark looked at her squarely. “No, he wasn’t involved in any way so let’s try and start over again.”

Still she didn’t understand.

When they arrived at the Rive Gauche, the maître d’ welcomed them with open arms.

“Good evening, Mr. Andrews, how nice to see you again. I don’t remember your booking a table.”

“No, it’s in my name. Dr. Dexter,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh, yes, Doctor, of course. Will you come this way?”

They had baked clams, and, at last, a steak with no fancy trimmings and two bottles of wine.

Mark sang most of the way home. When they arrived, he took her firmly by the hand and led her into the darkened living room.

“I’m going to seduce you. No coffee, no brandy, no music, just straightforward seduction.”

“I should be so lucky.”

They fell on the couch.

“You’re too drunk,” Elizabeth added.

“Wait and see.” He kissed her fully on the lips for a long time and started to unbutton her shirt.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, quite sure,” he said as he pulled the shirt slowly free from her skirt and felt her back, his other hand moving on to her leg.

“What about some music?” she said lightly. “Something special.” Elizabeth touched the start button on the hi-fi. It was Sinatra again, but this time it was the right song:

She settled back into Mark’s arms.

He unzipped her skirt. Her legs were slender and beautiful in the dim light. He caressed her gently.

“Are you going to tell me the truth about today, Mark?”

“Afterwards, darling.”

“When you’ve had your way with me,” she said.

He slipped his shirt off. Elizabeth stared at the bandage on his shoulder.

“Is that where you were wounded in the line of duty?”

“No, that’s where my last lover bit me.”

“She must have had more time than I did.”

They moved closer together.

He took the phone off the hook — not tonight, Julius.

“I can’t get through, sir,” Elliott said, “just a continual busy signal.”

“Try again, try again. I’m sure he’s there.”

“Shall I go through the operator?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Director testily.

The Director waited, tapping his fingers on the Queen Anne desk, staring at the red stain and wondering how it had got there.

“The operator says the phone is off the hook, sir. Shall I ask her to bleep him; that’ll certainly get his attention.”

“No, Elliott, just leave it and go home. I’ll have to call him in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. Good night, sir.”

He’ll have to go — back to Idaho or wherever he came from, thought the Director, as he switched off the lights and made his own way home.