No Rules, Ridge King [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

Eric Stathis’s hands were lily white. But then that explained why Norwalk was President of the United States and Eric Stathis merely his chief of staff.

Norwalk took his seat and everybody sat down.

“Welcome to you both, Senator Thurston and Governor St. Clair,” he began.

Sam looked over his shoulder quickly and winked at Jack, who smiled as he stood crammed against the wall with the other staffers. They’d both put a lot of miles on Sam’s plane. Sam was anxious to get back to Miami in the next couple of days. He hadn’t liked to see the way Sofia seemed to be slipping away from him, each day seeming to be a little less of the beautiful person he married as the cancer galloped through her body, eating her alive. He shuddered to think of it.

He was also a little concerned when Jack had told him he’d invited Bedelia and Patricia Vaughan down to visit along with Congressman-elect Matt Hawkins and his wife Sue. He knew how important the Wyoming vote might be, but personally he didn’t care about Hawkins one way or the other. It was Bedelia he was thinking about. While Jack knew nothing about his past with Bedelia, Sofia knew something. How much Sam wasn’t sure. He was sure that Sofia did not like Bedelia Vaughan. At least she could wait for my body to get cold, Sam could imagine Sofia thinking.  Still, it was impossible for Sam to ask Jack to disinvite Bedelia. Such a move would raise too many flags.

The thought of this forced Sam to think about both of the “Other Women” in his life, Bedelia and Ramona. They both had excellent attributes. In fact, he found himself thinking very honestly, they were both “better” for him than Sofia had been. Bedelia and Ramona were relentless, Bedelia in the social world, Ramona in the world of law and politics. Both would have been much better mates to help him in his political ambitions, ambitions Sofia had always if not spurned outright, tried to put a damper on.

Sofia had merely wanted to be with him. It didn’t matter to her whether they were in a doublewide trailer in Hialeah or the grandeur of Flagler Hall, the governor’s Mansion or the White House. She didn’t give a damn about all that, and perhaps was even a little embarrassed by all the wealth and lavishness that informed their lives.

Early on in their marriage, Sam had said to her, “I can’t help it if I’m rich. It’s something you’ll have to live with.”

And she’d managed very beautifully, Sam thought.

What am I thinking about? Sam thought suddenly. Sofia’s still very much alive.

To Senator Frederick Thurston sitting across the highly polished mahogany table from him, St. Clair looked like a man worried about his future. Thurston wondered if St. Clair even knew the Keystone File existed.

Thurston didn’t feel quite so cocky and self-assured at this meeting as he’d felt at the first one when he thought he was a shoe-in for the Presidency. And, there was still time, he told himself. The official count in his campaign gave him 28 states, two more than the 26 needed to win. But how many congressmen had secretly changed their votes without anyone knowing? And no one would know until the new Congress was called to order and those votes were cast. By which time, of course, anything he could do would be too little too late.

As the various Cabinet secretaries made their little speeches about the importance of a smooth Transition within their departments, Thurston thought of Peggy, what a reluctant political wife she’d been at the start and how he’d dragged her through so many grueling campaigns over the years—and all for this. An ultimate defeat, rejection.

He looked again at St. Clair, who was fidgeting with his fingernails and looking down at the cup of coffee in front of him carrying the Presidential seal. Peggy had been much like Sofia was, less than a willing partner to her politically inclined spouse. But Sofia had remained more aloof than Peggy, and now Sofia was dying. That was the word they were getting in Thurston’s campaign. The St. Clair campaign had revealed that she had cancer, but very few other details had been forthcoming. Jesse Epstein had told him just the day before the word out of Miami was she wouldn’t make it to New Year’s Day.

Thurston made a little shrug.

It won’t matter to her who’s President.

“I think it’s time to let the staff take over while the candidates and I go to meet the press,” Norwalk said.

That’s what this is all about anyway, Thurston thought to himself.  Window dressing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Across town at Horizon, as Norwalk led the candidates down the hall leading from the Cabinet Room to the Press Briefing Room, Patricia Vaughan pushed open the door to her bedroom carrying a tray laden with a full breakfast for Matt Hawkins, still slumbering in bed after a long night of lovemaking.

“Mmm,” Matt groaned as he pulled his head out from under a pillow. “I smell coffee. And bacon.”

“I cooked everything with my two little hands,” said Patricia.

“I love it when you let the servants off.”

“Well, everybody’s off but Simpkins. He never leaves.”

Matt thought of Simpkins patiently going about his business in the servants’ hall, aware but discreetly oblivious to the mad love affair that was going on above his head. For Patricia, he was like Alfred in the Batman movies: always wanting the best for her, always there for her.

Matt pulled himself up onto some pillows as Patricia placed the breakfast tray over his lap. She picked up a piece of bacon and fed it to him.

“How do you like your coffee?” she asked with a giggle.

“Hot and steaming, like my sex.”

“Cream.”

“And don’t forget the sugar. Lots of