From the Heart

ass of myself.”
    He laughed, amused at the phrase coming from her. “Sure, I knew what you were doing,” he admitted with an easyshrug. “But that’s your problem, not mine. I gave you my copy; that’s standard procedure. The local always gets feed from upstairs.”
    “I wouldn’t have needed your copy if you hadn’t held a knife to my throat.” She wasn’t interested in standard procedure or the generosity of upstairs. “With the right information, I could have changed the tone of my interview with Anna Monroe and still have used it. It was a good piece of work, and it’s wasted.”
    “Tunnel vision,” he stated simply, and finished off his scotch. “A hazard in reporting. If,” he continued as he lit another cigarette, “you had considered a few more possibilities, you would have asked Anna different questions, led her by the nose a bit more. Then, after I’d broken the story, the interview could have been reedited. You’d still have been able to use it. I saw the tape,” he added. “It was a good piece of work; you just didn’t press enough of the right buttons.”
    “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
    “Then don’t tell me how to do mine.” Now, he too leaned forward. “I’ve had the political beat for five years. I’m not handing you Capitol Hill on a platter, Carmichael. If you’ve got a problem with the way I work, take it up with Morrison.” He tossed out the name of the head of CNC’s Washington bureau.
    “You’re so smug.” Liv had a sudden desire to choke him. “So sure of your sanctified position as keeper of the Holy Grail.”
    “There’s nothing sanctified about the political beat in this town, Carmichael,” Thorpe countered. “I’m here because I know how to play the games. Maybe you need a few lessons.”
    “Not from you.”
    “You could do worse.” He paused a moment, and calculated. “Look, for the sake of professional courtesy, I’ll give you this much. It takes more than a year to spread roots here. The people in this town are insecure; their jobs are always on the line. Politics is an ugly word—uglier since Watergate, Abscam. Exposing them is our job; they can’t ignore us, so they try to use us the same way we use them.”
    “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”
    “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But you have an advantage you’re not cultivating. Your looks and your class.”
    “I don’t see what—”
    “Don’t be an idiot.” He cut her off with a quick, annoyed gesture. “A reporter has to use everything he can beg, borrow or steal. Your face doesn’t have anything to do with your brain, but it does have something to do with the way people perceive you. Human nature.” He let his words sink in.
    She was digesting what he said, annoyed because she knew he was right. Charm worked for some reporters, abrasiveness for others. And class, as he put it, could work for her.
    “There’s an embassy party Saturday night. I’ll take you.”
    Her attention came full circle back to him. Astonished, she stared. “You’ll—”
    “You want to get in the door, take the one that’s most accessible.” The incredulity in her eyes amused him. “A lot of interesting gossip goes on in the ladies’ room after a few glasses of champagne.”
    “You’d know all about that, of course,” Liv said dryly.
    “You’d be surprised.”
    She was cautious, uneasy, tempted. “Why would you do this?”
    He pushed her wine glass back in front of her. “There’s a saying about gift horses, Liv.”
    “There’s one about Trojan horses, too.”
    He laughed and sat back. “A good reporter would have opened the gates and had a scoop.”
    He was right, of course, but she didn’t like it. She knew that if it had been anyone else but Thorpe, she wouldn’t have hesitated. That gives him too much importance, she told herself, and gathered up her purse. “All right. What embassy?”
    “Canadian.” It had amused him to watch her work out the decision.
    “What time should I meet you?”
    “I’ll pick you up.”
    She had started to rise, but now stopped. “No.”
    “My party, my terms. Take it or leave it.”
    She didn’t like it. To have met him would have kept the evening professional and relatively safe. Though she doubtedthat a woman was ever really safe with Thorpe. He was boxing her into a corner. If she refused now, she’d look, and feel, like a fool. “All right.” Liv reached for her notebook. “I’ll give you my