From the Heart

though they were the fastest of friends. “How charming you look. And how lovely it is to have men staring again. Even if they’re only speculating whether I’m your mother or your maiden aunt from Albuquerque.”
    Liv was laughing even as the maître d’ assisted her into her chair.
    “Mrs. Ditmyer, I knew having lunch with you would be the high point of my day.”
    “What a sweet thing to say.” She beamed, pleased with herself. “Paul, do see about some sherry for Ms. Carmichael.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Ditmyer.” The maître d’ bowed away from the table.
    “Now then.” Myra folded her hands on the table expectantly. “You must tell what wonderfully exciting things you’ve been doing. I’m sure running around reporting on political corruption and world-shaking events must keep you forever in a spin.”
    Liv laughed. It was impossible not to be relaxed and exhilarated simultaneously in the woman’s company. “It seems a crime to disappoint you, Mrs. Ditmyer, but most of the time I spend waiting at airports or outside the gate at the White House. Or,” she added with an apologetic grin, “on the telephone finding out where I’m going to wait next.”
    “Oh, my dear, you mustn’t burst my bubble.” Myra sipped her own glass of sherry. “I’m perfectly content if you make something up, just so it’s exciting. And call me Myra; I’ve decided we’re going to get along famously.”
    “Do you know, I believe we will.” Liv shook her head. “I’m sorry to say we can’t all be Woodwards and Bernsteins. But I suppose all reporters run into a fat story now and again. Right now, the heat is on Senator Donahue’s filibuster.”
    “Ah, Michael.” Myra smiled, then nodded with approval as Liv’s sherry was set in front of her. “Feisty old devil. I’ve always been fond of him. Nobody rhumbas like Michael Donahue.”
    Liv nearly choked on her sherry. “Is that so?”
    “I shall have to introduce you next month when I give my Spring Ball. You do rhumba, don’t you, dear?”
    “I’ll learn.”
    Myra smiled in her dazzling way, then crocked a finger at the waiter. “I, unfortunately, will have to make do with the fruit salad. My dressmaker’s sighing horribly these days.” She gave Liv a wistful glance that wasn’t envious so much as reminiscent. “The scampi’s exquisite here.”
    “Fruit salad will do nicely,” Liv returned. “Being able to sit down for lunch is treat enough. I still have to thank you for asking me,” Liv went on, as the waiter moved away. “It really isn’t often I have the opportunity to have an hour like this in the middle of the day.”
    “But of course you can justify the luxury by terming it as partly business.” Myra laughed at Liv’s expression. “Oh, no, my dear, you mustn’t think it offends me. Why not in the least. It’s actually part of my intention. Now . . .” She leaned forward a bit like a general preparing to outline a plan of attack. “You must tell me what special project you have in mind. I know you must have one; it’s simply in your character.”
    Liv sat back. Though she held the glass of sherry, she didn’t drink. She was too enthralled with the woman across from her. “Myra, I believe you would have made a fabulous reporter.”
    A pleased pink flush spread on her cheeks. “Do you really? How marvelous. I do so love to nose around, you know.”
    “Yes,” Liv answered faintly.
    “So.” Myra spread her hands, palms up. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
    Liv shook her head and smiled. “All right. I’ve been toying with trying a news special, probably slotted for late night. A personal view of women in politics. Not only women politicians, but women married to politicians. How they deal with the stress business—family, public exposure, traveling. I’d like to think I could deal with both sides of the coin that way. Women who are immersed in government for varying reasons.”
    “Yes . . .” Myra pouted in thought. “That might prove quite interesting. It can be the very devil on a marriage, you know. The campaigning, the staff dinners, the state dinners, the protocol. Lengthy separations, high pressure. It’s a horse race, my dear. One long, never ending horse race. And the women . . .” She smiled again and swirled her sherry. “Yes, indeed, it might be interesting.”
    “I’ve been knocking it around with Carl for a couple of months. He’s the news director,” Liv explained. “I think he’d go