Mirror Image

sighed as they rolled apart moments later.
    She recovered first, sat up, and frowned at the sticky moisture on her inner thighs. She left the bed in search of the small purse she had brought in with her. She took from it a package of condoms and tossed it at him. “Use one of these next time.”
    “Who says there’ll be a next time?”
    Fancy, who was unabashedly admiring her naked body in the dresser mirror, gave his reflection an arch smile. “I’m gonna be black and blue tomorrow.” She proudly touched the teeth marks on her breasts like they were small trophies. “I can already feel the bruises.”
    “Don’t let on like you’re bothered by it. You get off on being punished.”
    “I didn’t hear you complaining, Mr. Paschal.”
    Still in her heels and bracelets, she strutted to the table and inspected the remnants of the tray. There was nothing left of the sundae except a puddle of white foam muddied by chocolate syrup, with a cherry floating on top.
    “Oh, piss,” she muttered, “the ice cream’s melted.”
    From the bed, Eddy began to laugh.
    * * *
    Avery woke up before Tate. The room was deeply shadowed. It was still very early, but she knew she wouldn’t go back to sleep. She tiptoed into the bathroom and showered. He was still asleep when she came out.
    She took the ice bucket and the room key with her and slipped out the door in her robe. Tate enjoyed jogging every morning, even when he was out of town. When he returned, he consumed quarts of ice water. It wasn’t always easy to come by in a hotel. She had started having it waiting there for him when he returned from his jog, hot and dehydrated.
    She filled the bucket from the ice machine down the hall and was on her way back to their room when another door opened. Fancy stepped out and quietly closed the door behind her. She turned toward the elevators, but drew up short when she saw Avery.
    Avery was shocked by the girl’s appearance. Her hair was hopelessly tangled. What was left of her makeup was smudged and streaked. Her lips were bruised and swollen. There were scratches on her neck and across her chest, none of which she had made an attempt to hide. In fact, after recovering from her initial shock of seeing Avery, she defiantly tossed back her hair and threw out her chest to better display her wounds. “Good morning, Aunt Carole.” Her sweet smile was in vile contrast to her debauched appearance.
    Avery flattened herself against the corridor wall, at a loss for words. Fancy swept past her. She smelled unwashed and used. Avery shuddered with disgust.
    The elevator arrived almost immediately after Fancy summoned it. Before stepping into it, she shot Avery a gloating smile over her bare, bruised shoulder.
    For several seconds Avery stared at the elevator’s closed doors, then looked toward the room Fancy had come out of, although she already knew who it belonged to.
    Tate was wrong about his best friend. Eddy wasn’t as scrupulous as Tate believed. Nor was he as bright.

Twenty-Seven
    From Houston the campaign went to Waco, and from Waco to El Paso, where Tate was the undisputed champion of the Hispanic voters. The Rutledges were received like visiting royalty. At the airport, Avery was handed a huge bouquet of fresh flowers.
“Señora Rutledge, como está’?”
one of their greeters asked.
    “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted? Como se llama?”
    Her smile over the cordial welcome faltered when the man turned away and she happened to lock gazes with Tate.
    “When did you learn to speak Spanish?”
    For several heartbeats, Avery couldn’t think of a credible lie in any language. She had minored in Spanish in college and was still comfortable with it. Tate spoke it fluently. It had never occurred to her to wonder if Carole had spoken it or not.
    “I… I wanted to surprise you.”
    “I’m surprised.”
    “The Hispanic vote is so important,” she continued, limping through her explanation. “I thought it would help if I could at least swap pleasantries, so I’ve been studying it on the sly.”
    For once, Avery was glad they were surrounded by people. Otherwise, Tate might have pressed her for details on where and when she had acquired her knowledge of Spanish. Thankfully, no one else had overheard their conversation. Tate was the only one she could trust completely.
    Being with Jack, Eddy, and a few of the campaign volunteers as they traveled from city to city had provided her with no more clues as to who Carole’s coconspirator