Mirror Image

desk and leaned over it, as she had when she had appealed to Irish for permission to pursue a story that met with his disapproval. “Even Mandy and her problems don’t consume enough time. I can’t be with her constantly. She goes to nursery school three mornings a week.”
    “You agreed with the psychologist that she should.”
    “I still do. Interaction with other children is extremely beneficial to her. She needs to develop social skills. But while she’s at school, I wander through the house, killing time until it’s time to pick her up. Every afternoon she takes a long nap.” She leaned farther forward. “Please, Tate. I’m withering on the vine.”
    He held her stare for a long moment. Eventually, his eyes ventured down into the gaping vee of her silk shirt, but he quickly raised them and looked annoyed with himself for even that merest slip of his control.
    He cleared his throat and asked crossly, “Okay, what do you suggest?”
    Her tension eased somewhat. At least he was open to discussing it. She straightened up. “Let me work at headquarters.”
    “Nix.”
    “Then let me accompany you on that campaign trip next week.”
    “No,” he said with taut finality.
    “Please.”
    “I said no.” Angrily he swung his feet to the floor, stood up, and rounded the desk.
    “Why not?”
    “Because you’re not a trouper, Carole, and I won’t put up with the disharmony you create.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like what?” he demanded, incredulous that her memory didn’t serve her. “When you went before, you complained about the rooms, the banquet food, everything. You ran consistently late when you knew how tightly Eddy wanted to keep to schedule. You made wisecracks to the press, which you considered cute and everybody else thought were tasteless and unbecoming. And that was only a three-day trip to test the waters before I had made my final decision to run.”
    “It won’t be like that this time.”
    “I won’t have any time to entertain you. When I’m not making a speech, I’ll be writing one. Hours into the trip, you’d be whining that I was ignoring you and that you had nothing to do.”
    “I’ll find things to do. I can make coffee, order sandwiches, sharpen pencils, take calls, return calls, run errands.”
    “Menial labor. We’ve got gofers and hangers-on who do all that.”
    “I can do
something.
” She had been following closely on his heels as he moved around the office. When he stopped abruptly, she collided with him from behind.
    He turned. “The novelty would wear off after the first day, and you’d be tired of it, complaining, wanting to come home.”
    “No, I won’t.”
    “Why do you want to become involved all of a sudden?”
    “Because,” she said with rising ire, “you’re running for a Senate seat, and it’s my responsibility as your wife to help you win.”
    “Bullshit!”
    There were three sharp raps on the door. Seconds later it was opened to admit Eddy and Jack. “Excuse us,” the former said, “but we heard all the shouting when we came in and thought you might need us to referee.”
    “What’s going on?” Jack closed the door behind them. “What are you doing here?”
    “I came to see my husband,” Avery retorted. “If that’s all right with you, Jack.” She pushed her bangs off her forehead, a belligerent gesture that dared him to make something of it.
    “Calm down, for crissake. I was just asking.” Jack sat down on the short sofa against the wall.
    Eddy shoved his hands into his pants pockets and stared at the Oriental rug between his gleaming shoes. Tate returned to his desk and sat down. Avery was too keyed up to sit, so she crossed to the credenza and backed against it, supporting herself on her hips.
    “Carole wants to go on the campaign trip with us next week,” Tate said.
    Jack said, “Jesus, not again.”
    Avery cried, “Well, why not?”
    Eddy said, “Let’s discuss it.”
    Tate took them in turn. “You don’t like the idea, Jack?”
    Jack glared at her, then shrugged and swore beneath his breath. “She’s your wife.”
    Tate’s attention moved to Avery. “You already know my objections.”
    “Some of them are justified,” she said in a conciliatory tone, admiring him for not criticizing his wife in front of other men. “I’ll do better this time, now that I know what to expect and what is expected of me.”
    “Eddy?”
    Eddy’s contemplation of the rug ended when Tate spoke his name. He raised his head.