Mirror Image

pants, I think you’re out of luck. I think they’re patching things up. I think she’s giving to him—if he wants it—what she was giving to you before the airplane crash.”
    Gradually, his hand relaxed and he released her hair. “That’s quite a theory, Fancy.” His voice was cool and calm. He moved to the dresser, stuffed a handkerchief into his pants pocket, and slid on his wristwatch. “It just happens to be wrong. There never has been or will be anything between Carole and me.”
    “I might ask her and see what she says.”
    “If I were you,” he said softly, addressing her over his shoulder, “I’d keep my jealous speculations to myself.”
    Without the benefit of her hands to assist her, Fancy wiggled off the bed and came to her feet. “This is getting old, Eddy. Untie my hands.”
    He angled his head to one side, as though giving her demand careful consideration. “No, I don’t believe so. I think I’d rather put some distance between us before you get loose.”
    “I can’t leave here until I get my hands free.”
    “That’s right.”
    She padded after him to the door. “Please, Eddy,” she wailed. Tears formed in her large blue eyes. “You’re being cruel. This isn’t a game to me. I know you think I’m a slut for throwing myself at you, but I felt like I had to make the first move or you never would. I love you. Please love me back. Please.”
    He laid his hand in the curve of her waist and squeezed it gently. “I’m sure you can find some other guy who’ll appreciate me warming you up for him.”
    Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. “You son of a bitch.” The wheedling humility vanished. Her low voice now vibrated with rage. “You’re goddamn right I’ll find a man. I’ll fuck his brains out. I’ll suck him dry. I’ll—”
    “Have a good evening, Fancy.” Unceremoniously, he pushed her out of his way and jogged down the exterior stairs to his parked car.
    Fancy put her foot to the door and slammed it hard behind him.
    * * *
    As Avery came out of the ladies’ room, she didn’t even notice the man at the pay telephone. She was anxious to get back to the party. The banquet had been interminable, the after-dinner speaker ponderous.
    However, once they were free to mingle, Tate had been the center of attention. It seemed that everyone in the room wanted to meet him and shake his hand, whether they shared a party affiliation or not. Even political rivals were friendly. None was hostile—certainly not enough to want him dead.
    He was respected even if his ideas weren’t unanimously popular. It was a heady feeling just to be standing next to him as his wife. Each time he made an introduction, he did so with a certain degree of pride that thrilled her. She hadn’t made any social blunders. She had covertly taken her cues from him when someone Carole would have known approached. Everything was going splendidly.
    Tate had touched her arm briefly as she excused herself to go to the powder room, as though he dreaded even that brief a separation.
    Now, as she passed the bank of telephones, a hand shot out and manacled her wrist. She emitted a cry of astonishment and spun around to confront the man who had accosted her. He was wearing a tuxedo, signifying that he belonged to the crowd in the banquet hall.
    “How’s it going, baby?” he drawled.
    “Let go of me.” Taking him for someone who’d had too much to drink, she made a painful attempt to wrench her arm free.
    “Not so fast, Mrs. Rutledge.” He slurred the name insultingly. “I want to get a close-up look at the new face I’ve heard so much about.” He pulled her closer. “Except for your hair, you look the same. But tell me what I really want to know. Are you still as hot?”
    “Let me go, I said.”
    “What’s the matter? Afraid your husband is going to catch you? He won’t. He’s too busy campaigning.”
    “I’ll scream bloody murder if you don’t release my arm this instant.”
    He laughed. “Are you pissed because I didn’t come see you in the hospital? Now, would it have been seemly for one of your lovers to elbow your husband away from your bedside?”
    She glared at him with cold fury. “Things have changed.”
    “Oh, yeah?” He put his face close to hers. “Doesn’t your pussy itch like it used to?”
    Incensed and afraid, she renewed her struggle to release her arm, which only seemed to incite him. He bent her arm up behind her and hauled her against the front of his body. His breath was