Sacred Sins

Tess, professionally or otherwise. Why don't we discuss it over drinks?”
    “I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it at all.”
    “We can find something else to discuss then. I have this bottle of wine, a cocky little Zinfandel I've been saving for the right occasion. Why don't we go back to my place, pop the cork, and put up our feet?”
    So he could start nibbling her toes, Tess thought, and sent up a quiet prayer of thanksgiving when the doors opened again. “No thanks, Frank.”
    She made tracks across the lobby, but didn't shake him.

    “Why don't we stop in at the Mayflower, then, a quiet drink, a little music, and no shop talk?”
    Champagne cocktails at the Mayflower. Ben had told her that was her style. Perhaps it was time to prove to him, and Frank Fuller, that it wasn't. “The Mayflower's a bit staid for my taste, Frank.” She flipped up her collar as they stepped into the chilly darkness of the parking lot. “But in any case, I haven't the time for socializing. You should try that new club around the corner, Zeedo's. From what I hear, it's almost impossible not to score if you dig in for the evening.” She pulled out her keys and slipped one into the lock of her car door.
    “How do you know about—”
    “Frank.” She clucked her tongue then patted his cheek. “Grow up.” Delighted with herself and his astounded expression, she slid into the car. She glanced over her shoulder as she reversed, but barely spared a glance at the man standing in the shadows at the edge of the lot.
    She'd hardly gotten through the door and shed her coat and shoes, when someone knocked. If it was Frank, she'd stop being polite, Tess promised herself, and give it to him right between the eyes.
    Senator Jonathan Writemore stood in his Saville Row overcoat, holding a red cardboard box of chicken and a slim paper bag.
    “Grandpa.” Most of the tension Tess hadn't been aware of having slipped away. She drew a deep breath and all but tasted the spices. “I hope you're not on your way to a hot date.”
    “I'm on my way right here.” He dropped the box of chicken into her hands. “It's still hot, little girl. I got extra spicy.”
    “My hero. I was about to fix myself a cheese sandwich.”
    “Figures. Get the plates, and plenty of napkins.”

    She slipped into the kitchen, setting the chicken on the table as she went by. “Does this mean I'm not invited to dinner tomorrow?”
    “This means you eat two decent meals this week. Don't forget the corkscrew. I have a bottle of wine here.”
    “As long as it's not Zinfandel.”
    “What?”
    “Never mind.” Tess returned carrying plates, linen napkins, two of her best wineglasses, and a corkscrew. She set the table, lit the candles, then turned to give her grandfather a bear hug. “I'm so glad to see you. How did you know I needed a boost tonight?”
    “Grandfathers are born knowing.” He kissed both her cheeks, then scowled at her. “You're not getting enough rest.”
    “I'm the doctor.”
    He gave her a swat on the rear. “Just sit down, little girl.” He turned his attention to the wine bottle when she obeyed. Tess lifted the lid while he dealt with the cork. “Give me one of those chicken tits.”
    She giggled like a girl, and placed the fast food on her mother's best English bone china. “Think how shocked your constituents would be if they heard you talking about chicken tits.” She chose a drumstick and was delighted to discover a box of fries. “How's the Senate business?”
    “It takes a lot of shit to grow flowers, Tess.” He drew the cork. “I'm still lobbying to get the Medicaid Reform bill passed. I don't know if I can pull off enough support before we adjourn for the holidays.”
    “It's a good bill. It makes me proud of you.”
    “Flatterer.” He poured her wine, then his own. “Where's the ketchup? Can't eat fries without ketchup. No, don't get up, I'll get it. When's the last time you've been to the store?” he asked the minute he opened the refrigerator.

    “Don't start,” she said, and took a bite of chicken. “Besides, you know I'm the expert on takeout and eat-ins.”
    “I don't like to think of my only granddaughter forever eating out of a carton.” He came back in with a bottle of ketchup, easily ignoring the fact that they were both eating out of a carton. “If I wasn't here, you'd be over at that desk with a cheese sandwich and a stack of files.”
    “Did I say I was glad to see you?” Tess lifted her