Into the Night (43 page)
Yes, that was definitely what she wanted. And it sure seemed to be what he'd wanted, too—up to three hours ago.
The night wore on, interminably long, each minute seeming like a millennium, with absolutely no chance for her to pull Muldoon aside and beg his forgiveness.
While Muldoon and Brooke were out on the dance floor, Myra sent Joan to go talk to the reporter from Fox. An entire camera crew was there, hoping to get an interview with the "happy couple."
Every time the reporter called them that, Joan's teeth hurt.
It was impossible to talk without screaming while the music was playing, so they stepped out onto the patio, where Joan gave her four thousandth apology of the day. Brooke had no time right now. This was a pleasant social event for her—a chance to reunite with her friend, Lieutenant Muldoon.
She gave the reporter a top-ten list of reasons why she couldn't talk to Brooke right now, careful to leave off reason number one—that her married lover had just chosen the vice presidential candidacy over his relationship with her, and in an attempt to deal with the pain of his rejection, Brooke was totally shit-faced drunk.
Halfway through, Joan's cell phone rang. She checked the number—Myra.
"Excuse me," she told the news crew. "I've got to take this."
Myra sounded stressed. "Please tell me Brooke's with you."
Uh-oh. "She's not."
Myra's response was blisteringly succinct.
"Darlings! Up here!"
The reporter spotted Brooke the same moment Joan did.
"I found her," Joan told Myra. "She's up on the balcony outside of her room."
Brooke was actually waving to get their attention. Muldoon was with her, and as Joan watched, he tried to talk to her, tried to tug her back into the hotel suite.
The video camera started rolling.
"Excuse me," Joan said loudly. "No one's given you permission to—"
"Who's your affiliate?" Brooke called down to the reporter.
"We're with Fox News, Ms. Bryant," the reporter called back. "May we ask you some questions?"
"I think you better get over here," Joan told Myra as she tried to step in front of the camera. "I'm sorry," she said to the cameraman, "you'll have to turn that off and go back inside."
"Is your camera on?" Brooke asked.
"Yes, it is," the reporter replied.
Joan tried talking directly to Brooke. "If you want to give an interview, Ms. Bryant, please let me set—"
"Good." Brooke ignored her. "Because I have a message I'd like to broadcast to my good friend John."
Oh, no. Oh, no, no. Joan tried to get in front of the lens, but the cameraman was too quick for her.
And then the reporter and some bruiser of an equipment-lugging guy was there, blocking her way.
"John, darling, I appreciate your note wishing me the very best." Brooke projected nicely with her stage voice.
"Don't make me go through you," Joan said to the three-hundred-pound man. "Because I will."
"You don't have to be concerned, sweetheart—my new friend, Mike, has that covered." Brooke was doing her best Evita from the balcony. "He's a SEAL and SEAL teams accept only the best."
"What's the harm in letting her talk?" the big guy said in a remarkably high-pitched voice.
Joan could see Muldoon, purposely standing with his back to the camera, talking to Brooke, trying to talk her down from the ledge, so to speak.
That was when she realized that she had her cell phone, and Muldoon had his cell phone. She quickly dialed his number.
Shit, she could hear it ringing, but he was ignoring it. "Come on, Michael, pick up!" Or read my mind and grab Brooke and get her the hell inside. Although, if she resisted him, that wouldn't look too good on camera...
Whatever he was saying to her, it served to distract Brooke only temporarily.
"I seem to remember you telling me once that you tried to get into the SEAL program while you were in the Navy," Brooke continued for the cameras, for John, poor bastard, whose political career was going to be in jeopardy if she mentioned his last name. "But, golly, you just weren't good enough, were you?"
A crowd was starting to gather, some people watching from inside the ballroom and others from out here on the patio. Joan redialed Muldoon's number.
"I'm going to ask you again to get out of my way," she told the giant squeaky-toy man.
"You're going to have to try to go through me," he responded, managing somehow to sound both apologetic and bored—as if this sort of thing happened to him more than once a day. "But if you do lay a hand on me, there will be a lawsuit, plus a whole lot more bad press for the current administration."
"I hate you," Joan told him.
"That doesn't particularly break me up."
Brooke continued orating. "I suppose I should end this by being gracious and wishing you the best, too."
End this. She was going to end this. Thank you, Lord, have her end this fast. Joan saw both Myra and Dick picking their way through the crowd, trying to move quickly without revealing how completely panicked they were.
"Except—whoops!—you've already had the best, but you threw it away, didn't you?" Brooke said. "Have a nice evening, darling."
"Okay," Joan said loudly. "That's all. Thank you. We don't have time for any questions. Lieutenant, will you please take Ms. Bryant inside?"
But wait. Brooke shook Muldoon off, because, like the chef selling Ginsu knives on that late-night TV infomercial. there apparently was still more.
"God knows I'll enjoy my evening." Brooke got even louder and more dramatic, if that was possible. "Think of me, darling. Tonight I'll be doing it Navy SEAL style."
Oh, dear Lord in heaven.
"Well, there's the Brooke Bryant sound bite of the year," the giant squeaked.
No freaking kidding. "Thank you," Joan said again. "That's all we have time for."
But Brooke had a different finale in mind. "And in case you want a reminder of what you've been missing..."
Oh, shit, shit, triple shit!
"Whoa!" The bruiser's eyes opened more than halfway as Brooke pulled her gown up and over her head.
It was a smooth move that a stripper would have had to train for years to pull off. It left her standing there in only her fancy underpants for the entire world to see.
But alas, the visuals were not yet over. As Muldoon grabbed her to pull her inside—enough was apparently enough for him and he took her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold—Brooke threw her gown off the balcony. The shiny red fabric caught the light as it fell to the ground.
Joan turned away from the sight of the heavy curtains closing in Brooke's room to find Myra bearing down on her.
"I'm prepared to take full responsibility for this," Joan said. "I should have been able to stop it. I should have done something." Jesus, maybe she should have taken off her dress.
"She did the best she could," the giant told Joan's boss.
"Shut up, you nasty man." Joan startled herself with her own ferocity. She turned back to Myra. "Will you please fire me and get it over with, because I really need to get out of here right now."
What she wanted to do was get in her rental car and drive far, far away from this hotel where, in one of the grand suites, the one man she liked better than any other man she'd ever met in her life—yes, it was true, and she'd completely and foolishly blown any chance at all with him because she was an idiot—and the President's daughter were doing it, Navy SEAL style.
But Myra had other plans. "Meeting. My suite. Ten minutes."
Well, gee, wasn't this going to be fun—figuring out how to take this outburst of Brooke's and spin it into something positive. Well, barring that, they'd try to spin it into something less destructive.
Less destructive to the President, that is. Brooke and Muldoon and Joan were all just pawns in this game.
Joan knew that if she opened up to Myra and confessed that she had a personal interest in Muldoon, that damn it, she really liked this guy, the response would be "So what?"
Of course, it didn't really matter, because that would probably be Muldoon's response right now as well.
Ihbraham looked stunned, and Mary Lou modestly pulled her shirt down slightly, attempting to cover herself while still providing Haley with some air. Haley, of course, immediately grabbed her shirt and yanked it up.
"There's room for you to sit," she said, shifting over so that there indeed was room on the bench.
"Uh," he said. "Yes. Thank you." As he sat, he glanced at her, then looked away. "It doesn't bother you to do that out here? Where anyone can see?"
She looked around. The little churchyard was deserted. And her back was to the street. The only person who could see her was Ihbraham.
"It would bother me more to drive home with a screaming kid," she said. "I used to carry a scarf to cover us, but these days she just pulls it off. I could sit in my car, if you want. I mean, if it bothers you..."
He laughed. "No. I just thought I could no longer be surprised by American ways and—" He looked at her, looked at Haley, who was slowing down, her eyes drifting shut. "You're beautiful and she's beautiful and... it's beautiful to watch. I don't know why most of the world insists on hiding such a beautiful thing."
"Because most men can't seem to grasp the idea that breasts were put on this earth for something other than their own personal pleasure," she said. "They can't walk past a woman breast-feeding a baby without getting a woody. So we have to keep ourselves covered up because of their problem. Oh, shoot, I'm leaking on the other side." Dammit, she'd ruined another shirt. By the time she got home, the milk would have stained.
"A woody," he said. He laughed. "I think I know what that means. I've never heard it called that, but..." He laughed again. "And this is something you're comfortable talking about with a man who's not your husband?"
"I think of you as a friend," she told him. "Friends say whatever they want to each other, don't they? If you want, I'll watch what I say. I just thought—'
"No," he said. "I don't want you to watch what you say. I'm just... aware of how differently we were raised by our parents, you and I."
"Yeah, well, my mother was too busy fucking anyone who brought home a bottle of gin to raise me. My sister raised me." She didn't want to talk about that again. "What's with your brothers? They're not very nice."
Ihbraham sighed. "It's ugly. It's ... We inherited my father's business—a car dealership—when he died. I don't want to work with them, but they want me to come back because the business is jointly owned with our uncle and cousins. If I come back, we'll have control. It's foolish and petty and they shouldn't have come looking for me." He muttered something in that funny language. "But I guess they're angry, and now I am, too. A perfect situation, huh?"
"They said something about me, didn't they?"
He glanced at her. "Yes, they did. It was not kind and I will not repeat it. They're fools."
Haley had definitely crashed. Mary Lou gently pulled her nipple free from the baby's mouth, and put her on her shoulder. The trick now was to get her to burp without waking her up. She rubbed Haley's back. Come on, baby...
"So that was this guy Bob, huh?" Ihbraham asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.
"That was Bob." A burp. And Haley slept on. Alleluia! "Cute, huh?"
"Cute?"
"Handsome, I mean."
"Ah. Is that what you think?"
"Definitely. What do you think?"
"I think he's up to no good," Ihbraham told her. "I think you should be careful. His being here was no coincidence. I think he is... what is it called? Stalking you."
She had to laugh. "You know, he said the exact same thing about you. Here, would you... ?"
She held Haley out so that he could take the baby from her. It wasn't easy to do, but the alternative was to sit there with her boob hanging out.
"How could I be stalking you when you are the one who comes outside to see me?" he asked. His hands were so dark against Haley's fair skin.
Mary Lou pulled down her bra, and then examined the damage done to the other side of her shirt. It looked as if she'd dipped the tip of her breast into a cup of water. So much for getting ice cream. She wasn't going anywhere looking like that.
"Maybe you're just such a good stalker that you're able to lure me to you without me knowing it," she said.
He laughed. "Ah. Of course."
"Or maybe I'm stalking you."
"Feel free to continue," he said. "I'm enjoying it very much."
If anyone else had said it, it would have been creepy. Or heavy with innuendo. But combined with Ihbraham's wide smile and warm eyes, it was simply nice.
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