French Silk(80)

She tapped the front of his starched shirt with her well-manicured nail. "Making me unhappy would be extremely ill advised, Mister. End the affair. Immediately."

She came up on tiptoe and gave his lips a soft kiss. "You'd better finish dressing or we'll be late. Be sure to allow a few minutes to say good night to the children." At the bedroom door she paused and nodded toward the vanity. "And kindly dispose of those, so I never have to look at them again."

Mister was simmering, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. On the surface they had a perfect marriage. As long as things went Belle's way, life was harmonious. But he suffered no delusions about her. She looked as fragile as a greenhouse orchid. But if crossed, she could be as vicious as a vampire bat.

She was too self-contained to enjoy good, earthy sex. She liked things neat and tidy, organized, well planned, and controlled. It wasn't that he had a lover that had upset her. In truth, she was probably relieved that she didn't have to be inconvenienced so often. What had angered her was the timing of the affair and his failure to conceal it. Belle wasn't running the show. That's what had her pissed.

He approached the dressing table and picked up the lace panties. Too many times his affair with Yasmine had separated him from his better judgment. He shuddered to think of some smart-ass reporter getting wind of his affair with the famous black model. But what was he supposed to do, survive only on the sterile, uninspired sex of his marriage bed? Go completely underground until after the election? It was impossible to keep a low profile during a political campaign. He was like a lightning rod for attracting attention, and he needed that constant public exposure to win voters.

The two interests were incompatible. Something had to give. He couldn't have everything.

As he fingered the lace and thought back to that bizarre afternoon in his Washington office, a smile slowly lifted his lips and he chuckled. "Who says?"

* * *

The diner was as gloomy as Cassidy's mood. It was one of those family-owned joints that offered cops a discount in return for meager protection and lousy tips. Detective Glenn had suggested it. It was his kind of place—grimy and depressing. Cassidy wished he were anywhere else, discussing any other topic than the one that had occupied them through uninspired burgers, greasy fries, soggy coconut pie, and countless cups of oily coffee.

"You know, I've been thinking," Glenn said as he lit the next in an endless chain of cigarettes. "Could be one of these gals had a thing going with Wilde. A thing of a romantic nature. Did you ever think of that?"

"No," Cassidy said, offended at hearing Claire referred to as a gal. "Whatever made you think that?"

"That Yasmine's a hot number with a string of boyfriends a mile long. Who's she seeing now? Hasn't been a romance reported in over a year. Strange, huh?"

"You think she was seeing Wilde?"

Glenn shrugged. "Maybe those offerings she gave him were payment of a different sort."

"You've had too much nicotine," Cassidy said sourly, fanning the polluted air in front of his face.

"Well, after what we found today, I'd believe just about anything about her." He whistled. "Pretty weird shit."

Cassidy said nothing, but continued to fiddle with the broken napkin dispenser at the end of the booth.

"And the Laurent broad didn't come off smelling like a rose, either, did she?"

"No," Cassidy replied quietly. "She didn't. But what we found still doesn't prove anything."

"No, but it's getting closer." Glenn slurped his coffee. "What'd Crowder think? You told him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I reported back."

"And?"

"He said for us to take the ball and run with it," Cassidy mumbled reluctantly.

"So…"

Cassidy raised his head and looked at the detective across the chipped table. "So?"

"So are you going to sit there looking like you've lost your last friend, or are you going to get your head on straight, your dick under control, your ass in gear, and run with it?"





* * *



Chapter 16

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Rain threatened at Rosesharon. The high humidity took its toll on those unaccustomed to it, and tempers were short. During the morning, the clouds became more opaque and the atmosphere grew more sultry. The models who weren't needed retired to their rooms to rest in air-conditioned comfort. Since the weather was too unstable for outdoor shooting, they decided to do some interior shots utilizing the vanity table in Claire and Yasmine's bedroom.

Per Rue's suggestion, Dana was modeling the backless bra. With it she wore ivory satin tap pants, thigh-high hosiery, and ivory satin high heels. Claire had asked the Monteiths where in the nearest town she might locate a wedding gown to borrow.

"Why, we have one!" they exclaimed in unison.

Their niece had used Rosesharon for her wedding several months earlier, and the gown was still stored in their attic. They assured Claire that their niece would be flattered to have it used in the French Silk catalog. It was brought down and removed from its protective hanging bag. Luckily it wasn't stark white, so it matched the color of the sample lingerie. Rue steamed out the wrinkles, muttering all the while. "Just what we needed. More goddamn humidity."