Mirror Image

He tried to remove Tate’s arm from Dirk’s throat, but it wouldn’t be budged. Tate’s nose wasn’t even an inch from Dirk’s. His face was smooth and blank with the singlemindedness of a man bent on murder. Dirk’s face, by contrast, was growing progressively bluer.

“Tate, please,” Avery said desperately, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Never mind him. What he says doesn’t matter to me.”

“For God’s sake, Tate.” Frantically, Eddy tried to wedge himself between the two men. “Let him go. Now’s not the time. Jesus, think!”

“If you ever,” Tate said in a slow, throbbing voice, “ever insult my wife like that again, you’ll die choking on it. You got that, you son of a bitch?” He dug into Dirk’s testicles with his knee. The man, whose small eyes were bugging with fear, bobbed his head as much as Tate’s arm beneath his chin would permit.

Gradually, Tate’s arm relaxed. Dirk bent from the waist, clutching his balls, coughing and sputtering. Ralph rushed to assist his cohort. Tate smoothed

back his hair, turned to Eddy, and said coolly, “Let’s go.” He reached for Avery.

She took his extended hand and followed him on stage.

Thirty-Eight

Mandy insisted on substituting her nightgown for the T-shirt Tate gave her, even though it was long after midnight and closer to breakfast than bedtime.

“Now you’re an honorary Dallas Cowboys cheerleader,” he said as he slipped it over her head.

She admired the gaudy silver lettering on the front of her new shirt, then smiled up at him beguilingly. “Thank you, Daddy.” Yawning hugely, she retrieved Pooh Bear and dropped back onto her pillow.

“She’s learning to be a woman, all right.”

“Exactly what does that comment imply?” Avery asked him as they went into their bedroom on the other side of the parlor.

“She took the goods, but didn’t come across with a hug or a kiss.”

Avery propped her hands on her hips. “Should I warn the female voters that behind your public feminist stand on issues, you’re nothing but a rotten chauvinist at heart?”

“Please don’t. I need all the votes I can get.”

“I thought it went very well tonight.”

“Once I got there, you mean.”

“And before, too.” Her confidential inflection brought his head up. “Thank you for defending my honor, Tate.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

They exchanged a long gaze before Avery turned away and began removing her clothes. She slipped into the bathroom, took a quick shower, put on a negligee, then relinquished the bathroom to Tate.

Lying in bed, Avery listened to the water running as he brushed his teeth. From sharing other hotel suites, she knew that he never replaced the towel on the bar, but always left it wadded in a damp heap beside the sink.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she turned her head, intending to tease him about that bad habit. The words were never voiced.

He was naked. His hand was on the light switch, but he was looking at her. She rose to a sitting position, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“In the past,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “I could block you out of my mind. I can’t anymore. I don’t know why. I don’t know what you’re doing now that you didn’t do before, or what you’re not doing that you once did, but I’m unable to ignore you and pretend that you don’t exist. I’ll never forgive you for that abortion, or for lying to me about it, but things like what happened tonight in the car make it easier to forget.

“Ever since that night in Dallas, I’m like an addict who’s discovered a new drug. I want you a lot, and I want you constantly. Fighting it is making me crazy and nearly impossible to live with. The last few weeks haven’t been fun for me or for anybody around me.

“So, as long as you’re my wife, I’m going to exercise my conjugal rights.” He paused momentarily. “Is there anything you have to say about that?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Turn out the light.”