Mirror Image

“Zee, Nelson, find seats, please, and let’s get down to business. The morning’s getting away.” In his element, Dirk took the floor. “As Eddy has said, we had a terrific turnout at Billy Bob’s last night and raised a lot of campaign dollars. God knows we need them. Once momentum subsides, supporters stop contributing.”

“Even though we’re currently behind by a

substantial margin, we don’t want it to look like we’re giving up,” Ralph said as he bounced the coins in his pocket.

“The people at channel four said they’d be at General Dynamics to get a sound bite of Tate’s speech, but that’s all they’ll promise,” Jack reported as he hung up the phone.

Dirk nodded. “Not great, but better than nothing.”

“See, Tate,” Ralph said, continuing as though the second conversation weren’t going on, “even if you lose, you don’t want it to look like you gave up.”

“I’m not going to lose.” He glanced at Avery and winked.

“Well, no, of course not,” Ralph stammered, laughing uncomfortably. “I only meant—”

“You’re not taking enough off,” Dirk sourly told the barber. “I said conservative.”

Tate batted the barber’s fussing hands away. “What’s this?” He pointed to a paragraph in one of the speeches that had been written for him. Again he was ignored.

“Hey, listen to this.” Eddy read a passage from the newspaper. “Dekker comes right out and calls you a rabble-rouser, Tate.”

“I think he’s running scared,” Nelson said, drawing Dirk’s attention to him.

“Nelson, I want you to be a prominent figure on the podium when Tate speaks at General Dynamics this afternoon. Those military contracts keep them in business. Since you’re an ex-flier, you’ll be a bonus.”

“Am I to go? And Mandy?” Zee asked.

“I’ll be glad to stay with Mandy,” Dorothy Rae offered.

“Everybody goes.” Dirk frowned at the empty glass in Dorothy Rae’s hand. “And everybody looks his best. Squeaky-clean America. That means you too, missy,” he said to Fancy. “No miniskirt.”

“Go screw yourself.”

“Francine Rutledge!” Nelson thundered. “You’ll be sent home promptly if you use that kind of language again.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “But who’s this asshole to tell me how to dress?”

Dirk, unfazed, turned to Avery. “You usually do fine as far as wardrobe goes. Don’t wear anything too flashy today. These are working people, wage earners. Tate, I picked the gray suit for you today.”

“Don’t forget to remind him about his shirt,” Ralph said.

“Oh, yes, wear a blue shirt, not white. White doesn’t photograph as well on TV.”

“All my blue shirts are dirty.”

“I told you to send them out to be laundered every day.”

“Well, I forgot, okay?” Suddenly he swiveled around and snatched the scissors from the barber’s hands. “I don’t want my hair cut any more. I like it like this.”

In a tone of voice he might have used on Mandy, Dirk said, “It’s too long, Tate.”

He was out of his chair in an instant. “Who says? The voters? Those workers out at GD? Channel five’s viewing audience? Or just you?”

Avery wanted to applaud. Unlike everyone else, she hadn’t been caught up in the pandemonium going on around her. She’d been watching Tate. The more he read of the papers Ralph had given him to study, the deeper his scowl had become. She had sensed that his temper was about to erupt and she’d been right.

He whipped the drape from around his neck, sending hair clippings flying. He fished into his pocket and came up with a fifty-dollar bill, foisted it on the barber, and walked him to the door. “Thanks a lot.” Tate shut the door on him.

When Tate turned back into the room, his expression was as ominous as the low clouds that still scuttled across the sky. “Next time, Dirk, I’ll let you know when I need a haircut, if I deem it any of your business, which, frankly, I don’t. And I would also appreciate it if you’d stay out of my closet and consult me before moving in on my family’s private quarters.”