Mirror Image

“Oh, now?” she had asked. “In that case, I’m going back to the concierge and ask for some brochures and, uh, hotel stationery to take to Mandy. I won’t be long. I’ll see you in the room.”

The elevator had arrived. She’d dashed off. He’d gone up with Jack and Eddy. Eddy had said good night and gone to his own room, leaving the two brothers alone.

Tate waited expectantly as Jack withdrew a white envelope from the breast pocket of his tux and passed it to him. It had his name handwritten on it. He slid his index finger beneath the flap and ripped it open. After reading the message twice, he looked up at his brother from beneath his brows.

“Who gave you this?”

Jack was pouring himself a nightcap from a bottle of brandy. “Remember the lady—woman—in blue at the luncheon this afternoon? Front row.”

Tate hitched his chin toward the liquor bottle. “I changed my mind.” Jack handed him a drink. Tate held the note at arm’s length and reread it as he polished off the brandy in one long swallow.

“Why’d she ask you to deliver it?” he asked his brother.

“I guess she didn’t think it would be proper for her to deliver it herself.”

“Proper?” Tate scoffed, glancing again at the brazen wording of the note.

Not even attempting to conceal his amusement, Jack asked, “May I hazard a guess what it’s about?”

“Bingo.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“No.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to accept her invitation. In fact, it might help.”

“Has it escaped your attention that I’m married?”

“No. It also hasn’t escaped my attention that your marriage isn’t worth shit right now, but you wouldn’t welcome my comments about either your wife or your marriage.”

“That’s right. I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t get defensive, Tate. I’ve got your interests at heart. You know that. Take advantage of this invitation. I don’t know what’s going on between Carole and you.” He lowered one eyelid shrewdly. “But I know what isn’t. You’re not sleeping together and haven’t since long before the crash. There’s not a man alive, not even you, who can function at his optimum best if his dick’s unhappy.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Jack lowered his head and concentrated on the swirling contents of his glass. Tate raked his fingers through his hair, wincing when it pulled against the sutured gash on his temple. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Forgive me, Jack. It’s just that I resent everybody meddling in my business.”

“Comes with the territory, little brother.”

“But I’m sick of it.”

“It’s only started. It won’t end when you get into office.”

Tate propped his hips against the dresser. “No, I guess not.” Silently, he studied the nap of the carpet. After a moment, a small laugh started in his chest and gradually worked its way out.

“What?” Jack failed to see the humor in their conversation.

“Not too long ago, Eddy offered to find me a woman to work my frustrations out on. Where were the two of you when I was young and single and could have used a couple of good pimps?”

Jack smiled wryly. “I guess I deserve that. It’s just that you’ve been so uptight lately, I thought a harmless roll in the hay with a lusty, willing broad would do you good.”

“It probably would, but no thanks.” Tate moved toward the door. “Thanks for the drink, too.” With his hand on the doorknob, he asked as an afterthought, “Talked with your family recently?”

“Speaking of ‘drink,’ hey?”

“It just came out that way,” Tate replied, looking chagrined.