O is for Outlaw (Kinsey Millhone 15)

"You're not serious."

"I am. She grew up in the era of Jackie 0 and Camelot. While other girls played with Barbies, she was making a list of which rooms to redo."

"I had no idea."

"Hey, Mark wants it too. Don't get me wrong, but he'd probably be content with the Senate while she's longing for a place in all the history books. He won't make it this round, the competition's too fierce, but in four years, who knows? As long as he can rally support, he's probably got a shot at it one day. Meanwhile, if he starts looking like a loser, she might bump him and move on."

"And that's enough to keep their marriage afloat?"

"To a point. In the absence of passion, rampant ambition will suffice. Besides, divorce is a luxury."

"Oh, come on. Couples get divorced every day."

"Those are the people with nothing at stake. They can afford to set personal happiness above all else."

"As opposed to what?"

"The status quo. Besides, who wants to start over at our stage in life? Are you eager to fling yourself into a new relationship?"

"No."

Eric smiled. "My sentiments exactly. I mean, think of all the stories you'd have to retell, the personal revelations, the boring family history. Then you'd have to weather all the hurt feelings and the fear and the stupid misunderstandings while you get to know the other person and they get to know you. Even if you take the risk and pour yourself heart and soul into someone new, the odds are your new love's a clone of the one you just dumped."

I said, "This is making me ill."

"It's really no big deal. You put up with things. You look the other way, and sometimes you have no choice but to bite your tongue. If both parties are committed, whatever their reasons, it can work."

"And what if both aren't committed?"

"Then you have a problem and you have to deal with it."

NINETEEN.

I'm going to skip a bunch of stuff here because, really, who cares? We ate. We drank, and then we ate some more. I didn't spill, fart, fall down, or otherwise disgrace myself. I talked to the couple from Palm Springs, who turned out to be nice, as were most of the other folk. I listened with feigned interest to a lengthy discussion about vintage jaguars and antique Rolls-Royces and another in which the participants told where they were when the last big local earthquake struck. Some of the answers were: the south of France, Barbados, the Galapagos Islands. I confessed I was in town, scrubbing out my toilet bowl, when a bunch of water slopped up and splashed my face. That got a big laugh. What a kidder, that girl. I felt I was just getting the hang of how to talk to the rich when the following occurred.

Stewart crossed the atrium with a bottle of Chardonnay and offered to fill my glass. I declined, I'd had plenty, but Dixie leaned toward him so he could refill hers. The collar of her silk shirt gaped briefly in the process, and I caught a glimpse of the necklace she wore in the hollow of her throat.

Threaded on a gold chain was a tiny gold heart with a pink rose enameled in the center. I felt my smile falter. Fortunately, Dixie was looking elsewhere and didn't notice the change in my expression. I could feel my cheeks heat. The necklace was a duplicate of the one I'd seen in Mickey's bed-table drawer.

Now it was possible, remotely possible, he'd given her the necklace fourteen years before, in honor of the affair they were having back then. I set my glass on the table next to me and got to my feet. No one seemed to pay attention as I walked across the room. I passed through the doors into the dining room, where I spotted the same maid who'd answered the door.

I said, "Excuse me. Where's the nearest bathroom?" I couldn't, for the life of me, refer to it as the "loo."

"Turn right at the foyer. It's the second door on the right."

"I think someone's in there. Dixie said to use hers."

"Master bedroom's at the end of the hallway to the left of the foyer."

"Thanks," I said. As I passed the chair where I'd secured my handbag, I leaned down and picked it up. I moved through the living room and out into the foyer, where I turned left. I walked quickly, keeping my weight on my toes so the tap of my heels wouldn't advertise my passage. The double doors to the master bedroom stood open to reveal a room twice the size of my apartment. The pale limestone floors were the same throughout. All the colors here were muted: linens like gossamer, wall coverings of pale silk. There were two bathrooms, his 'n' hers, one on either side of the room. Eric's was nearer, fitted with an enormous roll-in shower and a wall-mounted bar to one side of the toilet. I turned on my heel and headed into the second.