Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [48]
They would mingle as prompted, but after participating in the gaiety, would gravitate back to that more secluded space, where they would pick up their conversation.
Sue Rollins was the first to question her husband about those moments.
“What do you and Deb talk about?” she asked, easing into what was really on her mind.
“Talk about? Politics, how the Redskins are doing, Washington gossip. The usual.”
“I’d almost think you were planning an affair.”
“Oh, come on, Sue, that’s absurd.”
“No it’s not. People are talking.”
“Who’s talking?”
“Others at the parties. Marcia Davis wondered whether you were bored with our friends.”
“Hardly, but you know I’m not much for social chitchat. I love our friends. It’s just that after a while, I like to find some quiet.”
“With Deb.”
“I suppose she’s looking for quiet space, too.”
“I just don’t want to see a nasty rumor start, that’s all, with Bob running for president and—”
They were sitting next to each other on a glider on their screened porch when Sue raised the topic. Rollins put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “Sue, my darling, Washington, D.C., is the capital of nasty rumors. You know that. The last thing I would ever want is to end up on the receiving end of one of those rumors. Tell you what, at the next party I’ll wear a lamp shade and—”
“That’s not funny, Jerry.”
“No, I guess it isn’t. What I mean is that Deb and I both enjoy finding some space at the gatherings, that’s all. But if you think it’s inappropriate, that’s the end of it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
But it wasn’t the end of it.
They began finding that “quiet space” away from the parties, away from everyone, including their spouses. Their growing infatuation with each other moved slowly, and involved only spasmodic meetings, on a park bench on a sunny day, or lunch outside the Beltway at a nondescript, sparsely populated restaurant. There was no physical intimacy during these initial days, aside from kisses on the cheek, and hugs when leaving. It was all talk, a sharing of views, and the recounting of stories from their pasts. She was taken with his quiet, thoughtful demeanor and clearheaded take on issues large and small, while he responded to what he perceived as her innate decency, and easy acceptance of ideas other than her own.
At times, of course, the topic turned to their respective married lives and spouses. Neither was harshly critical of their mates, although an undercurrent of dissatisfaction was usually present. For Deborah, of course, the allegations of Bob’s infidelities were at the root of her disenchantment with her marriage, and Rollins’s ear was forever sympathetic to her obvious pain. His discontent had nothing to do with Sue. Had he a complaint about her, it was that she tended to be jealous, the irony of which wasn’t lost on him as he sat holding hands with one of Sue’s best friends. For him, it was more a matter of a vague restlessness that butted heads with his buttoned-down, pedantic approach to life. He was, he told Deborah, a classic Apollonian personality, a person who acted upon what his head told him, rather than his heart. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like on the other side,” he told her.
“The other side of what?” she asked.
“The Dionysian side,” he explained, “the side where the heart rules and you’re free to be naked and ride bareback through a field at night, like the character from Equus.” They’d seen a revival at the Kennedy Center, and their reaction to the play and