The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [22]
Cal looked at her in silence. “Oh, come on,” she murmured, “imagine we are in a Somerset Maugham novel, two strangers, stranded together in a storm, the only thing to keep them amused their life stories….” He was smiling now and she breathed a little sigh of relief; she wouldn’t want him to think that she was just a nosy TV reporter, snooping for a story.
“No special woman,” he said, “I just don’t have the time. Not that I would say no if someone ‘special’ ever came my way.”
His grin was engaging and she laughed. “That’s called ‘having your cake and eating it.’ I know, because I’m like you, just too busy.”
“I heard you were an honest woman,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. “To the special people who never come our way.”
“What motivates you, Cal?” she asked, sipping her champagne. “What makes a politician? Are you born to the role, like an artist or a musician? Or is it an acquired talent?”
He looked at her for a moment, deciding he liked her style. He said, “Now I see what makes you a good reporter. You know the right questions to ask to make your subject open up—and you put them in such a charming and flattering way, they can’t refuse to answer. I can’t claim to have ‘talent,’ but I guess I’ve always been a political animal. I came from a family where politics were always discussed—usually heatedly—over supper, and maybe breakfast and lunch too.
“But I made my decision early in life—I was just a kid, seven years old when my parents took me on a visit to Washington. They wanted me to see the capital, ‘to feel the seat of power,’ my dad said, and I remember how dazzled I was by the wide avenues and stately columned buildings. I thought it must be as grand a city as Paris. I’ve never changed my mind. It still gives me a buzz to remember that kid from the Bronx touring the White House with his mom and dad, remembering the first stirrings of political ambition. I just knew I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be there, in the White House where the decisions were made, I wanted to help—even on the lowest level. I would have been a mail boy—anything, to get through those doors. Me and a million others, I guess,” he added with a grin. “Only I did something about it and for me, politics still beats selling junk bonds or making movies as the most exciting business in the world.”
“I envy your single-mindedness,” she said admiringly. “Everyone says you are destined for the top.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. There’s a lot of game-playing in that town. I’m not too happy about it, but it seems to go along with the job.”
“They say you’re one of that rare breed—an honest politician,” she said provocatively.
“I hope so,” he replied seriously. “And now, what motivates you, Genie Reese?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure. Maybe to prove myself to my mom, even though she’s dead. She had such a hard time, just never seemed to get it right…. I guess I want to make it for both of us.”
He looked at her sympathetically, thinking it seemed a very sad reason for success. “Atonement for your mother’s sins?” he asked.
She smiled ruefully. “Nothing as grand as that.” They looked at each other in silence until she said briskly, “And you? What else motivates your famous ambition?”
“famous ambition?”
She laughed at his surprise, “Surely you know that you are ‘a man dedicated to his job—a true political animal, possible future presidential material’? Don’t you read your own press cuttings, Mr. Warrender?”
She pushed a hand through her long hair and said with a laugh, “Tell me, where do you live? No, let me guess … Watergate.”
“How did you know?”
“Easy. A political bachelor needs a place with easy access to government offices and the White House, and somewhere where he is looked after. Watergate fits the bill—maid service, laundry service, restaurants on the