“Frankly,” he admitted, “yes.”
“I know I can’t ever be your wife. But I would like to be your... woman. The only woman in your life.”
“Well, Brandi... Sheila...”
“Maybe you don’t want to make that commitment. I understand. But just because I have the body of a whore doesn’t mean I am one. After all, topless clubs are popular because sex isn’t safe, anymore.”
“Interesting piece of sociology.”
“Thank you. What I’m saying is... if you’re interested in me, as a person, as a friend, as a potential long-term relationship... a loving one, I think, possibly... I have to demand a... a period of courtship.”
He laughed a little. “You’re from the Midwest, aren’t you?”
“Minnesota. Brainerd. We’re both a couple of farmers, Jim. You mind if I call you ‘Jim’?”
“Please. Have you had dinner?”
“No.”
“Edward grills a mean steak.”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Well, he tosses a hell of a salad, too. Shall I put that in motion?”
She smiled, nodded; touched his knee.
They ate in the small, dark-wood-dominated dining room, under the miniature but intricate crystal chandelier. There was an elegance to it, and the mood of a... date. Much as he might want to get laid, he had to admit he liked the romance of this.
They retired to the study where the fire was dwindling; they sat and kissed and nuzzled. Tricky Dick came bouncing in and jumped up, straddling them.
She squealed, but it was a squeal of delight.
“What a beautiful big tomcat! Mixed breed?”
Rawson scratched Dick’s ears. “Yes. I took him in off the street.”
The cat was standing on her lap, now, staring right at her, as if searching out a secret.
Sheila smiled at him. “We’re one of a kind, Mr. Kitty, you and me. Strays this good Samaritan here brought in off the street.”
Then Tricky Dick curled up on her lap and she stroked him; he purred orgasmically.
“He’s doing better than I am,” Rawson said wryly.
“He likes me. Cats aren’t always this affectionate.”
“Dick’s pretty easy-going, for a cat, but he seldom takes to strangers like this. I knew someone once who...”
He stopped short.
“What is it?” she asked.
He rose; went to the liquor cart and poured himself a tumbler of Dewar’s. “Nothing,” he said.
Tricky Dick had taken to Vicki just like that. Just that way...
“Where’s his collar?” she asked.
He sat back down beside her. “He doesn’t have one. He’s a fat lazy old boy who never leaves the house. His litterbox is as close to the great-out-of-doors as he gets.”
“Poor, poor kitty,” she said, petting him. “How can you be so cruel, Senator? I’m going to buy you a collar,” she said to the cat. “You mind if I do that, Jim? Buy your kitty cat a collar?”
“Not at all — if you can get him to wear the damn thing.”
She was scratching the cat’s neck; it purred rapturously.
“I think he’ll love the attention,” she said. “He’s a male, after all. Males do love attention...”
“Sir,” Edward said, later, “do you know where Miss Douglas lives?”
“No,” Rawson admitted. He was still in the study, seated on the couch, Tricky Dick curled up next to him, now; another tumbler of Dewar’s in hand.
“The Watergate.”
Rawson shrugged. Sipped. “A lot of people live at the Watergate.”
“Miss Petersen once lived at the Watergate, sir.”
“Your point being?”
“We know nothing about this young lady. Perhaps you should hire an investigator to look into her background.”
“If anything serious begins to develop, I will. Is that all, Edward?”
“Yes, sir. Sir?”
“What is it, Edward?”
“About my raise...”
“You’ve had a raise.”
“I’d like another, sir.”
“I don’t want to discuss this now, Edward.”
“Fine, sir. But, sir?”
“Yes, Edward?”
“We will be discussing it, sir.”
Three nights later, Sheila Douglas — wearing a baby-blue sweater and black ski pants and heels — was again a guest in Rawson’s P Street townhouse. Edward prepared a seafood fettuccine (her vegetarianism, it seemed, pertained only to red meat) and the conversation was friendly. He prodded her about her show business aspirations, and she talked about actresses she admired — Faye Dunaway was her favorite, but she also liked Debra Winger. Chit chat.
In the study, he sat on the couch, patted the spot next to him and she took it. She gave him a long, lingering kiss. Her tongue flicked at his teeth.
“Where’s Tricky Dick?” she asked.
“My cat?”
“What other Tricky Dick do you have? Or should I ask?”
He grinned, laughed, said, “You want to make me blush, young lady?” Then he whistled for the cat. When Dick wasn’t curled up in the study, on the couch by his master, he slept in a little bed in a corner of the kitchen.
“He doesn’t always come,” Rawson said. “He is a cat, you know.”
She called out. “Dick! Oh, Dick!”
And, soon, the cat came ambling in. The damn thing almost seemed to smile at her. It hopped up on her lap and began rubbing its head against her fuzzy sweater.
“He always gets a better shake out of you than me,” Rawson said with a grin.
Her little purse was nearby on an end table. She reached for it and withdrew a sack with a pet-shop name on it; she took from the sack a heavy yellowish leather strap decorated with a few vari-colored jewels.
“I hope Dick doesn’t find the glitz effeminate,” she said. “But it caught my eye at the pet store.”
Rawson folded his arms. “Let’s see if he stands still for this...”
The cat seemed to crane its neck yearningly as she fitted the collar about his neck; no protests. In fact, it was clear he liked the goddamn thing!
“You’re a wonder, Sheila. But now I have something for you.”
He rose and went to a drawer in the mahogany tambour secretary against the wall. He removed the simple strand of glittering diamonds and held it out gently as he walked over to her.
“It’s not a collar, exactly,” he said. “In fact, it’s just a bracelet.”
“Oh, Jim! It’s lovely! A tennis bracelet... oh, I’ve always wanted one...”
She affixed it to her wrist and then held out her slender, red-nailed hand and gazed at the sparkling stones appreciatively. “Oh, Jim. How can I ever thank you?”
He sat down, slipped his arm around her. “There are... traditional ways I could think of.”
She kissed him. The sound of the purring cat, as she stroked it, provided distracting background music.
“I think I could love you, Sheila.”
“I feel that way about you, Jim. And I will thank you for this lovely gift. I want you to know I’ll thank you the right way for it, too. But...”
“Still too soon? I can wait. I’m a patient man.”
She smirked and shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s... you know. The wrong time of the month for me. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for biology. That’s what this is all about anyway, isn’t it? Biology.”
“Partly,” she admitted. She stroked his face with one hand, her other hand petting the purring cat.
A week later, Rawson was getting worried about Sheila. He had called her at the Gentleman’s Club and she’d been warm, friendly, but hadn’t made another date with him.
“Please understand,” she said. “I... this is embarrassing.”