Butterfly (64 page)

secret sources, by striking a secret pact with the Muslim king. His small country needed

American tanks and machine guns. Danny, through his representatives, promised the Arab

everything if he would arrest and then later release a certain missionary named Fred Banks.

The whole thing had gone off without a hitch. Fred had his ranch, the king had his

illegal weapons, and Danny was a hero.

And now that he was campaigning and the convention was only two months away, the

whole Fred Banks episode was being brought up again, as was also the Parkland vigil on

the day of Kennedy’s assassination. Danny’s staff kept the Kennedy connection constantly

in the forefront, and the people ate it up. His slogan, “Return to Camelot,” had been

Danny’s idea. It was written, in fact, on the bright red banner that was draped across the

wall behind the dais where Danny Mackay was going to preside over a banquet being

given in his honor by Beverly Highland.

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“Okay, Bon,” Danny said, checking himself one last time in the mirror. “Go get the

bitch and we’ll be on our way.”

“The bitch” was his wife, Angelica.

Beverly would not sit at Danny’s table. The reason she gave was that this was his night

and she did not want to steal any of his spotlight. Danny, being a consummate egotist,

thought this sounded reasonable.

Twelve hundred people rose to their feet when he entered the ballroom. Their applause

and cheering nearly drowned out the orchestra, which was playing “The Yellow Rose of

Texas.” Danny stood before them with his arms raised and his face alight while flashbulbs

went off all around him. Then, when the adulation had gone on for a respectable length of

time, he lowered his arms and bowed his head. Suddenly the ballroom fell silent as twelve

hundred people also bowed their heads for Reverend Danny Mackay’s invocation.

When they were all seated, eyes eagerly upon him, Danny treated them all to his rogu-

ish grin and began a slow, drawling chat. “Praise the Lord,” he said softly, trying to meet

the gaze of as many people in the room as possible. They sat at large round tables and

wore evening gowns and tuxedos. Champagne glasses glittered, china plates and silver-

ware waited in readiness for the feast. The first thing Danny did was to thank the orches-

tra for giving him such a grand entrance. “It was my mother’s favorite song, God rest her.

She’s in Heaven with the Father now, but I know she heard every note of that music.

Y’know, folks, I’m stone-deaf when it comes to music. Like Ulysses S. Grant, I only know

but two songs—one of them is ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas,’ and the other one isn’t.”

Laughter rumbled through the crowd.

His voice rang out over their heads. Even though Danny spoke quietly into the micro-

phone, in a casual, conversational tone, his words carried as if he were shouting.

They laughed. They roared. They loved him.

From where she sat, at a table occupied by various political and social hotshots,

Beverly watched and listened to Danny with a fixed expression. She sat so still, so erect

and rigid, and appeared to be so cool and controlled in her simple but stunning evening

gown, that no one would have guessed the turmoil that was going on inside her. She

could barely breathe, her pulse was racing so fast.

That night came rushing back. That awful, awful night…

“I’ve been blessed indeed,” Danny was saying up on the dais. “The good Lord knows

I don’t deserve such good fortune. I have sinned. I am still a sinner! But, with God’s grace

and compassion, I shall continue my fight against the Devil!”

Beverly looked at the faces around her. They were adoring him; they were worshiping

him. She began to tremble. The diamonds at her throat shimmered.

“God is on our side!” Danny shouted. “Didn’t I prove that only last year when I

walked into the lion’s den and saved one of the Lord’s servants from certain execution?

Wasn’t Brother Fred Banks about to be martyred for trying to bring the Word into a hea-

then country? Amen!” Danny cried, and the audience burst into applause.

Beverly closed her eyes. Fred Banks. Carefully and happily tucked away on a ranch

deep inside Mexico, doing what he’d always wanted to do, lording it over his own

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thousand acres and army of peons. Richer than he had ever dreamed, because of a

small ad he had placed in a magazine. But about to become a lot richer.

“But here I stand,” Danny said, “talking about myself when I should be paying hom-

age to the little lady who is doing honor to me tonight! A fine woman without whom I

would not be where I am tonight. Miss Beverly Highland!”

The spotlight swung away from Danny and suddenly washed over Beverly. She didn’t

rise. She merely smiled graciously at the applauding audience.

While Danny brought the spotlight back to himself so that he could recite a long

string of thanks and gratitude to Miss Highland, Beverly thought about Fred Banks.

When the news story had broken last year about Danny Mackay risking life and limb

going to an Arab kingdom to negotiate for the release of a certain missionary, Beverly had

been suspicious. That didn’t sound like Danny. Altruism and sacrifice were not words in

his vocabulary. So she had put Jonas Buchanan to work on it, and Jonas had found Banks

happily secreted away on an isolated ranch in Mexico. Poor old Fred, having soon tired of

his reclusive life and hungry for the company of an American, had invited the lost

“tourist” into his home and that night had gotten drunk, telling Jonas everything.

The trouble was, Fred had confessed, that he had liked the media attention so much

that it had spoiled him. Life on the ranch was too quiet; he hungered for that spotlight

excitement once again. And so Jonas promised it to him.

Someone was installed in Fred’s house to watch him and make sure he didn’t try to

work an even bigger deal with Danny, and at the right moment Beverly was going to

arrange for Fred Banks to sell his incredible story to the press.

She looked at Danny. His speech was winding down. She turned in her chair slightly

and caught the eye of a woman seated at a table near the back of the room. She was one

of eight women at a round table, and all eight of them were dressed in scarlet-and-white

cowgirl outfits, with ten-gallon hats on their heads that had bands reading, “Return to

Camelot.” These were Danny Girls, although most of them were no longer girls.

The Danny Girls had been Danny’s own idea. It was just one more reminder of his con-

nection with the late Kennedys: he had remembered the Kennedy Girls back in the ’60

campaign and had decided to establish his own team of such enthusiastic cheerleaders. The

Girls were seen everywhere, handing out pamphlets and bumper stickers, going from door

to door, convincing folks with their peaches-and-cream smiles to vote for Danny Mackay.

The Danny Girls who sat at the table near the exit of the ballroom, however, had not

been recruited by Danny’s staff. These had been handpicked by Beverly.

Beverly caught the eye of one of them now and gave her a discreet nod of the head.

The woman nodded back, murmured something to her companions, then got up from

the table.

The timing was perfect. She reached the dais just as Danny was about to step down.

She was a pretty thing, and shapely, too, in her tight red cowboy pants. The fringe on

her red satin blouse swayed below large breasts, and her pearly buttons were undone

enough to expose cleavage. She got Danny’s attention at once.

“I wish to present a gift to you, Reverend,” she said, standing next to him. “From Miss

Highland.”

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“Well, now,” he said. “Well, now! Miss Highland? Why don’t you come up here and

join me?”

Beverly hesitated. The spotlight was on her again and everyone was clapping. She felt

Maggie at her side, watching her with concern. Beverly drew in a deep, steadying breath,

made a small reassuring gesture to her friend, then rose and went to the dais.

His nearness made her feel faint. She was surrounded by over a thousand people, there

were hot lights on her, and cigar smoke filled the air. She had to stay in control. It would

take but a minute, and then she could get away.

The Danny Girl handed him a gold box, and when he opened it, he said, “Well, I’ll

be! If that isn’t a handsome thing!”

“Allow me,” the Girl said. She lifted the tiny object off its satin cushion, positioned

herself right in front of Danny, and took his tie in her hands. Everyone watched for a

silent moment, and then, when she stepped away, they all saw the platinum pin she had

fastened to his tie.

Danny looked down at it and beamed. “Why,” he said into the microphone. “It’s a

butterfly. And a right pretty one at that!”

Then he turned to Beverly. Their eyes met for the first time in thirty-five years, and

Danny thought, she’s even better looking in real life than in her pictures. “I just happen

to have a gift for you, too, Miss Highland, that I was going to present to you after dinner.

But since you’re up here, why, I might as well give it to you now.”

He held out his hand and Bonner placed a leather box in it. Danny spoke a few words

about what a great moment this was, meeting her at last, and that he hoped this was the

start of a wonderful friendship, praise the Lord, and then he handed her the box.

For an instant, their fingertips touched.

Beverly felt light-headed. She teetered briefly, then she fought for control and was

steady again. With shaking hands she opened the leather case. She stared down at its

contents.

Lying on a velvet bed was a gold necklace. Beverly picked it up so that it glittered on

the end of its chain. It swung slowly back and forth in the bright lights.

She saw that it was a religious medal. On one side it bore a cross; on the other, the

image of Danny Mackay.

May

40

It looked like any motel room: cheap madras bedspread on the king-size bed, orange

drapes, orange shag carpet, fake mahogany end tables and dresser. Stiff white towels in the

antiseptic bathroom; a DO NOT DISTURB/PLEASE CLEAN THE ROOM sign hanging on the

inside doorknob. It could have been a room in any motel on any highway from L.A. to

New York. And the sounds of traffic on the other side of the closed window could have

come from any street.

When she entered, she flicked on the light, hung DO NOT DISTURB on the outside

knob and closed the door. Then she kicked off her shoes and tossed her overnight case on

the bed. She felt as if she’d driven thousands of miles. A good hot bath would feel good.

She wondered if the TV worked.

While she was running the water she thought she heard keys in the door. Turning off

the tap, she came into the room just as the door flew open. She cried out.

“So!” he said, slamming the door shut behind himself. “You didn’t think I would find

you, did you?”

Her hand went to her mouth.

He took a step toward her and she retreated.

“I can see now that you’ve got to be taught a lesson,” he growled. “Take off your

clothes.”

She started to shake. “H-how did you find me?”

“I said, ‘Strip.’ Now!”

“Can’t we talk?”

He raised an arm to strike her. She fell back a step, her fingers fumbling with the but-

tons of her blouse.

An evil smile crept across his face. “Now you’ve got the idea. Do it slow and nice. Put

on a show for me.”

She was shaking so badly she could hardly control her hands. The blouse came away

and floated to the floor. Then her skirt. She hesitated at the band of her panty hose.

“Everything,” he barked. “I want to see you naked.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You know why. This is the last time you’re going to run away from me.” He reached

into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a handful of silk. They were four scarves, bright

red and somehow menacing. “No woman makes a fool of me twice. Now take off the rest.”

With her wide frightened eyes fixed on the scarves, she pulled the panty hose down,

and then, hesitantly, her eyes on his hands as they twisted the delicate silk into ropes, she