No More Lonely Nights (40 page)

“… doing so well in the polls. They say your chances are very good.”

He caught the end of her sentence and smiled automatically. “Yes. I think folks are ready for a change.” He forced himself to concentrate on the fact that she was a wife and mother. Definitely unavailable. “How’s the baby?” he asked.

“Not a baby anymore,” Dominique laughed. “I feel that if I spend an hour away from her, I miss a whole stage in her development.”

Sally Devereaux sidled up to them and elaborately looked at her watch. Mark laughed. “I think I’m being ordered out of here.” He took a step back. “I’ll see you later.” He tried to sound casual.

“I’ll be here!” Dominique said, her voice lively. It was so nice to see Mark again! She had almost forgotten how easy it was to be around him. She never had to measure her words or account for his moods. Around him, she felt unconditionally accepted. For a moment, she reveled guiltlessly in the good feeling he gave her. Then she thought of Clay. Well, of course, it was easy to view Mark as flawlessly charming when she didn’t have to live with him, she reminded herself. He could probably be as much of a bear as her own husband, once you got to know him. She had to be careful not to idealize Mark. After all, he was an extremely desirable man. It would be very easy to develop a crush on him. And that was a folly she wouldn’t allow.

When Dominique arrived at the office two days later, it was in turmoil. Aides were scurrying about with frantic expressions and Sally was shouting into the telephone, trying to locate Mark. Dominique wasn’t sure what to do next. Cautiously, she picked her way across the office, trying to avoid the staffers that darted back and forth. She collided with one just in front of the desk of Mark’s press secretary, Bruno Carder. The other woman mumbled, “Excuse me,” and skittered away.

Dominique heard Bruno say, “There’s a reporter nosing around about farm workers’ rights. We hear he’s got pictures of some shacks over at Whispering Cypress plantation. No running water. Open sewers. That kind of thing. That’s only a few miles from the Patouts’. Anyway, he’s latched onto the fact that the Patouts have a cane plantation and he wants access to the property! He wants to bring a photographer,” he finished ominously

Bruno was silent as the person on the other end spoke, then he pressed the phone to his chest and yelled to Sally, “When’s he coming in?”

“Not till afternoon. He’s got a meeting with—”

Bruno didn’t wait for her to finish. He went back to his conversation. Dominique hurried to her desk, thinking about what she had heard. She didn’t know anything about the issue, but it distressed her to think of people living in the conditions Bruno had described in such an offhand fashion. She wondered if Mark’s own workers lived that way. She knew he was wealthy, as was the owner of Whispering Cypress. It didn’t seem too much to provide decent standards of living for people who worked the plantation. Dominique sighed. She didn’t like to think of Mark as the kind of person who would exploit others. She expected more of him.

Dominique was startled from her thoughts by Sally’s voice. “My God!” she heard the office manager exclaim. “The reporter has sent over some of the photographs for our comment. Look at these!” she said with disgust, slapping them on Bruno’s desk. Bruno picked up the first one and grimaced. Then he slowly studied the remainder. Dominique could tell that he was deeply disturbed by what he saw. When he was finished, he laid them gently on his desk. He looked reflective for a moment, then he said, “Powerful stuff.” He shook his head. “I hope there’s nothing like this at Mark’s place.”

“What are you going to do?” Sally asked.

Bruno rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned down his mouth. “We’ll just have to wait to see what Mark says when he gets in.”

Dominique was burning with curiosity, but she knew it would be inappropriate to ask for a look at the photographs.

Later, though, when Bruno went to lunch, Dominique wandered to his desk and placed a letter she had typed for him in his “in” box. At the same time, she leaned over to look at the photo lying on the blotter.

She almost gagged when she saw it. Her eyes clamped shut in horror. She gripped the edges of Bruno’s desk and braced herself to look again. Slowly she opened her eyes and stared, transfixed. The photo was of two girls, one white, one black. Both children’s bodies were covered in filth. The white one’s hair hung in long, limp strings to her hips. They were standing ankle deep in mud—at least Dominique hoped it was mud—and they were naked. But they were about eleven years of age—too old to be naked. They stood in front of a tar-paper shack that leaned precariously to one side. The two windows had no panes, nor screens. The door was a burlap flap.

Most shocking, however, were the open sores on the black child’s face, flies crawling along their edges. The white child held something in her hand that she was putting in her mouth—perhaps a slice of bread. It was also covered in mud. Slung across each girl’s shoulders was a burlap sack filled with cane.

Stunned, Dominique straightened—and found herself face to face with Mark. He could tell that she was deeply shocked. Her face was pale and she didn’t even say hello. She took a step backward and stared at him.

“I understand there are some photographs I need to see,” he said quietly.

Dominique looked at the pile on Bruno’s desk. She stood mutely as Mark picked them up. The room fell silent as the staff waited for his reaction.

“Oh, God!” He gasped and averted his eyes. Then he slumped into Bruno’s chair and for a moment sat frozen in that position. Finally, gathering his fortitude, he lifted the pictures. With rapt concentration, he lengthily studied each one. When he was finished, he placed them face down on Bruno’s desk and rose.

“That,” Mark said, pointing at the photos, “is not to be tolerated. No one should have to live like that. No one.” His voice was intense, vehement.

Sally approached him cautiously. “Well, but… at Whispering Cypress…”

Mark turned menacing eyes on her. Dominique knew he wasn’t angry at his office manager, but he appeared unspeakably angry at the conditions he had just seen.

At that moment, Bruno came back, carrying the sandwich he would eat at his desk. He strode up to Mark, but stopped short when he saw the older man’s expression. “You… you’re back,” Bruno said lamely.

Mark’s eyes burned. “I understand that the reporter who took those wants my comment.”

Bruno shifted uneasily. Like everyone else in the room, he knew Mark to be easygoing and good-natured. He had never before seen him so enraged. “Actually…” He hesitated. “… It’s worse. The guy wants to take pictures at your place.” Bruno hung his head and mumbled, “If it’s anything like that…” He gestured at the photos, but didn’t complete his sentence.

Mark grew paler still. One by one, he gave each person in the room a glacial, speculative stare. There was not a sound. It was as though everyone were holding their breath. Finally, Mark spoke. “How could any of you work for me if you thought I would treat my employees like that!” he spat.

No one said a word. A few hung their heads.

Mark continued to stare at them. Then he focused on Bruno. “Tell that reporter he’s welcome to drop in anytime at Belle Terre. He can visit the school we have there, or the infirmary. He can have lunch in the snack bar, which you can tell him is owned by a former farm worker. And he’s welcome to look in the houses, as long as the people who live in them say it’s all right. Tell him that the easiest way to get there is to ride on our bus. It stops every day in New Orleans and Baton Rouge.

“As for my comment on those photos, tell him this: I knew that workers in Louisiana weren’t universally well treated, but I had no idea that living conditions like these still existed. Not all plantation owners clear the kind of profit that enables them to provide as well for their workers as we do for ours. We’ve been lucky. But there’s
no
excuse for the conditions shown in those photos. Tell him that I thank him for bringing them to my attention and that my immediate priority in Congress will be to persuade my colleagues to enact laws to outlaw conditions like these.
Before
the election. That’s all.” Mark glared once more at the assembly, then turned and stalked into his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

Dominique felt a thrill of admiration for Mark. Her estimation of him soared. She was so proud of him. She suddenly wanted with all her heart to help him win his Senate race.

Dominique settled into a routine of working at the campaign every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Her initial schedule had called for her to arrive at eleven and depart at four. But the paid staff were so impressed with Dominique’s office skills that she was always in demand. As a result, she found herself coming in earlier and leaving later with each visit. It felt good to be part of the close-knit campaign team. She enjoyed the camaraderie and the frenetic energy. The one rule she set down for herself was to leave no later than five-thirty in order to be home when Clay arrived at six-thirty.

Dominique had barely seen her old friend Mark since she’d begun working for him. He was in Washington a lot and, when he returned on the Thursday evenings, he often went straight to the state capital, Baton Rouge. His schedule was packed with events the campaign manager thought worthwhile, from interviews to Kiwanis dinners. But his presence was always felt.

“Mark wants…” Sally would begin almost every sentence with those words.

“Mark says…” Bruno would announce.

“Mark called…”

Mark had never struck Dominique as self-centered, so it was odd to see that he was in fact the sun around which the lives of the rest of the staff—his satellites—revolved. His word was law. His wants were anticipated. He was treated with slavish deference.

As Dominique grew accustomed to the office, she found that the new volunteers gravitated to her with their questions. She never made them feel stupid or slow. She was brusque, but not short-tempered like Bruno or Sally. She got a lot done and, at the end of each day, left with a feeling of accomplishment.

“I don’t know how we ever survived without you,” Sally admitted one day as she handed Dominique revisions for a press release.

Sally rarely stood still, so when she leaned against Dominique’s desk and crossed her arms as though she had more to say, Dominique stopped typing and looked up inquiringly.

“I didn’t know you were an event planner,” Sally said in a tone that was mockingly accusatory, as though she were chiding Dominique for withholding vital information.

“Well,… I thought volunteers mainly did clerical work…” She remembered Clay’s words.

Sally pushed her glasses up on her nose with her index finger. “That all depends on the size of the campaign staff.” She sighed. “Ours is pretty stretched.”

Dominique leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk in a relaxed pose. “Can I do more to help?”

Sally shifted and scrunched up her face as though she had something difficult to say. “Since you ask,… as a matter of fact…” She hesitated. “You know about the dinner he’s having next month for his top advisers, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It was to be small. Only about fifty people. Anyone could handle a dinner like that, Dominique thought. It didn’t really fall into the realm of event planning.

“And you know that we have to start putting together the primary-night party?”

Dominique sat up with a look of alarm. “But that’s only six weeks away! You haven’t done that yet?”

Sally, shamefaced, shook her head. “We haven’t had the time to focus on it.”

Dominique was speechless.

“Anyhow, Mark thought you might be able to help. We want you to become part of the paid staff.” Sally was gushing as though she were afraid that if she stopped, Dominique would have a chance to refuse. “If you could work full time we’d be thrilled, but I don’t know how Mr. Parker would feel about that. So many husbands won’t let their wives—”

Dominique held up her hands in a signal for Sally to stop. “Wait a minute! You’re overwhelming me!” Dominique laughed. “This is completely unexpected.”

Sally smiled self-consciously. “That’s because Bruno and I had no idea of your background until Mark told us.”

Dominique wondered what he had said. In the beginning, Bruno and Sally had barely spoken to her, not because they were hostile but because they were busy. More recently, they had taken to shoveling all their clerical work on her. But they had never sought her opinion or input. Now all the brusqueness was gone from Sally’s manner. Dominique was smart enough to know that the office manager’s new demeanor was attributable directly to Mark, and she was tremendously flattered. She looked down and with one hand lightly poked the keys of the typewriter in an absentminded way.

The idea of working full time was appealing. Very appealing. The office was stimulating and her colleagues fun. On the other hand, she didn’t like to leave Gabrielle so much. Solange had her own life and it wasn’t fair to ask her to give it up so that she could keep constant watch over the little girl. Finally, there was Clay to consider. He was already complaining about how exhausted Dominique seemed at the end of each day. She had twice in the past three weeks asked him to turn down dinner invitations that he considered important. In addition, she had had to give up most of her charity work. She was still chairwoman of the Heart Fund ball, and tried to perform her duties on her free days or on weekends. But it was hard. There just wasn’t enough time. She was glad the ball was only two weeks away.

Dominique looked helplessly at the office manager. “Look, Sally, I’m honored that you and Mark would trust me with such important projects and I’d truly like to take the job, but I can’t.”

Sally’s mouth turned down in disappointment. Dominique watched the other woman try to control her urge to argue. Feeling as though she owed her more of an explanation, Dominique said, “Gabrielle is still so young and…” She turned her palms up.

Sally peered at Dominique and waited for her to continue. But Dominique remained silent, her expression helpless.

Sally sighed. “That’s bad news. I guess I’ll have to try to pull things together myself…” She was clearly distressed.