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45

Cold rain was falling when Lee Shoreff arrived at SeaTac airport, south of Seattle. An employee of Millennium's Seattle Center drove her through rush-hour freeway traffic to the city's near north side, and her hotel. The director had planned to pick her up himself, the man said, but his daughter had taken sick, and he'd gone home.

Lee asked if it always rained in Seattle. Only from October through March, he answered laughing. During the rest of the year they sometimes even glimpsed the sun. Actually, he corrected, July and August were sunny, and it didn't rain much at all. In fact, Seattle was an easy place to like: friendly, lushly green, and seldom hot. And never very cold; certainly not to him, who'd grown up in Pittsburgh.

After she checked in, he carried her two bags to her 15th-floor room, and asked if there was anything she needed. When she assured him there wasn't, he left.

Opening her drapes, Lee peered eastward through her rain-battered, room-width window, across a cityscape rich in fir trees and vague with rain. Not far away was a lake the color of lead, extending for miles. Somewhere out there, she supposed, were mountains. On the Ranch she'd gotten used to sunny days, and mountains sharply seen.

She decided she didn't care for Seattle, at least not today, and reclosed her drapes. The digital display on her TV wall screen read 4:43 p.m. She activated the set, then opened her two bags and began to hang up clothes. At the periphery of her attention, a male voice accompanied the viewing menu, sounding totally inane. Finally she took off her shoes, racked herself back on a recliner with the remote in her hand, and paged through the menu with the sound turned off: sports, with submenus for college and professional, and sub-submenus for basketball and hockey. Other menus covered movies; politics; news. . . . None of it attracted her. Finally she called up a book, a romance, something she rarely read. It wasn't bad, actually, though steamier than she needed.

At 6:30 she tabbed the page and turned off the screen. Her stomach had informed her it was hungry. She changed her clothes and renewed her makeup, then left the room, following wall arrows to the elevator bay. The elevator shaft was a glass-walled semi-cylinder. It was past sundown, and the afternoon's gloomy daylight had faded nearly to night. Rain still fell, though thinly now.

By contrast, the hotel restaurant was bright, diners' conversations light and lively around her, the hostess cheery. "One?" the young woman asked.

"Yes, please."

There were not a lot of diners. The Hard Times. As she followed the woman among tables, she realized she hadn't brought a book to read while waiting. Ever since college she'd made a practice of carrying one in her purse when she traveled, for restaurant and airport waits, but had taken it out while looking for something else.

"Lee!"

She stopped at the call, looked around, and saw Duke Cochran gesturing an invitation from a window table. She put a hand on the hostess's arm. "I see a friend over there," she said.

"Good. I'll send a waitress."

He was on his feet as she approached, grinning with pleasure. "Am I glad to see you!" he said, and held her chair for her. "Until now, this evening threatened to be deadly dull. What are you doing in Seattle?"

He knew what she was doing there. He knew about her trip, and had planned one to coincide with it. Both had been delayed when Millennium postponed all unessential trips because of the epidemic.

"I'm here to familiarize myself with local conditions and personnel at the center," she said. "What brings you here?"

He laughed. "Somewhat the same thing, actually. I'm familiarizing myself with the staff. Interviewing, and asking questions." He paused, taking her in with his eyes. "Well! This is a treat!"

A waitress arrived with a menu for Lee, and Duke declined to order till she was ready. Meanwhile they both ordered cocktails, and talked. He'd been in Chicago for three days, just before the flu, to handle some things with his editor. They'd been having a brutal winter there. He'd seen a show and a Bulls game . . . "Oh, and I learned some things about David Hunter, the retired general. Nothing sinister, but very interesting: He's not a graduate of the Air Force Academy. He went to school at Cornell, majored in operations management, and took four years of Air Force ROTC. And . . ." Cochran paused, grinning. "He used to date—Florence Metzger!"

Lee frowned, puzzled.

"Our president, back when she was an Olympic swimmer. They were an item, apparently. What do you think of that?"

"I'm not sure. Is it significant?"

"Possibly, but I've wracked my brain and haven't come up with anything. A tantalizing bit of information though."

The waitress returned, took their orders, and again they waited. Their talk turned to the current turmoil in the Catholic Church, which had polarized over the agenda for Vatican Three, and not only birth control. From the Church, the conversation moved to sports. It was, she realized, a treat to sit talking with a mature adult whose views on many things were unknown to her. By the time their meal arrived, she'd started on her third drink almost without noticing. The baked salmon was excellent—she did notice that—and so was the rest of the food. Not till they'd finished eating did she glance out the window.

"It's stopped raining!" she said.

"Good! I noticed a dance club across the street. Shall we check it out?"

"I'll get my rain coat," she answered, "just in case."

She met him in the lobby—he'd gotten his too—and they left. The city smelled clean, rainwashed. As they walked chatting and laughing to the corner, an occasional small drop ticked her face. She hadn't felt so young since she was a student at Syracuse, on a date with a special boyfriend. There were more people in the club than Lee had expected. She supposed they were celebrating the end of the flu, those who could afford to. The band was good. Seventies disco was in style again, both the old numbers, and new ones in the seventies style. They danced and laughed through more than an hour and two more drinks, sweating a little with exertion, eyes meeting playfully. It wasn't until a slow dance was played, and they danced cheek to cheek, that she realized how late it was.

"I think we'd better get back to the hotel," she said. "Merlin will be picking me up at eight tomorrow."

"Right. I'd forgotten all about the time."

They left without finishing their drinks. It was raining more briskly again, and they ran to the corner and across the street. Then they walked, holding hands, Lee breathless and laughing. The lobby, and rotunda, rich in ferns, seemed warm and friendly, and they held hands again while waiting for an elevator.

"What floor are you on?" Duke asked.

"Fifteen. Room 1547."

"I'm in 1643. We're almost neighbors."

He got off with her and walked her to her door. When they got there, she turned to him, and he took her hands. "It was a wonderful evening," Duke said, looking into her eyes. "I can't remember the last time I enjoyed one so much. It's—hard to say goodnight."

"Yes, it is," she said quietly.

"Especially in a strange city, where you're alone and don't know anyone. In weather like this."

She nodded, and they looked at each other for a long wordless moment. "I'd better go in now," she said at last.

"Will you have supper with me again tomorrow?"

"I— Probably. Unless the center has something planned for me."

He nodded. "Well then . . ." He backed away, just half a step, mouth smiling, but gaze heavy with desire. After a long moment, he threw her the same small salute he'd used when he'd walked her home after interviewing her. "Maybe we can continue that interview tomorrow evening. After supper, or after whatever the center has for you."

"That would be good," she said quietly, then turning, unlocked her door and stepped inside. There she paused, turned and looked back at him for another long and pregnant moment, opened her mouth as if to say something—then didn't. He stood motionless, still watching. Her eyes withdrew, and slowly she closed the door.

* * *

He went to his room disappointed but encouraged. She'd almost, almost, almost asked him in. For a moment he imagined what they'd be doing at that moment if she had. He'd have her in his arms, kissing her, telling her how he'd fallen in love with her that first evening. And how many times he'd thought about her.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow's the night. I'll interview her in her room, and bring a pint in my briefcase. His interest, he realized, went beyond both sex and her possible cooperation in an exposé. He'd loved eating with her, talking with her, dancing with her. He could imagine being with her on a long-term, perhaps permanent basis. Especially if she was as good in bed as he was sure she'd be. She could divorce Ben, who could take the girls.

Meanwhile he felt horny as hell, and considered calling an escort service, but decided against it. Lee had wanted him, too. She might call, tell him she was lonely. So instead he ordered a book onto his screen, to settle him down: Lee's Lieutenants. It had been years since he'd read it.

* * *

Lee took a hot shower, and afterward looked at herself in the mirrored bathroom door. You still look good, she told herself. Good genes. For years she'd exercised rather religiously, though she'd pretty much lost the habit at the Cote. She promised herself to start again when she got home.

She threw back her bedspread and covers, and imagined having sex with Duke Cochran, watching themselves in the pair of mirrors that constituted the sliding closet doors. The images thickened her breath almost chokingly. She wished she had another drink, and reached for the phone to call room service.

Or Duke. Would he? She chuckled thickly. Does it rain in Seattle?

But it was room service she called, and ordered a pint of peach brandy. When it had been delivered, she poured a drink, sipped, then phoned Ben, waking him. She wished he was there, she told him, alone with her. It was raining, she was lonely, and the sliding closet doors were mirrors. They talked and laughed for thirty minutes while she sipped.

* * *

The next morning at the Millennium center, she met the director, who apologized for not meeting her at the airport. He'd intended to take her home for supper, and an evening with his family, but their daughter had been troubled with one of the "flu echoes" going around, sometimes with complications. By the time he'd gotten home at 3 o'clock, she'd had a temperature of 103 degrees. By breakfast she'd been "all right"—languid but hungry—and he hoped Lee would be their guest for supper.

She ran into Duke that morning at coffee break, and postponed the interview.

* * *

The next day she made an appointment with Duke for that evening, suggesting they continue till they were done. He'd agreed that would simplify things. The only drawback, he said, was not having an excuse to see her again afterward.

But at 4:15, when he'd completed another interview, there was a message for him at reception. Lee had gotten a call from home; a family emergency. She'd gotten her airline reservation changed to that evening, and Merlin had taken her to the hotel to get her things. By now she'd be on her way to SeaTac.

 

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