First Lady

  “Da!” The baby squealed as Nealy fastened the final snap on her romper and released her.

  Mat winced.

  “I’m going to the mall today whether anybody wants to or not,” Lucy said.

  Nealy saw trouble brewing, and to arrest it she imitated Mindy Collier, her perky social secretary. “I thought we might all go on a picnic.”

  “Picnics suck. I’m going to the mall.”

  Button scrambled to the end of the bed closest to Mat and would have fallen if Nealy hadn’t grabbed her by the ankle, then gently lowered her over the side. “I don’t think there are too many malls around here.”

  “There’s one in the next town,” Lucy countered. “This girl at the pool told me.”

  Button pulled herself up on the side of the bed and shrieked at Mat, who was looking around the room for the keys that were tucked into the pocket of Nealy’s shorts.

  “Let’s go to the mall and then go on a picnic, ” she said reasonably.

  “What’s this thing you’ve got with picnics?” Mat stopped just behind her. “And where are the keys to that old junker?”

  “I think picnics are fun. No!”

  But she’d grabbed for her stomach too late. He’d already reached under her top from the back and pulled open the ties. “First I’m going to burn this, then I’m heading down to the garage to hold all the mechanics hostage until Mabel’s fixed.”

  She grabbed the padding from him and thrust it in her satchel. “We can stop at the garage on our way to the mall before the picnic.”

  “Ohmygod, look!” Lucy exclaimed.

  Nealy turned just in time to see Button take three tottery steps across the open carpet toward Mat.

  “She’s walking!” Lucy’s eyes danced. “I was getting so worried. She’s a year old, and her dad was a moron, and—” She snapped her mouth shut, unwilling for them to see any emotion from her except disdain. Even so, she still couldn’t quite hide her pride, and Nealy wanted to hug her.

  Button made a lunge for Mat’s leg, but he was too far away, and she began to tumble. He scooped her up like a linebacker retrieving a loose football.

  “Daaaa . . .” She gazed at him worshipfully.

  Mat frowned.

  She cocked her head to the side and fluttered her lashes.

  “I think I’m gonna hurl,” Lucy said.

  Nealy giggled.

  He shot her a sour look, then tucked Button under his arm like a potato sack. “Nobody’s going anywhere if I don’t find the keys.”

  “I’m driving,” Nealy said brightly. “You had a hard day yesterday.”

  “You’ve got them?”

  She’d had years of practice avoiding answering direct questions. “I just hope it doesn’t rain today. Grab the diaper bag, Lucy. We’re off!”

  She snatched up her own purse, along with the satchel that held her things, clutched them in front of her flat stomach, and charged into the hall. The doors of the elevator were starting to close, but she managed to slip inside, leaving the rest of them behind. When she reached the lobby, she didn’t glance either right or left, just kept her stomach covered and headed for the parking lot.

  As she settled into the antique Oldsmobile, she reached for her satchel, then had second thoughts about putting the padding back on. Mat clearly detested it, and he was perfectly capable of making a public scene. With her short hair and cheap clothes, she was a far cry from America’s stylish First Lady. Would it be riskier to test Mat or go without and hope that she could pull it off?

  As she debated, Mat came out of the lobby door with a scowl on his face, while Lucy trailed behind carrying Button.

  Nealy stared at the Fed Ex envelope he was holding and realized she’d once again let the business of daily living get away from her. Three years of enjoying the efficiency of the White House mail room had made her lose touch. But this package had been too important for her to forget, and she needed to remember she no longer had an army of secretaries ready to hand over her private mail.

  The system the White House used to separate personal correspondence from the thousands of pieces of public mail the first family received every day was simple and effective. Intimates of the President and his family were given a numerical code to include with the address—she and Dennis had chosen 1776—which shot private mail straight to their desks.

  Mat braced one hand on the roof of the truck and stared through the open window at her. “The desk clerk stopped me. You didn’t tell me you were expecting a package.”

  “And your point is?” She held out her hand, but he didn’t pass over the envelope.

  Lucy disengaged Button’s fingers from her hair. “He’s pissed because the desk clerk made this big deal about was he sure this was for his wife because her last name wasn’t the same as his.”

  She eyed the envelope. “I guess I should have used your last name like everybody else.”

  His expression grew ominous. “What do you mean, like everybody else?”

  This was the kind of slip she never made in Washington. “I didn’t mean a thing. Stop glowering and get in, will you?”

  Lucy snickered. He slowly turned to stare at her. Button melted into smiles and gurgles, but he ignored her. “What’s Nell talking about?”

  “You think I like having Jorik for a last name?” Lucy retorted. “You think Button does?”

  “Are you telling me your last name is Jorik?”

  “What did you think it was?”

  Mat shoved his hand through his hair. “Shit.”

  “Sit!” Button crowed.

  “That’s it!” Nealy exclaimed. “No more foul language from either one of you. Button’s turning into the first R-rated toddler!”

  “Sit!” Button shouted, clapping her hands and looking pleased with herself.

  It was Nealy’s turn to glower, and she made the most of it as she thrust her hand through the window. “I’ll take that.”

  He looked down at the envelope. “From John Smith?”

  Why couldn’t Terry have used a little more imagination? The old Terry would have written Homer Simpson or Jerry Falwell or something like that. But Dennis’s death had stolen Terry’s laughter. “My cousin,” she said.

  Mat tested the weight of the package, then regarded her quizzically before he handed it over to her. She knew he expected her to tell him what was inside, but somehow she didn’t think volunteering that her dead husband’s lover had loaned her thousands of dollars in cash would put an end to his questions.

  She tucked the edge of the package against her hip. “Time’s a-wastin’, cowpokes. Let’s head out.”

  For all her insistence that they go to a mall, Lucy didn’t seem too enthusiastic once they arrived. As the teenager wandered away, Nealy wondered if she might not be more interested in postponing their arrival in Iowa than in going shopping.

  With Button in her arms for camouflage, Nealy slipped into the rest room to dispose of the Fed Ex envelope and put the money into her purse for safekeeping. When she came out, Mat was waiting for her, even though he’d said he was heading for Mexico as soon as they disappeared.

  “Trouble with the border guard?” she asked.

  “Shaaaaa!” Button screeched in delight.

  “So what was in the envelope?”

  “Money so I can go clothes shopping. You’re welcome to come along.”

  “Somebody actually sent you money?”

  “It’s amazing what the Mafia pays for a kill these days.”

  “You’ve been hanging around Lucy too much.” He fell into step next to her. “So how much do you have?”

  “Enough to pay you back and buy something for myself that doesn’t blow.” Another sweet smile. “Enough to take off on my own if you irritate me in even the most minuscule way.”

  His expression turned distinctly cocky. “Why do I think you’re happy right where you are?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “No? That kiss last night said someth
ing different.”

  “What kiss?”

  “The one you fell asleep dreaming about.”

  She gave an honest-to-God snort.

  He frowned. “I hate shopping. I especially hate shopping with a woman.”

  “Then don’t come with me.” She marched into the center of the mall, then came to a dead stop. She was in a real American shopping mall, and she didn’t have to shake a single hand or solicit a vote. “This is wonderful!”

  He looked at her as if she were crazy. “It’s a third-rate mall in the middle of nowhere, and every store is part of a chain. For a blue blood, you sure are easy to please.”

  She was too busy making a beeline for the Gap to reply.

  Despite Mat’s grumbling, he’d been well trained by those seven sisters, and he turned out to be a first-rate shopping companion. He held Button with only minimal complaint while Nealy looked through piles of clothes, and he passed generally astute judgment on what she should and shouldn’t buy. Since she’d been raised with a keen eye for fashion, she didn’t need his opinion, but it was fun asking for it.

  In addition to basics for herself, she picked out a couple of sundresses for Lucy, then made a quick detour through Baby Gap to buy some outfits for Button. Mat, however, spoiled her fun by refusing to let her pay for their clothes. While he was handling the transaction, she slipped to another register and purchased a jaunty little pink denim cap.

  After she set it on Button’s head, Mat studied it for a moment, then turned the bill backward. “This is the Demon we’re talking about.”

  “Sorry.”

  She expected the baby to pull off the cap, but because her adored Mat had positioned it, she let it stay. “I bought you that hat, not him,” Nealy grumbled.

  Button tucked her head into his neck and sighed.

  Nealy could hardly believe that no one was paying any attention to her. Between her altered appearance, the fact that no one expected to find Cornelia Case in a small West Virginia shopping mall, and the camouflage Mat and Button provided, she’d acquired a glorious invisibility.

  They moved on to the mall’s main department store. She loved the novelty of being able to look over the merchandise without a dozen people trying to help her. It was nearly as much fun as eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations while she stood in line at the register.

  When she located the lingerie department, she set about getting rid of Mat. “I’ll carry Button now. Would you mind taking my packages out to the car?”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “Of all the paranoid notions. You told me you didn’t like to shop, and I was just being courteous.”

  “Tell me another one. You either want to buy Tampax or underwear.”

  All those sisters . . . “I need some lingerie,” she conceded, “and I’d rather do it by myself.”

  “It’s a lot more fun as a group activity.” He charged toward the lingerie department. Button bounced happily in his arms, looking adorable in her pink cap with the bill turned backward.

  Nealy was forced to trot to keep up with him. “You’ll be the only man there. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

  “Embarrassment is being the only man in the lingerie department when you’re thirteen. At thirty-four, it doesn’t bother me at all. Matter of fact, I’m looking forward to it.” He headed straight for a lacy black nightie that was almost entirely transparent. “I think we should start with this.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay, how about these?” He approached a display of black bikini panties.

  “How about not.”

  He held up a black demi bra. “Let’s negotiate with this.”

  She burst out laughing. “You like black underwear, do you?”

  “There’s just something about the way it looks on a fair-skinned woman.”

  That sent a sizzle right through her. She made a dash for the Jantzen cotton briefs.

  “You’re one cruel woman.”

  What was she going to do about him? Cornelia Case was so insecure about sex that she wouldn’t do anything. But Nell Kelly . . . Nell just might have the guts to take a chance.

  As she paid for her purchase, she realized she had enough money now to go off on her own again, but a solitary adventure had lost its appeal.

  They were leaving the department store when she spotted Lucy charging toward them, her eyes alive with excitement. “I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere. Come on, Nell. Hurry!” She grabbed the packages from Nealy’s hands, shoved them at Mat, and began dragging her forward.

  “Wait! What’s going on?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Nealy looked back at Mat, but he was retrieving one of the packages she’d dropped. She let Lucy pull her, pleased by that fact that she was acting like a normal teenager instead of a hostile burnout.

  “I already signed you up. But you’ve gotta tuck in your maternity top so you don’t look pregnant. And, hurry! Ohmygod, they already started.”

  “Signed me up for what?”

  “This is so cool.” She dragged her toward the center of the mall. “First prize is a TV. It’ll be great in Mabel.”

  “Lucy!”

  “Hurry!”

  A crowd had gathered in front of some kind of platform where music blared, and a group of people wearing numbers were lined up. “Wait a minute. I’m not going a step farther until—”

  “Here she is.” Lucy pushed Nealy toward a young woman with a long, dark ponytail. She was carrying a clipboard and wearing a plastic smiley pin.

  “You just made it.” The woman stuck a tag printed with the number eleven on Nealy’s shirt. “You’re our last entry. Who is it you think you look like?”

  Dumbfounded, Nealy stared at her. “What . . .”

  “She looks like Cornelia Case!” Lucy exclaimed. “Anybody can see that.”

  Only then did Nealy spot the banner hanging above the platform.

  CELEBRITY LOOKALIKE CONTEST!

  10

  NEALY FELT ALL the blood draining from her head. “Lucy, I’m not doing this!”

  “Too late. It cost me ten bucks. And I want that TV, so you’d better win!”

  “We have one more contestant,” the announcer exclaimed. “Step up, Number Eleven! Your name is . . .” He glanced down at the card the woman with the clipboard had handed him. “Brandy Butt?”

  “I made that up so your ex-husband couldn’t find you,” Lucy whispered as she pushed Nealy toward the steps.

  “Don’t be shy. Come right on up. ”

  Everybody in the crowd had turned to stare at her. Her limbs felt numb and her fingers icy. She thought about running, but that would only make her more conspicuous. Her legs were wooden as she found herself mounting the three steps.

  Why had she let Mat take away her padding? The others were standing in a ragged line. She took a place at the end and willed herself to become invisible, but the crowd was regarding her curiously. She was going to murder Lucy.

  “Brandy, tell us where you’re from?”

  Her voice quivered. “¿Qué?”

  “Where you’re from? Where you live?”

  “No hablo ingleés.”

  Lucy shot her a murderous glare.

  The announcer gave the woman with the clipboard a helpless look. Lucy called up from the bottom of the steps, “She’s from Hollywood, California. And you can’t kick her out of the contest because I already paid ten dollars!”

  “We won’t kick her out, young lady,” the announcer said in the unctuous voice of the microphone-infatuated. He turned back to Nealy. “Who is it you think you look like, Number Eleven?”

  “¿Qué?”

  “She looks like Cornelia Case!” Lucy exclaimed. “The First Lady!”

  “How about it, ladies and gentlemen?”

  Gooseflesh broke out all over her as the crowd applauded.

  “We’ve got a real contest going here, folks. Who are you going to vote for? Because it’s time to pick our finalist
s.”

  The other ten contestants were a mixed lot: male and female, child, adult, one teenager. None of them resembled any celebrity she knew, certainly not like she did.

  The announcer asked everyone to form a line along the front of the platform. Nealy’s feet felt as if they’d been dipped in concrete. He stepped behind the contestants. “Support your favorites with your applause, and don’t forget that this contest is brought to you by the wild and woolly WGRB-FM 1490!”

  He held his hand over the contestants one at a time. Dread made her heart hammer. The lady with the clipboard checked the applause each person received on a small meter sitting at the edge of the platform. As he came up behind Nealy, she dipped her chin and tried to look like someone who only spoke Spanish. The applause was much too enthusiastic.

  Finally the voting was over, and the woman handed a note with the results to the announcer. He glanced down at it.

  “You’ve chosen our three finalists, and here they are!” He indicated a gaunt woman with bleached blond hair. “Miss Joan Rivers!” The crowd clapped. He moved to a potbellied elderly man with a full white beard. “Santa Claus!” More clapping. Inevitably, he stopped next to Nealy. “And First Lady Cornelia Case!” Big applause.

  The announcer began a long-winded promotion of the radio station’s “wild and woolly” programming. Nealy kept her eyes on her feet.

  “And now it’s time for our final round. It’s up to you, ladies and gentlemen, to select WGRB’s Celebrity Look-alike Champion!”

  Nealy caught sight of Mat and Button off to the side. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  “Let’s hear it for Joan Rivers, Mrs. Janine Parks!” A scatter of applause for Janine, whose plastic flip flops dampened the Rivers illusion.

  “How about Santa Claus here? Clifford Rays!” The applause was much louder.

  “And our final entry. Brandy Butt, First Lady Cornelia Case!” She tried not to wince as someone actually whistled.

  The woman with the clipboard checked the meter, then called the announcer over to whisper in his ear.

  He returned to the center of the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!” Dramatic pause to heighten the tension. “The champion of WGRB’s Wild and Woolly Celebrity Lookalike Contest . . . and the owner of a brand-new nineteen-inch Zenith TV is . . . Mr. Clifford Rays!”