--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---June 1972---
Ami sat in a row of maroon, banquet-style chairs in the back of a meeting in the McGovern for President headquarters in a Democratic pre- 1972 convention meeting. People milled around the aisles. She'd been asked to take the place of the original woman delegate, who'd died suddenly in an auto accident. They'd needed a woman to fill Maryland's quota of women delegates and she'd been chosen. Grief made it hard to sit in her chair and not get up and pace. But she was afraid that if she got up, she'd leave. And it had been hard enough to make herself come.
When she looked toward the front of the room, she realized that the man who was chairing the meeting appeared to be gazing at her steadily. Avoiding his eyes, she scanned the large room. In the weeks at the Manor after Zoisite's death, she'd been asking the universe for something strong enough to make her want to get up in the morning and change out of her nightgown. And then the day George Wallace had been wounded, she'd been asked to serve as Maryland Democratic Party delegate and go to Miami in August. She'd also been invited to visit booth the Humphry and McGovern campaign centers. Perhaps this was her answer.
This wasn't anything like the closed and secretive sessions she'd heard of in previous election years. She glanced at the front once more and found the man still looking in her direction, although he was speaking to a large, gray haired matron on his right. Who was he?
Then the chairman stopped his conversation and faced the microphone, asking for volunteers for a subcommittee on the pro-peace plan.
Ami lacked the energy to raise her hand. Wasn't it enough that she was here? She felt like an imposer. She expected someone to walk up to her at any moment and demand, "Who let you in"
A young woman sat next to her, a brunette with long wavy hair who wore bell-bottom jeans and a jersey-knit blouse in a wild yellow- and green print. She leaned forward to read Ami's identifying badge. "You're from Maryland?"
"Yes." Ami replied uneasily.
"I'm Lita Hollister." The woman offered Ami her hand. "I'm a delegate from New York."
Ami returned the handshake, glad to have someone cheerful to talk to.
"It's unbelievable being here, isn't it?" Lita asked.
"Yes." at least someone else who felt a little like Ami did. This was an exciting opportunity, but still grieving, she just couldn't generate any strong emotion.
"Some men still don't like women having access to power. They call our influence the 'Nylon Revolution.' " Lita snorted.
"Personally, I'm not going to wear pantyhose to any party meeting or function. I think pantyhose- or worse girdles and garter belts- should be relegated to the past along with corsets."
Ami, who was wearing pantyhose under her powder blue miniskirt, was in the minority. She'd already noticed almost everyone, male and female, was wearing jeans or polyester slacks. Pantsuits for women had revolutionized fashion. She looked down at her legs. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Hey," Lita conceded as if she'd just noticed Ami's pantyhose, "If you like skirts, do your own thing. If I had legs like yours, maybe I'd wear skirts too."
This made Ami almost grin, just as the chairman asked one last time for volunteers for the pro-peace committee. Then Lita surprised her. She raised her own hand and at the same time lifter Ami's. "Hey, we might as well jump in with both feet!" she exclaimed.
Ami lacked the will even to object.
Their hands were acknowledged, and Ami let Lita draw her to the back of the room to meet the other delegates on the committee. The man who'd been watching her from the front of the room left the platform and walked toward them, his eyes on Ami.
Later after buying lunch at the campaign headquarters, Ami, along with the other delegates and volunteers, walked outside the McGovern headquarters in Washington DC and paused at the corner of 19th and K. The campaign workers were all picnicking on the grassy slope nearby
.
"So what do you think of McGovern's idea of giving everyone in America a thousand dollars?" Greg Kinnard, the man who'd been stairing at her earlier asked Ami. Greg was older then she and did not wear denim or polyester bell
bottoms but a crisp, summer-weight suit in light tan. His wide tie was salmon pink, and his brown hair had just a touch of gray at the temples and was just long enough to give him a raffish air. Altogether he was a polished, expensive package.
Holding a white plastic plate of quiche in one hand and a green bottle of Coke in the other, Ami concentrated on finding a place to sit. She'd purposefully not replied to anything Greg had said to her or in her direction so far. She wasn't in the mood to be charmed.
"Still not talking?" He grinned at her. "You know, you're the most beautiful Democrat at the meetings- does that mean you can't be bothered talking to the Hoi Polloi?"
She gave him a sharp glance."I'm always wary of men who are as suave as you are."
"I'm crushed. My hopes dashed," he teased.
She grimaced, knowing she was being borderline rude. Still, she couldn't drop into easy conversation. Silently she walked to a place on the grass and sat down modestly in her miniskirt.
"I don't remember seeing you," he proceeded undaunted, "at any of the Democratic fundraiser's or McGovern rallies."
"I've been busy with family business this year."
"Then how did you become a delegate?" he asked, sounding sincere for the first time.
"I'm a replacement." she closed her eyes for a moment wishing him away. She didn't want to feel attractive, desirable.
"I see. Have you heard about the break-in a few days ago?"
"What break in?" she asked automatically.
"It happened on the 18th. Five people broke into the Watergate Hotel- into the Democratic National Committee suite."
"Some radical group?" memories of what happened to Darien and Zoisite when they'd investigated one of these groups stole what appetite she had.
"Three Cubans, a Miami businessman and a former CIA security specialist."
"what a strange group." She put her fork down and sipped her cold Coke.
"They've all been charged with breaking and entering. Some people think they were acting for the Republican Party."
"I have a hard time believing that."
Greg shrugged. "All's fair in love, war and politics. What are you doing tonight"
His casual, unexpected question ripped her wide open. Hurting she looked away and acted as if she hadn't heard him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She scrambled, trying to come up with something to distract him. "Do you think any of this will do any good?" she waved her hand at the other delegates all eating al fresco on the grassy slope.
"What do you mean?"
"Meetings. Platform committees. Politics. After the last convention. . . ." her voice trailed off.
"We do this sort of thing every four years at the Constitution says we must."
His glib reply grated on her nerves. All she wanted to do was get away from this easy-talking man, away from this sunny slope overlooking Lafayette Park. So she did just that. With a mumbled excuse to the others around her, she escaped Greg and fled back to the Willard where she was staying. When she picked up her key, the desk clerk gave her a letter that had been forwarded to her. It was from Rei.
She entered the elevator and opened it as she began to rise. After reading the first paragraph, she found herself leaning against the back wall of the compartment, tears again streaming down her face.
----July 1972--
After doing her part on the Democratic Platform meetings, Ami had been asked to campaign for McGovern in a series of town hall meetings as an example of the new woman Democrat. On this night, Ami had come to participate in one in an auditorium in a suburb of Baltimore. She'd never appeared in a public panel before and now she knew why. She didn't have butterflies in her stomach, she had elephants. And they were all doing the Cha-Cha. She sat at a long table and resisted the urge to fidget.
At first she'd put off the decided about weather or not to participate or not. She;d made no bones about her lack of enthusiasm for all 3 presidential candidates- Humphrey vs McGovern and both of them against Nixon. But the party still wanted her to take part in these meetings. So she'd given in and agreed. It was something to do, something that might at least, help others decided who to vote for. And maybe, somehow, by taking part she'd begin to feel alive again.
Everyone stood as the national anthem was played.
After the meeting with all the stupid questions from the local John Does ended. Delaying his departure, Greg finally managed to escort Ami out to her Nova. So far he'd not scored one point with the most gorgeous Democrat in the U.S. What was going on behind those beautiful but sad sapphire eyes? They told him that she was on the rebound, which could work to his favor if he could get on her good side. Easy. He was good at that. he'd just have to play this a little more subtly than he had been.
"Go to a late supper with me?" he offered, trying not to sound as if this meant anything like a date. Women on the rebound didn't to date.
"I'm driving to my grandmother's house-"
-Oh, ho, little Red Riding Hood.- "But surely you have to eat," he said, trying to sound sympathetic. Heck, at forty,, he was a little young for the role, but he'd even attempt fatherly if that would do the trick.
Ami looked at him. Sudden tears moistened her big sapphire blue eyes. She blinked, trying to hide them from him.
"Why are you sad all the time?" Greg asked in the softest and most caring voice he could manage. "Don't you think it might help to talk about it?"
In the empty parking lot, Ami burst into Tears. Greg gathered her into his arms, making sure that he kept the embrace comforting, not sensual. "Let it out. Let it all out. I can take it." Dear Abby would be proud of him.
"I just lost my fiance,"She said, her tears subsiding. "I'm sorry. It's just-"
"Its hard, I know." What jerk would leave this luscious armful behind? Well, one man's stupidity could be this man's luck. Over the past few weeks, this young woman had lingered in his mind, not just because of her beauty, but because she had something. She made him want to be near her for a long time, a very long time. Meeting her had made him finally realize that he needed someone who'd commit to a longer term relationship. He was tired of one-night stands and casual affairs. And of women who were on the prowl just like him. What he wanted was right here in his arms- a beautiful woman who projected a delicious tempting innocence.
They'd share a relaxing supper at a homey little cafe. That had been just the right setting for Ami to begin to open up to him. He'd felt a flicker of sympathy when she'd revealed that she wasn't suffering from a broken heart but from her fiance's death. That was heavy, bit it also would work for him. She didn't know it, but she was looking to replace what she'd lost- a wedding night. And he was more then willing to supply- if not the wedding- the night, and much more. he wouldn't be stingy with his time or his money. Ami was luxury class all the way and that's how he'd treat her. But first he had to help her fall from grace and into his waiting arms.
Aware of her naive idealism, he'd spent the evening convincing her that he was deeply concerned about America and impressed by influence, agreeable to his pragmatic enthusiasm for mower and money. He'd kept that to himself. Feeling as if he'd made good progress, Greg walked her to her Nova once more.
"I'm sorry to be such poor company," she murmured.
Greg put his arm around her in a comforting gesture, again calculatingly devoid of sensuality. "You? Poor company? Never. You've been through hell."
She sighed with obvious fatigue.
"I don't like you driving home alone at night," he said. "Why don't you stay at a hotel?" she stopped himself from saying - "With me?" -Patience. Patience.-
"The Manor isn't far just around twenty-five miles." she unlocked the door of her Nova and then turned back to him. "Thanks. I enjoyed your company."
"I'm glad." -Someday soon you'll enjoy something much more exciting then just my company.- He lifted her chin with his hand. "You'll survive this, you know. You're a strong woman."
She blushed. "Thanks."
He gave her a light, fatherly kiss on her cheek. And wondered how soon he'd be able to kiss her deeply with all the passion she ignited in him. "I'll see you in 3 days then"
She nodded and got in. She smiled and buckled up before starting the car and driving away. He waved until she was out of sight.
An image of her lying in his arms, her midnight blue hair flowing over his skin, floated through his mind and his breath caught her throat. He would be the envy of every man when she was his. And it wouldn't take long. He'd overcome the strong scruples he sensed she still possessed- even though the sexual revolution had changed the social landscape. It was kind of cute that she still hadn't had much experience with passion. And maybe that would bind her to him for that long "long, long time." he breathed in deeply. So much to look forward to. She would be his. He'd just chipped out the first chink in her armor.
-
THANKS FOR READING! Now Please Review -