Private Screening by Richard North Patterson Page B

you.”
    Laughter. Watching, Nat Schlesinger smiled. Stacy began to like the people she was hardly meeting better than she liked her role. Preconcert nerves, she thought; it was better to be alone. Checking her watch, she saw that it was 8:15, and decided not to eat.
    â€œBut what about the balance of payments?” a man was asking Jamie.
    â€œIt’s a ten-year problem.” Jamie’s smile flashed. “Unless Stacy sells more records to the Japanese. By the way, have you two met?”
    As the man went by, Stacy sneaked a quick glance at the Parnells.
    Head held high, Alexis searched for couples to meet Jamie. But Parnell, encountering the blond man, nodded and edged away. Stacy was trying to guess the meaning of that when the blond man’s gaze met hers. Though she was used to men acting afraid of her, this one did not turn away. Just the faintest amusement suggested that he saw through the veneer of charm and glamour to the heart of Jamie’s business.
    â€œWe hope to see you again, Senator.”
    She could hear the smile in Jamie’s response. “You’re coming to the inaugural, aren’t you—that’s why I’m working so hard.” Then he added, “Stacy, this is Alexis’s good friend Carla Curran,” and she turned from the blond man to the pixie grin of a department store heir’s second wife.
    More faces. By now, Stacy should be pacing backstage; she’d been standing still for close to two hours. The next time she glanced around her, restless, the blond man had disappeared. The party was louder now; the cigarette haze had lowered, and guests drank and smoked in the loose-jointed rhythm that comes with the second cocktail. Spotting her, Alexis waved and then came over, murmuring, “It’s going very well, don’t you think?”
    â€œBeautifully,” Stacy answered. She’d begun to swallow as she did when feeling sick; for a moment she debated asking for a quiet place to sit. But Alexis was already gone.
    When Stacy turned, the blond man was talking with Jamie.
    Angular and unlined, his look of boyish alertness would have stamped him as an American if this were the middle of Paris. The brunette stood next to him—his wife, Stacy saw from their rings.
    â€œSo you’re a friend of Colby’s,” Jamie was saying.
    â€œAn acquaintance.” His answer was quiet so that only those closest could hear. “Our relationship’s a little more complex.”
    Jamie’s face grew wary. “Oh?” he said easily. “How so?”
    â€œI cross-examined him this morning in a lawsuit.”
    Nat Schlesinger edged nearer; as Jamie hesitated, Stacy saw the mental connection moving through his eyes. He covered in a joking voice. “So my campaign has brought you together.”
    â€œThe judge is a supporter of yours.” The muted response suggested someone too polite to spoil a party. “I was impressed by the depth of his commitment.”
    Jamie glanced past him, but the other guests seemed not to have heard. “What do you mean?”
    â€œExactly what you suspect.”
    The brunette looked stricken. Jamie seemed to be gauging how serious the stranger was when she spun and left him there.
    â€œWe’ll return your contribution,” Jamie said.
    â€œPlease don’t.” The man smiled a little. “Nice to have met you, Senator.”
    He began turning.
    â€œBut you’re not exactly an admirer, are you?”
    The man looked back at Jamie, as if considering whether to speak. “Not exactly,” he answered softly. “But what scares me is how smart you are.”
    As Jamie bit back an answer, the man stopped in front of Stacy. “Sorry,” he murmured, and turned to leave.
    Stacy watched him.
    â€œJesus,” Nat Schlesinger muttered.
    â€œStacy,” Jamie asked. “Have you met Nancy Stewart?”
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    â€œD AMN you,” she said.
    Her angry profile