The Rake by William F. Buckley

to tart yourself up. I am telling you that it wouldn’t make any sense to arrive with your natural attractions in disguise, the way they’ve been since you came to Boulder. Jean-Paul may not notice if you dress up, but he would certainly notice if you came in looking like a nun.”
    â€œJean-Paul? Have I met him?”
    â€œProbably not, unless you’ve attended meetings of the French faculty. I’ve never encountered him in the stacks, where you and I hang out.”
    â€œWhy did you invite him?”
    â€œBecause he’s attractive. And a widower.”
    â€œWhen did his wife die?”
    â€œYou remember the Air India flight that went down?”
    â€œOh mon Dieu, yes!—I won’t tell any jokes about airplanes.”
    â€œYou are coming to life, dear Henrietta.”
    Also invited were Halston Rauschig and his wife, Helen. Halston was the soul of the Democratic Party in Boulder. He was pleased when Amy, in introducing him to Henrietta, took pains to point out that it had been Halston who had put together the Democratic rally the previous semester, “where Reuben Castle wowed everybody.”
    â€œWere you there?” Halston asked Henrietta.
    â€œYes, I was.”
    â€œWhat was your impression?”
    â€œImpression of what?”
    â€œWell, of the speaker. Senator Castle.”
    They were standing in the glassed-in garden room, which looked out over the mountains, still faintly visible against the early December dusk. Amy suddenly remembered: “Hey, Henri! Weren’t you at the University of North Dakota, before going to Paris? Castle was also at the University of North Dakota! Did your paths cross?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    The doorbell rang and Amy went to answer it as Halston broke in: “Reuben Castle was a big shot on campus—chairman of the Student Council and editor of the student newspaper. If you were there at the same time, he’d have been hard to miss.”
    â€œMy mind was on other things. I had some extracurricular activities of my own.”
    â€œLike what?” Amy Parrish asked, returning with Jean-Paul Lafayette.
    â€œLike duck hunting.”
    Jean-Paul was extending his hand. “Enchanté,” he said.
    Henri murmured a reply, and Amy told her how lovely she looked. Helen agreed. “You’re hardly dressed to go duck hunting, Henri.”
    â€œI don’t know, Helen. Maybe I am.”
    She sat down next to Jean-Paul. His thick dark hair was cut short and curled close to his head. His gentle eyes and wry smile caught her, and his voice was light but warm. His native French was flawless, of course, but also colorful, and he insisted on using it. That was perfectly agreeable to Henri, less so to the otherguests, but they all enjoyed themselves, talked politics for a bit, and ate and drank with relish, keeping John Parrish busy tending bar and pouring wine. He did manage to say to the Rauschigs—first to Halston, then separately to Helen—that the new line of Buicks, which his dealership was currently displaying, could be outfitted with a collapsible bar, “if you want one.”
    Halston said that if he was getting a new car he might well want one. “It would be handy to have for celebrating the Democratic victory next November!”
    John poured Halston’s glass full.

CHAPTER 19
    Boulder, December 1987
    Jean-Paul Lafayette called Henrietta’s number the next morning, speaking French as usual. It was Justin who answered the phone. He was taken aback for a moment at being addressed in his native tongue. Finally: “Vous voulez parler avec Madame Durban?”
    Jean-Paul answered gratefully, “Justement.”
    Justin bounded into the kitchen. “Mom, some frog wants you on the phone.”
    â€œ Justin! Do…not…use…that…word. ”
    â€œOkay.” He sat down at the breakfast table, pulled up his glasses, and began to read the sports