She always carefully introduced him whenever she came into a new group, referring to him only as her “friend.” She’d been right about how he’d be perceived. He’d never considered what it would be like to be a boy toy. It was a novel experience, particularly since he was the youngest person at this fancy party, except for a couple twentysomething trophy wives. He was given sideways looks by some of the men, who apparently wondered what he had going for him. The women were assessing him, too, in a different way, maybe wondering if he was good in bed. But always, everyone’s gaze returned to Natalie, the poor beleaguered woman they seemed to think would be cut loose long before the midterm elections.
He might have known there would be talk about football, too, an easy subject for Natalie and everyone else. From a congressman he learned Perry had rocked the football world that very day with the actual facts about the Tim Tebow rumors flying around.
And then, speak of the devil, Biker Babe waltzed in, not in a black leather jacket, black jeans, and boots, but in a long shimmery dark green gown that left her tanned shoulders bare. Where’d she get that tan? Her thick brownish-red hair was loose, pulled back with gold clips, a mess of lazy curls falling to below her shoulders. Black dangly earrings nearly touched those very nice shoulders. He realized she was as tall as her mother, those skinny-heeled stilts shooting her up to nearly six feet. Perry was on the arm of a man he assumed was Day Abbott, the secretary of state’s son. He was about Davis’s own age and looked quite the bruiser, like he might have played football in college. He was thick through the chest and shoulders, fit and toned, with a strong, stubborn jaw and dark eyes that never left Perry’s face. His look wasn’t brotherly. It was odd, but Davis knew on the spot he and Day Abbott wouldn’t ever be best buds watching a hockey game, sharing a beer. He saw Perry give him a little finger wave, her eyebrow arched in question.
Evidently, her mother hadn’t told her he would be her bodyguard tonight.
Natalie lightly touched his arm as an older gentleman quickly walked up to her and embraced her without much enthusiasm. “Davis, this is my half-brother, Milton Hinton Holmes.” Now, that was an impressive handle. “Milton is one of the senators of the General Court—in Massachusetts the General Court is made up of the Senate and the House of Representatives.”
Milt didn’t shake his hand, merely gave him a patrician nod and ignored him. Davis said, all bonhomie, “General Court? I’ve never heard of that before.”
Milt said, civil but cold, his Boston accent pronounced, “No one has. The name is a holdover from Colonial times. It’s what we call our state legislature.”
Milt had scarlet-red hair, threaded through with white. He was a distinguished-looking sixtysomething gentleman who looked reasonably fit, with no saggy jowls, probably because of some nice pull-up face work he’d had done. He spoke quietly to Natalie, giving her troubled looks. Was he concerned about the propriety of Natalie bringing Davis with her tonight? He thought it might be so, because Old Milt was looking at him with seamed lips and well-bred contempt. It was, he thought, the inevitable lot of the boy toy.
They were directed toward a dining room across the hall that held three large circular tables for ten guests each, set with silver and white table linens that sparkled under special lighting that made the guests’ diamonds glitter as well. Davis held Natalie’s chair for her and sat down in the chair to her right. A massive-bosomed matron wearing more diamonds than Natalie sat on her left. She was the wife of the big muckety Natalie had just met, no doubt a large contributor to the party coffers. The husband was fulsome, filled every small moment of silence with great enthusiasm, and spent too much time looking at Natalie. The wife was quiet, content, Davis supposed, to let the massive quantities of diamonds she wore speak for her. Perry sat across from them. To her left was a four-star from the Joint Chiefs who didn’t seem all that happy to be there, and on her right sat Day Abbott. But when the four-star suddenly realized who Perry was, everything changed. He took over the conversation entirely, talking mostly about the Patriots, the general’s favorite team. Day Abbott slugged down a straight whiskey and looked like he was used to this and didn’t particularly like it.
When Natalie’s salad was served, Davis discreetly exchanged plates. The same with her dinner plate that held a finely cut filet mignon and potatoes whipped up so high they looked sprayed in place. And there were dainty little lemon tarts that followed for dessert, only enough to tease the taste buds. If anyone noticed what he’d done with the plates, no one said anything. Davis’s feeling was that no one had noticed, either because they were too self-absorbed or he was good at it. When he looked up from a bite of a lemon tart, he saw Perry’s head was cocked at him. He grinned at her.