Part 15 (1/2)
As it turned out, I got lucky. Christina came home before midnight. I had to wait only three hours.
She walked with her head down, preoccupied. As she started up the steps, I moved out of the shadows. ”h.e.l.lo, Christina.”
Startled, her hand flew into her purse rummaging for a container of Mace.
”Christina, it's me.”
Her hand continued its search.
”Christina?”
”Grant! It's you! You scared me!” She glanced up and down the street. ”Didn't you get my note?” she said. ”I told you not to contact me!”
I approached her, keeping a wary eye on the hand in the purse. It had slowed, but was still groping.
”We need to-”
She pushed me back into the shadows. Her voice low, her eyes menacing, she said, ”Go away!” She started up the stairs, her keys dangling.
I followed her.
Mid-step, she swung around. ”What are you doing?”
I thought she was just peeved at me for leaving all those messages, but this was beyond peeved. She was scared.
”Christina, can't we-”
She pushed me back a step. ”Go away!”
”Not until you tell me what's going on!”
”Not now!” She stepped into me, grabbed my s.h.i.+rt, and yanked me close. ”Not now!” she hissed.
Again, she was looking up and down the street.
”OK, if not now, when?”
She pushed me down a step. ”I'll call you,” she whispered, inserting the key into the hallway door.
”OK . . . when?” I took a step up.
She opened the door, but didn't go in. ”I told you, I'd call you!” she said. Reaching down, she pulled me up the steps to the landing. ”Go!” she cried. ”I can't be seen with you!” She shoved me back.
Christina has always been good at keeping me off balance, that's one of the things that attracted me to her, but this little pus.h.i.+ng-and-shoving routine had me thoroughly confused.
Her apartment was the first door on the left. She jabbed repeatedly at the lock with her key.
”Christina, what do you want?”
”I want you to leave!” she said, forcing the key into the lock.
”All right, I'll go. Can you just tell me who-”
She lunged toward me, grabbed my s.h.i.+rt, and pulled me into the hallway.
”Christina, what are you-”
”Shus.h.!.+”
”But this is crazy!” I whispered.
”Shus.h.!.+ Shus.h.!.+ Shus.h.!.+”
Her apartment door swung open.
”For the last time, go away!” she shouted, shoving me inside her apartment.
She double-checked the hallway, then slammed the door and fell back against it, her chest rising and falling as though she had just done a wild sprint across the White House lawn with dogs chasing her.
Frenzy doesn't look good on Christina. Frantic, but in control, is her style. This temporary madness didn't suit her. I gave her the time she needed to collect herself.
Her blond hair, parted over her left eye, fell in parenthetical curves framing a face with intelligent eyes and a sensuous mouth. The necklace she was wearing brought a smile to my face. I'd picked it up in France for her during the economic summit. It was a gold collar with a single dangling pendant. I'm not usually good with gifts, but I thought I'd done a good job with this one. The necklace was simple and elegant. Simple for me; elegant for her.
”You can't stay,” she said.
”Will you at least tell me what's going on? n.o.body will take my calls. My White House credentials have been revoked. What have I done?”
”That's what I want to know! What have you done?”
She pushed past me, dropped her purse at the base of a hat rack, and kicked off her shoes. ”On Sunday I drop you off at the airport. You tell me you're giving a speech at a high school.”
”My alma mater.”
”And the next thing I know memos are flocking like pigeons telling everyone we're not to have any contact with you for any reason; that if you attempt to contact us we're to notify the chief of staff immediately.”
”Did you?” I asked. ”Notify Ingraham?”
”Are you kidding? Even before you started your phone-solicitor routine, he pulled me into his office and grilled me.”
”Grilled you?”
”He wanted to know if I'd heard from you, when I spoke to you last, when I saw you last, dated you last. He asked me if I ever knew you to be part of a subversive, anti-American organization, or partic.i.p.ated in any subversive activities.”
”What?” I couldn't believe this.
”He wanted to know if you've ever spoken in subversive fas.h.i.+on or taken me to any anti-American rallies.”
”This is crazy!”
”Then, he made me hand him my personal cell phone and ordered me to tell him my PIN number so that he could listen to my messages. I felt like I was a teenager at home all over again.”