Sheldon just looked nervous. "There's so much to do. You wouldn't believe how much work is involved in actual work."

Jeff put an arm around his wife. "Spoken like a princess who's never lifted a finger."

Mercedes rubbed her hands together, forcing a smile. "Ah. All this love, it makes my heart go pitter-patter. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Okay, slave, we'll start you with easy stuff. Check over these press releases and see if you find any glaring typos."

"Check check. I can do that." Mercedes took the pieces of paper and collapsed on the couch to read.

"So when are we going to hear?" asked Sheldon.

"Hear what? Nothing to hear. I hear nothing."

"You haven't been home much, Mercedes."

"Busy, this and that."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. Lots of this. Lots of that."

"What's his name?"

"He has no name. There is no him. I've just been doing a lot of work for the book."

"Right," said Jeff skeptically.

Sheldon wasn't letting her off the hook so easily. "So if a certain someone happened to mention to me that they had seen you in the company of a certain well-known political candidate at a certain club last night, that'd be wrong. Right?"

Mercedes nodded, keeping her head down. "Right. That's definitely wrong."

"And if that someone also mentioned the exact leather dress that I remember buying with you down in the West Village, well, they'd be wrong again. Right?"

"Right. That's definitely wrong."

"Oh, when are you going to stop it, Mercedes? Everybody in the family knows."

Mercedes didn't want this, she wasn't ready to have this discussion, especially when there probably wouldn't be anything to discuss. "Can you leave me alone?"

Jeff raised an eyebrow, shared a look with Sheldon, and then went back to typing on the computer.

Mercedes edited press releases, stuffed envelopes, and made phone calls. Six hours, and seven paper cuts later, she didn't feel any better, but at least the piles were getting smaller.

Jeff ordered pizza, and while they were eating, Mercedes looked at her sister-in-law with new eyes. "So you're in charge of a concert?"

"Not in charge, exactly. I'm just organizing. It's the first fund-raiser for the foundation. We'll have some local orchestra kids play in the St. James Theater, and charge rich people a total fortune to get in and see it. Raise some awareness. Get some bucks, and hopefully fund a few more orchestra programs for the non-arts schools in the city."

"Ambitious," said Mercedes in between bites.

"Not so much," muttered Sheldon.

"She runs from the 'A' word," whispered Jeff.

"I'm just a schlub," answered Sheldon.

Mercedes smiled, because Sheldon still didn't take teasing well. "Not so much. So, the countdown to the McNamara-Brooks nuptials begins."

"Right now."

"Strippers all ordered for the bachelor party, Jeff?"

"Bite your tongue," snapped Sheldon.

"Well, after the bachelor party that Andrew threw for you..." Mercedes said, trailing off.

"What bachelor party?" asked Sheldon.

"There was no bachelor party, Sheldon."

Mercedes checked her watch. "Oops. Look at the time. Gotta go."

HER NEXT STOP WAS HER mom's house because sometimes there truly was no place like home.

Thea Brooks was an aspiring actress, who had spent roughly forty years aspiring. However, with Andrew's help, they'd always had a roof over their head, and food on the table, and Mercedes's mother was no closer to her dream than when she started, but she was happy.

She stared at her daughter with that unique mom-sense that mothers had. "What's wrong?"

"Not a lot."

"You wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong."

"Maybe I just want to see my mother. Did you think about that? Spend some quality mother-daughter time with the woman who sp.a.w.ned me."

Her mother smiled with that "not a chance" look.

"I want to ask you a question," Mercedes stated.

"Shoot."

"You've always gone after your dream, done what you wanted, but say that my father would have stayed with the family. Would you have given it up?"

"I thought this was going to be an easy question. You didn't used to ask hard questions, Mercedes."

"So would you have quit?"

"You're thinking of quitting your writing?"

Mercedes would give up her writing in a second for Sam, but it wouldn't make a difference in the election. It was a grand gesture, but one that was still much too late. "Actually I'm more interested in what happens when someone chooses to give up something for someone else. If you had done it, would you have resented him?"

"With your father, resentment comes easy."

"But what if he wasn't such an s...o...b.., and you loved him, really loved him, but you gave up something important. Something big. Wouldn't you be mad-deep down inside?"

"Did he ask me to give it up?"

"No, he didn't want you to give it up, but you opted to do it because you knew it was the only way you could be together."

"I thought this was one question."

"I don't know, Mom. I think it's a whole lifetime of questions, and I'm not sure what the answers are."

"You want to tell me?"

Mercedes looked down at her hands. "I love someone. He loves me. He wants to do something big, important and n.o.ble with his life, but if he's with me, he can't. I'm baggage. He wants to give it up, so we can be together, but I think he'll hate me eventually."

"You're not anybody's 'baggage,' Mercedes."

"Trust me when I say this. For him, right at this moment in time, I'm baggage."

"What does your heart tell you to do?"

"Walk away."

"Your heart?"

"I want the best for him. It's a huge thing he's trying to do. It's not just writing, or acting, or something like this. This is big. I think he should have it."

"That's a decision you're going to have to make, little girl. But you're n.o.body's baggage."

Deep inside, Mercedes suspected her mother was wrong. Twenty-six years ago, Mercedes had been excess baggage, her father had left. Fast forward to the present, it was Mercedes that was going to lose the election for Sam. In her book, that counted for baggage.

Some folks weren't ready for a congressman whose girlfriend wrote about turgid ridges of flesh pumping inside her warm, dewy lips. If she quit her writing, people would dismiss it as a reluctant gesture. It wouldn't matter if they were right or wrong, it would only hurt Sam's career.

If Sam quit the campaign, yeah, they'd be together, but at what cost? New Jersey would have lost the best congressman they'd ever had. And Sam would lose his chance to make a difference. Maybe there'd be later chances, maybe not. There were no easy answers.

Her mother gave her a hug, stuffed a twenty in her pocket, and sent her home. Mercedes arrived to an empty apartment. She flipped on her computer, and went to work. Everything she wrote was c.r.a.p, mainly because she felt like c.r.a.p, but she kept plugging away, because there wasn't anything else to do. She watched the sunset over the rusted fire escape, but this time it wasn't paradise. Reality had started to intrude.

SAM'S FUND-RAISER was at the Waldorf, and Tony escorted Mercedes. She hadn't wanted to go, but Sam was being stubborn, and she wasn't up to arguing with Sam when he was stubborn. Besides, she'd lose. He'd look at her with those dreamy green (not hazel) eyes, whisper to her in that husky voice, and her spine would melt to nothing. The rat knew exactly what he was doing.

The dress she wore was long, white, b.u.t.toned up to the neck, with flowing sleeves. She'd gone shopping and bought it especially for this occasion. Mercedes called it her angel of mercy dress.

The eighteenth floor had an art deco hall with palm trees filling the corners, and somewhere in the distance, the ghosts of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were tap-dancing across the marble floor. The reception tables were decorated with a tasteful, yet patriotic, red, white and blue. Mercedes walked into the room on Tony's arm, and the first thing she saw was Sam, who took one look at her, and then blinked.

"Halloween coming a little late this year?" he asked.

"You're not supposed to be talking to me."

He shot her a long look. "I'm a politician now. I'm supposed to talk to everybody. You're part of everybody. We get to talk."

"Sam."

"Mercedes."

"No one's going to talk to me?" Tony asked. "I'm the fake-date here, shouldn't someone be talking to me?"

Mercedes patted his hands. "Do you want me to find you a campaign staffer that you can take home for the night? If you'll feed me salacious details, I'll write them up in my blog. Anonymous, of course."

"You do anonymous so well," drawled Sam.

Tony looked hopeful. "There are a lot of women here?"

Sam grinned. "Most of them are gainfully employed, have advanced college degrees, and are in the upper one percent of the tax bracket. It's not a bad place to troll for babes."

Tony looked even more hopeful. "Do you think they'll mind that I'm not of their political persuasion? I could pretend if it'd help me meet somebody."

Mercedes scoffed. "You're willing to jettison your political party affiliation for s.e.x? Amazing the times we're in now, more and more people are voting independent."

Sam shot her a look. "You've been watching CNN again, haven't you?"

"I'm trying to learn your business, that's all."

"I'm much better looking than their anchors."

"I thought you didn't think of yourself as a pretty boy? I thought you wanted to be loved for your mind. Can't live on both sides of that fence, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Tony, can you get us some drinks? I need to talk to one of my const.i.tuents. Taxes. They're a killer."

"Sure, I'll get the drinks. Two beers. Mercedes?"

"Wine, please. White."

Tony nodded. "Okay. What do you think about the lady in the red dress. You think she'll talk to me?"

"That's the governor's wife, Tony."

"Oh," he muttered. "I'll just get the drinks, then."

Tony took off, leaving them alone and Sam studied her dress some more. "I gotta say that dress is growing on me. A nice contrast to the leather, but it still works. Kinda nurse/schoolteacher/librarian fantasy all mixed together. I could get you a pair of those secretary gla.s.ses, maybe some edible underwear, and we could play later."

"You are so not making this easy."