"Well, at least an editor at HIM is, because there's someone who wants to interview you, get some stories. Evidently you're the quintessential New York success story."

"She's probably following up on the blind item I did on the women's magazine intern who was sleeping with her married boss."

Portia laughed. "You're so cynical, Mercedes. And I thought I was jaded. Ha!"

Mercedes shook her head. She wasn't about to do that to Sam-promote herself in that kind of magazine. They might not be seeing each other, but she'd be loyal. "No, I better not."

Portia's eyes widened behind the gla.s.ses. "What? What are you doing to me, doll?"

"Stick with the standard stuff, Portia."

"Like beggars can be choosers? You're sure?"

Mercedes nodded. "Yeah." She rose, ready to leave, ready to go back and work. "Anything else?"

Portia looked at her watch. "I thought we could do lunch."

"Not today. I'm not feeling well. Probably a winter cold coming on."

"Go get some rest then. I'll be in touch."

Mercedes took the subway to her mother's apartment, pondering why the fates had decided to smile upon her now. Now she was. .h.i.tting it big. Now she would have great sales, and now she didn't care. The pathway to her happiness lay in Sam, not the New York Times bestseller list.

Yeah, big whoop.

She found her mom in her apartment running lines for her next audition. A toothpaste commercial. When her mom saw her, she put down her script.

"More bad news?"

"No. Good stuff."

"Then why do you look like somebody died?

"n.o.body died."

Mercedes faked a smile. "I think I'll write for awhile. Can I borrow your bedroom for an hour or so?"

"Sure," her mother replied, and then paused for a minute. "Mercedes, I love you staying here; it's like when you were a kid, but when are you going to go home? You're acting like this is permanent. You don't eat. I see you working in here until early in the morning. And I found two empty boxes of Twinkies in the trashcan, and you don't even like Twinkies. I don't know who did this to you, but if I find out, I'm going to have to-well, kick his a.s.s. n.o.body hurts my little girl."

"Mom. I'm fine. Go back to your lines. I'll be out of here soon. I can't go back to my place right now. I let the lease expire. I'll find a new apartment before Andrew's wedding."

Her mother shook her head slowly. "I don't know, Mercedes."

"I've got some work to do."

"Before you do that, can you go down and pick up the mail?"

Mercedes nodded.

As soon as Mercedes was out the door, Thea picked up the phone. "Andrew. This is your mother. You've got to do something."

ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Sam interviewed the superintendent from the Newark school system. He was easier on her than he normally would have been, letting her slide when she glossed over the decrease in test scores. And she'd been thrilled and more than slightly confused when he asked her why they'd been cutting their funding for the arts.

Kristin looked at him in surprise, but he simply shrugged and moved on to the next question.

That night, after the taping was finished, Charlie met him in the bar, and Sam downed a whiskey in one swallow. "How's life as a candidate so far?"

"Sucks."

"Don't worry. It won't get better."

"Maybe I shouldn't be doing this, Charlie."

"What the-Sam. I'm going to have to hit you if you pull out of this now. Look at what's happening around you, in the country, in the world, and then look at your opponent. Tell me, Sam. Who would you want to represent Jersey? Or represent the country? Tell me that, Sam. Give me the facts, here."

"Charlie, this election better not have ruined my life."

"She'll come around."

"What?"

"Mercedes. She'll come around."

"You knew?"

"h.e.l.l, yes, Sam. You walked around the studio, smiling, whistling, even starting to call the crew by name. Do you think we're all idiots? We are a news show. It's our job to figure out news."

"She won't talk to me."

"I know. I have days like that, too, but I stop being mad at you."

"I didn't do anything, Charlie. She's just being n.o.ble. She doesn't think I can win if I'm with her."

"You might not."

"Then I don't care, but I don't want the press dragging her through the mud because of me."

"G.o.d, how did you two ever get together?"

"I don't know," muttered Sam.

"Maybe she's tougher than you think. Maybe you're tougher than you think."

"What's that supposed to mean, Charlie?"

"You figure it out, Sam. Anyway, you have a campaign speech tomorrow night for the top pharma executives in the state. So smile, look pretty, and try to raise millions of dollars for the party."

"I don't look pretty," he yelled, as Charlie slapped a bill on the bar, and then walked out the door.

SAM HAD GIVEN SPEECHES AT benefits before, but never had he felt less like being an entertainer or a campaigner. For once, he wanted to look out over the audience, say "Screw you," and go home. He wanted to be left alone, he wanted to think, but everywhere he turned, people wanted a piece of him. He had always enjoyed his work, but coming into the studio now, pretending to care about trade deficits was the hardest thing he'd ever done. And now, up on stage, talking pa.s.sionately about problems that he would normally be concerned about, Sam added a new fact to his repertoire. He was a d.a.m.n good actor. The audience nodded, smiling and clapping as he spoke about the looming issues that faced the country. Inside, Sam only felt numb.

Afterwards, he sat at the table on the dais, ate his rubbery chicken, and listened attentively as Harvey congratulated him on his speech. Over dessert he excused himself because he needed to be alone. All he needed was a few minutes of escape.

He washed his face with cold water, walked out into the hallway, where he saw two men approaching, one familiar. Being of optimistic nature, Sam's first thoughts were that Mercedes had changed her mind, and sent her brothers to talk for her. But then he took a good look at the cold darkness in both sets of dark eyes. Familiar dark eyes.

Not so good. Par for the course for his life at the moment.

"What do you want?" he asked Jeff Brooks. "Coming to hit me again?"

The older one spoke, his voice tight. "We came to contribute to the campaign, Porter."

"You must be Andrew," said Sam. "I wish we had met under better circ.u.mstances." Sam held out a hand, still being of optimistic nature, even in the face of staggering odds, and Mercedes's two really angry older brothers.

Everybody ignored his hand, so Sam dropped it. "Where's Mercedes?" he asked.

Jeff's face closed off. "Leave her alone."

And at that, all the rage that'd been stored up inside Sam came pouring out in a rush. "No. I will never leave her alone, do you understand? Get used to it. I don't know what she's doing right now, I don't even pretend to understand why her mind rolls the way it does, but I will never, ever leave her alone. Why the h.e.l.l are you here?"

"To have a chat," answered Andrew. "To talk about what you did to her."

"What I did to her? She left me, not the other way around. I've tried everything to get her to change her mind. I offered to ditch the campaign. I don't know what else to do."

"You love her?" asked Jeff.

"What? You think I go begging and pleading for the fun of it? I don't think so."

"Do you love her?" repeated Jeff.

"Yeah."

"What are you willing to do for her?" asked Andrew.

"Whatever it takes."

Jeff nodded. "Good. I've got an idea."

AFTER THE BANQUET, JEFF and Andrew went to Andrew's apartment, where Jamie and Sheldon were waiting.

"Did it work?" asked Sheldon.

"Like a charm," replied Jeff with a pleased look on his face.

Sheldon clenched a victory fist. "Yes."

Jamie stood back in awe. "You guys are the most conniving family I have ever met."

"You've got four weeks to change your mind, Jamie," Sheldon reminded her. "After that, you have no choice."

"Don't give her any ideas," Andrew cut in. He looked at Jamie. "She was joking."

Jamie came over, put an arm around his waist. "Four weeks?" she asked, her eyes teasing.

"Not funny."

"You'll get rid of the doves before the wedding?"

"You don't know how hard I worked to get those doves."

"Kill the doves," Jamie insisted.

Andrew raised a brow.

"Not literally," she corrected.

"I suppose you don't like the horse-drawn carriages, either?"

"I have my own ideas," answered Jamie mysteriously.

"What ideas?"

"Ha. It's not so easy when the shoe is on the other foot, is it Mr. I Must Handle Everything?"

Jeff nodded with approval. "Nicely done, Jamie. You got him. I'll tell you more dirt after you're married."

"Don't you dare," snapped Andrew.

"So now we have to sit around and wait?" asked Sheldon.

Jeff frowned. "No. Now's the time when we eat dinner. Some of us are starving."

"Chinese?" asked Andrew.

"You buying?" asked Jeff.

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yes."