Synopsis: Marge and Peter have a growing friendship with Anne and Gordon Schaefer. Last night, while having dinner at the Schaefer's their hosts initiated group nudity, although much to Marge and Peter's disappointment, the hoped for swap didn't occur.
Chapter Four
The next week passed quickly. Marge had quietly begun spending alternating nights with Kenny. Peter didn't mind; actually, he was relieved because Doc Porter was keeping him very busy.
He spent many hours speaking at business luncheons. When he wasn't spending his evenings with various organizations or civic groups, he was in his study, writing position papers on issues he thought appropriate.
He knew it wouldn't be enough merely to proclaim himself pro-choice. He needed an issue that would stir public imagination and set him apart. Somewhat to his surprise, he found he was developing a genuine interest in public office.
Part of his new-found political ambitions derived from his personal sense of integrity; Peter was beginning to think that he could make a difference; that his experience as an environmental lawyer would serve the state and its citizens well. In addition, he was sufficiently realistic to understand that since some unknown person or persons had arranged for Doc Porter's services, and that money was actually being raised to finance his campaign with no apparent strings attached, that he was bound to give this effort his best shot. Moreover, he was realistic enough to understand that his value to the firm -- and correspondingly, his professional fortunes -- could rise or fall depending on the election's outcome.
Thus, Peter spent an inordinate amount of time groping for a philosophy of government that would be responsive to the tectonic social shifts he saw occurring in the Pacific Northwest as a consequence of the global population explosion, the demands of an increasingly sophisticated technological economy, and the troubling problem of ever-widening income distribution.
Basically liberal in his social philosophy, he knew he had to be careful. He was keenly aware that while his Republican creden- tials were paper thin, both the incumbent and Sam Basset, another opponent -- an unabashed member of the Christian Coalition -- were both solid, rock-ribbed, America-First type conservatives dating back to the `Impeach Earl Warren' campaigns of the early 1960s.
Fortunately, the 43rd district was largely a middle class neighborhood populated by an equal number of upwardly mobile younger white people living in renovated housing on the north end of Capitol Hill, and a cosmopolitan mix of older middle class Asian and African-Americans clustered nearby. Voters in the district mainly voted Republican, but there was a strong independent undercurrent, and as a consequence of Washington State's unique open primary system, the Democratic candidate was usually selected by independent voters.
Marge and Peter Baylis didn't see the Schaefers again for two weeks, but on Monday morning, nine days after their peculiar dinner party, Peter found a phone message from Anne Schaefer on his desk when he returned from a Monday Rotary luncheon.
Guiltily remembering her two secret invitations, he dialed her number. The phone was answered on the second ring.
"Hi," he said. "This is Pete. What's up?"
"Thanks for getting back to me so quickly," Anne said. "The reason I'm bothering you at the office is that I need to have a talk with you ASAP."
Oh, oh. "You mean a professional consultation?"
"I don't think it's gone that far," she said, "but you might be the better judge of that."
"Fair enough," he said. "How about lunch tomorrow? Suppose we meet at Rossalino's at one o'clock. Can you do that?"
"Oh, great," she said. "I'll meet you there."
Peter decided not to tell Marge about the call since Anne had not inquired about her, and he wasn't sure why they were meeting. But he chose his tie with particular care the next morning, and wore the suit he thought made him look his most dynamic.
Anne was punctual. Peter was sitting in the bar watching the door when she entered the room. It was a warm summer day, and she was wearing a light summer dress that made her look like a co-ed. Her heavy hair was pinned up in a thick braid, baring her lovely neck and soft shoulders. Every male head in the room turned to watch her. Peter slid off the bar stool, and held out his hands.
She came into his arms for a brief embrace. Peter had reserved a table in the corner where they would not be disturbed. After ordering cocktails, she came straight to the point.
"Do you find me attractive?" she demanded.
"Yes," he said, "very."
"I thought so. Then, why haven't you called?"
"I did, a week ago Saturday. Don't you remember? As I recall, you had other fish to fry, or at least that was the impression I got."
Anne's cheeks flushed. "You caught me by surprise, that's all," she said, opening her menu to hide her confusion.
They ordered lunch. During lunch, they chatted about the boat, about sailing in general, and about his political campaign. Not once, however, did either mention Marge or Gordon.
While they waited for their check after lunch, thinking it was now or never, Peter took a deep breath and as casually as his pounding heart allowed, praying his voice wouldn't betray him, asked "Would you like to go across the street to the Ambassador?"
Her cheeks flushed again. Her eyes dropped to the table and she whispered, "Yes."
Peter paid the waiter, and they strolled across the street to the hotel. She waited by the elevators while he registered "Dr. and Mrs. Dick Armey." Moments later, in the elevator, he kissed her.
He opened the door and ushered her into a musty room. She sat on the edge of the bed and in an intimate and profoundly feminine gesture, unpinned her hair, allowing the loose braid to fall below her shoulders. She reached up with both hands and quickly unbraided her hair, combing through it with her fingers. Then she matter-of-factly undid a row of buttons on the side of her dress and stepped out of it. She wore only hip hugging panties. She stretched her lithe young body, pulling her soft breasts into high relief.
"Ah, that feels better," she said as she stripped the covers off the bed. "What's taking you so long?"
Peter was sitting in the chair untying his shoes. "I'm dancing as fast as I can," he said. He carefully finished undressing, and approached the bed. "Did you come prepared?" he asked.
Her eyes were fixed on his crotch, and her cheeks flushed a third time as she shyly nodded. "It's in my purse," she said.
