MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A king sized bed.

"I don't envy the women of Texas. Like the women of every state in this nation, they're faced with serious problems—problems that require immediate solutions. Daily solutions. Problems such as quality child care."

Even as Tate waxed eloquent at a luncheon meeting of professional women, his mind was on that one large bed in the room at the Adolphus Hotel.

After landing at Love Field, they had rushed to check in, freshen up, and make the luncheon on time. The hectic schedule hadn't dimmed his one prevalent thought: tonight he would be sharing a bed with Carole.

"Some corporations, many of which I'm pleased to say are located here in Dallas, have started daycare programs for their employees. But these companies with vision and innovative ideas are still in the minority. I want to see something done about that."

Over the applause, Tate was hearing in his mind the accommodating bellman ask, ''Will there be anything else, Mr. Rutledge?"

That's when he should have said, "Yes. I'd prefer a room with separate beds."

The applause died down. Tate covered his extended pause by taking a sip of water. From the comer of his eye, he could see Carole looking up at him curiously from her place at the head table. She looked more tempting than the rich dessert he had declined following lunch. He would decline her, too.

"Equal pay for equal work is a tired subject," he said into the microphone.  "The American public is weary of hearing about it. But I'm going to keep harping on it until those who are opposed to it are worn down. Obliterated. Banished."

The applause was thunderous. Tate smiled disarmingly and tried to avoid looking up the skirt of the woman in the front row who was offering him a spectacular view.

While they had scrambled to get ready in the limited time allowed, he'd caught an accidental glimpse of his wife through a crack in the partially opened bathroom door.

She was wearing a pastel brassiere. Pastel hosiery. Pastel garter belt. She had a saucy ass. Soft thighs.

She had leaned into the mirror and dusted her nose with a powder puff. He'd gotten stiff and had stayed that way through the wilted salad, mystery meat, and cold green beans.

Clearing his throat now, he said, ''The crimes against women are of major concern to me. The number of rapes is increasing each year, but the number of offenders who are prosecuted and brought to trial is lamentably low.

''Domestic violence has been around as long as there have been families. Thankfully, this outrage has finally come to the conscience of our society. That's good. But is enough being done to reverse this rising trend?

"Mr. Dekker suggests that counseling is the answer. Toward reaching a final solution, yes, I agree. But I submit that police action is a necessary first step. Legal separation from the source and guaranteed safety for the victims—most frequently women and children—is mandatory. Then and only then should counseling and reconciliation be addressed.'' When the applause subsided, he moved into the final fervent paragraphs of his speech. As soon as this meeting concluded, they were scheduled to go to a General Motors assembly plant in neighboring Arlington, to mingle with the workers as they changed shifts.

After that they would return to the hotel, watch the evening news, peruse the newspapers, and dress for the formal dinner being held in his honor at Southfork. And late tonight, they would return to the king sized bed.

''I'll be expecting your support in November. Thank you very much."

He received an enthusiastic standing ovation. He signaled for Carole to join him at the podium. She took her place beside him. He slid his arm around her waist, as expected. What wasn't expected was the thrill he got from having her that close, feeling small and feminine against his side. She tilted her head back and smiled up at him with what appeared to be admiration and love.