MIRROR IMAGE

CHAPTER FORTY

Avery stood very still and rolled the chilling theory over and over in her mind. She was impervious to the motion of the crowd, to the noise and commotion, and oblivious to someone watching her from across the room and wondering what she and the disheveled television cameraman had found to talk about for so long.

# # #

"Jack?" "Hmm?"

"Did you notice my new hairdo?"

Dorothy Rae was admiring her reflection for the first time in so long she couldn't even remember. In her youth, when she'd been the most popular girl at Lampasas High School, primping had been her number one pastime. But for years there had been little to admire when she looked into a mirror.

Jack, reclining on the hotel room bed reading the newspaper, answered mechanically. "It looks nice."

''Today Fancy and I walked past this trendy beauty parlor in the mall. You know, the kind of place where all the stylists are dressed in black and have several earrings in each ear." Jack grunted. "On impulse, I said, 'Fancy, I'm gonna have a make-over.' So we went in and one of the girls did my hair and makeup and nails."

''Hmm.''

She gazed into the mirror, turning her head to one side, then the other. ''Fancy said that I should lighten my hair just a bit, right here around my face. She said it would give me a lift and take years off. What do you think?''

"I think I'd be wary of any advice coming from Fancy."

Dorothy Rae's reblossoming self-confidence wilted a little, but she resisted the temptation to go to the bar and pour herself a reviving drink. "I ... I've stopped drinking, Jack," she blurted out.

He lowered the newspaper and looked at her fully for the first time that evening. The new hairdo was shorter and fluffier and flattering. The subtly applied cosmetics had moistened the dry gullies in her face eroded by rivers of vodka, and given color to the wasteland it had been.

"Since when?"

Her newfound confidence withered a little more at his skepticism, but she staunchly kept her head erect. ''This morning."

Jack folded the newspapers and tossed them to the floor. Reaching for the switch of the reading lamp mounted to the headboard, he said, "Good night, Dorothy Rae."

She moved to the bed and clicked the lamp back on. He looked up at her with surprise. "I mean it this time, Jack."

"You've meant it every time you said you were going to quit."

"This time is different. I'm going to check myself into one of those hospitals you've wanted me to go to. After the election, that is. I know that now wouldn't be a convenient time to be committing a member of Tate's family into a hospital for drunks."

"You're not a drunk."

She smiled sadly. "Yes, I am, Jack.  Yes, I am. You should have made me admit it a long time ago." She put out her hand and tentatively touched his shoulder. ''I'm not blaming you. I'm the one responsible for what I've become."

Then her fine chin, which had somehow withstood the ravages of abusive drinking and unhappiness, came up another notch. Held at that proud angle, her face bore traces of the beauty queen she had been and the vivacious coed he'd fallen in love with. ''I'm not going to be a useless drunk anymore."

"We'll see."

He didn't sound very optimistic, but at least she had his attention, which was something. He didn't listen to her half the time because she rarely had anything worthy of his interest.