the last play available to him. Congressman Power liked to win. Had to win. Whether it was in politics or at the dinner table on the rare occasion they’d had dinner as a family. In private, he’d do anything necessary to preserve absolute authority over everyone else in the household, including her mother. He wasn’t above the sort of pouting that expressed itself as both loud and threatening; a display of antics that might seem comical in a skit, but was not funny to the family on the receiving end of venting.
The lawyer was right. Cassidy was beyond his control. Reiterating that in his mind made him clench his teeth hard enough to threaten breakage. He picked up the phone and called her last known whereabouts, left a message for her to call, and tried to get the very important mind of his very important person back to the business of state affairs.
But first, he’d call his assistant in for a quick blowjob. He’d noticed she was wearing bright fuchsia lipstick and, as he’d said good morning, he was already imagining the sight of a lipstick ring that color encircling his cock.
A day later, he was hosting two other lawmakers in his office for coffee and a talk about legislating mandatory seat belts. He knew there’d be serious public pushback and that people would be pissed about the erosion of personal freedoms. So he listened politely, but wasn’t planning to co-sign the bill.
After a perfunctory knock, his assistant let herself in, quietly walked to Congressman Power’s side and leaned down to whisper than his daughter was on the phone saying she’d wait five minutes, that it wasn’t cheap to call long distance, and that she had stuff to do.
Power’s nostrils flared with outrage before he turned his expression to the unreadable version of poker blank.
“Excuse me,” he said to his guests. “I’m sorry. This is urgent. I won’t be gone longer than five minutes.”
The other two congressmen nodded and said they hoped everything was alright.
“I’ll take it in the page room,” Power told his assistant.
“Yes, sir. Line six.”
Power shut the door to the closet-sized office and picked up the phone.
“Cassidy,” he said.
“Congressman,” she said.
Seeing no need for pleasantries such as, ‘How are you?’, Power charged on. “It’s time for you to put an end to this ridiculous acting up. Get on a plane and come home.”
“How could I say no to an appeal like that?” she asked sarcastically.
“What do you want?” he gritted. “A new car? That pink T-Bird?” She laughed. “I find nothing funny about this, young lady.”
“Therein lies the problem, Dad. I’ll call Mom on Thanksgiving.” She started to hang up, but couldn’t resist adding, “If I’m not too high to remember.”
Cass couldn’t help but wonder if Doo was making that up or if he really had been babysitting instead of playing out. She decided to extend an inquisitive tentacle in his direction to find out if he was on the level.
“That was nice of you. Not many guys your age would give up their nights for family.” Doo felt his ears getting pink at the tips and resented that blush like his body had committed a personal affront. He looked down and around. With a tiny breathless laugh, Cass said, “Man. You really are a nice guy.”
His head swiveled so that he was looking directly into her eyes again. And there she saw the confirmation of that assessment. Doo Darby was authentic.
“What kind of music do you want to make?”
“Rock music.”
“Yeah. I thought as much. Could you narrow it down some more?” She made a face, then said, “Rephrasing. What’s your favorite music? Ever?”
A slow smile broadened across his face. “It’s funny you ask. Because I just happen to have tickets to that music.” He pulled the envelope from his vest. “Tonight.”
His excitement was contagious. She grinned. “Who is it?”
“Quicksilver Messenger Service. Maybe they’ll play part of ‘Who Do You Love’.”
“’Who Do You Love’”? A tiny scowl formed between her brows. “That old Bo Diddley song?” She laughed. “Quicksilver is covering a Bo Diddley song?”
“No. It’s not a cover like you’d think…” Doo pulled himself up short, hopefully not having given away his realization that he’d just botched the gig.
Cass’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying it’s been recorded. Where did you hear it?”
Doo forced a smile. He didn’t know if he was good at acting, but hoped he was. “It’s just a hunch.”
“Just a hunch that Quicksilver is playing an ancient Diddley song,” she said drily.