Out of the corner of her eye, she saw both cats leave the room.

George caressed her for a surprisingly long time. She had had only one previous lover, and he had not been so patient: by now he would have been on top of her. She was torn between pleasure in what George was doing and an almost panicky need to feel him inside her.

Then at last it happened. She had forgotten how good it felt. She crushed his chest to hers and lifted her legs to pull him farther in. She said his name again and again until she was overwhelmed by spasms of pleasure, and cried out. A moment later she felt him ejaculate inside her, and that made her convulse one more time.

They lay fused together, breathing hard. Maria could not touch him enough. She pressed one hand into his back, the other on his head, feeling his body, almost fearing that he might not be real, this could be a dream. She kissed his deformed ear. His panting breath was hot on her neck.

Slowly her breathing returned to normal. The world around became real again. The TV was still on, broadcasting reactions to the resignation. She heard a commentator say: "This has been a truly momentous day."

Maria sighed. "It sure has," she said.

*

George thought the ex-president should go to jail. Many people did. Nixon had committed more than enough crimes to justify a prison sentence. This was not medieval Europe, where kings were above the law: this was America, and justice was the same for everyone. The House Judiciary Committee had ruled that Nixon should be impeached, and Congress had endorsed the committee's report by a remarkable majority of 412 votes to 3. The public favored impeachment by 66 percent to 27. John Ehrlichman had already been sentenced to twenty months in prison for his crimes: it would be unfair if the man who had given him his orders were to escape punishment.

A month after the resignation, President Ford pardoned Nixon.

George was outraged, and so was just about everyone else. Ford's press secretary resigned. The New York Times said the pardon was "a profoundly unwise, divisive and unjust act" that had destroyed the new president's credibility at a stroke. Everyone assumed Nixon had cut a deal with Ford before handing over to him.

"I can't take much more of this," said George to Maria in the kitchen of his apartment. He was mixing olive oil and red wine vinegar in a jug to make salad dressing. "Sitting behind a desk at Fawcett Renshaw while the country goes to hell."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot. I want to go back into politics."

She turned to face him, and he was puzzled to see disapproval on her face. "What do you mean?" she said.

"The congressman for my mother's district, the Ninth Maryland, is retiring in two years. I think I can get nominated for the seat. In fact I know I can."

"So you've already talked to the Democratic Party there."

She was definitely angry with him, but he had no idea why. "Just exploratory discussions, yes," he said.

"Before you talked to me."

George was startled. Their romance was only a month old. Did he already have to clear everything with Maria? He almost said that, but bit back the words and tried something softer. "Maybe I should have talked to you first, but it didn't occur to me." He poured the dressing over the salad and started to toss it.

"You know I just applied for a really good job in the State Department."

"Of course."

"I think you know I want to go all the way to the top."

"And I bet you'll do it."

"Not with you, I won't."

"What are you talking about?"

"Senior State Department officials have to be nonpolitical. They must serve Democratic and Republican congressmen with equal diligence. If I'm known to be with a congressman I'll never get a promotion. They will always say: 'You can't really trust Maria Summers, she sleeps with Congressman Jakes.' They'd assume my loyalty was to you, not them."

George had not thought of that. "I'm really sorry," he said. "But what can I do?"

"How much does this relationship matter to you?" she said.

George thought her challenging words masked a plea. "Well," he said, "it's a little early to talk of marriage--"

"Early?" she said, getting angry. "I'm thirty-eight years old and you're only my second lover. Did you think I was looking for a casual fling?"