“So, this isn’t official business?” she asked, her tone more defiant.

Probably a phone call that will go down in history, lady.

“Official, in a way,” he said.

She limped away, grumbling. He watched as she approached the hostess and began complaining. The hostess handed her a cellular phone. Addis envisioned an item in the gossip column tomorrow: White House aide refused to allow a cripple to call her doctor during a medical emergency. Half the items in that column were fed to it by restaurant employees.

The phone rang, and Addis grabbed the receiver. There was silence on the other end.

“You know who this is?” he asked.

“Yes, hon, and you know who this is?”

“I think so. I am sorry about—”

“Forget it, hon … . Can’t say I’m all broken up. Don’t know exactly how to feel. But I know one little thing: I don’t want to get mixed up any more in his shit. Glad you figured out my little code: Mrs. Gunn and the New Orleans area code. Didn’t want to leave my name. This stuff freaks me out.”

“What happened?” Addis asked.

“I don’t know. But he came by the house two days ago. Was nervous. I thought he was on something. Said he was trying to get himself out of trouble. I tried to calm him down … . Well, one thing goes to another, you know … . And, well, just and … it was like it used to be … . Then he gets up. And I’m half-asleep. I hear sounds. I get up and peek down the hallways and see him taping this envelope to the inside of the grandfather clock. He loved that clock. Bought it in England when he was meeting some Arabs. Once said I could have everything in the whole god-damn house if he got the clock. I said, forget it, I want the clock. I didn’t, but … . I ran back to bed, so he wouldn’t know I saw anything. He took off. And you know what? He went through my purse. Took two hundred dollars and my credit cards. Like I wasn’t going to cancel the shit out of them? What a creep. Guess I shouldn’t say that now … .”

“And the envelope?”

“Papers. Financial stuff. About the you-know-who’s. Today, his fucking lawyer called me and asked if he left anything with me. I said, ‘Fuck off, scumbag.’ You know, he hit on me after our last hearing. I just know he wanted those papers. Like he could still do something with them.”

“And what are you going to do with them?”

“Send them to you. I don’t want them.”

“Just like that?”

“Why not?” she said. “Don’t you want them?”

There’s no deal. Fucking amazing.

“Certainly.”

“I’ll fax them to you now.”