Stephen Frey

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Author: Trust Fund
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seemed upset when you showed up tonight?”
    â€œHe isn’t worried about that at all. He knows I won’t say a word. My father would disown me if I did anything to hurt Paul’s image or reputation. My father believes Paul can be president.”
    â€œOf the United States?” She sounded incredulous.
    Bo nodded. “Look around you, Melissa. Paul is as connected as anyone, he has tremendous firepower behind him and he can sell ice cubes to Eskimos. He can make people believe anything he wants, whether it’s in person or in front of a camera. He’s part movie star and part cult leader. It’s a helluva combination.”
    â€œI know,” Melissa agreed.
    â€œOnce it became clear—when Paul was still a teenager—that he would be a natural leader, that he possessed that unique power of persuasion and the looks to boot, the Hancock machine went into action.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œPaul is just thirty years old and he’s met and been photographed with everyone who counts in the political, business, entertainment, and sports worlds. He’s been the chairman of several important charities and been given full credit for their successes in the press, even though he has no more appreciation for what the charities do than he does for how hard the common man works every day. He’s gone to the finest schools and traveled around the world.” Bo’s expression hardened. “And he won his state senate seat virtually unopposed. His next objective is to be governor of Connecticut.”
    â€œGovernor?”
    â€œYep. And my father will make it happen. Jimmy Lee’s influence is remarkable. He has a lot of friends who owe him favors.”
    Paul’s voice interrupted them. “Melissa, I’m ready.”
    Bo and Melissa turned around quickly.
    Paul stood in the veranda doorway. “I’ve finished the calls I needed to make,” he announced. “Come on.”
    â€œI’ll be right there,” she answered, wondering how long he had been standing there.
    â€œWhat are you waiting for?”
    â€œI want to say good night to Bo,” she said hesitantly, aware that she risked facing his considerable wrath by not being immediately obedient. But she wasn’t ready to leave Bo yet.
    Paul eyed Bo. “Don’t be long,” he warned Melissa. “I’ll be inside, by the pool.”
    When he was gone, she touched Bo’s hand. “I enjoyed this.”
    â€œSo did I.” Bo had a feeling that she wanted to say more.
    â€œWell, good night,” she finally said, and started toward the door.
    â€œGood night, Melissa.” Bo reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out another cigarette. “You asked me why Paul was upset when I ran into you two tonight inside the playhouse.”
    Melissa turned back to face him. “Yes?”
    â€œHe really was afraid that I’d try to steal you,” Bo said, lighting the cigarette.
    Melissa hesitated. “Did it ever cross your mind?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStealing me.”
    Bo inhaled, sucking smoke deep into his lungs. “I love Meg.”
    â€œBut you’re tempted.”
    â€œAny man with a pulse would be, Melissa.”
    â€œIsn’t wanting as bad as doing?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThoughts come and go. The key is controlling your actions.”
    Melissa gazed at him for a long time, then moved to the doorway, where she stopped and turned around once more. “Bo.”
    He looked up. “Yes?”
    â€œRemember that all things done in the dark eventually come to light.” Then she was gone.
    For a few moments Bo stared at the empty doorway. Finally he dropped the cigarette, stepped on it, and moved to the door. Down a long corridor leading to the indoor pool, he could hear Paul, obviously drunk, talking loudly. Bo put his empty scotch glass down on a coffee table and collapsed into an easy

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