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it’sgetting to be for me now. Things keep coming back to me.”He turned the car onto Pennsylvania Avenue. “What things?”“Sounds . . . impressions . . . sometimes so vague; other times,especially when I’m just waking up, remarkably clear—and yet theyfade before I can get hold of them. I actually tried hypnosis last year,but it didn’t work. Then I read that some adults can remember accuratelythings that happened when they were as young as two. One study saidthe best way to recapture the memory is to reproduce the environment.Fortunately or unfortunately, that’s something I can do.”“I still think it’s a lousy idea.”Pat gazed out the car window. She had studied street maps to geta sense of the city and now tried to test herself on the accuracy of herimpressions. But the car was moving too swiftly, and it was too darkto be sure of anything. They didn’t speak.The maître d’ at Maison Blanche greeted Sam warmly and escortedthem to a banquette“The usual?” Sam asked after they were seated.Pat nodded, acutely aware of Sam’s nearness. Was this his favoritetable? How many other women had he brought here?“Two Chivas Regals on the rocks with a splash of soda and a twistof lemon, please,” Sam requested. He waited until the maître d’ wasout of earshot, then said, “All right—tell me about the last few years.Don’t leave anything out.”“That’s a tall order. Give me a minute to think.” She would eliminatethose first few months after they had agreed not to see each other,when she’d gotten through the day in a fog of sheer, hopeless misery.She could and did talk about her job, about getting an Emmy nominationfor her program on the newly elected woman mayor of Boston, abouther growing obsession to do a program about Senator Jennings.“Why Abigail?” Sam asked.“Because I think it’s high time a woman was nominated forPresident. In two years there’ll be a national election and AbigailJennings should lead the ticket. Just look at her record: ten years inthe House; in her third term in the Senate; member of the Foreign
     
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Relations Committee; the Budget Committee; first woman to beAssistant Majority Leader. Isn’t it a fact that Congress is still in sessionbecause the President is counting on her to get the budget throughthe way he wants it?”“Yes, it’s true—and what’s more, she’ll do it.”“What do you think of her?”Sam shrugged. “She’s good. She’s damn good, as a matter of fact.But she’s stepped on a lot of important toes, Pat. When Abigail getsupset, she doesn’t care who she blasts, and where and how she does it.”“I assume that’s also true of the majority of the men on the Hill.”“Probably.”“Exactly.”The waiter came with menus. They ordered, deciding to share aCaesar salad. And that was another memory. That last day togetherPat had made a picnic lunch and asked Sam what salad she shouldbring. “Caesar,” he’d said promptly, “and lots of anchovies, please.”“How can you eat those things?” she’d demanded. “How can younot? It’s an acquired taste, but once you have it, you’ll never lose it.”She’d tried them that day and decided they were good.He remembered too. As they handed back the menus, hecommented, “I’m glad you didn’t give up on the anchovies.” Hesmiled. “Getting back to Abigail, I’m amazed she agreed to go alongwith the documentary.”“Frankly, I’m still amazed myself. I wrote to her about three monthsago. I’d done a lot of research on her and was absolutely fascinated bywhat I uncovered. Sam, how much do you know about her background?”“She’s from Virginia. She took her husband’s seat in Congresswhen he died. She’s a workaholic.”“Exactly. That’s the way everyone sees her. The truth is that AbigailJennings comes from Upstate New York, not Virginia. She won theMiss New York State beauty contest but refused to go to AtlanticCity for the Miss America pageant because she had a