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man a run for his money.”
    Her face blanked. She said nothing. Her lips
parted slightly but she just stared at him, making him shift on his
feet and jam his hands in his pockets.
    Someone called out, “Eric, we need you over
here.”
    “Oops, excuse me.” He squeezed the Street
Angel’s shoulder. “I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss.”
    Lawson left and the woman still watched
him.
    Jon asked, “Have I grown two heads?”
    “Two faces, I’d say, like Janus.”
    “Who?”
    “The Roman god who had two faces. He’s the
archetype of hypocrisy.” Her blue eyes had become steely. “And
betrayal.”
    Damn, his stomach flip-flopped now. “I, um,
thought you hated my father.”
    “No, I don’t. In some ways I respect
him. But obviously, you hate
him.”
    “Me? Of course I don’t. You don’t hate your
parents.” Jon scowled at her. “Didn’t he put you in jail?”
    “Well, he was the prosecutor in my trial. But
I did break the law.”
    This was out of focus, like a camera with a
lens you couldn’t quite get right. “I can’t believe you’re
defending him.”
    “And I can’t believe you’d turn on a member
of your family like this. Won’t he be devastated if he finds out
you were here today?”
    “Look, I haven’t signed up to do anything.
I’m probably not going to.”
    Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Your just
being at this initial meeting will affect your father. It’ll hurt
him like nothing else could.”
    How could the Street Angel know that? “I
don’t get it. You gotta be here because you don’t think he should
be reelected.”
    “It’s why I originally came. Now, I’m not
sure.” She glanced around at the gathering, and shook her head.
“Truth be told, I’m not comfortable being here, though I can’t
fathom why.” Her gaze focused again on him. “I do, however,
understand one thing.”
    “What?”
    “That a son does not side openly with someone
else against his own father. I’ll give you some unsolicited advice.
Family is the most precious gift you can be given. Tossing it away
out of some notion of rebellion is not only foolish, it’s
stupid.”
    Goddamn it, Jon thought as the woman stormed
away—and out the door he noticed—this whole thing wasn’t going
quite as he had expected it to. Hell, would nothing ever be
clear-cut with his father?
     
     
    THE FISHER AUDITORIUM on the Bard College
campus was full with a lively audience of freshmen who had arrived
for an early orientation, environmental students who’d come down
before the regular school year began, and many community members.
On the stage, Clay sat off to the left with his son and the head of
the Environmental Science Department. The president of the college
walked to the podium to make a few remarks and then would introduce
Clay. As he waited, Clay took in the interesting décor: the light
oak woodwork was breathtaking, the acoustics were so good the
president didn’t need a mike; and, Clay was told, the unusual
upholstery of the graded seats displayed the names of the
graduating class the year this billion dollar, Frank Lloyd
Wright-ish building had been constructed. It was said to be the
biggest and best Performing Arts Center between New York City and
upstate New York.
    Jon had greeted him more warmly than usual
when Clay flew in from Washington. They’d had lunch at a small
restaurant in Tivoli, a nearby town, and Jon had been excited
about tonight. He still maintained some of that damnable distance
of the last few years, but he’d asked about Clay’s well-being and
even the upcoming campaign. Because they always disagreed, they
usually avoided discussing their politics.
    Is it his politics you support or are you
sleeping with him?
    Man, Clay had blown that one with Ms. Street
Angel. It had been two weeks, and he still thought about her. A
lot. They’d had no contact at all and had managed to avoid any
public dispute in the papers, so he didn’t know why she was on his
mind so frequently.
    Hell