Death of an Intern Read Online Free

kissed, and snuggled upright. When we relaxed, I looked into his eyes. “We will have to be a little careful.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œThis kid comes with a price.”
    He rubbed my nose with his. “Kids always do.”
    â€œNo, I have a delicate condition.”
    â€œYou, delicate?” Smiling, he held me back and looked me up and down.
    â€œCan you believe it? Can we sit?” We did, side by side on the built-in bench seat.
    â€œThe doctor wants me to slow down, a little.” I added the qualifier for some future negotiation I knew I'd be making. “My stress level needs to be measurably reduced.”
    I took a drink then laid my head back, looking at the sky through the stairwell. My battle for control was a losing cause, as my eyes teared. Jerry put an arm around me and gently took me to him. There was so much to celebrate, yet so much to worry over. I wanted the baby. I wanted a career. I didn't want an office job.
    He spoke softly. “Lassiter will work with you. Be honest with her.”
    I didn't reply.
    â€œWant me to call Ralph and cancel?”
    I shook my head.
    He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “We can leave early.”
    I nodded. “Why is everything I want so difficult?”

F riday evening, heavy clouds intermittently blocked out the sun as Jerry drove us across the National Mall to Constitution Avenue. I'd had an easy day at work and had chosen not to say anything about my pregnancy. I was relaxed and looking forward to the party. The Vice President of the United States would be celebrating his parent's fiftieth wedding anniversary at the State Department.
    We went west on Constitution to 22nd Street, and then turned right toward the State Department, adjacent to George Washington University. Both were located in the area fondly called Foggy Bottom. A little to our west was the Kennedy Center, Georgetown, and the Potomac River.
    Jerry maneuvered our SUV into the line of limos and elitist vehicles, inching toward the valet at the ceremonial entrance. I'd never been much for pomp and puffery, but Jerry had slowly brought panache into my life. However, I was not totally comfortable with it, and occasionally I checked my feet to be sure I wasn't wearing running shoes.
    Jerry was used to going to formal gigs, and I always knew they would become a part of my life too. Secretly, I liked going to an occasional dress-up. It gave me the opportunity to shake off the grit of the streets and the grime of poverty that occupied so much of my time. I didn't consider myself a slouch, owning three going-out dresses that were in excellent taste, thanks to Jerry's aunt, who introduced me to Sachs, Nordstrom, and Neiman Marcus.
    In the ironies of life, the State Department was only a half mile from where the African-American woman's nude, butchered, and eviscerated body had been found Thursday morning. ID'd by her mother, Thalma Williams had been pregnant, her fetus stolen.
    I thought of my own situation. How could somebody be so sick? What would they want with a fetus?
    As with seemingly every place in Washington, we went through metal detectors along with showing our IDs and invitation. Inside, Judith Fisher, press secretary to the Vice President, greeted us. She didn't know us, but her smiley greeting did not indicate that. Fisher knew we were attending as Ralph Morgan's guests. “It is so good to see you. Mr. Morgan is in the Versailles Room.” There was no need for directions. We followed the crowd.
    The ambiance was nineteenth-century museum/palace. It displayed hundreds of artifacts from famous people and events. A definite tone of aristocracy and royalty permeated, displaying affluent Americans' predilection for good old-fashioned snobbishness and a love of royalty.
    We browsed the paintings, antique vases, desks, sofas, chairs, oriental carpeting, drapes, and assorted bric-a-brac, and then entered the ballroom, keeping an eye out for Ralph. People were mostly