Mr. and Miss Anonymous. Fern Michaels

used to put it, woolgather. He made a mental note to ask her if she still used that expression.

      Pete opened the drawer again and reached for the invitation. He twirled the cream-colored square in his hands. Maybe he should go back. So what if he’d made a promise to himself never to do so. People broke promises all the time, especially when the person made the promise to himself.

      As the minute hand on his watch crawled forward, Pete slid the invitation back into the drawer. Maybe he’d think about it later. Not too much later, he cautioned himself. The reunion was across the country in two days.

      What the hell, he had a corporate jet. But getting that baby all fired up with a pilot was a whole other ball game, especially on short notice. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t think about it. He blinked when a vision of a young girl in a floppy hat with a big sunflower on it appeared behind his eyelids. Lily. Lily something. He took a minute to wonder where she was and what she was doing. She was probably married with four or five kids and a doting husband. He corrected that thought immediately when he remembered the last time he’d seen her and the sad look in her eyes. No, he’d bet PAK Industries that Lily something-or-other wasn’t married with kids.

      Pete looked down at the calendar on his desk. He had a busy day. After the photo op with the senator, he had an appointment with his shrink. Maybe after his appointment he would be in a better frame of mind to make a decision about attending the fund-raiser.

      The pricey TAG Heuer watch on his wrist chirped. Time to head for the boardroom so he could make his announcement. Fifteen minutes, tops. Five minutes to get downstairs to meet the senator and smile pretty for the cameras. What the hell was the senator’s name? Then off to the shrink. After that, he was on his own time. The thought left him light-headed.

      Precisely three minutes later, Pete entered the conference room. For some reason, the room always amazed him. It was half the size of a football field, with wraparound windows for light, and was dominated by a long teak table whose shine was so bright he could see his reflection. Twelve leather chairs surrounded the table. Off to all four sides of the large room were private groupings of chairs, small sofas, tables, and tons of greenery. In the center of the teak table was a magnificent silver coffee urn, with fine china cups and a crystal decanter of orange juice as well as four trays of assorted pastries.

      “Hi, people,” Pete said, taking his seat at the head of the table. He looked around at all the people who had worked at his side for years and years to make it all happen. He owed them all big-time. He nodded to Millie, who was trotting around the long table, placing in front of each person a snow-white envelope with the PAK logo in the corner.

      “A show of my appreciation. Look, there’s no easy way to say this other than to come right out and say it. I’m taking some time off. A year at the least. Maybe longer. You can run this place without me. There are some things I need to do. Personal things. So, having said that”—Pete tossed a set of keys to his second-in-command, Marty Bronson—“the keys to everything, Marty, and you get my parking space. Before you can ask, no, I am not sick, no, I am not getting married.”

      Pete pushed back his chair and stood up. “Oh, there is one other thing. Every one of you in this room has my cell phone number. If you call me, you’re fired. I’ll check in from time to time so you can hear my cheery voice. I want to walk out of here knowing I didn’t make a mistake when I hired you all. Just make me proud and let me get out of here before I start blubbering. Don’t get up. Sit there and plan how you’re going to spend those checks I just gave you. See ya!”

      Outside in the hallway, Millie stared at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “That was a really shitty thing you just did in there, Peter Aaron Kelly. You should have prepared us, given some kind of warning. Everyone’s in shock. What are you going to do now, watch television?”

      It was the worst thing Millie could have said to her boss. Pete never watched television; he hated it with a passion. Every day his staff tormented him with what they’d seen on the tube that he’d missed. Pete turned away, too choked up to reply right away. When he finally got his tongue to work, he said, “Call Berkeley and tell them I might or might not attend. There’s a check in my top drawer you can forward by overnight mail. Give my regrets about not being their guest speaker, say I was flattered, yada, yada, yada. I’m going to forget that crack you just made about me watching television. C’mere, give me a big hug so I can go meet that senator. What the hell is his name?”

      Millie wiped at her eyes. “His name is Hudson Preston, the senior senator from California. You didn’t mean me, did you, when you said you didn’t want any calls from here? I’m sorry about my television comment. I was upset. I am still upset, Pete.”

      Pete squared his shoulders. “Sorry, Millie, it means you, too. I need time and space. I’ll call you. I promise.”

      “Go on, get out of here, you big schmuck. Shame on you for making an old lady cry,” Millie said, wiping at her eyes. She did her best to summon up a smile to send Pete on his way.

      “I love you, Millie. Keep your eye on things. I’ll be back, I just don’t know when.” Pete waved airily as he headed for the elevator. He was glad no one was looking at him when he swiped at his own eyes with the back of his hand.

      Pete stepped out of the elevator to see the senator and his entourage milling about the spacious lobby of his building. He realized in that one second that he did not like the senator, had never liked him.

      An aide approached him, a young guy with his share of zits and spiky hair. “It would be so much better if we could do the photo op in your corporate offices, Mr. Kelly. This lobby is so cold and sterile-looking. It really isn’t the kind of warm and fuzzy image the senator wants to convey. This,” he said, waving his arm about, “is so…corporate.”

      “Sorry, rules are rules,” Pete said briskly. “Can we get on with it? I have a meeting, and I don’t want to be late.”

      The aide looked horrified at Pete’s words. He started to sputter. “But…but the senator cleared his calendar for an hour. We came all the way from Washington.”

      “It’s a forty-five-minute shuttle ride. A letter went out to your offices explaining all this. Now, let’s get on with it, or I’ll leave you all standing here to suck your thumbs.”

      Before the aide could reply, the senator approached Pete, his personal camera crew right behind him. “Ah, Peter, nice seeing you again.”

      Pete extended his hand and gave the senator a bone-crushing handshake. “Guess it’s that time of year again. I hate to rush you, but I have a meeting I can’t be late for.”

      The senator’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t lose his affability. He smiled, knowing he was being captured on film. “I understand, we allotted only fifteen minutes ourselves. I appreciate your agreeing to the op at all. I know how busy you corporate types are.”

      Pete bared his teeth in what he hoped was a smile. “Good, that means we’re on the same page.”

      When the allotted fifteen minutes were up, Pete looked pointedly at his watch.

      Senator Preston threw his arm around Pete’s shoulders. “I have a limo out front. Can we drop you off somewhere?”

      Pete shrugged off the senator’s arm, and replied, “Thanks, but I’m walking.” He was through the revolving door within seconds and on his way down the winding walkway. He had a bad taste in his mouth. Later he would think about the fact that he didn’t like Senator Preston. He wondered if it had anything to do with the few visits he’d made to the shrink. The last thing Dr. Myers had said last week when Peter was leaving his office was to think about the “why” of everything. Why didn’t he like Senator Preston? Peter didn’t have a clue.

      The trees were dressed for spring early that year. As he exited the PAK Industries campus and walked on out to the boulevard, Pete started shedding his clothing. He yanked at the power tie and stuffed it in his pocket. The only reason he knew it was a power tie was because Millie had bought it and told him so. Next came the Armani jacket. He slung it over his shoulder as he maintained