by Beth Fred
I glare at him.
He nods. “And that’s not what we’re talking about. You didn’t do a very good job of convincing her you don’t love Clarissa. I can’t do that for you, and we’ve got an election to win right now.”
“She said she was convinced. She sounded convinced.”
“From what she said to her roommate, she wasn’t at all convinced. But if she didn’t love you, she wouldn’t care.” His phone rings. “CNN, I have to take this.” He puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?” Pause. “Uh, I don’t know anything about it. I’m not sure what she wants to talk about.” Pause. “I can’t commit to that. I have no idea what she’s discussing.” Pause. “Thank you.” He puts the phone down. “Turn on the TV. Your wife has called a press conference.”
Chapter 54
Mandy
A wave of nausea overtakes me. There can be no hope for my marriage after this, but it’s the only way to save everything Eric has worked for. He’ll never realize it, but this is the only chance I have to atone. I peer into the camera and take a deep breath.
“There has been a lot of talk about my husband being a sexist pig because he opposes abortion. I’ll point out that the Republican Party has traditionally been a pro-life organization, but I’ll remind you that when my father was up for re-election a couple of years ago, you were all happy to report his daughter was a flaming liberal. So take it from this liberal. Eric Martinez may seem harsh, unaccommodating, or unreasonable, but he has a damn good reason for it. My husband lost a child. His law school girlfriend…” I refuse to call her his fiancée. I refuse to admit aloud he wanted to marry her without requiring it to win an election.
“…Had an abortion before she bothered to mention she was pregnant,” I continue. “He doesn’t oppose abortion to tell a woman what to do with her body. He opposes an abortion to protect the rights of a child too young and weak to speak for itself. If you’ll fault him for that, fine. He opposes abortion because he found a woman he cared about dying in a pool of her own blood. Some safe procedures aren’t always that safe. If you don’t want a leader who protects the innocent and the weak, it’s your prerogative. But isn’t that what America is all about? Standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves? You are definitely entitled to your opinion on the subject, but before you judge my husband, I just thought you should know the facts. What’s the verse? ‘Judge not lest ye be judged?’” I take a breath to leave a pause. “I’m open for questions.”
A man in a black suit with a Fox logo on his microphone stands and raises his hand.
I point to him. “Yes?”
“How can this be confirmed? Does the ex-girlfriend have a name?”
I laugh. “I talk about a dead baby and you feel a need to confirm it? Of course, the ex has a name. It’s Clarissa Lawrence. She’s told me she’ll admit it because she believes muckraking reporters usually find out what they want to know. And while we’re on the subject, I’ll say something else too. Ms. Lawrence almost died from complications. So all you people out there who say you support this for women’s health need to ask yourselves if that’s true. Because the very women you say need easy access to this the most—impoverished and minority women—seem to be the ones who suffer the most.”
The next question is harder. “You’ve admitted to marrying Martinez to make him appear more stable so that he would pay your tuition. Don’t you feel you have both made a concerted effort to dupe voters?”
I shake my head. “I married a man I deeply admire and respect. I’d been at the same dinner parties with Eric a couple of times and managed to never meet him. The first time I did meet him, he didn’t know anything about me, and we weren’t exactly equals. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old graduate student in what my father refers to as ‘basket weaving.’ I have minimal work experience for a couple of small-time blogs. He talked to me like an equal. I gave unsolicited advice, and he never pointed out he’s a JD and I’m a liberal arts student. I married a good man. Lucky for me, money was part of the bargain. There was a time when that was normal, but history aside, people get married for money in this country every day. At least I admitted it. But marriage is brutal. Money won’t keep you married. Just saying.”
“Does he pay voters too?” another reporter asks.
“When you feel like asking me a legitimate question, I’ll consider answering. Thanks.”
“Back to the arranged marriage—” the blonde CNN reporter starts.
I interrupt, “You know what? I don’t think my marriage is your business.”
She glares at me. “Didn’t you make it our business when you published the blog?”
Kristin stands in the front row and hurtles the stage. A security guy knocks her down, trying to keep her off my platform. “Leave her alone,” I say. “Don’t hurt her.” Though I have no idea what she’s doing or how badly it’s going to affect my press conference.
Kristin snatches the microphone out of my hand and shoves me out of the way. The security guard lunges for her. I shake my head, and he backs off, but I’m completely confused. “She didn’t post that blog. I did.”
“Who are you?” the reporter asks.
Kristin raises her hands above her head and strikes a profile pose. “I’m Super Roommate Girl.”
“Uh, do you have another name?” the reporter asks.
“Kristin Kaustacomy. I’ll be distributing business cards after the conference so that you can verify the correct spelling.”
“Why would you publish such a damaging blog if you’re Ms. Martinez’s roommate?”
“Mandy said the first year of marriage was brutal. She wasn’t lying. She was mad at Eric and crying, and I wanted to get back at him. Also, I wanted to play Mandy in the movie.”
“Neither of them have denied the accusations,” the reporter says. “And Ms. Martinez admitted it was a contract only moments ago.”
“Really? I thought she said she married a man she deeply admired and respected and that he happened to be loaded. That’s every girl’s dream. Are you really going to fault her? And for the record, I’ve never heard Martinez say he doesn’t love his wife.”
“This is all a little convenient,” the reporter says.
“Whatever.” Kristen puts her arms up and does the profile pose again. “I’m Super Roommate Girl, and I endorse Eric Martinez for President. Press conference is over.” She throws the microphone down on the stage.
Chapter 55
Eric
I turn off the TV and look to Evan. “Well?”
He shakes his head. “As your campaign manager, I have no idea which way this is going to go…” His voice trails off.
“But?”
“As your best friend, that took guts. It had to be hard to do.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I-I’ll never forgive her for killing our child, but I don’t want to make things harder for Clarissa. And I don’t understand why Mandy needed to talk to her.”
“I think you just found out why Mandy flew to Dallas to talk to your ex-girlfriend.”
“Right. She—Clarissa is not going to be okay with this. She went through so much. She doesn’t need to have it rehashed for her.”
Evan holds my gaze for a second before he answers. “If you tell Mandy that, she’s going to be pissed. You’re going to see a white girl on the warpath.”
“Why?”
“Gee, Eric. I don’t know. But consider this. Your current wife flew to Dallas to talk to your ex-girlfriend, called a press conference, took crap about being a bought bride, and defended you on TV.”
“My current wife who was paid to marry me.”
“But she wasn’t paid or asked to do the press conference. And come on, Eric, we both know she has feelings for you. Hell, that’s the reason I ordered you to marry her. You looked too much like a couple together to be anything else.”
“So you liked the conference with Super Roommate Girl?”
He chuckles. �
�Kristin is something else. I doubt Mandy knew anything about that.”
“What do we do?”
“For the campaign? We’re going to sit quietly tonight. We’ll respond to things as we need to. As for your marriage, that’s up to you. But if it fails, your campaign will.”
“Simpleton’s divorced.”
“She is, but she appears to have it together now. Your divorce would be happening now. It would seem like the stress of the campaign was too much. But if you weren’t trying to win, you wouldn’t be married anyway, so you rushed into it to be elected. Not likable.”
“I told her I didn’t want to go public with the abortion.”
“I think she thought it would help. If you’re only worried about the campaign, tell her you pay her well, and she needs to fall in line. If you care about the girl, I can’t handle that for you. But getting protective of Clarissa is not going to help.”
“You think she was trying to help? Or do you think she did this because she’s mad at me?”
“She’s more than angry. She’s pissed off, but I don’t think she would have gone public for that alone. Mandy doesn’t strike me as vindictive.”
“So what do I do?”
He cocks his head. “Jewelry never hurts. Do you want me to send a staffer out? You’ll be noticed in a jewelry shop.”
“I have something at home. I’ll have the housekeeper send it.”
Chapter 56
Mandy
A security guard escorts Kristin and me off the stage. Reporters and citizens crowd us. Blonde Girl puts her microphone in my face. I look up at the security guard. “She’s taken enough questions,” he says. People scream my name in all of its forms. “Ms. Martinez,” “Mandy,” “Amanda.” There is so much noise I don’t hear my phone when it rings. But the pulsing against my thigh tells me someone is calling.
The security guard gets between Kristin and me. He grabs me with one hand, her with the other, and leads us through the chaos as I answer the phone.
“Eric has sent a town car for you. He wants you to stay with security until it gets there.” Evan pauses. “Amanda, I know you don’t like to listen, but considering there was a recent threat on your life before your latest press conference, I think you should take his advice.”
“Okay. Evan?”
“Yeah.”
“How mad is he?”
“Ya’ll are going to be okay. But you both need to grow up. He’s running for president. If he wins, you’re the First Lady. And you’re acting like two high school kids before homecoming.”
“Why do you think I just held a press conference and told the whole world my husband is so caught up on some girl he dated more than ten years ago that he can’t act like a man through a debate?”
“See? This is what I’m talking about. How many people heard you say that? You idiot!”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Eric says in the background.
“Oh my God! He’s standing right there with you and has his freakin’ manservant call me. Jackass!”
“Me or him?” Evan asks.
“Apply it wherever you want.”
“Okay. I’m so ready for the high school games to be over with, I’m going to keep that one to myself. But you know what happened in that debate was never about the girl, right?”
I hang up. Yeah. Eric says what happened in the debate wasn’t about the girl, but it was her name he called the entire night. Not a baby’s.
A second security guard appears at Kristin’s side. We’re escorted to the curb, where we wait for exactly five minutes before the town car shows up. I pull the door open, and we’re both climbing in when the driver gets out to open the door.
“How did he get you here so fast?” I ask.
The driver looks back at me. “Said he’d give me an extra hundred to take care of his girl. Can’t argue with that.”
“Aw,” Kristin squeals.
“That was nice of him.” I sink back into the seat and wish it was November.
“I think he did it more for him than you,” the driver says.
I laugh. “That makes no sense.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve been married thirty-two years. Nothing gives you gray hair like a rebellious woman.”
At that, Kristin and I both laugh. “I’m not sure it’s like that anymore,” I say.
“Men take care of women. That’s how it is. And you’re his.”
“Eric is old school. It’s possible.” Then I mumble under my breath, “But I don’t think people usually worry about guarding their mail-order brides.”
“You weren’t a mail order. He picked you out of crowded room. That means you stood out in a crowded room,” Kristin says loudly.
I glare at her.
The driver laughs. “No one really believes that it was a marriage of convenience. They think you got pissed off and put it on a blog to get even. My wife owns a beauty shop. All the women always talk about how you’re the first potential presidential couple to have a real marriage since the Reagans.”
“They’d be wrong,” I say.
Chapter 57
Mandy
The town car drops us outside of our apartment. Reporters are already gathered in front of our door. I look at Kristin. “Don’t worry. I got this,” she says. “Follow me.”
I do. Up the stairs and right into the circus. Kristin pulls on a tan string hanging around her neck that I haven’t noticed before now. We step into the circle of reporters, and she brings a whistle out from under her shirt. She blows. The thing is so loud I duck and cover my ears. Some of the reporters do too. Others step back, trying to get away from the sharp noise. Kristin continues to blow while handing me her keys.
I unlock the door. We jump across the threshold, slam the door, and lock it behind us.
“That was creative. And I’ve never seen you so well prepared,” I say.
She shrugs. “I’m Super Roommate Girl. The way the reporters showed up after that blog post, I kind of thought we might have problems today. I thought I’d be ready to help out. Besides, I really do want to play you in the movie.”
“OMG! Kristin, this is my life. It’s not going to be a movie. And even if I were exciting enough for there to be a movie, that’s just weird. I don’t want there to be.”
“Umm…we just blew through a group of reporters to get to our front door. You are married to the youngest man to ever run for president who happens to be accused of terrorist links, and he’s also the first hot guy to run for president. There will be a movie. And I will play you, because I have more character insight than anyone else.”
“It was your idea for me to marry the jerk.”
She crosses her arms. “You don’t think he’s a jerk.”
“You said he was a jerk.”
“He is. But if you thought so, we wouldn’t have had that press conference. I’d have no chance of playing you in the movie. I see it as a romantic comedy. What do you think?”
“Maybe, because nothing says love like calling out your ex’s name after you make love to your wife. I guess it is funny, though. In a slightly pathetic sort of way. And the press conference had nothing to do with Eric. The press conference was about saving the country from Kourtney Simpleton. I don’t care who wins. I care that it isn’t her.”
Kristin shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious.”
She puts up her hands. “Sorry.”
Knock-knock.
I take a step toward the door.
“Wait,” Kristin says. “It could be a reporter.”
“So we’re hostages of the house now?”
She tosses me her whistle. “Not at all.” She grins.
I clasp it. If it’s a jerk with a mic, I might blow it in their ear. But it’s not. It’s the doorman of Eric’s building, and he’s holding a manila envelope.
“Is everything okay?” Student housing doesn’t have doormen, and Eric’s apartment is not close to mine.
He smiles. “The boss a
sked me to send you this.”
“Thank you.” I take the envelope. “I would tip, but I don’t have cash, sorry.”
“I was tipped very well. My employer also makes sure I have really good, really free health insurance.”
I laugh. “Did the Republican tell you to say that?”
“No.” His smile fades. “But Eri—Mr. Martinez isn’t a bad man. He’s running for president. That’s a lot of pressure. I’m sure you could take it easy on the guy.”
“Right. Okay, well, I should close the door. The press might come back.”
“That’s part of the reason I’m here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Between the reporters, protesters, and the woman who thinks you’re the reason he’s down in the polls, Mr. Martinez wants you to have security.”
“You’re a doorman.”
“I’m a U.S. vet.”
“You’re hot too,” Kristin says.
I look at her. “You said that about Evan. You think everyone is hot.”
She shrugs. “Republicans are usually old like your dad and his friends. But your husband and his friends are hot.”
“I’m sorry.”
The guy smiles. “No need to be. I appreciate the compliment. Are you going to let me in? Or should I guard the door?” he asks.
“Is there any chance you’ll leave if I tell you to guard the door?”
“No, ma’am. Martinez is scarier than you and Super Roommate Girl.”
Kristin grins. “You saw the press conference?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Is he angry?” I ask.
“Angry?” George repeats.
“Because I told everyone about her.” I do not want to think about Clarissa Lawrence. Just thinking her name makes me want to cry again.
George is quiet. “I don’t know.”
I move aside for George to come in. Once he’s in, I lock the door. I throw the manila envelope on the peninsula bar.
