Eliza Starts a Rumor

by Jane L. Rosen

  In truth, he thought, a better comparison for him would have been Rudy Giuliani. As US attorneys for the Southern District of New York, they had both amassed a record number of convictions. They had even gotten their law degrees from the same university, but at this point even Rudy Giuliani was no Rudy Giuliani. His reputation had nosedived since its peak after 9/11, so drawing parallels with him now wouldn’t do Marc any good.

  Marc’s assistant buzzed to say that the group had arrived. He took one more look at himself before standing to greet them.

  “Be charming,” he ordered his reflection. He knew he had to convince them he was right for a run. His ego was big enough to believe he could do the job, but history had taught him that he wasn’t all that likable. He would have to pull out all the stops to have any chance of leading the city so nice they named it twice.

  Two women and a man entered, prepared to be won over. Marc greeted them with a strong handshake and a big smile. They sat on the couch, and he returned to his seat at his desk, where he fidgeted with a plastic straw with the hand they couldn’t see, while gesturing demonstratively with the other. It was a trick he used in court to keep his brain from racing ahead of the questions at hand.

  As was his usual game plan, Marc began as if the ball were in his court.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s more like what can we do for you,” the older of the two women answered. “We are here to discuss a possible mayoral candidacy.”

  “We think you have a real shot,” the man chimed in.

  “And why do you think that?” Marc asked in a curt tone, forgetting to lay on the charm just thirty seconds in. They didn’t even try to hide their weakest motive.

  “For starters, have you seen the Republican front-runner?” the older woman asked as the others laughed along.

  The opposition made babies cry when they looked at him. Really. It was a phenomenon that had made him a YouTube sensation. If Marc hadn’t disagreed with him on nearly every issue, he might have felt bad for the guy. He knew that his own looks had been advantageous to him, but he thought they had no effect on his success as US attorney. No one gave a crap in court that he was as handsome as Atticus Finch. It annoyed him that these people brought it up first, even in a lighthearted way.

  “The vetting process is intense. If you are interested, we would need to schedule another, lengthier meeting, but there are a few nonstarters that we would like to ask about right off the bat,” said the older woman, who was clearly in charge.

  “All right then, batter up!” he answered with a smile, in an attempt to be endearing.

  “Are you current on your state and federal taxes?”

  “I am. I have a perfect record on that, audited once but nothing found.”

  “Great. Any skeletons in your closet, particularly in regard to the ‘Me Too’ movement?”

  “Nothing I can think of.”

  “That’s a good answer, but we’d appreciate it if you really thought deeply on this. People come out of the woodwork,” the man added, strategically pressing the point.

  “There’s no one. I’m sure of it. I have always been very respectful of women.”

  “Are you currently in a relationship?”

  “No, not at this time.” He sat back in his chair, feeling confident in his viability. Until a thought entered his brain like a bullet train.

  “Wait, there may be one thing you should know. But no one knows about it, so I don’t think it’s a problem.” He paused for a few seconds. It seemed as though he was doing it for effect, but the truth was he had never said it out loud and was bracing himself to hear his truth.

  “I fathered a child.”

  “Really?” and “How long ago?” and “Was it put up for adoption?” they asked unilaterally and with an air of panic.

  “He’s with the mother. He’s a few months old.”

  “Were you helping out a friend who wanted a child?” the other woman asked, fingers crossed, no doubt. “That’s considered admirable,” she reassured her cohorts.

  “No.” Maybe it could be spun that way, Marc thought, but he kept that thought to himself. He added matter-of-factly, “A woman I’d been sleeping with on a regular basis got pregnant and had the baby—on her own.”

  The three of them huddled together in whispered conversation. Marc waited, twisting the straw in his hand until it dropped to the floor and rolled away from his desk. He watched it, wishing he could grab it back. The man spoke.

  “Do you have any intention of being a father to this child, and is there a possibility of you getting back together with the mother?”

  “We can’t get back together. We were never really together like that.”

  “Well, you must have been somewhat together. You made a baby.”

  “It’s no different than if I were a sperm donor.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is quite different,” the older woman countered.

  Marc shook his head slowly from left to right with no clear meaning. He was annoyed at himself for not considering this before. It was completely unlike him. The three leaned in again, and then the older woman said, “We are going to have to discuss this with the committee before moving forward.”

  They all stood. Marc didn’t.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  Marc had a real problem. While he wasn’t scared of holding what Mayor Lindsay himself coined “the second toughest job in the country,” the idea of himself as anybody’s father scared the crap out of him. Still, he thought, I can’t let this ruin me.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jackie

  Jackie Campbell sat in his usual seat on the 5:49 and watched as two women bounded on like Butch and Sundance, just as the doors were closing. It made him laugh at first—that mad panic that, as a seasoned commuter and painstakingly punctual person, he never experienced. His smile broadened. Alison’s face, paired with the knowledge that she’d be traveling from the city that day, sparked immediate recognition, along with a stirring of excitement he had not felt in quite a while. The train car was unusually packed, and the two women found a spot by the doors to stand. He pulled out his phone to double-check that it was indeed her. He made the mistake of asking Skip, “Hey, doesn’t she look like that lady over there?”

  Skip took the phone and flipped through Alison’s profile pictures.

  “Oooh. Nice. She does. Is that the one you’ve been talking to, Tootsie?”

  Jackie took the phone back, shoved it in his pocket, and buried his face in the daily crossword puzzle. Skip was not letting it go. He looked at Lee, who smirked while giving him the thumbs-up. Before Jackie could beg for mercy, Skip was out of his seat.

  “Ladies, please, my friend and I are happy to give up our seats for you.”

  “No, thank you,” Alison retorted, as if the offer was insulting and absurd.

  “I insist,” Skip countered.

  “We’re good, thanks,” Alison insisted back, confident she was putting it to rest.

  But Olivia was not good. The Moscow mules had gone to her head while her Ferragamo mules were digging into her feet. Her breasts were engorged like cantaloupes and she kept flashing back to how she had begun the day—vomiting into a trashcan. She needed to sit and she didn’t care if it went against Alison’s old-school feminist protocol. She shot her friend a look of self-pity and accepted the kind offer.

  “Thank you. You are too kind.”

  Skip brought them over to his seat and Jackie immediately rose to thwart his plan by volunteering to switch. Skip pushed him back down with his right hand while motioning to Lee to get up with his left. It was quite the smooth maneuver, and if Jackie weren’t so pissed, he would have been impressed. The two women sat, Olivia next to Jackie and Alison across from him.

  One look at her up close and he forgot to be angry with his friends. He
watched as she adjusted her long legs and tucked an errant strand of her black silky hair behind her ear just for it to fall back out again a second later. He imagined it was a common occurrence. He pictured himself in her company, tucking it back for her. He blushed and smiled.

  Alison was set not to give any of the chivalrous men the time of day, but when the one across from her flashed a sexy, almost nervous smile, she couldn’t help but notice his deep brown eyes and angular jaw, and smile back. Both on the tall side, Alison and Jackie adjusted and readjusted their legs to give each other space but at last they gave up, their knees slightly resting against each other’s. Alison relished that weird sensation of touching a stranger while Jackie played over his previous online interactions in his head with the woman whose knees were now intimate with his. He looked down at the crossword, reading the same clue over and over again, painfully aware of the opportunity in front of him.

  Within minutes Olivia, exhausted from trauma and alcohol, nodded off. A few head drops later, and she unconsciously landed on Jackie’s shoulder. Alison held back a laugh as she leaned over Olivia to straighten her head. Within seconds it dropped right back on Jackie’s shoulder. Her laugh escaped.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll move her.”

  Jackie, who knew what poor Olivia was going through, stopped her.

  “Don’t worry about it. I fall asleep on this train all the time, and it looks like she’s had a hard day.”

  “She has. Thanks.”

  Jackie looked down at the stranger resting on his shoulder, and he and Alison shared another smile. He looked up to see Lee and Skip making foolish motions to him. He shot them a death look. They didn’t care. He stared out the window to discourage them from any further shenanigans as the train passed the Columbia University stadium, sped through a tunnel, and emerged in the beauty of the Palisades. He was usually content to gaze out the window watching the changing leaves on the tree-topped cliffs or the occasional sailboat gliding up or down the Hudson depending on the tide. Sometimes his thoughts would wander to the houses cut into the rocky cliffs, wondering who lives there and if they ever stare out at the passing trains in the distance and wonder about him. But not today. Today he was trying to come up with something witty to say to his seatmate. Quite proficient in reading upside down, Alison beat him to it.

  “Thirty-two across, Russian peasant is ‘muzhik’—M-U-Z-H-I-K.”

  Jackie smiled. “Thanks!” They bumped knees again and Jackie apologized.

  “Sorry, long legs and packed trains don’t mix.”

  “Is this train always this crowded?”

  “It can be. But I have it down to a science. I know exactly where to stand so that I match up with the doors to this car no matter which track the train is on,” he said with pride, followed quickly by embarrassment upon realizing the nerdiness of his comment. She quickly negated his fears.

  “That’s brilliant. If I ever decide to commute, I’m going to find you for a tutorial.”

  That was it. Her interest in efficiency trumped even her black silky hair. Jackie was real-life smitten. He thought about impressing her further with his commuting prowess, letting her know that there are four bridges, two marinas, and two tunnels between here and his stop and that he’s timed them all out so that he never has to look at his watch—but decided against it. He went with a question instead.

  “What do you do?” he asked, already knowing.

  “I’m a criminal attorney in the city, but I’m on extended maternity leave—trying out the suburbs for a bit.”

  “That’s nice. My daughter wants to be an attorney. Well, this week at least. How do you like the suburbs so far?”

  “I like it, for now. I love the peace and quiet. And I feel like I’m bonding with my baby without a hundred things pulling me away from him. But I’m pretty sure it’s temporary.”

  Jackie considered asking about her husband, to indicate that he was interested in her. For a successful, good-looking, single guy he was surprisingly inept at picking up women. He knew that’s the way it was often done in the movies, but it felt too dishonest since he knew the answer. He was happy when she went for that line of questioning herself.

  “Does your wife commute, too?”

  “It’s just me and my daughter.”

  Alison became uncomfortable realizing what her question implied. She’d been seriously asking about his marital status to further her fact-finding mission on the efficacy of commuting while single parenting. Her trip to Manhattan, and spending time in Andie’s office, had her mind ricocheting to her future. Could she actually do it alone in the suburbs, or was it more prudent to move back? How could she leave Zachary without support close by just in case?

  He took her being lost in thought as the end to their conversation and readdressed his crossword. She wished she had brought something to read and gazed out the window, the passing trees hypnotizing her into a trancelike state. She could feel the heat of his leg close to hers. The sliver of space between them felt electrically charged. She snuck a good look at him—he was tall, dark, and handsome, but with just the perfect hint of dorkiness. Picture Idris Elba playing an accountant.

  Jackie became suddenly aware that not asking her if she were married in return may imply disinterest. He had already definitively decided the opposite. He couldn’t believe the funny woman he had been so comfortable talking to online actually looked like she did. He caught her eye.

  “How about you?”

  “How about me what?” She laughed.

  He laughed, too. “Husband? Kids?”

  “Never married. Single mama of a four-month-old baby boy. How old is your daughter?”

  “Fifteen years this Christmas.”

  “That must have been a nice Christmas gift.”

  That Christmas had been the worst day of Jackie’s entire life. He knew it registered on his face, but there was no way he was going down that road. He’d made that mistake before—no buzzkill worse than telling someone that your wife died in childbirth.

  “I’m not big on Christmas.”

  “Really, why?”

  He shared his second reason for disliking the holiday instead.

  “Because whenever I did something wrong as a kid my mom would say, ‘Santa is watching.’ It was like I had to be good three hundred sixty-four days a year just to impress this one fat white dude.” Alison laughed. She had a real, from-the-gut laugh, and he liked it.

  “You must have been pissed when you found out he wasn’t real.”

  “What? He’s not real?”

  She laughed again.

  Poor Olivia snored, and they laughed even harder. Alison thought there was something so sweet about the way he was letting Olivia sleep on his shoulder. It really touched her.

  “What stop is yours?” she asked. “I’ll wake her before we get there.”

  “Hudson Valley.”

  “Me too! I just moved there.”

  Her exuberance was twofold. She was definitely crushing on this guy, so it would be fun to possibly run into him again, but also, she was glad there would be a hard stop to their conversation. She had never mastered ending a casual flirtation gracefully; in fact, starting one was not her forte either. Flirting always felt disingenuous. It was one of the reasons her relationship with Marc was so easy for her. It was very wham, bam, thank you, sir.

  Jackie looked out the window as they sped through the last tunnel of their ride. Hudson Valley peeked out from the rocks and the river on the other side, indicating that there wasn’t much time left. If he didn’t make his move, he may not get another shot. He went for it.

  “We should exchange numbers in case you have any questions about the town or commuting or whatnot.”

  “Sure, that would be nice. Thanks.”

  He handed her his phone for her to type in her number, like the suave person that he wasn’t. Th
e train was coming to the station as she pressed Send. He took back his phone as she woke an embarrassed Olivia. He stood up to give them space. When he got into his car, he read her text:

  Hope to see you again—Alison.

  He wrote back:

  Let’s make sure of it—Jackie.

  He looked at it again before pressing Send and removed the I and the E:

  Jack.

  CHAPTER 20

  Eliza & Amanda

  Amanda waited with bated breath for Pippa and Sadie to return home from their first day of school. She was not worried about Sadie, who was totally agreeable, but about Pippa, who was not. She put the odds of her walking through the door happy at about four percent. Amanda’s dad saw her pacing and consoled her, “It’s OK, Mandy. You did the right thing. We did OK on our own, didn’t we?”

  It was meant to make her feel better, but it did the opposite. She never wanted her kids to be children of divorce like she was. It was one of the reasons she had stuck it out for so long with Carson. Her initial impetus for running east was to let them take some time off for mental health and to pull them out of the spotlight, but her lawyer decimated that idea before they even got their luggage at the airport. She called Amanda straight away, in response to the email Amanda had sent her from the plane. She didn’t even say hello.

  “Amanda! What, are you crazy? You’re not allowed to run off to New York with your kids. Your domicile is in California. Carson could say you kidnapped them! Come back and file a motion for relocation!”

  The luggage on the carousel seemed to be going in one direction, and Amanda’s head in the other. She had not slept one minute on that plane. No way was she turning around and going back. She hung up and called her husband at the hotel where he was hiding. She knew from years of experience that she was well within his window of remorse—that short time after an altercation during which she would have the upper hand. She imagined this particular window to be akin to the observation deck atop the Empire State Building, given the circumstances.