by Cat Bruno
Now, however, I recognize my error in such a verdict. He owned more masks than I ever suspected. Perhaps he tucked them away in some closet, like I had done with the clothing and the gun and my plans. More than anything, William was who you wanted him to be. Political darling? Oh yes. There’s a mask for that, and it reflects his days as a college baseball player, a hardworking attorney, a man who saved his grandfather with CPR. Husband to be? He was seated in front of me; interested in how my day had gone, affectionate and a bit sexually intrigued, and ready to be a responsible and attentive partner. What of the one he wore when he was with Elizabeth? There had to be one, although I had not been permitted to see him don it.
Far too drunk to let those thoughts continue without speaking on them, I put on my own mask.
“I’m sure we can find a way to make that happen.”
Which is exactly what occurred a short time later.
Why mention that, you might wonder? Maybe I should not have. Maybe I should have only painted William as a sex-obsessed cheater with a temper that sometimes ended with a violent interaction. Perhaps I should not have written of the good times, the dinners, the trips, the gifts – there were a lot of gifts, mostly when he was guilty I had concluded within that first year of dating. Across the walls of our home hung artwork he had purchased (from local artists who voted, of course). When the first of my jewelry boxes had spilled over the top of my dresser, he had purchased another one and, soon, it was filled with eccentric earrings and bracelets made of stone and leather. It was not until he decided to run for office that the leather was replaced with pearls and the funky earrings reduced in size as he groomed me to march along his path.
Justice is not without mercy. Justice bends and listens, considers and mourns. Why else would I carry scales with me if I did not intend to use them? None of us is without a closet full of masks. Some we wear for years, some for hours. Some never get worn at all. Some we discard and replace. Some we never know we are wearing. But you cannot burn your collection, my friends. You cannot bury them so deeply that you think I will never find them. Justice comes, winged and with a sword.
In those days before the wedding, my life was in a constant state of vertigo. Have you grown bored? Do you wait for its conclusion and for me to reach the uppermost peak of the story arc? I understand your impatience and felt it often in those strange, spinning days. I rarely slept, and only when I had drank enough to trick Hypnos into visiting.
Much of life is a cycle, one that repeats and circles like a ferris wheel. The more we become aware of that ride, the dizzier we become.
Hypnos, the spirit of sleep and father to dream-weaver Morpheus, carried a wand made from the stems of poppies and a drinking horn filled with opium. I knew him well once, for the mighty night goddess Nyx was mother to us both. Never have I met a man as soft spoken and serene as my brother; he is unlike the others who dwell near Olympus and never lifts his hand or wand in violence. Never has he caused pain or anguish. How I wish that I could be the same. But, despite being born from the all-powerful Nyx, who even Zeus feared, I am not welcomed as Hypnos is. Oh, there are many who call my name and beg me for swift vengeance and rightful reparations, but I am not loved like he is. Not even Phanes, the brother who allowed mortals to feel sexual desire, and our sister Philotes, she who gifted friendship, were as adored as sweet Hypnos.
How does the world spin? It comes and goes, passing by the same points for those who can see through the mist. It is not linear, as we have been led to believe, although some scientists are getting closer to that truth. Hypnos has come again, but this time his presence is not painless. You only need to look at my heroin feature to understand what I mean. My dear, sweet brother dwelled in a cave filled with poppies and other sleep-inducing plants and herbs, and, while he meant no harm by cultivating the plant, others (mortals of course) could not say the same. For thousands of years, they have used his gardens for their own ill-gotten pleasures.
Do you think Eli knew of my brother when he assigned me the feature? Or had the ferris wheel of time just come back around again when it was time for me to hop on?
Another glass of wine did what Hypnos would not, and I slept for a few hours before waking with an aching head. Punishment for my attempts to usurp the work of my brother-god, you see. Even that minor annoyance reminded me how closely the gods hovered. Time was running out, I knew.
3 Days until I Do
Little occurred that day, although I did throw away the gun and the bag of clothing. William slept unusually late, and I gathered the hidden items and placed them in my trunk. For the next two hours, I drove west on Interstate 70 until I nearly reached the Indiana border. Before I crossed over, I exited the highway and continued along a two-lane road that straight-lined through fields of corn and wheat. When I came upon a roadside gas station, I pulled in slowly and parked next to a rusting gas pump.
Once the hose began filling my car, I retrieved the plastic grocery bag from the passenger side seat and tossed it into a nearby garbage can.
Less than a minute later and with a full tank of gas, I headed back east. When I was less than ten miles away from Columbus, I turned my cell phone back on and drove toward the Inn. Toby arrived a short time later. There was little left to be done in the reception room, so we moved about slowly, each for our own reasons.
“Tomorrow I will bring the archway,” he assured me. “I’m nearly finished, Dandelion, and I hope that you will love it as much as I do.”
My nails, unpainted and ready for my manicure the next morning, tapped at the snowdrop nestled against my throat.
“You haven’t disappointed me yet, Toby,” I quietly admitted, somewhat lost between the modern and ancient worlds.
“The week’s not over,” he laughed.
Later, after a dinner with William’s cousins and his parents, I slept without wine to aid me, in bits and pieces, uncertain which world I would wake to.
2 Days until I Do
Our honeymoon has not been mentioned much on these pages. Unfortunately, it had been planned for nearly a year, or I would have begged William to visit Greece and Italy with me. Since the news that my photograph from the Temple of Apollo had been chosen by the tourist board, I could not wait to visit the site again. However, airline tickets had been purchased and hotel rooms booked for ten days in California. Several large political donors make the state their home, and William had meetings set with them throughout our trip. That he would spend part of our honeymoon working did not bother me. I would have my camera and access to a modern outdoor sculpture garden and to one of the most extensive museum collections of Greek, Roman, and Etruscan antiquities.
While he shook hands and mouthed promises, I could walk through an exhibit that resembled a scrapbook of my life.
Alison, Tessa, and Alexis joined me at the nail salon around mid-morning. Both of my college friends had had children in the last eighteen months and prodded me about when I would be next, which delighted my cousin.
“It’s up to William, to be honest,” I told them as my feet soaked in a bubbling bath.
Few knew how far William’s ambitions stretched, so I could not be as honest as I preferred. Which meant I could not admit that a pregnancy would be timed to match his first election. The primary, eight months from the wedding date, would not pose much of a problem since only one other person had declared his intent to run. The rumors around the capitol were that William and the other man would be the only two to run, and early polling showed William with a substantial lead. The press from our wedding would only boost that. However, the November general election would be far more difficult. A pregnant wife would help, he figured, mentioning it to me without shame.
Suddenly, I am aware that, in addition to the honeymoon, I have not talked much of his campaign, aside from pointing out the frequency of his meetings. However, I know that I have told you how dedicated a planner William was. So you will not be surprised when you read that he formally declared his candidacy two days be
fore our wedding, with me at his side.
A few hours after I arrived at the salon, Tom picked me up and drove me to meet William at a clothing boutique in the Short North district that offered feminine styling with a touch of elegance and a bit of bohemia. To be honest, the dresses there were quite pretty. My resentment, that I attempted to paint over with an abundance of cheeriness, stemmed from William’s insistence that the shop’s owner choose what I should wear for the press conference. Boutique Ami, he promised, offered enough whimsy and uniqueness for me to reflect my artistic side. He didn’t expect me to wear a conservative suit or anything of that sort, so I played along. While Caroline and I examined every piece of clothing in her neat and tiny shop, William sat in a corner typing into his phone.
Her suggestion was a coral, mid-length dress overlaid with lace. The hem flowed just past my knee, and the neckline scalloped atop my breasts, without revealing much more than my lightly sun-tanned skin. Over the sleeveless dress, she placed a soft suede jacket, cream-colored and fitted, but without the shape of a blazer. Simple heels, dyed a natural sand shade, completed the look. It was fine – pretty and pleasant, inoffensive, yet just daring enough to be interesting and admirably trendy. More than anything, it was approachable, just like I was intended to be. Perhaps a voter might not relate to William, but his wife was someone to have coffee or wine with.
I was no intimidating lawyer or wealthy socialite or perfect trophy wife. Dressed in lace and supple leather, I was just hip enough that the growing crowd of artistic and educated young professionals would welcome me, while the older, established voters would nod at me as well. My career helped, too, as it defined me as independent and hard-working, a woman similar to many in Ohio. Elizabeth, if you remember, in addition to her youth, looked much like how you would expect a trophy wife to look, pageant-like in her beauty and poise. Combined with the fact that she, too, studied law and came from a family with money, Elizabeth had been excluded from ever being the one beside William at the press conference. No doubt he had considered it, however.
She, you see, was old Ohio. I, with my unusual name and history of poverty, was the new. An American dream of overcoming odds and succeeding without having sacrificed your passion. Dandelion Jackman, the asset who could secure votes that William would likely not get himself.
Oh yes, that was the plan. I would either quit (although that would never be admitted to the media or voters) or reduce my hours enough to campaign for my husband. In these digitally and technologically expansive times, my career as a photographer could disappear at any moment, so it was not some blind loyalty keeping me at the Gazette. I just love taking pictures and appreciated my job security in the rapidly declining industry. Real life pictures, not staged stills or portraits. Photojournalism has always been my calling and more than just a craft since I have been Dandelion. Regardless of whom I am married to, while I am in this latest skin, I will never hang up my camera. William should have known better.
After lunch, where my fiancé interviewed with one of my colleagues at the Gazette, we walked along the bricked streets of the Victorian Village. William wore a light gray suit, perfectly tailored and slim fitting. Beneath the suit jacket, a pale shirt shined, nearly identical in color to my new suede coat. His tie was a darker shade of gray, without any design or pattern. But I will say this for him: William did not look like your father’s politician.
For a brief, panicky five minutes, I thought that we walked toward Goodale Park. I had been so busy planning the wedding that I had not asked much about William’s campaign schedule and had almost entirely forgotten about the event. There would be print media and television crews, all Ohio-based, but enough to get his name out quickly. And I assumed that some of his supporters would be there as well, dressed to blend in with the urban Columbus crowd. What I did not suspect was the large crowd that greeted us as we rounded a corner, two blocks before the entrance to the park.
My sigh, one of relief, caused William to laugh, “And this is just a small crowd.”
I let him believe my reaction was one of surprise.
“Come, Dani, there’s a podium set up. We have some time before my announcement.”
“Whose house is this?” I asked as I eyed a large wraparound porch that needed to be repainted.
Most of the homes in the area had already been renovated, and what was once an area in decline was now one of the best neighborhoods in Columbus. This home was three stories tall and had been built on a substantial lot over a hundred years ago, I guessed by its looks and styling.
With a smile that spread across his face like one of his masks, William said, “Oh it’s ours. Happy wedding!”
Some of you may think such a gift to be a lovely surprise. Others might be annoyed or angered if someone did something so life changing without mentioning it. Me? I thought of it as just another move that I had not expected but could easily manage, like if his bishop cut across the board to stare my king in the face.
My own mask, one with shining eyes verging on tears of happiness and an open mouthed smile, appeared with haste.
“I’m speechless, William,” I mumbled as my hand came to my chest with feigned demureness.
In front of the wide steps, and with the massive, double doors as a backdrop, a podium stood. When I realized that William was walking to it, I hurried to his side to ask if I had time to look through the house.
“Not now. It’s actually in my dad’s name, for legal reasons, but he will have the keys. Find him once most of the crowd leaves.” Grabbing my hand, he stated, “Come stand at my side.”
For the next forty-five minutes, I smiled and nodded as William talked about his work as a prosecutor, of the trials he led and the criminals he had put behind bars. From there, he discussed his childhood, specifically his father’s focus on education and his mother’s love for gardening. It was his hope to take both of their passions with him as a legislator and to create initiatives centered around improving Ohio’s public education standards and scores and to promote healthier eating in and out of school. Those ideas were met with applause, of course, as was his story about the house he stood in front of. This house was one of the last ones in the area to need renovation, and, as William declared, was a symbol not just of Columbus, but of Ohio in general.
Over the next several months, while he campaigned and reduced his hours at work, he would dedicate time and energy to rehabbing the house back to its former glory. I knew none of those plans, but clapped as loudly as those in front of him. He kissed my cheek just after he spoke of how the sprawling house would also reflect his own life, expanding and improving as his own family grew. Oh how the crowd – a few hundred by then as word spread – cheered those words.
I quite liked William’s rowhouse and its proximity to the Gazette. It was, however, a fraction of the size of the newly purchased one, and I could see why he wanted to upgrade. When he mentioned his website (one that I did not know he had) and how he would update those interested with the progress of the house renovation, I beamed. How brilliant was he, friends? William spoke of blogging – which I had not known he even understood – and how he wanted to be a new kind of politician: one with an active engagement with his constituents and an open line of communication.
Masterful. Charming. Hypnotic. Even I fell under his spell as he promised to represent all Ohioans, regardless of how they voted, how they looked, where they worked, or what they believed in. For this introductory declaration of his candidacy, William intentionally remained vague. He sounded much like Tom, but few would ever hear directly from William’s advisor. It was a lovely speech, and, after it ended, I listened as several people came up to William to shake his hand and congratulate him. Some of them included me in the praise, remarking how lucky I was to be marrying such a dashing and extraordinary man with such a bright future.
I did nothing to destroy this illusion, my friends. Our masks stayed in place, a glistening patina of happiness and support. Several of the members of the media
would be invited to our wedding, some as guests, others as reporters. But they would see the same mask then as they did now.
“You look stunning, my dear!”
Susanne hugged me quickly.
“How marvelous was he? I can hardly believe it.”
While we chatted, Teddy joined us, red-faced with glee.
“What a beginning! And with the wedding in two days, I can hardly stop smiling.”
Despite William’s instructions, I asked Teddy to show me around the house.
“What did you think of the surprise, Dani? We have known for months, and it was so hard to keep it from you.”
With each word that William’s parents spoke, I realized more what role they all expected me to play. For now, I let them think that I was unaware.
“He makes the grandest gestures, doesn’t he?” I laughed while waving my arm at the house. “I am dying to see inside.”
Teddy agreed rapidly, “Yes, let’s get out of this heat,” he said as I followed him to the back of the house.
Crumbling cement stairs led to a side door. Susanne had stayed at the front so I held Teddy’s briefcase as he searched for the keys. A screen door creaked as he kicked it open with his brown loafer. The door led to the kitchen, and I jumped in after him before the screen door slammed closed.
Should I talk about the house? It doesn’t matter much, so I’ll keep all my descriptions brief. The kitchen was larger than I had expected and lined with windows on one side. Green striped wallpaper covered nearly everything, except where oak cabinets hung. The floor was thinly carpeted, which I could not make sense of, and covered in stains. A gaping hole, where a refrigerator once stood, showed me how much money would need to be invested in the kitchen alone. Nothing, not even the sink, could be used.
“This is the worst of it. The other rooms are not nearly as bad. Well, the bathrooms all need to be gutted,” Teddy told me, almost apologetically, his words oddly downbeat after having been so gleeful a short time before.
