In Her Eyes

by Renée J. Lukas

  Her security people ushered me through the crowd to a limo where I’d take a long ride to the governor’s mansion. I was going to have a “meeting” with her. Of course I was. They saw me as a problem they had to contain. Robin was going to do damage control, and apparently I was the damage. It was the longest car ride I can ever remember.

  When I got to the governor’s mansion, they told me to go to the library. I refused to be intimidated by high ceilings and chandeliers. I ordered my feet to go one in front of the other until I reached the library. When I saw her there, she took my breath away. It wasn’t all at once, but in a succession of little moments, like heartbeats—a turn of her hair, a flash of blue eyes illuminated by the roaring fire—that left me weak and wanting. I’d nearly forgotten what I’d come for, until she spoke to me in that scolding tone that brought me right back to the dorm room.

  “You must need money,” she said. “Your little band isn’t that well-known yet. Awfully risky at your age, don’t you think?”

  Little band.

  I wanted to slam her into the windows that were so eloquently flanked by gold curtains.

  “Cut the condescending tone,” I snapped. “You forget I know you.”

  “A person can change a lot in twenty-five years.”

  The number of years wasn’t accurate. It was as if she said that on purpose to convey a lack of importance—not worth remembering—because she didn’t care.

  Oddly, it stung me. I didn’t want to find myself vulnerable here, not in front of her.

  You might say a million words every day, but you’ll always remember one or two uttered phrases from a certain someone. The power of her words, like her gaze, shot through me in the amber glow of that study. Silent bullets were flying as I stood there, contemplating how to get out alive and with my dignity intact. A hapless burden to hold—this vulnerability of mine.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Change your stance on gay rights.” I blurted it out as an afterthought, becoming a spur-of-the-moment activist who knew my audience was immovable. The truth was, I had no purpose for being there except to see her again and maybe the stray thought somewhere in my warped ego that seeing me might change her mind and her hideous policies. Maybe I was thinking that this would show her that I did give a shit about at least one issue, had some convictions, something she never thought I had.

  I couldn’t resist a few jabs while I had her alone in a room.

  Her nosy advisor, Peter, as she called him, poked his head in. No doubt he was “checking” on me, making sure I wasn’t going postal on her.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be right out here.” He closed the door behind him.

  If he was trying to intimidate me, he clearly failed. My eyes never left Robin.

  “I thought you were the big feminist.” I snickered.

  “I’m still a feminist,” she replied.

  “Bullshit. You’d take away a woman’s right to choose.”

  “Abortion?” She crossed her arms. “You really want to debate that with me?”

  “Fucking Republicans,” I said. “You say you want small government, but you want one so overreaching it controls my uterus.”

  “Overreaching,” she repeated. “I see you use big words now.” She took a step closer to me. “I visited hospitals and saw the faces of women who had lost their babies, some delivered stillborn. You know they have little outfits for parents to dress their dead babies in for their funerals? A tiny dress for a dead baby girl. You see the heartbreak of these parents, and then you’ve got women snuffing out life like it’s any old doctor’s appointment. What’s wrong that we can’t agree on something so horrific?”

  “Oh, we agree,” I said. “It’s not about abortion. It’s about government control. Like smoking. You hope you can talk somebody out of it, hope they won’t make a bad choice. But you can’t make laws that take away a person’s right to smoke if she wants to.”

  “That unborn life has no say,” she responded.

  “If you haven’t walked in someone else’s shoes, you should shut the hell up.”

  She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “I’ve known women who have had them,” I continued. “Have you?” I could tell from her face she’d never known anyone personally who had had an abortion. “It’s probably the hardest decision most women ever make. Do you really believe all your bullshit, or are you just using the Republican playbook to gain power?”

  Her eyes brightened. I’d struck some chord. “Smart girl.” She set down her glass. “Is there a point to this visit?” she asked, seemingly unflappable, which kind of unnerved me.

  “You really changed,” I said, without even thinking. “What the hell happened to you? You were so different, always fighting about women’s issues, always lecturing me worse than a teacher. And now…”

  “It’s obvious we won’t agree on this issue,” she said. “I don’t have time tonight for a policy discussion, so… I’m sure much has changed.”

  “Oh, much has.” I noticed a slight twitch of her mouth; she hated it when I mocked her. It was the only clue I had that the girl from school was still in there, hating to be teased. The only residue of her former self. I’m sure I was revealed in front of her too—things I said or the way I’d said them.

  Here in the library, Robin looked so gorgeous. I knew she’d turned fifty last fall. No matter where I was, I always took note of her birthday when it came around. I’d always wonder what she was doing, until, of course, the last several years of seeing her in the public eye. It was pretty obvious what was happening in her life now—all I had to do was turn on CNN. Now in this room, I watched the shadows of firelight play across her face and resisted the urge to hold her. I’d never be able to do that again. She seemed a stranger to me, impervious to thoughts or feelings that didn’t advance her agenda. She seemed cold. And yet she was still my poison apple.

  Something about her composure, her odd little wax figure expression, made me want to hear the truth from her. Just once.

  “Admit it,” I said. “Something happened between us.”

  “I won’t indulge your little fantasy…”

  “Admit it!”

  “Okay! Yes, something did happen between us. But remember who broke whose heart.” Even in her admission, she seemed so controlled, unflinching. “You hurt me!” She held on to her absurd pearl necklace. Something about that gesture got under my skin…

  In a split second, seeing the mask drop, a rush of adrenaline took hold. So I held up my phone.

  “That’s all I needed,” I said, tapping it as if to shut off a recording. Of course it was a lie, but I had to make her squirm. Or maybe I wanted her to come after me…

  “What do you want?” Robin sounded a little scared for the first time.

  “Change your stance on gay rights,” I repeated.

  “This is blackmail, Adrienne.”

  “I prefer to call it forceful persuasion.” I started for the door, feeling suddenly as though I had the upper hand. She’d run after me and…well, I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

  “I’d sooner drop out of the race,” she said coldly.

  “Do what you have to do.” I pretended to be as cool, letting myself out.

  No one followed me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Adrienne

  I slipped the key in the hotel door and tore off the black dress before the door had even closed all the way behind me.

  I paced the room, rubbing my face, wondering what the hell I’d done. I’d strolled into the governor’s mansion, expecting to meet the person I’d known all those years ago. What was I thinking?

  I wanted her to be the same so badly, because I believed I knew how to talk to that girl, to influence her.I was almost fooled by the tender blue eyes, turning shiny in the firelight, admitting the truth.

  Robin was now not just any woman. She was stately, elegant, standing in front of that fireplace with flames, lit just for decor
ation, that stretched to a perfect height and crackled lightly behind her as she stood, unmoving. An elegant statue in a mansion. Now she was capable of so much evil. She’d seen the inner workings behind the scenes of public office, no doubt trading values and convictions like playing cards whenever it suited her. As I ripped down my deliberately chosen black nylons, I thought of how Robin’s apparent coldness maybe had more to do with her cynicism, which she wore like a new skin over what had been an idealistic college girl. Maybe that’s what bothered me most of all.

  And here I was, pouting because the night didn’t quite meet my expectations. I could be such a child sometimes.

  In my flannel pajamas, I hid under the hotel blanket, curling up as tightly as I could. What the hell was I asking for? What did I want? Why had I come? I couldn’t stand to remember the last thing I said once I’d gotten her to admit there had been something between us, the way I held up my phone and suggested that I was recording her. I was surprised I wasn’t chased out by wild dogs. I cringed at every memory of our exchange. There was no safe place in my mind.

  The second my cell rang and I saw that it was Jacky, I just wanted to purge everything.

  “God, you won’t believe what I did!” I cried into the phone.

  “Probably not.” Jacky was her usually sharp self. I heard noise in the background.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Some bar Dana dragged me to. It’s a friend of ours, who runs it. It’s opening night, so she said we had to go. Only I don’t know who this friend is. Why do I do things like this?”

  “Don’t ask me. Why the hell am I in Atlanta?” I fell backward into the down pillows. My head kept on sinking into them.

  “You know why.” There was silence.

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  “You couldn’t resist the drama of seeing her again. Either that, or you’re crazy.” Her tone was light, joking.

  “No,” I said sharply. “If I told you, would you swear to keep it a secret?”

  “Uh-huh,” she replied unconvincingly. “Sure.”

  “I guess I thought…” I fought for the right words. “Maybe I thought if she saw me again, it would…change things.”

  “Somebody’s got an ego.”

  “Shut up. You know how a memory can sometimes make you…she was so different back then. It’s like when a person who gets amnesia suddenly sees someone from their past and it reminds them of everything.”

  I could hear myself grasping at thin air, trying to rationalize this idiotic trip. I didn’t change a damn thing, and I knew it.

  “But she didn’t have amnesia,” Jacky said. After a pause, “Come back home.” She was soft, like trying to coax a crazy person off a rooftop.

  I didn’t like people judging me, and this was the worst, especially because I knew she was right.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Adrienne

  The next morning, I just wanted to get the hell out of Atlanta. But something persisted inside me—the vision of her, albeit a much different vision—kept appearing in front of me. This older woman, Robin Sanders, in her perfectly starched blazers and scarves, her car and driver, her…I loved her. Oh, fuck. I guessed this was proof that love doesn’t always make things better and that it’s totally possible to love the wrong person. Even a dangerous one. I mean, c’mon, every bone in my body knew she was the wrong person. But there it was. I fucking loved her. After I’d applied a little mascara, I flipped on the TV to catch the morning shows, and there was breaking news about the governor holding a surprise press conference.

  Oh God, what had I done? I had to get to the Capitol as fast as I could. I stuffed my clothes into the suitcase and zipped it all up. Sure, I hated everything she stood for. But I couldn’t ruin her life.

  I was losing it. The younger me would’ve said, “Fuck her, let’s see if she backs off on her anti-gay shit.” But the strange, new version of Robin brought out a strange new version of myself. I didn’t recognize either one.

  * * *

  “What do you want?” Robin was obviously tired, but those translucent eyes showed no signs of tears.

  We stood there, alone in her office, and there was an embarrassingly painful void between us.

  After the humiliation of admitting to her that the phone thing was all a prank, I decided to play all my cards, even if honesty was the worst possible hand to show. It wasn’t as though I had anything to lose.

  I shrugged. “I love you.” I admitted it almost apologetically. I was apologizing to myself. This was not exactly happy news, to realize you’re in love with the Southern equivalent of Darth Vader.

  I muttered a few other things, I guess, quietly trying to back out of the big mess I’d made, like a child who was pretending not to be responsible for causing trouble. I’d decided I should have left Robin at the curb of the university dormitory parking lot where we’d said our final good-byes, where I could remember the look on her face like a still photograph, as she waved to me and drove away.

  To see her now, looking at me so stoically, was even worse.

  I turned and left her office, expecting never to see her again.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Adrienne

  When I got back to Boston, the last thing I expected was a call from Robin’s brother, Kenneth. At first, I thought it was a prank. But he knew things that only Robin’s brother would know, like when he insisted that her asshole advisor, Peter, wouldn’t be with her and how she had all of her drivers play classical music in the car.

  She’d be here the next day. And I was nervous—not the kind of nervous before playing with my band in front of thousands of people, but nervous about surviving the visit with my soul intact. Was I willing to make a deal with the devil just to have her in my arms again? I couldn’t answer that question honestly.

  My thoughts scattered across the bedroom, along with all of the clothes I’d tried on and decided not to wear. I finally settled on a skirt, black hose and heels. Sure, I was more of a ripped jeans kind of person, but my inner femme fatale couldn’t resist an outfit that showed off my assets, not to mention my new snake tattoo. Robin had always seemed repulsed—and yet fascinated—by my tattoos. So now was as good a time as any to show off the newest one. It didn’t matter that I’d awakened with it one morning, surrounded by empty bottles of tequila in the bathroom of a Key West motel. I liked to pretend it was deliberate—made me seem more dangerous that way.

  There was just one more thing to do. I found it buried in my nightstand drawer, a little something to remember me by…proof that I was still holding on to the idea that I could influence her somehow…I pulled it out and wrapped it, then stuffed it back into the drawer.

  At precisely six o’clock, the doorbell rang.

  I opened the door and saw Robin waiting in a heavy coat, a hint of a flannel shirt and jeans underneath. Her outfit, topped off with a knit Patriots hat pulled down over her ears made her look very unlike her public self. I smiled at her camouflage.

  “What’s with the costume?” I asked.

  She glanced around. “Can I come in, please?”

  I stepped aside, letting her come through.

  “Nice place,” she said, removing her hat, taking it all in. She rested her hand on the Roman column in the center of the living room, one of my favorite architectural touches in this place. “You must be doing well for yourself,” she said.

  “We have a pretty good underground following.”

  Always about the money… I couldn’t help but wonder why she was here. After all, back in Atlanta it was clear we didn’t have anything in common.

  I took her coat and watched as she took note of the view from the big window. But she quickly whipped around to look at me.

  “How could you tell me you loved me?” she asked, her black suede boots thumping across the wood floor. She then sat on the couch and crossed her legs.

  My heart began to pound harder, realizing that what I’d said had made an impact, enough to pr
ompt a flight all the way up to Boston.

  “I don’t have a problem with the truth,” I responded. Then softly, “Not anymore.” I pulled a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge, handed her one and took a seat across from her on the small loveseat.

  “I don’t know what to do with that,” she said, sipping the beer, then wincing. It must have been years since she’d had a beer.

  “You don’t have to do anything with it,” I said. “As much as you and your policies piss me off…” I threw my hands up. “There it is.”

  “I love my husband,” she said defensively.

  “Good for you.” It seemed to me like she was trying to prove something to herself.

  I crossed my legs deliberately and took note of her stare. Mission accomplished.

  Then, as if pulling herself away, she glanced around, her eyes settling on a picture I had on the built-in bookshelf. It was a modestly sized, framed photo of Carmen and me in front of a friend’s boat.

  “Who is she?” she asked.

  “Her name was Jenny,” I answered. Somehow I didn’t want to tell her the name I always called her. I don’t know why. “She died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What is this, Robin? Really?” I stood up and began pacing. I never could pretend to make nice for longer than I had to.

  She rose to her feet and went to the window. She seemed to admire the view.

  “In Atlanta,” she said, “I saw myself in your eyes.” She turned to face me. “I couldn’t take it.”

  I was shocked by her candor. After seeing her in all these press conferences, it was weird to hear her being so real.

  “I’m not all the things I may appear to be,” she said.

  “You mean a fascist?”

  She lowered her eyes. It really seemed to matter to her what I thought of her.

  “It’s all an act,” she said quietly. “Okay, perhaps I projected my own fears when I talked about…homosexuality. But over time, I thought of a way to get into office and make real change.”

  I wasn’t completely buying it. After all, she was so good at saying what her audience wanted to hear.