Dick grunted. “So debates are considered political theater nowadays, huh? News to me.”
I shot Jeffrey a look I hope communicated that $100,000 in insurance money was a terrible thing to waste.
I fought to keep the annoyance out of my voice and demeanor for Jeffrey’s sake. If things kept up like this, though, it would quickly become a losing battle. I took a deep breath and looked Dick in the eye from across the table. He had his son’s same bright-blue eyes, with twice the charm and half the warmth.
“Osten has been slugging in the polls,” I explained slowly. “The last readout gave Jeffrey a clear eleven-point lead over him. Think about the context of Osten’s proposal at this point. We have five months left in this campaign. We can either keep up our momentum or do the things that have a proven track record of getting us reelected with damn good margins, or we can gamble and give Osten a platform he doesn’t deserve.”
He sighed and turned to Jeffrey. “I guess the decision is up to Jeff. It’s his campaign, after all.”
All eyes turned to Jeffrey. I knew from the nervous flicker of his eyes that this was a battle already lost.
“I know Osten’s angle is to piggyback off my poll numbers and get some limelight, but I would actually like to take him on,” he said earnestly, eyes bright. “Show the people I’m working for their votes and have done my research. Three debates over five months can’t hurt, right?”
Dick clapped. “Great then! We’ll contact Osten’s people and set up some dates. Gwendolyn, could you and Rita do that?”
Oh, I could do a lot of things. “Of course.”
“Okay,” Rita, our campaign secretary, squeaked, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of tension in the room. “So, next on the agenda are our talk show time slots . . .”
The meeting blessedly wrapped up an hour later. I packed up and left the building quickly, eager to put distance between myself and Dick Crawford.
“Gwen!” Jeffrey called after me. I didn’t speed up, but I also didn’t slow down. “Gwen, Jesus, wait!”
“I know we rode here with your father, but I think I’d rather call a Lyft.” I pulled up the app on my phone and gave it my full attention. Jeffrey came to a stop beside me, panting just a bit. My reflex was to tease him for being an old man now, but I wasn’t done not-quite-shunning him for what he’d pulled.
“I’m sorry about all that back there.”
I sighed and looked at the kicked puppy expression on his face. I always maintained that, on paper, Jeffrey was too nice, too sensitive, for politics.
“I’m not mad. Well, I am, just not at you. And as much as I hate to say it, Dick is right. This would be a good opportunity to re-introduce yourself to the public. You’re the incumbent now, that means you’ve got to play the ‘pick me’ game all over again. Not to mention that no matter what I think, this is your campaign. We’ll do what you feel is best.”
His smile of relief made me feel a little guilty, but only a little.
“Thanks, Gwen.”
“But next time, could you not invite your father to one of our meetings? Your father, who, if you recall, wanted to replace me as your manager.”
“I didn’t invite him. Sometimes he just, you know, shows up..."
My phone vibrated with another text just as the Lyft driver eased up to us. We got in as I pulled up the text and couldn’t stop a grin at the photo of Jackie with an empty cup that had obviously once been a very sugary caramel Frappuccino and a whipped-cream mustache over a big smile.
Looks good, I texted back.
The reply came back so fast she must have been waiting for it. The thought sent a pleasant thrill through me.
Jackie: it was. im telling you you dont know what youre missing!
I smirked and texted back, Not talking about your cup-o-diabetes
“So, am I going to meet her?” Jeffrey asked suddenly.
“Who?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Whoever has you smiling at your phone.”
I shoved my phone back into my purse like I could make the evidence of Jackie retroactively disappear. “It’s probably not what you think.”
“What do you think I think?”
I fixed him with a look. “What do you think?”
“I think you like someone, and judging by the smiles I’ve been seeing, it’s getting serious.”
“Then I was right: it’s not what you think it is.”
I grabbed one of the Lyft’s complimentary bottles of water and took a drink to stall for time. I don’t know why I suddenly felt so defensive. Despite everything, I’d never felt too uncomfortable discussing my post-divorce love life with Jeffrey. I’d found it harder and harder to maintain close friendships with age, and Jeffrey was the closest thing I’d had to a best friend my whole life. Every breakup, every confusing are-we-aren’t-we, he’d been there.
A part of me would always feel guilty about our separation, no matter how many times he’d told me it was okay. As far as I knew, Jeffrey had only had a handful of dates since we’d divorced, and none of them had turned into anything serious. I’d only fared marginally better on the serious relationship side—though my sexual exploits outnumbered his by a healthy margin—but now, with Jackie . . . it felt like a betrayal. Almost like I was cheating, which was ridiculous.
“Of course, I understand,” Jeffrey said in a way that clearly meant he didn’t believe a word I said.
I wanted to lay out all the reasons it was not serious—we fought the second time we met, we fucked the third time we met, we haven’t even been on a real date yet, not really—but I spared myself the indignity of having to justify myself and just ignored him.
Plus, I still couldn’t get the image of her perched on top of my sheets in a tank top and basketball shorts, massaging circles into the bottoms of my feet while I looked over finance reports. I had texted her for the express purpose of relieving some stress after a demanding fundraiser, but it had turned into a night of cuddling, takeout, and watching The Good Wife until she had to get back home. The whole night had been so . . . domestic.
And I liked that. I liked it a lot.
Maybe a little too much.
My phone buzzed again, and it was less curiosity and more my need to subtly tell Jeffrey that his needling didn’t faze me that made me check it.
Jackie: wow crawford, rly? that was too cheesy even for me. you gotta step up your game
I rolled my eyes even as my lips twitched up into a smile. I quickly texted back.
Keep that up and we won’t be doing that thing you want.
Jackie: but wait we ARE still doing it right??? (say yes)
I laughed out loud and got a fond but quizzical look from Jeffrey. I waved him off and pretended not to notice his smirk as he nodded and backed off.
Yes. Yes we are.
After Jackie had overheard some of the other Rose patrons talking about the pool, curiosity got the best of her. I couldn’t blame her: aside from having a bit of a reputation, it was probably one of the club’s most attractive features. I’d promised we would take a dip the next time we saw each other. Given my hectic schedule rarely allowing for more than a quick drink and bite to eat when we did venture out to the club, I felt I owed it to her to take a dip.
I had my own fair share of stories about the pool, though I’d never done more than dip my feet in. The pool acted as sort of an oasis away from the fishbowl chatter and music inside. The pool was all sleek stone and classy fixtures, with an attached hot tub and dim light at the bottom that gave it a sparkling, intimate feel no matter the time of day. Music still played softly from the outside speakers, but the open space dispersed it and somehow managed to make things seem closer, and more intimate.
It was one of my favorite places to lie back and soak in some sun, but there was no sun now. Tonight, the evening air was warm and the crowd was blessedly small. I stood in the shallow end of the pool in my newly bought bathing suit, gripping the edge of the pool for dear life while Jackie floated effortlessly
on her back a few feet away.
She flipped underwater and came back up to grin at me. She swam over and wrapped to grip my hips and give me a quick.
“I can’t believe this is my first time in here!” she said. “I love swimming. I’ve been thinking about getting one at my place for years.”
“It definitely has a reputation for itself.” I let go of the side and spread my fingers through the cool water. “There are some people who call it the ‘Super Sexy Pool,’ but we are not one of those people.”
She laughed and bit my lip. She already looked less troubled than she had when we met up after my meeting with Jeffrey and Dick. I ran my nails down her abs the way I knew she liked. She shuddered and floated away again with a teasing smile. The loss of contact made the water colder.
“It’s hardly a Super Sexy Pool if you keep floating away from me,” I joked.
She waggled her thick brows. “Why don’t you come catch me, then?”
I scanned the area where other members were dallying around, then flicked my gaze back to Jackie. “I don’t swim.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t swim, or you don’t know how to swim?”
“. . . I can float.”
“Goddamn, what is it with black folks and not swimming, huh? Swimming is a vital life skill!”
I scoffed. “I am not getting my hair wet just because your dreads are water-resistant.” I tugged on one of them to emphasize my point.
She laughed mischievously. A second later she was underwater and I couldn’t see her. After a couple of seconds, a sense of dread fell over me.
“Let me tell you right now that you better be drowning and not plotting on doing anything stupid because I will—”
I didn’t get to finish before arms were wrapped around my thighs and hoisting me up. I yelped and scrambled for purchase on Jackie’s shoulders. She cackled as she lifted me up high.
I made an undignified squeak. “You better not drop me, Jacklyn Dunn, or I swear on all I hold dear that I’ll—”
“I’m not gonna drop you, Gwen!” As if to prove her point, her arms tightened around my thighs.
I looked down at the light brown in her eyes and took in the laugh lines around her mouth, the crinkle around her eyes, and the expressive raising of her bushy brows. She was beautiful. It wasn’t the first time I had realized it, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last, but it left me in awe of her all the same.
Then she let go.
It was only for a split second, and she caught me before I could be submerged any lower than my breasts.
She smiled innocently. “See? I told you I wasn’t gonna drop you. I won’t let you go.”
I tried to make my glare as fierce as possible to make up for the fact that I was clinging on to her for dear life. “You keep playing cute. See where that gets you.”
She cackled, clearly reveling in my pain. I kissed her just to shut her up.
We floated to the corner of the pool, where she pressed my back against the side. I expected a kiss, but she only buried her nose in the crook of my neck. Her breath tickled against my collarbone as she sighed.
“This is nice,” she murmured against my skin. She lifted her head up to lock bright, smiling eyes on me. “You’re nice.”
The words spiked something foreign in me. I twiddled the loose dread from her high bun around my finger and swallowed around the flutter in my gut.
“You’re nice, too,” I returned. “A menace, but nice.”
We both fell into a comfortable silence. The sound of faraway chatter and the slowly lapping waves filled the quiet between us.
She pushed off the wall with her feet and sent us floating back toward the middle of the pool. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders tightly as her words echoed in my head. I won’t let you go.
When the swelling in my chest got to be too much, I cleared my throat. “You seemed upset earlier. Care to share?”
Her eyes turned doleful. “Ah, it’s nothing. My, uh, my agent set up a meeting with my old coach and this suit from NBA Cares. They’re trying to get some of the old championship Sonics together for this four-on-four game for a charity match”
I had only gotten a glimpse of the fallout between Jackie and her teammates. I vaguely remembered the glossy spreads in gossip rags where her old team had peddled passive aggressive sympathies and bitter denunciations. My hackles raised in her defense.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly.
She shrugged a shoulder and smiled wryly, gazing off into the distance. “I’m okay. I just . . . wasn’t expecting it, at all. Coach Murphy and me hadn’t talked in forever.”
We floated toward the middle of the pool where it was deeper. I tightened my arms and legs around her and made a noise of discontent. Her smile softened.
“You’re not going to do it, are you?”
She sighed heavily. “I don’t know. I don’t know what good it would do anyone on the team, and I don’t even know if I want to—”
I shrugged. “Then don’t do it.”
She looked up at me like I had just suggested we run down the street dripping wet and stark naked. “What?”
“If you don’t know for sure, then don’t do it. Based on what I know about your relationship with your former teammates, it sounds like the pros outweigh the cons.”
Her brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple.”
“How so?”
“Missing a charity game is pretty bad, optics-wise.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “Isn’t that what you have an agent for? I’ve gotten Jeffrey out of plenty of charity events and fundraisers. You make up an excuse and donate a little to the cause, and no one will have anything bad to say. All the humanitarianism, none of the unpleasant company.”
She worried her bottom lip. “Maybe. I promised I’d think about it, though.”
I twiddled one of her dreads between my fingers, choosing my next words very carefully. Finally I led with, “Can I ask you something?”
“Nothing good ever starts with ‘Can I ask you something,’ but go on.”
“Your teammates, the media—they all treated you like shit. Why even consider doing it at all? If this is out of some misplaced sense of debt—”
“It’s not,” she said quickly—too quickly to be believable. I leveled a look at her, and she sighed. “It’s not . . . only that. I mean, I cost us our second championship. For some of the girls, it was their last year in the league. And I . . . I was kind of an ass. I look back on some of my interviews and cringe at my own arrogance.”
“You were a rookie, it’s to be expected,” I said firmly. “And they can’t blame you for getting hurt. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”
She dipped her head so that her breath ghosted over my collarbone. We’d stopped moving in tiny circles and now floated at the center of the pool. In the distance, I could hear the rise and fall of chatter of the other women.
“It’s not just that,” Jackie insisted. “I . . . I miss it sometimes. The lights, the noise, the paint . . . My knee is too fucked up for league ball, and I’m too old hat for D-League. I got handed an opportunity to play again, and—” Her eyes flicked up to mine, then away. “And, yeah, okay. Maybe I feel like I owe them.”
“Do you even like them?”
“I did at one point.”
“Do you really think winning a charity game is going to make things the way they used to be?” I asked softly.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. The look of mourning on her face twisted my chest. I unwrapped my arm from where it was coiled tightly around her neck for dear life and cupped her cheek. She looked up at me and smiled sadly.
“I get what you’re saying, and you’re probably right, but . . . What if someone told you that you couldn’t be a campaign manager anymore? Wouldn’t you jump at any opportunity to do it?”
I scoffed. “Not any opportunity, no. Besides, being a campaign manager is hardly my dream job.”
“Then why do it
?”
The question seemed so silly and the answer so obvious that for a beat I didn’t know how to respond.
“I know politics, and I know people,” I said. “I’m good at it.”
“Being good at something doesn’t mean you have to do it.”
I huffed. “Couldn’t I say the same about you and basketball?”
She shook her head. “That’s different.”
“How so?”
She tilted her head and regarded me with a breath of surprise. “I love basketball.”
I didn’t have a response to that. I was a good campaign manager—even Dick Crawford couldn’t dispute that—and nothing compared to the feeling of scoring a victory after giving it your all. Not even being a congresswoman had given me that. At some point, in some way, I did love it.
“I do love it,” I said, already regretting the uncertainty in my voice, “but sometimes it’s tiring.”
She hummed, contemplative. “Maybe you should take a break.”
I laughed at the very idea of taking a break. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Olivia says it’s important to learn what you love isn’t who you are.”
I raised a skeptic brow. “Is she . . .”
“The living embodiment of a flower-power-themed bong? Yes, but she’s also super smart.”
“And what does Super Smart Olivia have to say about this charity thing?”
“She’s got her opinions, obviously,” Jackie replied. I could tell she wasn’t going to offer more. I’d probably pressed more on this subject than she was willing to allow. The campaign manager in me was frustrated in her inability to decide on her own best interest, let alone her reluctance to even figure out what that was. The human in me, the one who liked her a little too much, only wanted to give her time. She would make a decision on her own eventually, of that I was confident.
So I smiled coyly and dipped my fingers into the cool water, then stroked them across her cheek. “Okay. All I’m saying is that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, especially not to benefit someone else. And, well, if you do decide to do the bout, just know I’ll be there cheering you on and talking shit about the other team to psych them out. Campaign manager-style.”
Sugar & Ice Page 8
