“Very cool! We’re barely rid of rotary phones in our offices!” Olivia laughed, only half kidding.
Mrs. Taylor shot daggers at Olivia, who promptly stopped laughing, feeling as if she was a complete embarrassment to the campaign. She shifted the chain “belt” around her skirt and offered herself a small congratulation for understating the problem. They don’t even know the half of it.
“Hello?” called out a sweet voice from the Jambox.
Lisette answered the voice. “Hi, Ciela. Please have Stephen ready to connect in five minutes.”
Olivia looked around, feeling like the nerdy kid in the cafeteria and wondering how Lisette, who wasn’t even hosting the meeting, knew in how many minutes the meeting would start but she didn’t doubt Lisette did know.
Sure enough, two minutes later, in walked the petite and perfectly put-together editor, Eva Bloom. Her assistant scurried around to her and followed a step behind, introducing the people at the table. Eva said hello to everyone, something Olivia had never imagined in a million years. The Eva Bloom that Olivia envisioned would have ignored everyone and asked Olivia why she deemed it suitable to dress so shabbily in her presence. Olivia had imagined this terrifying meeting so fully, she could almost see Meryl Streep grabbing the necklace-turned-belt from her body, saying, “What, did you bump your little head?!” She was almost disappointed when she was nicely tapped on her shoulder.
“So wonderful to meet you, thank you for coming,” Eva said to Olivia as she moved to Aubrey. The two embraced like sorority sisters. Eva fawned over Aubrey’s suit and her last appearance on The View. Aubrey thanked her graciously and went on and on about how grateful she was to Eva for cohosting this event.
Eva took her seat next to Aubrey and looked out at the group. “Are we ready?” Her voice was pleasantly quiet.
Lisette piped up. “Ciela, please connect Stephen.”
“He’s connecting in right now.” Two beeps followed and on came Stephen’s scruffy voice. Olivia sat impressed and baffled by the efficiency of people outside of campaigns. Never in recent memory could she remember a time when a politician was connected into a meeting or event or anything without massive chaos.
“Hello, hello, everyone. So sorry I’m not there.”
“I think we’re sorry we’re not there!” Eva smiled sweetly.
“Next time we hold the meeting in Corfu!” Aubrey added in, and they all laughed.
Olivia had no clue where Corfu even was, but she liked that idea. Especially since apparently these people who were allegedly so feared by all the world were acting so remarkably nice. Being in Corfu with the kind Eva Bloom and the fun Stephen Bronler sounded great.
“So what’ve we got going on?” Stephen called out.
“Well, I believe we’re all set to do the event at my home in the Vineyard. The house is not too large but the property itself is sizeable, and I was thinking we would put a large tent or maybe two out there. I have the most wonderful tent company there. Stella, have you reached out to Caroline and Marielle?”
“I have. They have the date reserved and will have their tents and rental equipment at your disposal.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.”
What? Eva remembers names? And says thank you! And seems genuine about it. It was almost enough to make Olivia lose focus on what needed to actually be done.
“Great!” Stephen roared. “I’ve got calls in to Dana Klein. She’s fantastic and sings this amazing track in my new movie coming out. I’d love her to sing at the event. A few acoustic numbers. Aubrey, you will love her!” The conversation swirled from entertainment to celebrities to what type of fabric the tent should be made out of, all while Olivia tried to refocus the group on the money being raised and remind them of the expenses, which had to be kept within a tiny budget.
“The tent shouldn’t be much.” Eva flicked away Olivia’s cautions with her hand. “No more than twenty-thousand.”
Aubrey was glowing. “I’m sure anything you do will be absolutely perfect! It’s so rare for the campaign to have an opportunity to do something so spectacular! Now, don’t get me wrong, I do love an Iowa Butter Burger as much as the next girl, but Martha’s Vineyard will certainly be a welcome reprieve from the campaign trail!” Aubrey put her hand on Eva’s shoulder, something that should have seemed taboo but instead looked warm and loving.
Everyone laughed except for Olivia, who tried to contain her panic. “I’m so sorry,” she piped up again, feeling as if she were a constant interruption in their otherwise lovely conversation, “but I can only spend fifteen thousand on this entire event.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Eva responded with a breezy smile, “I’ll cover it.”
“No, but you can’t.” Olivia clarified. “It would be considered a contribution to the campaign and it would be over the limit.”
Aubrey looked over at Olivia as if she had just run Eva over with a pickup truck. “I’m sure there’s something that can be done, noooo?”
Olivia hemmed. “Uh . . .” Nooooo! It’s campaign law! Not to mention, the governor can’t be partying under a twenty-thousand-dollar tent while one out of three American families can’t put food on their table!
Aubrey persisted. “Olivia, dear, I’m quite certain something can be done.” Then Mrs. Taylor patted Olivia’s arm and spoke directly to Eva. “Olivia can make anything work! She’s our secret weapon!”
Secret weapon? She likes me? You can’t like me. I kissed your husband. Aubrey liking her was not in the playbook. That wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Olivia glanced at Aubrey’s hand on her arm and then looked up. She felt the weight of every eye in the room on her. And Aubrey’s smile. She repeated Aubrey’s phrase to herself. “Olivia can make anything work.” I have to figure this out. She channeled her inner Tim Gunn. Make it work. “Unless”—Olivia started with what she knew should have been more hesitation, if not total pause—“unless you already have the tent up for something else.” She hated putting that idea on the table. She knew it was a gray line. It’s totally legal, she reminded herself. But it’s not right. It’s not right, but I need to make this work.
“I almost always have a tent up! If it’s up already it doesn’t count?” Eva asked with appropriate confusion at the ridiculous laws of campaign finance.
“That’s correct,” Olivia answered. “As long as it’s definitely for something else.”
“Fantastic!” Aubrey lightly clapped her hands, totally pleased. “See, I told you Olivia can do anything!”
Eva smiled. “Aubrey, Stephen, you are officially invited to my tented party on Friday, the twenty-first.”
Olivia was eventually invited to the tented party as well. And on top of that, Eva asked her to be her houseguest. When the editrix first volunteered her guest cottage, Olivia had hesitated, worried that it would be weird or awkward. She much preferred staying at hotels where no one cared or noticed if she worked all night and made a mess of her room. But Addie had gasped and almost smacked her across the face for thinking of refusing the invitation.
“The Eva Bloom wants you to stay at her house and you are considering turning that down?!”
Olivia had succumbed to the invitation, more because it saved her the time of finding other options than because she actually wanted to stay there, but as she walked into the two-story colonial, bigger than the one she grew up in, she was glad she had said yes. The term “guest cottage” would only have been fitting if the guest were Queen Elizabeth and “cottage” were another word for “mansion.” It was much newer than the main house, which sat right on the water, far enough down the winding road to be completely unseen from the guest quarters. Inside the rooms were painted white from floor to ceiling, but not in the cold, sharp way all-white decor could be. The living room, which opened to a huge kitchen, had two massive white comfy sofas and an enormous, gorgeous mosaic coffee table, which Olivia proudly recognized, having sat through enough of Tim and Ashley’s art parties and dinners, as an original Dana Ki
rkpatrick. Though it seemed to Olivia not to make much sense to use a piece of art as a coffee table, it did make the room look spectacular. Plus, Olivia thought to herself with a laugh, I’m guessing Eva’s guests don’t eat take-out and French-bread pizzas on their coffee tables every night.
There was maid service. Croissants and coffee would be waiting for her in the morning and, Eva’s assistant explained to Olivia while giving her the tour, “Eva asked me to pull a few things from the office in case you wanted to wear them.”
“Wow! That’s amazing! Thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
After the assistant left, Olivia tried on all the dresses, loving each one more than the next and feeling like she had gotten her Devil Wears Prada makeover after all. She chose a navy blue, billowy Dior dress that hung down perfectly in that loose way that only really good-quality clothes can do. She went over to the accessories that were also left out for her and slipped a vintage Miriam Haskell necklace around her neck. It lay perfectly against the navy. She heard her sister’s voice telling her not to over accessorize, but she couldn’t help herself as she pulled a matching Haskell ring onto her middle finger. She had seen both pieces in Lucky magazine on the flight to the Vineyard in an article on that great new actress, the one whose name she couldn’t remember and whose movie she obviously hadn’t seen because the luxury of two unproductive hours was a thing of the past.
Lucky was the one indulgence Olivia still allowed herself, grabbing peeks any time she had a moment to look at something other than lists. She stared at herself in the mirror, thinking she looked better than she could ever remember, minus, of course, the huge bags under her eyes.
Eva and Stephen, whom she was now completely convinced were the most misrepresented people in history, did everything they could to make her feel welcome at the party. This was helpful because Martha’s Vineyard was way out of her league. It was as if Aspen and the Hamptons had gotten together and produced a richer and classier baby. It was a perfect combination of beach and forest, like a cut of the Berkshires surrounded by ocean. On top of which, the people had a status all their own. Olivia figured a big part of that was that you needed a plane to get there, and the private-plane list was a whole lot different than the chauffeured-car list.
Eva’s party people, Marielle and Caroline—two beautiful girls in their early twenties who looked like they should be at a ballet barre—fluttered gracefully around the huge dark-wood tables, making sure each stem of the cascading white and green flowers was placed perfectly. A myriad of candles between the flowers lit up the entire tent, which, Olivia thought proudly, was filled with eighty-two practically perfect people. There were celebrities ranging from the newest rockstar on the scene, Leo Davis, to long-known names like Susan Sarandon, every possible power couple—even the Silvermans from Florida made the trip—and all the New York elite.
When everyone was finally seated at the “kill” event, Olivia moved to the back of the room looking over the twelve tables. Even though figuring out who should sit where cost her two nights sleep, and it all changed anyway when Eva announced four hours before the party that she had six friends staying with her who would, of course, need to be seated, and definitely not all together, Olivia had to admit the party looked beautiful. Olivia watched as Aubrey, wearing a gold dress that, as far as Olivia could tell, was taffeta, sashayed through the crowd toward her, as if she were still on a pageant stage. Olivia scolded herself for wanting to make fun of the outfit. You kissed her husband. You have no right to say anything.
“Sweetie,” Aubrey said as she arrived next to her. Her pursed lips pushed her cheekbones up. “You usually do such a good job at seating.”
Olivia folded her hands in front of her and smiled politely, proud of pleasing the unpleasable woman who lately seemed to really like Olivia. “Oh, thank you.”
“And Landon tells me you’ve been just wonderful.”
Landon tells you about me? Olivia felt a rush of nervousness. What does he tell you? Does he tell you he loses himself around me? Her eyes fluttered and her thoughts flipped. Or does he tell you I’m a kid with a crush? Am I a joke? Does she know? What do I say to that? “Thank you”? Yes, “Thank you.” “Thank—”
“But this seating,” Aubrey said, continuing with a bat of her eyelashes, “is just simply disastrous.” She nodded her head, lips still pursed into a half smile. “I mean, you couldn’t possibly have thought it was a good idea to sit the Levkoffs next to the Donnellys, could you have?”
I guess I could have since I did. Olivia tried to hide the fact that she was crushed. “Oh, I’m sorry, I—”
“Evvvveryone knows they don’t like each other one bit. Jamie Donnelly is frightfully jealous of Jen. But, of course, you know that.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t.” Olivia looked out at the group of people in front of her, most of whom had already taken their seats. Campaign Lesson #15: No seating dilemma is unfixable. “Would you like me to try to move them?”
“Oh!” Aubrey’s hand flew to her chest as if she were Scarlett O’Hara gasping for breath. “Heavens, no! I just wanted to be sure you knew.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll be sure never to sit them together again.”
“I’m sure you won’t. Thanks, sweetie.”
Well, there goes the nice Aubrey. If I were his wife, I would be so much nicer. I’d be a great candidate’s wife. Olivia folded her arms, then unfolded them quickly. Maybe she knows. Maybe she can tell I’ve kissed him.
“Wow. This is kinda fabulous.” Jacob slid in next to her without her seeing his approach. He leaned back against one of the tent poles.
His words made her flinch a bit, breaking her concentrated gaze from Aubrey. She smiled when she saw it was Jacob.
“A little jumpy, are we?”
“Sorry.” She moved back to the wall next to him. “Just a little low on sleep.”
“I’d say that’s the understatement of the year.”
“Yeah, probably true. The other day I tried to count up how many hours I had missed in the past four months, you know, based on that whole ‘humans should get eight hours of sleep a night’ thing. It’s a lot of hours.”
“But that’s for regular humans. We are definitely not regular humans. Or so I’ve been told.”
“Sophie?” She could sense that the person who had alerted Jacob to his abnormality meant something to him.
Jacob shook his head. “She says I’m in a relationship with Landon Taylor and she feels like the third wheel.”
“Ouch.”
“I mean, what do I even say to that? We are in a relationship with Governor Taylor. Or Taylor 2012. Whatever.”
Olivia offered him an empathetic shrug as he went on, pleading his case.
“I never sold her a bill of goods that I was regular. Regular people definitely don’t work twenty hours a day. They don’t get paid shit and they definitely don’t put one crazy guy’s needs before their own well-being. She bought the tickets; she knew what she was getting into.”
“Yeah.” Olivia nodded. Then she thought for a minute. “But the thing is: regular people don’t elect presidents.”
Jacob smiled. Why that argument, the exact one she had been trying to make for weeks, only made sense to other campaign people was a complete mystery to her. She looked out at the event, thinking about how rare it was to be surrounded by noise and chaos, yet stand in complete silence with someone else the way she could with Jacob. The two of them had become so accustomed to traveling together, passing glances back and forth in the back of cars and planes and giving orders to each other across rooms, it had become like they had an inaudible language all their own. He could tell when she needed a call made, just as well as she could tell when he needed Taylor out of or into a room. They worked together more like teammates on a football field than coworkers.
He furrowed his eyebrows. “So can I run something totally crazy by you?”
“Crazier than ‘Do you want a fun job on a campaign’?�
��
Jacob laughed. “Touché.” He motioned to Olivia to follow him to the chairs just outside the tent, where they would be out of earshot. “By the way, we should care more that Leo Davis, James Taylor, and Dana Klein are singing right now, shouldn’t we?”
Olivia looked up at the famous musicians joking around onstage and mock-grimaced. She knew it was an exceptionally rare experience and not one she should be ignoring, but every glance at them just reminded her of the logistical nightmare she went through to get them all there. She sat down in the chair next to Jacob as he began to whisper.
“So.” He paused cautiously. “How much do you think the voters care about affairs?”
She could hear the words coming out of Jacob’s mouth before he said them. She knew that look in his eye. He was about to tell her that the governor was having an affair. With someone else! That’s a stupid thought. There’s no affair with you. It’s just someone, not someone else. Ugh. The thought of the words hit her like a steel pipe to the stomach.
“That’s a scary question to ask. Do you have something to tell me?”
“Now, I have no real evidence of this. And I haven’t told a soul in the world.”
Olivia’s mouth got dry and she could feel her heart sinking. “Tell me.” Just say it. Olivia prepped herself, realizing how much she didn’t want the governor to be having an affair. And not just because it would be an Achilles’ heel to the campaign that was her life.
Jacob took a big breath in, and even though no one was anywhere nearby he whispered, “I think Aubrey’s having an affair.”
Just saying the words aloud, even in a whisper, was a huge load off of Jacob’s shoulders. Olivia, in contrast, looked like she had seen a ghost. He immediately tried to calm her.
“I’m really not sure. I mean, it could all be coincidental.”
“No, no.” She recovered. “I just—I’m surprised, that’s all. Why do you think that?”
Domestic Affairs Page 21
