“Oh, yeah?”
Richard spun into a description of the numbers that only the man from A Beautiful Mind could have followed completely. Jacob got the important points. Sixty-two percent of the people thought Landon Taylor would take the country in the right direction. Head-to-head, Taylor beat Senator Kramer by three. Not a lot, but enough. More importantly, in Iowa, his negatives, political shorthand for what percentage of the people had a negative reaction to him, were down to 34 percent. Much lower than they had been months before, when the campaign started running ads.
“The ads are working.” Jacob lunged back into his couch and threw his tightened fist up in the air.
“The ads are working!” Richard repeated loudly, sounding somewhat proud.
“Great. Can you come in Monday?” Jacob knew Governor Taylor would want the full report in person, every number, every answer, once he heard of the success.
“Yup, yup. I can. I can. Can do. Will do.”
“Okay, great. I’ll figure out an opening and let you know. Thanks, Richard.”
On the off chance Taylor was sleeping, Jacob pinned him: Spoke to Richard. Up for a while if you want summary.
His phone rang almost instantaneously.
“What’ve we got?”
Like the pollster, Taylor didn’t say hello, but unlike Richard’s failure at normal niceties, Jacob liked Taylor’s lapse. Especially after their exchange earlier. Jacob chalked the nongreeting up to the fact that they had gone back to the conversation they were perennially in the middle of. A five-year conversation that didn’t warrant hellos or good-byes, just continued.
“Sixty-three right direction with you and negatives are down to thirty-four.”
“Hmm. Okay. That’s not so bad.” When they went over the polls it was one of the rare times Jacob heard insecurity in the governor’s voice, even when the numbers were good.
“That’s great, Gov. The ads are working.”
“Good,” Taylor repeated contentedly but with a pondering hesitation. “Let’s get Richard down next week for the full run-through.”
“I’ve got him coming in Monday.” Jacob loved being a step ahead.
“Great. That will be great.” The governor paused. “How you feeling? You good?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m good, Gov.” This was the equivalent of an apology from Taylor. Jacob knew and appreciated it.
“You feel good about things?”
“I feel great about them. There’s a direct bump from the ads, which means we’re going in the right direction. If we can drop the negatives another four or five points, this thing is in the bag.”
Taylor sat quietly on the other end. No matter how often he did this, Jacob would never get used to it. “I’m just thinking,” Taylor had once explained. For Jacob it was just bizarre, and he often had to make sure the call hadn’t dropped completely.
“You still there?” he asked.
“I’m here. It feels good out there too, doesn’t it? The energy, it’s really moving with us.”
“Yeah.” Jacob paused himself. The voice he recognized had returned to the other end of the line. The one that belonged to the man he admired. The one that carried with it that thing, that magic that won elections. “We’ve really got it.” The words felt weighty coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t just Governor Taylor. It was “them.” It was the campaign. It was the sum of the parts coming together perfectly.
“Yup.” Landon acquiesced. “The magic.”
The clock moved slower than seemed possible. Olivia sat at the table with friends in Hazan’s, the hottest new restaurant in New York, trying to seem less distracted than she was, which was difficult, considering how distracted she felt. The governor was due in from New Hampshire at nine, which meant they would meet around nine forty-five. All she wanted to do in the meantime was take a nap, but she hadn’t been out with Marcy and Katherine in forever, a fact they had reminded her of with great regularity. She had agreed to meet them and three friends and had begun her overdue apology to them by getting them the reservation. Actually, Alek had gotten the reservation, as he was beloved in every hotspot in town, undoubtedly because he handed out hundred-dollar bills with the same regularity with which most people handed out business cards.
She sat listening to their stories, feeling even more isolated than she had before. Tracy’s boyfriend had just proposed to her; Stephanie, who had recently launched her new clothing line, was busy planning Tracy’s engagement party, which would be when Olivia’s Texas event was held. Another missed event. Katherine had just gotten a new job at a swank book company, Amy was going to open a bakery, and Marcy was getting serious with her new boyfriend, whom Olivia had still not even met.
She was too far behind any of the stories to jump into the discussions, and the whole topic of life-changing events made her desperate to tell her own story. She bit into her lip a bit when Marcy gushed about her new man, wishing she could tell them how Landon’s eyes seared into her, how he told her she wasn’t like anyone he had ever met. The stories she could tell them swirled in her head and she wished quietly that they could meet him. They would love him. Well, who wouldn’t? She let herself daydream about his walking in and sitting down. One day they’ll meet, she told herself wistfully as she glanced down at her BlackBerry.
Need some food and a drink. Where can we go?
Here! She continued on with her fantasy but would never actually consider writing that. Just the fact that he wanted to go out somewhere was a step in the right direction. She loved the excitement of going out with him because being in public together—admittedly while trying everything short of wearing camouflage to remain unnoticed—seemed to give the relationship an ounce of reality, at least in her mind. The logistics, though, were less enjoyable. They needed each time to pick a small place that would be totally empty. A few places by her apartment could work, but it was a Saturday night, so she couldn’t be sure any of them wouldn’t be filled with unemployed recent college grads or young moms on their night out.
Text me when you’re in. I’ll look for somewhere empty.
She looked up just in time to catch an annoyed gaze from Marcy.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
“Whatever,” Marcy said with a dead-eyed glare.
It wasn’t only the guilty feeling that came with her sister’s annoyance that disturbed Olivia; it was her own internal struggle. She wanted to be interested in the stories being told. She wanted to care about what shoes she should be wearing, how many carats Tracy’s ring was (six, she heard at least four times). She wanted to fit in. But the truth was she didn’t. All she really wanted to discuss was whether or not the polling in Iowa was accurate and if Senator Kramer’s new ad would have any real effect on the numbers. She looked around the table and wished for one moment when she didn’t care about any of that more nerdy stuff.
As Marcy turned her head to order dessert, Olivia looked down again at her BlackBerry.
See you in about an hour.
Olivia couldn’t help but smile, knowing in an hour she would be sitting across from someone who wanted to talk about everything she wanted to talk about.
Katherine smiled. “What’s so fun on the BlackBerry?”
“Oh.” Olivia paused, not used to people catching her inappropriate smiles. She missed only a beat. “Looks like Senator Kramer just went down a few points in Iowa.”
“Oh,” Katherine said, her enthusiasm diffused.
Unfettered, Olivia continued. “Do you know how many more people vote for American Idol than for the president of the United States?”
“Hmmm.” The faces around the table looked at her with blank stares, the same ones she had seen all her life.
By the time nine fifteen came around, Olivia was itching to leave. The others planned the next stop, at J. Cooper’s, a new bar in the Meatpacking District.
Olivia picked at her dessert. “I’m so sorry, but I have to bail after this. I have so much work to do.”
Tracy threw u
p her arm. “But it’s Saturday night!”
Stephanie looked over. “You work for Landon Taylor, right?”
“Yup.” Olivia nodded.
“Is he the hot one?” Amy added in.
Olivia bobbed her head again and tried to stifle her ear-to-ear grin.
Tracy leaned in toward Olivia. “So have you, like, met him?”
“I have,” she said. She could guess the next question before Stephanie asked it. Olivia had heard it a million times before.
“Is the campaign your real job?”
“It is.”
Stephanie continued. “They pay you for it?”
“Not enough for the hours she works!” Marcy chimed in.
“That’s definitely true.” Olivia acquiesced, wondering why no one ever understood that campaigns had paid staffers. “But it is my job, and there’s more of it to do tonight than I could hope to get done. Sorry!”
“So have you met his wife, too?” Tracy looked at Olivia impatiently.
“I have.”
“I am obsessed with her. Did you see the pictures of them in Lucky magazine this month?”
“Yep.” Yes, I did see the pictures of her looking absolutely gorgeous splashed all over the pages of my favorite magazine this month. And their kids. Olivia tried to disguise her flinching. Seeing the kids was the worst. She thought back to California and how adoringly Margaret had looked up at her dad, and how Dixon had jumped into his arms on the way out. They were hardly ever on the campaign trail, so Olivia could usually live in complete denial of the innocent victims of her actions. But when they were there, her conscience became a monster inside her head. They won’t be victims. She tried to quiet the inner admonishing voices. They’ll never know.
“She is sooooo beautiful. The article said they have dinner once a week at IHOP. Is that true? That is so cute.”
“Yes, they do.” Not. They do not. Olivia grinned at the idea that Peter and the press team could get magazines to print pretty much anything.
Olivia’s sister put down her coffee. “I have to say, I was totally wrong. He’s not one of the bad guys at all. I just read one of the stories about their relationship. He seems completely devoted to her.”
Olivia felt a twinge in her jaw. “Yep.” Except he is one of the bad guys. Well, not bad. He’s a good guy. They would understand if they knew Aubrey. He’s not like those other guys.
Marcy beamed.
Olivia couldn’t imagine what was making her sister look at her with this level of real affection, even . . . was it pride? Marcy laid her hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Do you guys know Olivia is the youngest finance director of a presidential campaign ever? She’s in charge of all the money they raise.”
Olivia smiled but her chest ached a little. That’s who she was supposed to be. She was supposed to be the youngest top fundraiser in the country. She was supposed to be someone her sister was proud of. She was not supposed to be the candidate’s girlfriend. The affair.
Her sister continued on.
Each compliment made Olivia feel worse.
“If he wins, Olivia will totally work in the White House!”
“Really?” Tracy asked. “That would be so cool. I bet his wife will be a total Jackie O. She’s so fashionable.”
Stephanie jumped in. “Hey, do you think you could get her to wear one of my company’s sweaters? My friend James at Bulgari said after she wore one of their watches on The Colbert Report, it sold out in two days.” She touched the pretty, blue cashmere sweater that hung perfectly on her shoulders. The one that would undoubtedly look fabulous on Aubrey.
“Umm, yeah. I could try. I mean, I don’t really know how that works.” Let’s see, “Hey, Aubrey, I know I’m sleeping with your husband, but could you do me a favor?” Olivia squirmed in her chair.
“Thank you so much. That would be totally huge. I’ll send you a few Monday.” Stephanie beamed.
Thankfully, the conversation came to an end when the restaurant owner, a tall, shaggy-looking guy whom Olivia was sure she had met a few times before, came over and let the group know Alek had taken care of their bill. Olivia was thrilled not to have to spend the seventy-five dollars she probably would have had to shell out and also happy knowing the goodwill would definitely get her out of the rest of the night’s plans with much less of a fight.
At the door of the restaurant, which was jammed with people trying to get in, Olivia said her final good-byes. She pulled her BlackBerry out and began walking north toward her apartment. Landon had just arrived at Teterboro and would get dropped off at the Brinmore, where he’d “take a stroll.” Jacob, the only person who might question the Saturday-evening walkabout, was eagerly off to Sophie’s—to take her up on his third “last chance.” The governor could fail to come back to the hotel without anyone’s noticing.
Olivia walked around until she found a small bar down the street from her apartment. It was a dive bar, with tables lining the side of the room. In the back was a pool table and a Centipede video game. It was totally empty, probably either because it had just emptied out from the night before or because it hadn’t been busy since 1982. Same smell either way. She moved swiftly to a table in the back corner, happy to be unnoticed by the young bartender who was busy yelling in an Irish accent at the soccer game on TV. She took the seat facing out so that the governor could have the seat facing the wall. AHAP. As hidden as possible. The Campaign Lesson that started out in the twenties but seems to be moving up in importance these days. She laughed, thinking it was probably a rule of chivalry to let the lady take the seat facing out anyway and decided to let that be the explanation she’d go with in her own head, rather than the one that kept him more inconspicuous.
After surveying the single-page, plastic-covered menu—half of which was taken up by types of beer—Olivia quickly ordered from the young, Irish boy who was at the bar. A tequila for herself, and a sauvignon blanc for him.
“Nope.” The waiter spoke rapidly.
“Nope?”
“No sauvignon blanc.”
“Oh, okay, what other types of wine do you have?”
“White and red,” he said, seeming annoyed she had asked. Between each word he uttered, he looked back at the TV as if the game, which Olivia could see was just starting, was in its final moments.
“White sounds great. Thank you. And we’ll have sliders, fries, and a quesadilla. Please.” It seemed like a good combination of bar food but Olivia held her expectations low, knowing the downside of finding empty restaurants in New York City was that they were usually empty for a reason.
Olivia hoped the drinks and food would come before the governor arrived, so he wouldn’t even have to share a glance with the waiter. It seemed possible, as long as the game lasted at least an hour or two, for them to eat completely unseen.
Twenty minutes later, as Olivia snacked on the fries, which were soggy and as terrible as she had predicted, Landon came in. His Great American Vending Machine Company hat, the one he wore because it made him feel more discreet, was pulled down to below his eyebrows, and his leather jacket hung down just past his waist. She raised her hand a bit. Without another person in the bar, any type of signal was wholly unnecessary, but it was the natural extension of her yearning to reach out to him. He nodded and moved forward with the cool grace she loved. As he sat down, he grabbed her thigh and gave it a squeeze.
“Hey, babe.” The corners of his lips went up and she could see just a bit of his teeth. It wasn’t like the smile that was always plastered on his face for the press. It was special. Just for her.
She lifted one eyebrow, cautious to keep her reaction tame, even though no one was around to see it.
He looked like a kid when he dug into the slider. “Good place,” he said, slyly taking a look around.
“If by ‘good’ you mean ‘empty,’ then definitely.” She leaned into the table and rested her chin on her intertwined fingers, acutely aware of the difference in feeling from one table—with her sister—to thi
s one, and wondered how she could feel so much more like herself with him than she did with friends or even family. Conversation, as it always seemed, came so simply with him. She loved the way he made talking about serious topics over a drink seem so acceptable.
“I really want you to meet this guy Chad. He’s doing incredible work on gay marriage out in California,” the governor was saying. “He traveled with us all through New Hampshire today. I was so glad to hear someone stand strong publicly on the issue. It’s not good enough to be okay with it, to go halfway. Those guys drive me crazy—‘Vote for me because I won’t be terrible on the issue.’ I’d rather lose an election than elect someone who wavers on their morals. It’s ludicrous.”
She could do little other than gaze dreamily. He was her favorite textbook come to life, packaged with blue eyes. He wanted her to meet Chad. She knew he would probably never introduce her to him, and if he did, it would be as the girl who worked for him, not the woman he loved, but at the moment, none of that mattered. He wanted her to meet him. And him to meet her.
The smell of the bar and the taste of the food couldn’t possibly hamper Olivia’s evening. To her this bar became perfect. She remembered the first-date stories her friends had told her that night at dinner. She didn’t mind first dates—making small talk was a staple of her job, after all. It was second dates that killed her. On the second, she would have to explain further; they would surely find out that she had only read the first paragraph of the five books she had claimed to have read on their first date and they would undoubtedly not understand anything about polls, filings, or primaries. With Landon, there was no second date, no need to do the whole get-to-know-each-other thing. They had known each other for what seemed like at least a lifetime.
“So, we got back some poll numbers.” He picked at a slider.
“Oh, yeah? And?”
“Apparently they’re pretty good.”
“That the technical wording Richard used?”
He laughed. “Well, I won’t know all the numbers until Monday but sixty-three percent think we have the right direction for the country.”
Domestic Affairs Page 26
