Domestic Affairs

by Bridget Siegel

  “Will try,” Olivia said, knowing full well she wouldn’t.

  Yanni came back to her, tapping her arm. “Come on, we’re jumping in with them. We’ll go get dinner.”

  Olivia followed politely to the parking lot, feeling every nerve in her body as the governor came into sight. They walked to the two SUVs where Taylor was convening with Peter, the blond woman, and four or five other staff members. Yanni pushed through to the governor, who looked up at them.

  “Liv,” Taylor said apprehensively as he reached to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you came.”

  Her body stiffened. His touch felt oddly foreign to her and, more significantly, so fake.

  “Yeah,” she replied quietly.

  He instantly moved to avoid the awkwardness. He was so unaccustomed to anything but adulation.

  “Let’s go get some dinner. We can go right to the hotel.”

  They all jumped in the SUV, and thankfully, Yanni talked the governor’s ear off for the entire ride and the subsequent dinner. As soon as it seemed acceptable, Olivia said her gracious thank-yous and excused herself, claiming tiredness, to her room. She sat down on the bed, looking at the door and wondering if she would ever feel comfortable in her own skin again. She had sat down crying against the same heavy, beige hotel door a floor below three months earlier. She had wondered how she had gotten to that state of sorrow then, never imagining that circumstances could have gotten worse. She closed her eyes, knowing she wanted this to be the last time she cried behind a hotel door.

  When the knock came, she picked herself up off the bed and wiped the tracks of tears that had since subsided. She opened the door. The governor stood there, his overcoat on, an expression of sincerity on his face, but she had seen him pull out that expression at any number of town hall meetings, on any number of talk shows.

  “Liv,” he said pleadingly, “I’m so glad you came.” He moved in to hug her but she shifted away.

  “I don’t know why I did come here.”

  “You do too. I love you.”

  She looked at him, wondering for the first time if she ever really did love him, or if she had just loved what he represented, what he pretended to believe.

  “Here,” he said, and he handed her a bag. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. This is just the start.”

  She looked down at the Saks bag, which held a shoe box, wondering what on earth he might have gotten her. Without saying a word she opened the box. It was a Jimmy Choo box. She slowly took off the cover and revealed a pair of the most beautiful shoes she had ever seen. They were covered in tiny pieces of what looked like diamond chips.

  “Glass,” he said as she quietly stared at them. “They’re the closest I could find to glass slippers.” A tear started to roll down Olivia’s cheek as he continued talking. “I swear, baby, I’m going to treat you like a princess for as long as you’ll let me.”

  Olivia didn’t look up at him. “Alek called me the princess,” she said sadly, remembering his smile and accent.

  “I’m sorry, Liv.”

  She gazed into the governor’s eyes, which now seemed less than perfect, and tried to hand him back the bag with the shoes.

  “The fairy tale, Landon, was never about the shoes. The fairy tale was the prince. The fairy tale was a love that fit, not a shoe.”

  “Liv, it’s the thought—”

  She cut him off, suddenly furious at the phrase she had heard him say so many times before. Her anger and hurt spilled out as rage. “Don’t say it! ‘It’s the thought that counts.’ That phrase. You know how many times I’ve heard you say that?”

  “Olivia, why are you getting so mad?” He started to speak in that slow, condescending tone he used when he was trying to calm down one of his children.

  “It’s not the thought that counts, Landon. Whoever made that up was totally full of shit. It’s what you do that counts. It’s where you show up. It’s when you don’t. That man was a great friend to you. You didn’t even go to his funeral. Who gives a shit if you were thinking about him? You weren’t there.”

  “Olivia, you are making a much bigger deal of this than it is. Lower your voice.”

  “No, Landon. No. This is a much bigger deal than you’re making it. He was your friend. And I was . . . God, I don’t know what the hell I was. But you left me. You left me with that suicide note. You left me at that funeral. You left me to cry alone.” She knew this wasn’t the argument she meant to be making, but the words just kept coming out.

  “You know I couldn’t go to that funeral.”

  “Oh, it is so not about that!”

  “You are being crazy, Liv.”

  “I know. Actually no, I’m not being crazy, I am being completely insane! I am here still talking to you and that, Landon, is insane. It doesn’t matter what you think you could do or couldn’t do, the bottom line is you didn’t show up for Alek, you didn’t show up for me, and you never will.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t argue with me. Don’t explain it away. I know better than anyone how you can spin lies. I don’t want to hear any of it. Damn it.” She stomped her foot. “I’m too good for this. I deserve so much better.” She heard Jacob’s voice in her head and repeated his words more for her than for him. “I deserve someone who shouts my name from the rooftops, someone who makes me feel good about myself.” She stopped and collected her spinning thoughts and took a breath in and out. “I fell in love with you, Landon Taylor, but mostly I just fell. And it is way past time for me to pick myself up.”

  “Baby—”

  The minute the word came out of his mouth the anger in her dissipated into incredulousness. “‘Baby’? That’s what you say?” She shook her head and pushed the shoes into his hands, and she pushed him out the door. She shut the door and made sure the bolt locked. Then she leaned against it and slid down to sit on the ground. But this time she wasn’t crying.

  Olivia gazed out the cab window as she approached the New York City skyline from Teterboro. When the taxi got to her corner, she got out of the car and looked up at her apartment, flashing back to Landon walking in, Landon walking out, and then to Jacob. She stood in the street thinking about him and then simultaneously raised her hand for a new cab.

  “Quality Meats, please.”

  She walked into the bar, grateful for the familiarity, and felt her stomach drop in that good type of way at the sight of Jacob’s back at the bar. He was in a blue T-shirt and dark jeans and his long legs hung down off the bar stool, touching the ground. His head turned from the television down to his papers on the bar. CNN was covering Landon’s speech, and the Iowa room the governor was in seemed almost fake, or at the least worlds away. She stopped for a minute, smiling, proud of herself for the first time in what seemed like months.

  She breathed in and walked toward Jacob without a second thought and with a poignant absence of insecurity.

  When she pulled back the bar stool next to him, he looked up, his shock lasting just a moment, and then promptly his expression turned into one of happiness.

  Leaning over the bar, she called to the bartender, “Dave, I owe this guy a tequila.”

  “Dave, this girl owes me a bunch of tequilas.” He turned toward her and pulled in the bar stool behind her so she could sit as Dave passed over their drinks.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She smiled, knowing he didn’t actually need an explanation. “You were right.”

  He had a shit-eating grin. “I know. But about which part?”

  “About it all. Campaign Lesson number one was always loyalty,” she said. “Just took me a little longer to figure out who I was supposed to be loyal to.”

  “So you’re done? Out?”

  “Done.”

  “You know,” he said, looking up at the governor on TV, “we could take this guy down.”

  Olivia smiled. “We could. We really could.”

  The two sat for a moment in that thought and relished the notion.


  “But he doesn’t need us for that,” she said. “He’s at the bottom; the world may not see it now, but they will. His true colors will show. They always do, eventually.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jacob said. “Let’s just hope they do before he becomes the leader of the free world.”

  “Well, if it gets too close, we’ll reconsider!” She laughed.

  “Agreed.”

  She looked down at the papers in front of Jacob, campaign information for that senator he had been talking about.

  “That the new gig?”

  “Yup.” He laid his hands reverently on the papers like a religious zealot would his Bible. “I think this one could be the real deal.”

  She looked at Jacob. She realized how much she’d missed the glow that was animating his eyes. “You think they have room for an out-of-work fundraiser?”

  He slid the papers toward her and she caught the edges, taking a sip of her drink before reading. Putting her tequila down, she picked up the first page. She scanned it and looked to Jacob, who had moved close enough so she could see him out of the corner of her eye, watching her.

  She caught his glance, and they shared an easy, comfortable smile. “Hope and change, huh? I think I could use some of that.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This whole process started with my friend and colleague, Josh Brumberger. His stories, ideas, words, and, most important, his friendship were integral to the book. It also couldn’t have been done without his amazing support team—Jill, Clay, Bruce, Barbara, Dev, and Cassius Brumberger.

  Thanks to Harvey Weinstein, whose genius I am always in awe of and whose kindness and support I am always grateful for. Biz Mitchell, my incredibly talented and brilliant editor, made my words into a real story. Judy Hottensen liked the idea from the start; her friendship and guidance have been invaluable.

  Thanks to the team at Weinstein Books, especially the powerful publishing duo of Amanda Murray and Georgina Levitt. Ryan Fisher-Harbage, my agent and friend, believed I could do this even before I did and taught me how to turn an idea into a book.

  I’m grateful for the team at Perseus, especially David Steinberger and John Radziewicz, who went above and beyond the call of duty with his editing and publishing support.

  Thanks to Sandi Mendelson and David Kass, who I know will give a great voice to this story.

  I have a huge family, all of whom have supported me in ways too numerous to count throughout my life and especially in this endeavor: my parents, of course, to whom this book is dedicated, have been there for me every step of the way; Grandma and Grandpa Hanley, my resident king and queen; my brother, David, who always stands by me; Lauren, and Ciela; my sister Jen; Brett, Amanda, Dylan, and Ryan; my sister Wendy; Jason, Samantha, and Julia. I thank Melissa, Brian, and Luke; Danielle, Bill, Scott, and Jack; Lisa, Jim, Hanna, and Chris, Kathleen, Jim, Rachel and Mike and Aaron and Angela; Gerry, Donna, Caroline, and Marielle; Aunt Sue; Marci, Jon, Hanna, and Jared; Ina, Andrew, Jordyn, and Chase; Kathleen and the Jones and Burris families. And Marcy, who is kinder and much more patient than any character in any book. From naming the Brinmore to giving me endless support, she has been more than I could wish for as family and more than I could ask for as a friend.

  My friends have not only been there for me during the writing of this book, but also throughout the many campaigns that inspired it and so much else in my life—Dana Kirkpatrick, Dana Klein, Chad Griffin, Raj and Maria Teresa Kumar; Liz, Andy, Mira, and Peter Herlihy; Bryan and Yael Caplin; Mike Maddox, Greg Morrison, Mike Taylor, Dennis Cheng, Amy Hayes, Dara Freed, Deirdre Frawley, and Dani Super. Marina Giyasov and her dad, William, added the perfect accent to the story. An extra-special thank-you to the friends who, on top of all that, read and critiqued my book, some of whom even redlined it—Katherine Riley, Gabrielle Fialkoff, Ashley Cotton, Jackie Mishler, Justin Cooper, and Peter Ragone. The Hazans—Al, Lisette and, also Dave—who taught me that too good to be true can be true.

  I have been lucky enough to have a council of wise people always around to offer support, advice and endless generosity: Michael Del-Giudice, Brian Snyder, Andrew Farkas, John and Donna Marino, Dan Hedaya, Blair and Cheryl Effron, and Jeff Madrick. It’s led by Orin Kramer, my patron-godfather—it is because of him that I was able to follow my dreams, and I am eternally grateful.

  I’d also like to thank the two English teachers who instilled in me a love of writing—Eliot Eigen and Margaret Stetz.

  I may not have painted a great picture of politicians in this book, but in the nonfiction world I have been, and continue to be, inspired by people who have changed the world. Fortunately for me, a few of them have also changed my world. They are the people who truly see a better horizon, and I am grateful to have worked for and with them: Secretary of State Hillary Clinton; Governor Andrew Cuomo; Governor Mario Cuomo and First Lady Matilda Cuomo; Terry McAuliffe; New York City public advocate Bill de Blasio; Kerry Kennedy; and New York State attorney general Eric Schneiderman.

  Thank you to the many great friends I have met on campaigns who inspired me with stories and anecdotes.

  Finally, there are some special people who, I think, would have really liked this book had they still been with us. They inspire me always and I am grateful for that—Grandma Lee, Uncle Steve, Ryan, and Professor Joseph Lepgold.