Still, I lingered. I thought I should tell her what Atlas had found, not least because she deserved to know, but also because I was curious if she could’ve suspected. “I just—I think—” Despite my stumbling, Wallis was patient. She raised her eyebrows. “Did you—did you know that Gregory...?” Her phone rang, an interruption that managed to be both frustrating and welcome. She grabbed for it eagerly, then emitted a choked groan when she saw it was not Blake on the ID. Whoever was calling must’ve been really deficient, because she silenced the call and threw her wrist across her face.
“Let me be, Dodo,” she said softly. “I’m sure Blake and I will figure out a way to see each other soon. And I’m going to be better then. All right?”
How could I detonate this hope of happiness? It doesn’t have to be today, I told myself. I can sleep on it.
I washed up in Cricket’s bathroom, amazed at her ongoing love affair with impractically tiny hand towels, and returned to the hallway. Cricket had taken my position in the doorway to Wallis’s room. They must not have heard me emerge, because they were talking about Atlas, and their tones, although hushed, still carried.
“Here’s what needs to happen,” Wallis was saying. “One of them needs to act just the slightest bit in love, and the other will admit that they, too, have been in love the entire time. But Atlas is not cooperating with my plan. He talks to us both like we’re his sisters. I’m annoyed with him.”
“And Daisy, too,” Cricket said. “She barely gives him any encouragement.”
With their judgment, as well-meaning as it might’ve been, whatever optimism was leftover from Atlas’s visit drained from my body. “I’m going.” I decided I should alert them to my presence. Cricket turned, and had the decency to at least look mildly abashed. It was, I had to admit, a fitting way to end the evening.
Eighteen
I’d been away from work for twenty-one days, and with every passing hour my inner alarm howled louder. All week, I’d been unsuccessful getting Miles on the phone. Bo had tried, but Miles always had a ready excuse. He says he’s just walking into a meeting. He’s just about to hop on the phone. He’s getting ready for dinner. Each morning, I thought, today. Today he’ll call and tell me to come back.
Phone never leaving my hand, I spent my nights up very late on my couch, watching PBS documentaries, including one the previous night about NASA. I had tuned in just as an off-screen producer asked a former astronaut, If you hadn’t worked for NASA, what would you have done? The man who’d floated near stars stated—and I’m paraphrasing here—that this question was dumb. He was an astronaut. There was no plan B. Still, the interviewer pressed, If you had to choose another job...
“Leave the poor spaceman alone!” I yelled at my television. See what happens when I don’t have meaningful work? “He had no backup plan! That is fine and normal!”
His answer was succinct: My choice would not be a person. I’d choose to be a satellite in gentle orbit, living usefully and long, unperturbed by earthly disturbances.
Of course he would feel that way; he’d orbited earth, witnessed the sun rise over its curvature, had an unbroken view of our world as a whole. Maybe I’d be able to think of removing myself from the fray, too, after I’d actually accomplished something, years in the future. Something to look forward to! Until then, I had to work. We—meaning, our lawyers and bill collectors, the American taxpayer we were paying back—needed the money.
And the pressure to carry this out had only increased after what Atlas had uncovered. I hadn’t told anyone about it yet. I’d simply informed Cricket and Wallis the morning his article was supposed to run that he’d opted not to publish after all, brushing off their questions, which hadn’t been particularly pointed. Both had seemed preoccupied with other matters. Wallis, continually hollow-eyed and grumpy, delivered only one-word answers if she had anything to say to me at all. Cricket was always running to one thing or another; she’d begun work on a journal, she said, and spent hours at the petite desk in her room, one set of glasses on her nose and one on her head. Every time I considered bullying them onto the couch and forcing them to listen, I pictured Miles, in France, eating croissants and running through the itinerary I’d prepared for him, who’d never have me back if this news got out.
Fortunately, sensing my rising desperation, Bo had given me a tip: Miles would be attending tonight’s book launch party for Wallis’s boss—the perfect opportunity to oh so casually run into him and beg for my job. All I needed to figure out was the proper wardrobe for groveling.
* * *
After great deliberation, I selected a serious black pants suit and white blouse and made my way with Cricket to the Willard Hotel at the prescribed 7:00 p.m.
“It’s great you came,” Cricket said once we’d found an unpopulated corner of the ballroom, near the bar, where we could give side-eye to the familiar faces in the crush. Wallis’s boss had written a memoir about fighting zealots, loons, and men who didn’t know a uterus from a hole in the ground, so of course half of DC and a sliver of Los Angeles had packed into the Willard for the free drinks and food.
“That’s about the fifth time you’ve said so,” I said. “I came to a book party, Cricket. You’re acting like I’m walking on the moon.”
“Need I remind you,” asked Cricket, waving off, to my chagrin, a waiter with small spring rolls, “what you were doing when I came down to check on you the other night?”
“No,” I said, sipping from a glass of wine, not keen on reliving a low point.
But Cricket pressed on, “You were in bed, eating old pasta and chocolate pudding.”
“The pasta was new,” I said, snagging a crispy shrimp before Cricket could send that tray away, too. “And the pudding was vanilla.”
“Daisy, I know you’re upset about this Miles thing, but you have got to pull yourself together. A class, a hobby, anything.”
“You think I’m living a meaningless life,” I said. A baby-faced reporter eagerly roaming the ballroom with both a digital and video camera headed over to us, but now it was my turn to say, No, thank you. Our presence, still tinged with scandal, did not need to be cataloged.
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Cricket replied.
She sounded more troubled than necessary, so I attempted to pivot. “I’m finding stuff to do,” I said. “I went for a run the other day.”
This cheered her. She’d always believed in the transformative power of aerobic exercise. “And how did that go?”
I hadn’t been jogging in years. I had grand plans to run the trails in Rock Creek Park, but had barely made it out of Adams Morgan. I must’ve appeared to others like a machine on the fritz; occasionally my legs and arms worked like they were supposed to, but mostly I moved in fits and starts, and sometimes not at all. I returned home, red-faced, sweaty, and mortified. “It went well. I did three miles.”
“Good work,” said Cricket. “Now we just have to make you some money.” She grinned. “Well, look at that. Your financial worries have finally rubbed off on me.”
“Any day,” I said, “I’ll be back at work.” Just then I spotted Bo by the door. “Guys!” I tried to temper my wave, but it was still entirely overeager. “L.K.! Mom, it’s Bo and L.K. They just walked in. And Miles is here!” I think I actually said the word yay, but I’d like not to dwell.
Bless them, the gang did head our way. I got friendly squeezes from everyone, even Miles, who afterward greeted my mother with a firm handshake and a smile. “Mrs. Richardson,” he said. “How are you?”
“Just fine, Senator, thank you. This is a very nice party, and I’m glad Wallis included me. I don’t get invited to many things anymore.”
Miles nodded. “I know this town has been very hard on you and your daughters. It is really unfortunate.” I felt myself leaning forward, hopeful, so desperate for him to say And I’ve been hard on Daisy, too. Instead: “I’m only going
to be able to stay for a few minutes. I have a caucus meeting in an hour.”
“This late?” I asked.
“Breaking news,” he said. “Sec Health has been asked to resign.”
“Live by the sword,” said Bo, “die by the sword.”
“I’m sure you’re going to get calls for appearances,” I said. “We should try to book you on the Sunday morning shows.” Around the circle, there was the kind of silence that comes when everyone holds their breath. All Miles needed to do was nod, or say, Yes, Daisy, get on it. When he did neither, I felt myself scrambling. “Sorry,” I said. “I meant Bo should book you on the shows.”
“Just keep holding fast,” Miles said to me. “Everything will work out.”
This platitude provided no comfort. I pulled at the sleeves of my suit jacket. “I’ll keep my ears to the ground about nominations,” I said. “If I hear anything—” But I had to stop, because one of Miles’s colleagues, the senior senator from Florida, cut in with all the grace and delicacy of a yacht crashing into a dock. “Miles!” Senator Hopkins roared, grasping Miles’s hand. “I thought there’d be a line to get to you. They didn’t let any of your fans in, I see.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Miles said, extracting his hand.
“Don’t be bashful,” Hopkins said. His tie featured whales wearing sunglasses. “I’ve seen the way these college kids mob you. Hell, you got most of the Senate pages following you around wanting to pick up your trash.” He then looked at me like I should back him up. “Your chief of staff is back, I see. Howdy, Miss Richardson. I guess Miles didn’t fire you, after all.”
“I’m not fired.” My voice was an octave too high to make this statement truly believable.
“Right,” Hopkins said, winking at me. “Well, once Miles decides to cut you loose, you can come work for me. My office in Tallahassee needs someone with half a brain. All I got down there is a former dentist who lost his license and a bunch of frat boys who are as useful as tits on a bull.”
“Charming,” I heard Cricket mutter.
“That’s...an offer,” was my reply. Just when I thought I couldn’t fall any further, another floor collapsed from underneath me. At the very bottom, the Florida Panhandle.
“You won’t steal Daisy from me without a fight,” said Miles.
“Pistols or swords?” asked Hopkins.
“Fists,” said Miles, droll, and I could’ve hugged him.
Another burst of laughter from Hopkins that could likely be heard across the ballroom. “Just think about it,” he said to me, then clapped Miles on the back. My humiliation complete, Hopkins guided the conversation between proposed regulatory changes and his recent colonoscopy. “The doctor told me I was full of shit!” he said to only polite, perfunctory laughter. Miles met the eyes of L.K. and Bo, then excused himself to make the rounds. Miles gone, Hopkins also departed, and we shuffled closer to each other.
“The balls on that guy,” L.K. said. “You’re not working for him, Daisy.”
“I’m working for Miles,” I said reflexively.
“I mean—if,” she replied.
That word—if—crash-landed in the center of our group. I gawped at it. We all seemed to. My wine was warm and fruitless, but I finished it anyway. “I need another drink.”
“Do they have your brand of chardonnay at this bar?” asked L.K.
I turned to her. “You know my brand?”
“Babe, we know your brand of tampons,” L.K. said, threading her arm through mine. “Of course we know your drink of choice.”
“I miss you guys,” I said as I tracked Miles across the room, wondering if I’d get another chance to speak with him.
Bo nodded. “We miss you, too,” he said.
“Before you all arrived,” Cricket said gaily, encouraging us to shake off our somber faces, “I was about to encourage Daisy to mix and mingle.”
“I’m happy to help,” Bo said. “As the resident cool kid of the group, I can give Daisy some pointers. I take payment in the form of bourbon, which I need about a gallon of to make it through this party.”
“Cool kid? You recently sent an email to everyone about the Oxford comma,” L.K. said.
“The Oxford comma is what separates us from the uncivilized masses. I stand by that email.”
“When I’m back, I’m going to leave an extra space after all my periods,” I said. “Just to tick you off.”
“I see Wallis,” L.K. said, craning her neck to the right. “God, she looks so pretty. I wish I had that rack. Sorry, Miss Cricket.”
“Jesus, L.K.,” said Bo. Talking about tampons was fine, but apparently he drew the line at my sister’s breasts. I think I saw him blush.
“No apology necessary,” said Cricket.
“I’m just saying,” said L.K. “Whenever the trolls start mouthing off about ugly feminists, let’s just jangle Wallis around, like keys in front of a baby. That will shut them up for about two seconds.”
“What’s the latest with Wallis and Blake Darley?” Bo asked, sipping slowly. His eyes had located my sister across the ballroom, chatting easily with a group of suits.
“It’s a long story,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about the Darleys here, not thirty feet away from Miles, but L.K. poked, both literally and figuratively, until I caved. “Fine,” I said, slapping her hands away. “They are together, but Blake has been called back to South Carolina by his mother.”
“She’s on a mission to break them up,” added Cricket.
“Judging from Wallis’s mood the past few weeks,” I conceded, “if that was indeed Melinda Darley’s plan, it seems to be working.”
“I believe it,” L.K. said, and Cricket nodded approvingly. “Melinda Darley would sooner raise taxes than let Blake date Wallis without a fight.”
“What does Wallis have to say about all of this?” asked Bo.
“Not much.” I said. Fried shrimp guy was back, and we all helped ourselves, even Cricket. “I mean—she is in so much pain, we try not to bring it up.”
“What!” L.K. cried, gesturing with her shrimp. “That would never happen in my family. My sister would jab until I gave up and spilled.”
“In my family we let each other keep secrets,” Bo said. “My mother still says”—he paused, affected the drawl—“‘Darlin’, it’s a beautiful day to leave me alone.’”
“She does not say that.” I suppressed a grin.
“I’m fixin’ to take y’all to meet her,” Bo said. Then his face brightened, struck by a thought. “Daisy, now that you have the time off, why don’t you come to Charleston next weekend?”
“Sure,” I laughed, wiping my fingers with my napkin. “Why not?”
But Bo was serious. “Don’t you think it’s a good idea, Miss Cricket?” he asked. “My sister is having an engagement party. Plenty of eligible bachelors for Daisy. L.K., you come, too.”
“I wish I could,” L.K. said sadly. “I have a wedding in Vermont. And it’s not even in the cute part. I’d much prefer Charleston.”
“Charleston is simply fabulous!” Cricket clapped. “It’s a perfect place to get Daisy out of her funk.”
“Where would we stay?” I asked, hoping this might reveal an out. Did they not remember I had no income?
“With my parents,” answered Bo. “They’ve got enough bedrooms in that house. It’s huge. Interesting people always coming in and out. It’s also the place where I was the loneliest as a kid. Go figure. Am I selling you on this yet?”
“I couldn’t possibly impose on your mother in that way.” I looked at Cricket. She, of manners and propriety, would certainly say something here. But, no. She still seemed enthused. “And during your sister’s engagement party of all times!” I added for good measure.
“Now, Daisy,” Bo said, clearly enjoying this, “here’s what I think—you need to impose more.”
Out of the crowd, Wallis appeared in a black cotton dress. My dress, I might add. She must’ve been in my closet recently. “Hide the gin,” L.K. said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Wallflower has arrived.” Bo’s nickname for Wallis made us all smile.
“I’m so glad you all came,” Wallis said. “I see Miles over there, too. Did you have a nibble? I made sure to order eel sushi. I know that’s Daisy’s favorite.” The delicate gold bangles she always wore stood out against the dress.
Glasses clinked, the staff paused their canapé distribution, and the author of the hour gave a short reading of her memoir. When it was over, the room applauded politely.
Wallis took hold of my wine and helped herself. “What have you guys been talking about?” she asked. “Anything good?”
“I have put forward a proposition,” said Bo, crafty, “that your sister should come with me to Charleston on Friday. As a matter of fact, you should come too, Wallis.”
“No,” Wallis said, wide-eyed, glass frozen to her lip. “Stop.”
“True story,” Bo said. “And since you’re the type of girl who would enjoy wearing preppy clothes under Spanish moss, I think you’d like—”
“Say no more,” Wallis cut in. “I think we should absolutely go.”
“I agree,” said Cricket.
I thought of Blake and his family, and their ancestral home in Charleston, probably some mansion with columns and a room just for the hunting dogs that Wallis was itching to see. “Let’s just hold on—”
“We should leave them to discuss,” Bo said to L.K. “I need another drink anyway.”
“I’m looking forward to dismantling all your excuses, Dodo.” Wallis crossed her arms over her chest. “So, please, do begin.”
“I’m just not sure,” I said after Bo and L.K. were gone. “Cricket and I have a meeting with the IRS and the lawyers next week.”
Ladies of the House Page 14
