by Carsen Taite
“I’ll have to trust you on that since I have no idea what your style is.”
“A fact I intend to rectify. Soon.” Meredith hoped her plan for the evening would work, but for now the sound of Jen clearing her throat reminded her they weren’t alone. “Stevie, you remember my taskmaster, uh, sister, Jen?”
“Of course.” Stevie extended a hand, and Jen set the camera down and returned the handshake. “Having a little holiday photo session?”
“We would be,” Jen said, “if I could get the camera to work. I was going to get a few holiday PR shots for the website, but I’m having trouble adjusting the focus.”
Stevie reached for the camera. “Mind if I give it a try?” Jen handed it over, and Meredith watched while Stevie confidently pushed buttons on the screen, pausing a few times to gaze through the lens.
“I think I’ve got it. Let me try a few test shots. What did you have in mind?”
Meredith looked to Jen who gestured for her to stand near the railing laced with boughs of juniper. She placed a hand on the rail and turned toward the camera. “Like this?”
“Too posed. All you need are a few hay bales in the background and you’d have the perfect Olan Mills circa 1980,” Stevie replied. “Go back where you were and walk toward the rail. When you get there look toward the camera, but pretend like you’re seeing someone you haven’t seen for a while and you’re happy to see them.”
Meredith did exactly as Stevie suggested, acutely conscious Stevie was watching her every move through the lens of the camera, but instead of apprehension, she felt exhilarated. She didn’t need to pretend. For the past two weeks, the glare of the national spotlight had been trained squarely on her and it had been exciting, but nothing compared to the welcome intensity of Stevie’s gaze. She wanted to tell Stevie to forget the pictures, tell Jen to scatter, and whisk Stevie back to her place where they would put this intense focus to better use.
“Perfect. I think I’ve got what you need.”
Stevie’s voice broke the trance, but when she dropped the camera to her side, Meredith caught her still staring, and she smiled at the recognition.
“Let me see,” Jen said, taking the camera from Stevie’s hand.
Meredith kept her eyes on Stevie as Jen thumbed through the photos, not caring if there was one usable one in the bunch.
“Mere, look at these. They’re amazing.”
“What?” Meredith broke her focus on Stevie and looked at the camera Jen was shoving her way.
“The pictures. Look.”
Jen knew her aversion to looking at pictures of herself, but her insistence made Meredith take the camera and start flipping through the images, at first fast, but then slowing down to take in the full effect of how Stevie saw her. “Wow.”
“You like them?” Stevie asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice.
“Like them? I love them. I thought you were a lawyer, but clearly you are a professional photographer.” She handed the camera to Jen and asked, “How come no one else makes me look like this?”
“I didn’t make you look a certain way,” Stevie said. “I just managed to capture what’s already there. Photography is a hobby.”
“I think you should have her take all of your photos,” Jen said, edging her way back into the house, camera in hand. “I’m going to go upload these. Dinner’s in half an hour. See you there.”
Meredith waited until Jen shut the door and then she pulled Stevie into her arms and whispered, “You’re pretty amazing.”
“Because I can use a camera?”
“Because you see me for something other than the public persona. Those photos feel personal, like they were taken by someone who’s known me for a long time.”
“You wanted something different?”
“I thought so, but I was wrong.” Meredith let the comment linger, certain if she added to it she would ruin the magic of this moment. Stevie was an accomplished photographer, and the photos she’d taken would help voters connect with her, but Stevie’s skill with the camera was not what Meredith was interested in right now. Later, when they weren’t standing yards from the perfectly set holiday dinner table and surrounded by relatives, Meredith would tell Stevie exactly what skills she wanted to explore.
* * *
Dinner had been going so well, Stevie should’ve known a road bump lay ahead. They’d just finished a to-die-for red velvet cake, and Nelson was directing a second coffee service, when James Mitchell launched into campaign mode.
“Gordon Hewitt isn’t the most experienced guy on the circuit. I’m sure he’s got some good ideas, but how about we reach out to Rupert Glazer? He’s worked both sides and will be invaluable in the general.”
Stevie could feel Meredith tense up beside her, and she surreptitiously reached a hand under the table to squeeze Meredith’s thigh, a small show of solidarity.
“Thanks, Dad,” Meredith said. “But I don’t want someone who’s worked both sides. I want someone who is an ideological fit as well as a practical one.”
“That makes sense for some things, but not a national election.” James stirred his coffee, then pointed his spoon at Stevie. “Stevie understands the importance of being able to argue both sides, don’t you?”
Stevie took a breath while she pondered whether the question was rhetorical, but Meredith beat her to the punch.
“Dad, no fair picking on the guests.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind answering,” Stevie said, surprised to hear her voice calm and even. “I think there’s a fundamental difference between seeing both sides and being willing to argue either one. I have an obligation to consider all the arguments my opponent will bring to bear, but that doesn’t mean I would step into his or her shoes and make those same points myself.”
“Are you trying to tell me you always believe your clients are innocent?”
Stevie heard the disbelief in his tone, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “No, absolutely not. In fact, many times I know they have committed the crime for which they are accused, but my duty is to make sure they get a vigorous defense within the law. The prosecutor’s duty is to make sure they are convicted, and sometimes that means seeing only black and white. My job is to shed light on the shades of gray.”
“And a courtroom is nothing like a campaign trail,” Meredith interjected. “Bad analogy, Dad. Gordon Hewitt comes highly recommended and he’s my guy.”
“Fine, but don’t shut your family out. We’ve been here all along and this guy barely knows you.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Stevie watched the exchange, impressed with the deft manner in which Meredith handled her father’s domineering ways, which couldn’t be easy. He’d been a powerful governor and was the chief executive of the nonprofit that bore his name. After Emily told her that the Mitchell Foundation was a client of Folsom Enterprises, Stevie had done a little digging. Stevie hadn’t found anything that connected the foundation to the information Barkley had leaked to the press, but she now knew quite a bit about the nonprofit. James Mitchell had set up the foundation soon after he retired from politics to focus on economic development and civil rights around the world. The foundation employed dozens, but James Mitchell was the primary fundraiser and he set the direction for its agenda. Clearly, he was used to running the show, which she’d expected, but she was completely unprepared for his next question.
“And what about you two? What are you going to tell people when they ask what kind of relationship you have?”
Stevie looked at Meredith who was shaking her head. Jen hid a smirk behind her napkin, and Michael looked down at his plate.
“Dad, drop it,” Meredith said.
“Your father has a point,” Anna Mitchell chimed in for the first time since she’d asked if anyone wanted another slice of cake. “Stevie needs to know what she’s in for if she’s going to be by your side over the course of the next year.”
Stevie could feel Meredith’s tension start to bubble over, and she was f
eeling stress of her own. She’d been worried about questions from the media, but she’d never expected an interrogation from Meredith’s parents over Christmas dinner. How naive. Of course, the Mitchell family would have strong opinions about who stood by their daughter’s side on her quest to carry on their political dynasty. But even more surprising was the whole “over the course of the next year part.” Since when had their casual dating morphed into her serving as an escort on the campaign trial? She scrambled to come up with an appropriate response, but Meredith spoke first.
“Mom, Dad, I love you both, but today is a campaign-free zone. Thanks for dinner. It was delicious, but we’re going to duck out and have a private holiday celebration of our own.” Without waiting for an answer, Meredith stood and extended a hand to Stevie.
Stevie felt like she should say something before they left. Some polite rejoinder or snappy comeback to what Anna Mitchell had said, but words left her. She took Meredith’s hand and followed her to the garage.
“Erica took the town car from my parents and left it with the valet at the Hay Adams,” Meredith said. She jangled a set of keys in the air. “We’ll be returning to the city in my dad’s sedan, and I know a secret way out of here.”
“Sounds like you thought of everything.” Stevie wanted to dial back the slight sarcasm in her tone, but Meredith hadn’t seemed to notice, so she let it go. They made small talk in the car, and were back in the city before Meredith broached the subject.
“I’m sorry about what happened back there.”
“You mean the part where your mother cast me in the role of campaign escort?”
Meredith laughed. “Is there such a thing? I had no idea.”
“Seriously, Meredith. You know exactly what she was implying.”
“True. I’m sorry she made you feel uncomfortable.”
Stevie waited for her to say more, but Meredith seemed content to let it drop. She spent the silence examining her own feelings about what Anna Mitchell had said. It wasn’t so much her words as the expectation that if she was going to date Meredith she’d be expected to accompany her on the campaign trail, presumably to stand in the background and give the appearance of coupledom, stability. In the field of people jockeying for their party’s nomination, Meredith was the only single candidate. In Stevie’s view, Meredith’s bachelor status made her more qualified to take on the all-consuming job of president, but she knew the general population didn’t see it that way. Was Meredith looking for someone to fill the role of First Lady-in-Waiting or at a minimum give good optics?
Meredith turned the car into a garage and parked. “Looks like I remembered how to drive after all,” she said as she stepped out of the car and led the way to the bank of elevators.
“How long has Erica worked for you?”
Meredith tilted her head back like she was counting numbers in the air. “I’m going to go with forever, but it was probably really just since I was elected councilwoman in New York.” The elevator dinged, and they exited and walked down a long hallway before stopping in front of a nondescript door. Meredith opened the door to her apartment and waved Stevie in. “Ready for the tour?”
Stevie stepped inside and gasped. “It’s so tiny.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been expecting, but the small studio apartment with everything centered two steps from the living room wasn’t it. “My turn to be sorry. That was pretty rude.”
“Not at all. It is small, but it’s private and close to work, which were the primary selling points.” Meredith stepped into the miniature kitchen and pulled a bottle of champagne out of the fridge. “And here’s another one. You’re only ever two steps from your next drink. After today, I could use one. How about you?”
“Yes, please.” Stevie watched Meredith ease off the cork on the bottle of Dom, and deftly pour them each a glass. The juxtaposition of the expensive champagne with the scaled down digs made her smile. Meredith was full of surprises.
“What are you smiling about?” Meredith asked as she handed her a glass.
“This.” Stevie nodded at the glass. “And this,” she said, gesturing at the apartment. “I love it, but after the estate we just left, I expected something different.”
“Yes, well, this is one case where the apple fell far from the tree. I love my parents’ house, but I’m more of an economy of space kind of gal. My apartment in New York is much bigger than this, but you could still fit it several times over into my parents’ house.” She looked around the room as if she were seeing it for the first time. “This place does look a little like a stopover and not a home.”
Stevie had been thinking the same thing. It made sense, really, that Meredith wouldn’t have nested here since she divided her time between DC and New York, but she’d held out some hope that seeing the place where Meredith lived would give her some more insight into what made her tick. Instead, she saw only a studio that could’ve been featured on the cover of a magazine, but that displayed no personality. “Well, it’s not like you’ll be spending much time here anyway.”
And then it hit her. As soon as the holidays were over, likely before, Meredith would hit the campaign trail, returning to DC for crucial Senate votes and nothing more. She might not want to be Meredith’s election arm candy, but she wasn’t quite ready to break the connection they’d started to build. She set her champagne glass down and stepped closer to Meredith, tucking her arm around her waist. “I think I might miss you when you’re gone.”
A slow smile spread across Meredith’s face. “Is that so?” She turned in Stevie’s arms. “I think I might miss you too.”
They were close. Very close. Stevie inhaled and let the soft lavender scent of Meredith’s perfume flood her senses. She leaned in and kissed Meredith’s lips, softly at first, playful nips that quickly grew more intense with each pass. Meredith opened her mouth, and Stevie eased her tongue inside with slow, gentle strokes, taking her time, enjoying the slow build of arousal between them.
The kiss lasted a long time, long enough to signal she was undeniably attracted to Meredith, and incredibly lucky to see the not entirely put together, somewhat vulnerable side of her the rest of the world didn’t get to see. The question was whether she could hang on to these moments when the political machine took over, turning this soft, tender woman into the perfectly packaged candidate who would belong to the country and not her.
Chapter Ten
New Hampshire Primary
Meredith paced the hotel room, trying desperately to ignore the conversations happening all around her. Last week’s caucuses in Iowa had her in a dead heat with the governor of Alabama, Jed Lankin, who’d fully expected to slide into first place once Connie Armstrong dropped out of the race. Tonight’s results from New Hampshire could tip the scales. The polls had closed an hour ago, and everyone in the room and on TV was busy with predictions, none of which meant anything until the votes were counted.
“Exit polls are showing a higher than usual turnout today for the Democratic primary,” the anchor said. “What do you make of that, Linda?”
The brunette by the white board wrote the word WOMEN in big bold black letters. She tapped on the board with a pointer for emphasis. “Women are turning out in droves to be a part of history. Senator Mitchell is the first viable candidate we’ve seen in years, and everyone wants to tell their children they cast a vote for the first female president.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Jen, pumping a fist in the air.
“No celebrating until the returns are in,” Gordon replied with a stern look.
Meredith paused in her loop around the room to watch the two of them stare each other down, but she didn’t jump in the middle. The last seven weeks had been a challenge, not just the outward facing part of the campaign, but the internal drain of watching two people she respected stand off when they should be working together. The conflict was taking its toll on the entire team. If the tension escalated, she was going to have to take act
ion, but right now all she really wanted was to slip into her pj’s, order a cheeseburger and fries from room service, and curl up in bed to watch the rest of the returns. Only one more thing would make her night complete—if Stevie was here to share it with her.
“I sent her the ticket like you asked.”
Meredith looked up to see Jen standing next to her. “It’s not that easy for her to get away. It’s a Tuesday, and she has a job.” When Jen shook her head, Meredith pushed on. “An important job. She can’t just up and tell a federal judge that she can’t make it to court because her…” She choked on the word girlfriend. “Because I’m going crazy waiting for election results.”
“Not just any election results.” Jen grabbed her by the shoulders. “It’s a presidential primary. This is the beginning of history.” She cast a look at Gordon who was standing across the room talking to one of the campaign volunteers, and lowered her voice. “You are going to sweep this thing. Lankin is shaking in his shoes.”
“Don’t you even.” Meredith waved her hands in the air to ward off the bad juju. “Gordon’s not the only one who’s superstitious. I’m as excited as anyone else in this room, but the votes are still being counted. Get a grip because we might be in for a long night.”
No sooner had she spoken than a roar went up from the room, and Meredith whirled to face the TV. It was early yet, but CNN had already made the call, and the entire room was celebrating. Jen pulled her into a hug and held tight. She felt something wet running down her face, but it took a moment for her to realize she was weeping tears of joy. The polls and pundits had predicted her win, but the reality was beyond her wildest expectations. She barely had time to process her feelings before she was swept around the room, being congratulated and offering heartfelt thanks in return for each of these people who’d dropped their lives to become part of hers.
She’d barely made it halfway through the crowd before Gordon was tapping her on the shoulder. “Let’s go ahead and head downstairs. If you make your speech now, we can make the late news.”
