“Yes. Power. And it’s the most dangerous aphrodisiac on this earth. He’s trouble with a capital T.”
“No, he’s not. He’s a sweetie.”
“I guess I just don’t like politicians,” Maisie said, shaking her head. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and handed me an envelope. “This is for you. I have to go and find Lorraine.”
I opened the envelope and saw the two fifties. Now I could pay my cell-phone bill!
“Oh, Maisie! Thanks!”
“You behave yourself,” she said and disappeared into the throng.
“I will, Maisie. I’m a good girl.”
Mary Beth was passing another hors d’oeuvre and paused when she came near me.
“Did you see Tommy? He cleans up good.”
“No. Where is he?”
“Over there with his hair slicked back, wearing black glasses.”
“That’s Tommy? Are you serious?”
“As serious as anything,” Mary Beth said. “He’s looking mighty fine, if you want my opinion.”
“He’s adorable. Still. Where’s he going with his life?”
“Probably the Amalfi Coast for the month of August for the rest of his life?”
“Yeah, right. And sleeping in a hammock on the beach.”
“Just saying. With our luck he’ll wind up being a bazillionaire. Anyway, I’m having drinks with Samir.”
Samir was a rich Saudi with a huge yacht in Charleston’s harbor. Mary Beth talked about marrying a doctor and having a herd of children, but meanwhile she was working on sleeping with a representative of every country in the United Nations. One of these days . . . well, I hoped she’d be safe and not do anything incredibly stupid.
“Just be careful.”
“Oh, come on! I’m always careful!”
“Okay. Tommy does look pretty amazing,” I said and walked away from Mary Beth and in Tommy’s direction.
I’d say hello to him. Big deal. It wouldn’t be nice to ignore him since I worked here and all. But who was coming toward me from the other direction, waving to get my attention? Porter Galloway’s aide.
“Hi!” he said and then whispered to me, “The senator wanted to know if you’d like to join him for a drink when this is over? Say about ten? He’s staying at Charleston Place.”
“Sure,” I said. “That would be fun.”
“So can I have your cell-phone number? You know, in case something comes up?”
“Sure,” I said and gave it to him.
Before I could ask for Porter’s number, his aide gave me his card with his own cell number.
“In case you can’t make it,” he said with a wide smile.
“Thanks,” I said and thought, Well, it was a good thing that I didn’t embarrass myself again by asking for the senator’s number. Of course he wouldn’t have given it to me! For all he knew I might tweet it to the entire world!
I continued across the room looking for Tommy. He was taking a tray of dirty glasses to the service area behind some pipe and drape.
“Hey!” I said. “How are you?”
“Great,” he said. “Wow. You sure look, um, wow.”
“Thanks! How’ve you been?”
“Good. Really good. You?”
“Okay, I guess. You know, working and just regular stuff.”
He noticed the card I was holding.
“You going out with that jerk?” he said.
“What jerk?”
“The politician’s gofer?”
I don’t know why but he really irked me when he said that.
“No. For your information, I’m meeting the senator for a cocktail.”
“Really? Well, have fun.”
We were just standing there now, staring at each other. I was being reminded why I even sort of liked him in the first place (because he had this way about him that made me feel like he was in charge and I’d be better off for it, even though he had no life plan as far as I could tell) and why suddenly, Porter Galloway made me feel a little bit uncomfortable. I was meeting Porter for a drink and that was all. Big deal. Still, Tommy’s disapproval made me uneasy.
When the last light was turned off, I said good night to the Turners.
“Fabulous night,” Judy Turner said. “Didn’t you think so?”
“It was!” I said, still floating on air, knowing where I was headed.
“I saw the senator flirting with you,” Bill Turner said.
“Hush, Bill!” Judy said. “MYOB! I think Porter Galloway is absolutely adorable!”
“Me too!” I said. “Night, y’all!”
So I made my way to my car and drove over to Charleston Place, a supernice hotel in downtown Charleston. I went to the first bar, the one inside the restaurant, and there was no sign of him or of his aide. So I went to the other bar where there was a man playing piano. I sat on a sofa and ordered a glass of white wine. Was I being stood up? I opened my purse and took out the card Porter’s aide gave me. George Zur was his name. Should I call him? I decided, oh, what the heck and dialed his number. He answered right away.
“Hey! It’s Ashley from the gallery. Where’d y’all go?”
“Oh, hey! Right, I forgot to call. Senator Galloway wants you to come up to his room.”
“Really? Well, I don’t know, I mean, who’s in his room?”
“Just him as far as I know. I’m hitting the sack because we have an early call in the morning. Gotta be back in Columbia by nine for a breakfast meeting.”
My mind was racing about a million miles an hour. And my face was so hot I knew I was blazing red with embarrassment. There was no way I was going up to a man’s hotel room, even if he was Porter Galloway. I wasn’t like that. In fact, the idea of him expecting me to just hop on up there like a ho made me feel a little bit sick.
“What room is he in?”
“Four sixteen.”
“Okay, thanks. See ya!”
I punched the end call bar on my phone and felt like crying. I drained my glass instead while I debated what to do. Should I go up there and slap him in the face when he opened the door? I texted Mary Beth.
I’ve got a situation. I tapped the send button.
She wrote back. What’s the situation?
He asked me to come up to his room at Charleston Place. I pressed send.
She wrote back. Yikes. There was a pause and then she texted me again. He couldn’t buy you a drink in the bar first? This has an ick factor of ten on a one to ten.
Maybe he can’t afford to be seen drinking alcohol? You know how conservative all these guys have to be these days. I hit send again.
She responded with, Look, if he can’t be seen having a glass of wine with you, then you can’t be seen coming and going from his room either. It just isn’t right.
She was right.
I wrote back, Save me a glass of swill. I’ll be home in twenty.
She sent me a smiley face. Not having drinks with Saudi Arabia. Details later.
That was a relief!
The waiter appeared at my side. “Can I get you another?”
“No, thanks. But could you bill this to Porter Galloway in four sixteen?”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said with such assurance that it occurred to me he’d seen the Galloway act maybe more than a few times. Or maybe it was just my imagination.
“Thanks,” I said and left.
I cursed Porter Galloway all the way across the Cooper River Bridge and all the way through Mount Pleasant. I double cursed him as I turned right on Middle Street on Sullivans Island. And I triple cursed him, getting out of the car and stomping up the steps to my house. Mary Beth opened the door and handed me a glass of wine over ice.
“Men stink,” she said.
I took a sip and winced. That bottle had been open for a week. The ice improved it but not mu
ch.
“What kind of a girl does he think I am? I was going to have his babies but I didn’t want to start tonight!”
“No kidding. Well, Momma says men only want one thing.”
“She’s right and Porter Galloway ain’t getting this.”
“Asshole.”
“For real.” I walked into the center hall and threw my bag on the bottom step that led to the upstairs. I was completely disgusted. “Want to sit outside for a minute?”
“Are you kidding? I want to hear every word.”
We sank into the cushions on the ancient wicker sofa. We were at opposite ends and I folded my feet under me and told her the whole stupid story.
“This damn dress. I’m burning it.”
“No way. It’s a great dress.”
“I’m so disappointed, Mary Beth! I’ll never hear from him again.”
“I predict otherwise.”
“Yeah? Based on what?”
“His big fat ego. You said no to his nasty invitation when every other girl in the entire state of South Carolina would’ve run up there as fast as she could. This makes you more interesting.”
“We’ll see. I doubt it. What happened to Samir?”
“I stood around the marina for like half an hour. Finally, he sent a guy in his launch to pick me up. This guy hands me an envelope from Samir with five hundred dollars inside.”
“Holy crap! That’s a lot of money. What did you do?”
“What do you think I did? I told him to tell Samir I wasn’t for sale.”
“What’s the matter with these men?” I said.
“Egos gone wild. Completely out of control.”
“Or maybe they’re just the wrong men. Wow. Five hundred bucks!”
“I thought about it for a minute but I gave it back.”
“I’ll bet! That’s like three weeks’ salary for us. But unfortunately, you’re not a whore.”
We giggled then in the darkness, laughing at our pathetic financial and social circumstances.
“Not yet. Anyway, Galloway might be a skunk tonight but you’ll be in love with him all over again by tomorrow.”
“Sad. Sad but probably true.”
“I’m gonna hit the sack. My legs are killing me.”
“Go ahead. I’ll get the lights.”
Mary Beth turned in and I went to the kitchen to start the dishwasher. Her purse was just sitting there on the counter, which was full of popcorn kernels and crumbs and needed a good wiping. I thought of my mother and felt guilty. Old Liz might’ve been a bitch from time to time but she never left food on her kitchen counters before she went to bed.
I got the spray cleaner from under the sink and pulled a couple of paper towels from the roll. Then I lifted Mary Beth’s purse by one strap just to swipe the crumbs from underneath it. Of course, the entire contents spilled out onto the counter, including an envelope. My heart dropped. I shouldn’t have looked inside but I did. Count them. Ten little oval-shaped pictures of President Grant looked back at me. This was not good. I deliberately put her purse at the foot of the stairs with the envelope positioned right inside. I would never bring it up again.
CHAPTER 6
Liz—Feeling Like Mom
The first thing Maisie did after seeing Porter Galloway looking down my daughter’s dress last night was to call me at the crack of dawn. It wasn’t even seven o’clock when my phone rang.
“Liz? We need to talk. I couldn’t sleep all night.”
“What’s the matter?” I thought some tragedy had occurred. Who calls anyone at that hour without horrific news?
“Well, here it is. I was at the Turner Gallery last night with Lorraine Galloway. And her son, that scalawag senator of ours, was positively peering at Ashley’s bosom. The whole room noticed it.”
Really? She got me out of bed for this?
“Well, Mother? Ashley is going to be twenty-four years old in a few months. It’s probably time someone had a look, don’t you think?”
“I don’t like it one bit.” She sighed an epic sigh as only she could. “This isn’t funny, Liz.”
“Oh, come on now. Ashley wouldn’t be interested in someone like him. He’s a big flirt and everyone knows it.”
“Humph. Shows you what you know about your own flesh and blood! She’s positively smitten with him.”
“Really? Well, that’s news. Was she wearing that dress, the one she wore to your party?”
“I think so.”
I made a mental note to confiscate Ashley’s black dress for the sake of the family’s reputation and hers.
“Well, Mother, we have to face the facts. All men like to look at pretty young women. They all let their eyes go where they shouldn’t. And if they don’t, they’re singing big-eyed Carol Channing show tunes with Ivy, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, I’m just letting you know, that’s all.”
“Maisie? Don’t worry about Ashley.”
“Maybe I’ll buy her a new dress,” she said.
“Please don’t. Clayton would pitch a fit.”
“Clayton doesn’t have to know.”
“It’s wrong to give her money all the time, Mother. She needs to live on what she earns.”
“A shrimp couldn’t live on what she earns and you know it.”
We hung up and thank you, now I was annoyed too. My mother had too much time on her hands. You’d have thought that Porter Galloway desecrated a holy shrine the way she carried on. Maisie can’t imagine that Ashley is old enough to attract the attention of a man. In her mind, Ashley is and always will be an innocent little virgin. My mind knew better. Ashley was not a little virgin. She wasn’t an easy touch but she was no stranger to the ways of the flesh. She was about eighteen when I saw it in her face. She was suddenly less moody. Maternal wisdom: when your teenaged daughter starts acting nice, she’s having sex.
I never told Maisie when I found birth control pills in Ashley’s bathroom, and I didn’t have a fit over it with Ashley, either. I simply waited until I got used to the new reality (read: stopped weeping), composed myself, and then I had what I thought was a relaxed and civil discussion with her about being sexually active. I think I said something like it’s fairly normal these days for young women to have an intimate relationship with someone when they fall in love but that it was extremely important to be safe and stay healthy.
I wasn’t some prim old bat. And I didn’t want to seem to be judgmental in any way. I just didn’t want her to have a surprise pregnancy or catch some disgusting disease. I remember like it happened yesterday that she looked at me with that eye-rolling, head-cocked-to-one-side teenaged expression of Duh, I think I knew this in seventh grade, Mom and I realized we probably should’ve talked about sex years earlier. But with all that was going on with my son, I was too racked with fear and trepidation to even allow myself to think about anybody’s sex life, mine included.
However, even though Ashley was now almost in her midtwenties and her private life was none of my business, I wasn’t going to stand by and see my child humiliated. I mean, a relationship was one thing but a sexual encounter with a politician was entirely another. Her pretty face could wind up on the cover of the tabloids at the checkout counter in Kroger’s. Politicians were what they were—an easy target for scandal. And so was everyone around them. Sometimes I thought the public’s expectations of politicians were ridiculous but on the other hand, I sure was weary of being embarrassed by them.
Two hours later, the Galloway Report via Maisie was still bothering me, not the part about him having a peek but the part about her liking it. I just wanted to be sure Ashley knew who she was dealing with. Porter Galloway was not exactly a fresh-faced college boy of the ilk she used to bring home. He was a grown man on a career path that could lead him anywhere. The only real criticisms I had about her having a crush on someon
e like him was that he probably had a very high opinion of himself, and he was much older than she was. I knew I shouldn’t be so judgmental. On the other hand, with Ashley’s fascination with all things Jackie Kennedy Onassis? And she understood the role of politicians in American history from all the courses she took in college. She wasn’t a stupid girl right off the farm and I halfway assured myself that there was no reason to be concerned. Except that he lived in the public eye.
I decided to approach the issue with some motherly grace. Things between Ashley and me have been sort of chilly lately and I wanted to warm them back up again. If I have learned anything about raising children, it’s that keeping the conversation going is so very important. Once you stop talking to each other terrible things can happen. So I did what any sensible mother would do. I bought a box of donut holes from Dunkin’ Donuts and drove out to the beach. And yes, I know she’s not a child anymore. But in my heart she is still and will always be my little girl. And maybe I had been picking on her a little. Just a little. But you have to understand I can’t stop myself. I just get so nervous for her.
It was still early, before nine, but I figured that Ashley would be up and about getting ready for work. It was hard to believe that she got herself up and dressed and showed up on time at her job. She was certainly growing up whether I wanted to accept it or not. I remembered the battles we used to have to get her out of bed in the morning. All that was in the past now.
She was a stunning young woman but she had been a gorgeous child. As I rolled from the Cooper River Bridge onto Coleman Boulevard, I could see Ashley as a young girl with those blazing blue eyes and tumbling curls so blond they bleached white in the sun like sand dollars. There were so many sweet memories—Ashley running down the Sullivans Island beach with Ivy, chasing seagulls that swooped and then scattered in every direction. And how Ashley laughed! Ivy too! The sound of them calling after each other and their peals of innocent giggles rolling across the salty air were so joyous. Whenever I remembered their music, I could almost sing along, if you can imagine such a thing. Ah me. When images of their childhoods run through my head, my chest actually swells. And to be completely honest, going over to Sullivans Island always made me sentimental. I think the island has that effect on many people because for generations it has been where families have come to relax and be together without all the stresses of life in the city. Naturally it’s a depository of good memories.
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