Compromising Positions

by Mary Whitney

  He spoke with such sincerity that I believed him, though I still thought he was deluded. “Of course,” I said, but it sounded like I was only being nice.

  The door then opened into the Cannon basement. We could’ve walked all the way to the House floor, but we’d only go in and cast opposite votes. I searched for something to say because he wasn’t talking either, and he appeared as awkward as I felt. Behind him stood one of my Democratic colleagues, Sara Ziontz. Sara was going to be my out from an uncomfortable situation.

  Trying to be as cheerful as I could muster, I said, “I actually need to speak to Sara over there. Thanks very much for the wine. Let’s catch up again sometime.”

  He nodded. “Sure. I’ll see you around.” Then he sped off to vote–the same vote as the rest of his party and for sure the opposite of mine.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Michael

  That evening when my mom called I really didn’t want to talk to her. It had been a long day, and I was still grumpy from my encounter with Jessie. The whole thing had been awkward. First, I had to walk in on her and Alan with his lousy bouquet. He clearly had more than a little medical advice on his mind.

  I really shouldn’t have cared if Alan was after her, but I did. I finally got to see her with her hair down and without those stupid glasses. She was so damn pretty I understood why she wanted to make herself look boring, so she’d be taken seriously. And when Alan left, our conversation was dangerously enjoyable. She was cute and funny and challenging—I’d always been a sucker when it came to women like that. Needless to say, she couldn’t have been more different from Stacy or Cathy Mathers. But then everything took a turn for the worst when she started going off on health care. Would every conversation end up as an unfriendly debate with her?

  So there I sat that evening, with a scotch in my hand and SportsCenter on the tube, reliving what I was sure was a spark between us in her office. I’d occasionally remind myself that I shouldn’t even be thinking about her, but it didn’t really work. Was it a coincidence or woman’s intuition when my mom called?

  My mother was a smart woman, both intellectually and emotionally. She always knew if something were wrong with me even when I conned the rest of the world otherwise. After the usual “Hello, how are you, and fine” exchange, she said, “Michael, you sound low.”

  “Yeah, it's been a bad day.” Why lie when she was just going to figure it out anyway?

  “I know this divorce is trying, and we should talk about it.”

  “It is, but there are other things, too.”

  “What's that?”

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “Are you finding any new friends?”

  “Mom,” I said with a laugh. “This isn’t like I’m in elementary school.”

  “Of course not,” she said derisively. “But you’d best be making friends in Congress if you want to get anywhere.”

  “I know, and I am.” I sighed. “It just gets to be draining.”

  “I understand.”

  She really didn’t, but in a way, she did.

  ~~~

  The following morning, things just got worse when I saw the day’s edition of The Capitol, an informative, though gossipy paper. I knew the stories would hit that day, but bad news—even that you’re prepared for—is always harder in print. The headline punched me in the gut.

  CONGRESSMAN GRATH’S DIVORCE GETS UGLY

  Congressman Michael Grath (R-IL) has repeatedly stated that he and his estranged wife, Stacy Kaninski Grath, want to handle their divorce privately, but that appears to be changing. While the Congressman and his wife continue to be silent on the topic, sources from both camps have begun talking. Both sides confirm that Mrs. Grath was dissatisfied with the financial settlement she was offered. Reports have pegged the proposed sum at $4 million—one million for each year of their marriage. Mrs. Grath is apparently requesting $40 million.

  Though the Grath family is hugely wealthy, Michael Grath has fewer assets than his parents, according to his Congressional financial disclosure records, which place his wealth between $50 million and $75 million. It is unlikely that a judge would reward almost a half of his assets to settle a marriage of only four years with no children.

  As negotiations have become more acrimonious, rumors have surfaced that Congressman Grath refused to have children with Mrs. Grath. The couple has sought a blameless, no-fault divorce, so the issue of children has not been raised as a reason for their divorce. That has not stopped unfounded gossip that the Congressman, who as a bachelor always dated women, is actually a gay man who dislikes children. No disparaging comments have been made by the Grath camp about Mrs. Grath. When pressed, a source close to the Grath family merely said, “Stacy Kaninski’s actions and statements in this matter speak for themselves.”

  I flicked the paper shut and slumped back in my cushy office chair. It had been my father’s chair in the governor’s mansion, and he’d given it to me for good luck. I could really use some of that luck now.

  What a rag! I glanced at the newspaper again. The hating kids thing really ate at me. I couldn’t believe Stacy would accuse me of something like that, even if she didn’t say it herself. It was just a little too close to some very private issues of ours.

  Now here I was in Congress with my private life out in the open for all to see. For the rest of the day and every day ahead, I’d be facing my colleagues, many of whom would read the article about me. What would they think? That I was stingy? That I was gay? That I hated kids?

  Jessie came to mind, and I envisioned her with her leg propped up on her sofa, reading the paper. What would she make of such a story? What would she believe? Would she think I was a bad person for implying Stacy was a gold digger? Well, she was a gold digger, but how would someone like Jessie react to it. I cringed. And I hope she doesn’t think I’m gay. I covered my eyes with my hand. What did it matter if she thought I was gay? This had to stop.

  That was when I decided to avoid having anything to do with Jessie. I didn’t want to see her, and I didn’t want to hear about her. I was too depressed. As the weeks went by, I became even more certain it was the right decision. When I did catch a glimpse of her around the Capitol, Alan was often at her side, helping her with her crutches or opening doors. Jessie was always smiling, and the two seemed to talk freely.

  I was bitter. There was no logical reason for it, but it just happened. I bet they never debate a stupid vote. Occasionally, I’d see her without Alan. She’d seem to force a small smile and a wave, but she never stopped to talk. Even though I’d decided to avoid her, I was hurt that the feeling seemed to be mutual. Was I really that repugnant to her? I always walked away dejected, knowing I’d be much happier if I didn’t ever see her at all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jessie

  Over a month later, I still couldn’t shake my attraction to Michael. It wasn’t like I didn’t try. I avoided him as much as possible, and when necessary in order not to be rude, I’d wave “hello” to him and walk away pretending to be busy. He smiled at me, but it always seemed cautious. Apparently, he didn’t trust me, which made me a little bummed. I’d probably come off as such a strident bitch when we had that argument over health care. It was so stupid. Why would I ever think a Republican would agree with me, just because he was a friendly guy? Still, it was better to stay away than apologize where I’d most likely babble and feel more like an idiot.

  Every so often I’d also come across his name if I looked something up in the Congressional Record, and once I even caught him on C-SPAN when he was speaking on the floor. Knowing it would only make me depressed, I never looked at his voting record. Like any freshman, he voted the party line. I did notice bills he introduced or co-sponsored, and I was always happy to see that none of them were too offensive to me. Some I might have even voted for myself. And when he spoke on the floor, he was pretty amazing. He was eloquent and looked great on camera. When I started getting too enthralled, I’d change the channe
l to the C-SPAN 2 to see some geezer senator lecture the empty Senate chamber.

  There were the occasions when I would see Michael with other women. Like every member of Congress, he spent a good part of his day just walking back and forth to votes, hearings, and then meetings and more meetings. The best use of time was to have mobile meetings with people as you made your way from one appointment to the next. I did it all the time with staffers, colleagues, lobbyists, and even constituents. Somehow when I saw Michael walking alone with a woman, I always suspected there was more to the conversation than just congressional business.

  This was especially true when crazy Cathy Mathers was at his side, fawning all over him. Maybe he was getting to know her better, and he really liked her. I watched once as she tossed her head back laughing at something he said as they walked down First Street, no doubt to the cozy confines of the Republican National Committee. Was he flirting with her? They’d called him an eligible bachelor, but he really wasn’t yet. Should he be flirting with her if he was in the middle of the divorce? He was a smart guy. Didn’t he think she was even a little bit ridiculous? The next time, I’d see him alone with a guy, and I wondered if it was all in my head.

  Long ago, I’d admitted to myself that I was lonely, so I tried to put it all in perspective. I hadn’t had a serious relationship in a few years, and lord knows a woman mayor couldn’t go around having meaningless flings. Male mayors could get away with it, but there was no way a woman could. Now I was in an even higher profile job with immense stress. It was no wonder I wanted attention from a man.

  Since I’d broken my ankle, Alan had been attentive to some of my needs, looking in on me and lending a hand when I needed one. We’d gotten to know one another fairly well. He was also a Democrat, so there were no messy political debates. Alan didn’t hide the fact that he wanted to ask me out, but I hadn’t encouraged it. I wasn’t sure if I’d like that or not. He was adorable in his own way, but there was just something boring about him. He was almost too nice.

  That’s how Michael was different. On the surface, we had nothing in common, yet I was drawn to him, and I swore there was a spark between us before I went off on my health care tirade.

  I tried to explain the attraction away by likening it to a silly crush I had on a popular fraternity boy. He’d been in the same English class my freshman year, and caught my eye the moment he pronounced Evelyn Waugh’s name properly and then corrected a stupid sorority girl, informing her that Mr. Waugh had been a man, not a woman. I was smitten, but you know what? He was still a member of one of the dumbest frats on campus, and he dated girls who drank and made out with other girls in bars as if they were being filmed for Girls Gone Wild. My crush was over by the end of the semester. I was hoping for the same with Michael.

  ~~~

  One night in the spring, Larry and I walked into the local D.C. Boys and Girls Club. Larry was scheduled to speak at the open house for the new facility, built partially with donations from the NFL. Trish wasn’t up for it, so I tagged along as a supportive friend. My cast was off, the crutches were gone, and I was happy just to be out.

  As we entered the large main room, there were clusters of parents, staff, and donors chatting away. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the social event, eating cookies and drinking punch. Over the crowd, I heard music, and tilted my head, trying to recognize the tune.

  “Are they playing two different CDs at once?” I asked Larry.

  “It sounds like jazz and classical guitar.”

  A giant compared to me, Larry peered over the crowd to the far side of the room. “No. It’s just jazz on the speakers. There’s a guy playing guitar with some kids over there in the corner.”

  “Really?” I listened again. “Yeah, you’re right. That guitar is in the room. Where’s the guy?”

  Larry led me where I had a straight line view of the corner. “He’s right over there.”

  Like a goof, my mouth dropped open, and I hoped Larry didn’t notice. Encircled by about twenty kids, Michael Grath sat on a folding chair playing guitar. He appeared to be teaching them as he strummed along.

  Not realizing I was thinking aloud, I whispered, “That’s right. He’s a musician.”

  Larry looked at me and then back at Michael. “You know that guy?”

  “Oh. Um. Yeah,” I said, flustered at being caught speaking my thoughts. “He’s in Congress. His name is Michael Grath.”

  “Huh. Grath? Why do I know that name?”

  “Because his family has been in politics for forever.”

  “But you know I hate politics.” He chuckled.

  “And that’s how well-known his family name is. Even you’ve heard of it.”

  “Well, you know him. Go over and say hi.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” God, no.

  My reply was too quick and I think I even blushed. Even Larry could tell something was up. He’d only ever known me as an elected official who had no problem walking up to anyone, anywhere and saying whatever I liked. A wide grin spread across his face. “You can’t? What do you mean you can’t talk to him? You talk to everyone.”

  Ignoring Larry, I grabbed a plastic cup of punch from a wandering waiter. As I said, “Thank you,” Larry said, “You must like him, huh, Clark?”

  “No.” I shook my head, but my mouth twitched with a nervous smile. “I don’t. I barely know him.”

  “Who says you have to know somebody in order to like them?”

  “You and Trish are special.” I rolled my eyes. “Not everyone has a one night stand turn into their partner for life.”

  “Forgive me because I know it’s not my place, but you could use a one night stand.”

  Was he insane or just politically naive? “Are you kidding me?”

  “I didn’t say you should have one,” he said. Then he gave me the same “you’re crazy” look as I’d just given him. “I’m just saying you could use a little male companionship.”

  “That is true.” My smile gave me away.

  “So I’m just saying that an initial attraction doesn’t require a lot of background, if you know what I mean…”

  “Whatever. He’s good looking. That’s obvious. Can we talk about something else?”

  “No way,” he said. “This is great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re kinda nervous. Like a high school girl. It’s pretty cute.”

  Realizing that the more I said, the worse it got, I simply pursed my lips and remained silent. I ignored Larry, but I took one last look at Michael. He was showing a little boy how to position his fingers between the guitar frets. Inside I smiled. Well, Michael doesn’t look like he hates kids—so much for that part of the article.

  It didn’t take long for people in the room to recognize Larry, and fans began approaching us. I hung back while he patiently talked with them, especially the kids. I chatted with a few people, but mainly tried to remain stealth and observe Michael. He was joking around with the kids, playing an “all request” game where he would play whatever song they asked for. Some of their requests didn’t work well on guitar, like the Kanye West ones, but he still played it by ear. When he performed a convincing version of “Johnny B. Goode,” Larry turned to me and asked, “He’s pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” Michael took a battered trumpet from the hands of a little girl. He seemed to make a few apologies before playing it. As the clear, strong sound of the horn filled the room, I had to revise my opinion. “Actually, he’s very talented.”

  Larry sniggered at me, and I pretended to ignore him again. I stole one more glimpse at Michael, but this time I got caught. We made eye contact, where I had no choice but to smile at him before I quickly turned away. Not even remembering what I was wearing, I glanced down. I only knew I’d decided to go casual, so I could fade into the woodwork. This was Larry’s night not mine. I saw my dark jeans and low heeled riding boots with and a short green blazer. My fake glasse
s were gone, and my hair was in a loose braid down. Well, I certainly didn’t look like the normal me he was used to.

  When I sneaked another peek around the room, Larry was pointing to another NFL player. “Before I make my speech, I need to go talk to Jim. He plays for the Redskins. I’ll be back.”

  “Sure. Go right ahead.”

  Before he walked away, he whispered, “And, by the way, your boyfriend is headed this way.”

  I whipped my head around to the corner where Michael had been and was surprised to see him only a few feet from me. He was dressed appropriately for the occasion—not in a stiff suit, but casual khakis with a V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt. His blue eyes were bright again, and I returned a shy smile. “Hi Michael.”

  “Hello Jessie.”

  “I’d never expect to see you here.” The words were out, and how I desperately wanted them back. I was a politician, yet every time I was with him I was incredibly impolitic. It was awful.

  His response wasn’t immediate. Instead, he stared me down, and I was sure a snide remark was coming my way. When he did speak, though, his voice was a bit. “You must not think very much of me.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, hoping I sounded innocent. Most of the times we’d talked I had come across like a bitch. The whole situation was laughable. Jeez. If you only knew how hard I have to work not to think about you.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “A mean, nasty Republican wouldn’t be at a place like this.”

  “I don’t think that at all. My father has been known to vote Republican.” Geez, that sounded lame. I looked around the room, searching for a distraction. “I just thought of this as an NFL thing. They’re big supporters of Boys and Girls Clubs.”

  “Well, my family is involved in Catholic Charities, which helped build this facility. My mother sits on the national board and I’ve been on the board in Chicago.” He then nodded to his right. “That’s my mother over there, in the red suit.”

  Following the direction of his glance, I spotted an elegant, gray haired woman in a chic, if prim, St. John suit. She was talking with what had to be a mucky-muck from the NFL, and she looked formidable—like a combination of Nancy Reagan and Ann Richards. “What’s her name again?”