On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  “I do,” he said, still sounding unconvinced. “I guess I don’t see the point if they’re just going to treat me like a kid.”

  “I understand that plight, probably more than you realize. They still see both of us as children of powerful political parents. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, some people can’t quite separate the fact that we grew up.” I was happy to see him nodding his head.

  “But it works in your favor. Just after you left the center, Mrs. Mancini called my mother. You’re going to be seeing a lot of her. She’s volunteered to be on the campaign committee. Same goes for the elder Dr. Bishop and a few other seniors you met with today. That’s what I’d hoped for, Cooper. These visits work, whether you agree with them or not.”

  “Really?” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Mancini’s probably volunteering just to keep trying to fix me up with someone. I could barely get a word in edgewise today without her shouting ‘What about my granddaughter?’ from her seat.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I paused. Well, you do need a girlfriend . . .

  “I see the wheels turning,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “She’s a runner, like me, tall, also like me, loves the outdoors, card games, and dancing.”

  “Like you,” I finished.

  “Yes, sounds perfect, right?”

  I schooled my features, plastering on a bright smile. “Yes, actually.”

  “She’s a sophomore. In high school.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. “Yeah, not good.”

  “No! But she’s nothing if not persistent. I’m starting to see why Enrico has been hammering me about finding someone serious.”

  I stood, slipping my feet into my shoes. Walking around the desk, I leaned against it to be next to Cooper.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” I said.

  He straightened to his full height, towering over me. Good thing I wasn’t intimidated by his size. Staying in my position, I looked out toward the door. This topic had been tough enough to discuss the first time. For me to bring it up again was surely going to be awkward.

  “Talk about what? I’ve been doing everything you’ve said. I’ve followed every direction,” he sputtered, coming across defensively.

  “Fixing you up,” I blurted out, forcing my eyes to stay forward. “That’s the one part of my campaign plan we still need to put into action. While people’s opinions are starting to come around, you’re still seen as a playboy, and that’s never good, Cooper. I just overheard two women gossiping at the pizza place the other day because they saw you on the news. And it wasn’t about your campaign plans—frankly, it was the opposite of what we need them to think when they first see you. It can’t be ‘I hope he’s great in the sack.’ ”

  I hazarded a glance up at him. He had turned and was focused on the wall behind my desk now. A credenza was against it, filled with photos, a similar setup to what my father had in his office two floors down. The photos might have been different, but the intent was the same: to share our best moments with anyone who came into the office.

  One was a double frame of my parents and me. On one side was a photo from when I had graduated valedictorian from Hope Lake High; on the other was one from my magna cum laude graduation from the University of Pennsylvania. A silver filigree frame had one of me, Nick, Henry, and Cooper from the nature preserve before we’d left for college. We’d been taking turns sailing off a tire swing and landing in the still chilly lake below. Many of the other photos that lined the credenza were of the four of us: different scenes throughout our lives, when things had been simpler and less complicated among us.

  But my favorite was from the first summer the four of us had been back home permanently, when we had planned the annual Fourth of July festival. It seemed like just yesterday, but when I did the math, I realized it had been just over six years before. It was actually the only photo on the table that was of just Cooper and me. We were lounging on a blanket in the middle of the park as fireworks exploded in the darkening sky. His arms were outstretched behind him, and I was leaning on his shoulder as we faced away from the camera.

  “Who took this?” he asked, walking over to it and holding up the dark frame.

  I smiled, remembering finding it on my desk one morning so many years ago. “Your dad. He gave it to me the day you started working here.”

  “Really? I’ve never noticed it before,” he said wistfully, setting it back down. “I thought someone took a photo, but you—”

  “Said that it was the flash from the fireworks,” I said, smiling at his expression of wonder.

  “It came with a message, too,” I explained, remembering the card attached to the frame.

  “What did it say?” When he turned, he had an odd expression on his face.

  “ ‘Always remember the good times,’ ” I said, smiling at the memory. It was a simple enough saying, yet it was something I often forgot.

  Especially when it came to Cooper.

  “What were we talking about?” I asked, trying to bring the conversation back to less nostalgic topics. Walking down memory lane with Cooper never did me any good.

  “I believe you mentioned fixing me up.”

  How could I forget?

  “What are you thinking? Match? Winks? Whatever the apps are that find me the love of my life in thirty questions or less?” he said sarcastically, sliding his annoyed gaze over to me.

  I turned, adjusting the hem of my lavender blouse, which had rolled up over my skirt waistband. His eyes followed my hands as they smoothed it. “No, I don’t think an app is what we need here.”

  “So then what?”

  “This may sound like it’s coming out of left field,” I said, going back around to sit at my desk. Looking up at him, I could see the worry in his eyes, wondering what the hell I was going to suggest. “I’m thinking that the best option is to dive into your little black book.”

  It was as if every sound in the building had stopped simultaneously. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the copier running down the hall, the click-clack of shoe heels in the hallway. Nothing. It was complete silence except for the slight fish noise Cooper was making, his mouth opening and closing like a trout’s.

  “You’re kidding,” he said finally, sinking into the leather seat in front of my desk. He looked stunned, and I suppose that’s exactly what he was. When I thought about it, I sat much like he was, trying to work out if it was the right move. Nothing else seemed feasible in the time that we needed it to.

  “Hear me out,” I began, pulling out my notebook of thoughts. The word familiar was circled, traced over, and had lines shooting out of the top of it, reminding me that it was the key here.

  “You’ve dated. A lot.”

  He shifted in his seat, as if he was uncomfortable with the line of questioning. Which was funny because Cooper was never shy about his conquests. In fact, Cooper wasn’t shy about anything. Usually.

  “I’ve dated, yes.”

  “A lot,” I repeated, more for my own reminder than his. That was the part of his life that we needed to address to get the conservative voters on board.

  “Your point?”

  “We can’t have you prancing around with someone new. The voters will see right through that. You need someone you’re familiar with and, more important, who’s familiar with you. Your quirks, your habits, your . . . likes and dislikes. Preferably someone you still keep in touch with from the past. Someone who lasted longer than five minutes.”

  His chest puffed out, and he winked. There was a flash of the toothy smile. “I last longer than five minutes.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek and closed my eyes. For the briefest of seconds, I let my mind consider a snappy retort before I lassoed it back into a safe space. “This is the opposite of how this conversation has to go. Cut the shit, Cooper. Focus.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay, undivided attention.”

  “Let’s forget for a minute that I’m a woman an
d that your natural default seems to be to flirt. Voters aren’t going to be charmed by your blatantly suggestive behavior. Maybe a handful will, but that’s not what we’re going for. This has got to stop. You’re not going to win anyone over by acting like a horndog all the damn time.”

  He was taken aback, looking shell-shocked at my aggressive tone. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, it’s not appropriate.”

  “I’m not asking you to be a monk. I’m just asking you to think before you say something that is questionable. If you said the same thing you just said to me to anyone else, it would land you in a heap of trouble. Not to mention the fact that it would be splashed across the newspaper and social media.”

  “You’re right. I apologize.” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I didn’t really consider—I’m sorry.”

  We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence while I decided if I believed him. I sighed. “Accepted. Now we need to get back to the topic at hand: diving into your black book. We need to go through the list of possible girlfriends together. Narrow it down to the right person for the job.”

  His mood shifted, his nose flaring in annoyance. “No.”

  “Cooper,” I chided, trying to impress upon him the gravity of the idea.

  “No.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “No, Emma. You’re not getting that kind of information. I’ll find someone—as you pointed out—who’s suitable.”

  “You said you needed my help, Cooper. This is me helping you.” My voice pitch rose. I wasn’t in the mood to rehash the arrangement.

  “I did ask you for help!” he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “You were horrified by the thought, remember?”

  My heart jumped. Once, then twice, remembering his hopeful face that night at dinner when he’d suggested that I pose as his girlfriend. “I wasn’t . . . it’s just not . . . you didn’t let me explain. It just wouldn’t look right for the same reason people can’t know that I’m running the campaign.”

  “You’re the boss of the election. This isn’t the campaign. This is you poking around in my personal life and relationships. A territory that you’ve made clear you find repugnant. These are the lives of women I’ve been involved with, and I . . . I can’t go there with you. That is nonnegotiable. I’ll do anything else you want, but I’m not going through my past with you.”

  I nodded and remained quiet until I calmed down, my eyes trained on the crumpled paper on my desk.

  I hated that I felt like I’d overstepped. Obviously Cooper was stressed. Maybe I shouldn’t push the issue?

  But then I remembered that it wasn’t just me who thought it was a good idea. Virtually everyone thought Cooper needed to appear more stable in the love department. I needed to stick to my guns. But before I could tell him as much, he spoke.

  “Do you need anything more from me?” he asked, standing tall and walking to the door. Clearly he was finished with this conversation even though I wasn’t.

  “Remember, you’re meeting with the campaign staff tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “Mrs. Mancini’s, after your last event today. I know you’re swamped, but she offered to host. We need to discuss the upcoming debate at Hope Lake High. Especially making sure that you’re prepared for more off-the-wall questions.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  And with that he was gone.

  13

  * * *

  First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming,” I greeted the group, handing out packets holding campaign information. It was every bit of knowledge and then some that I could put into a folder. “I realize we don’t have a ton of time, but I think this is broken down into enough bite-size pieces that among all of us, we can really make a huge impact on the election.”

  When we had been deciding which trustworthy people we could approach to ask for help with Cooper’s campaign, a number of residents had come to mind. We hadn’t wanted the group to become unwieldy, so we’d pared it back to a half-dozen people I could trust not to spill the beans about my running the show: Nick and Henry, because they were as trustworthy as they came; my mother, because there was no way she wasn’t going to be included in something involving Cooper. My mother, because she couldn’t be left out of anything, and Mrs. Mancini’s next-door neighbor and equally hilarious senior citizen, the elder Dr. Bishop. And Mrs. Mancini herself, of course. If it was just those people, my, and now my mother’s, involvement would be kept out of the public eye. I trusted that no one would share that information with anyone outside of the group.

  We were having the meeting at Mrs. Mancini’s house because it was out of the way and she’d offered. Plus she was a hard woman to say no to.

  Mrs. Mancini, surprising no one, was a huge fan of hosting. Her house was on the opposite end of town from my parents’. Whereas they were on the mountainside, she was on the lakeside, nestled into the woods beside it with only one other house nearby. Dr. Bishop, our former town physician, lived next door and was graciously helping us, even though she was well on into her eighties. A staunch political maven who had helped campaign for everyone from U.S. presidential candidates to my mom for the PTA, she’d provided me with a number of helpful ideas when I’d met with her the week before. Her son, the current Dr. Bishop, was here, too, partially helping us and partially keeping his eighty-eight-year-old mother out of trouble. If she hadn’t been here, she’d have been on QVC buying food dehydrators or power tools. Her house could double as an appliance store.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s call this meeting to order! If you take a look at your individual tasks, you’ll see that the tasks are broken up by type and by week. Not everyone will be active each week, but every task will be. Cooper, it’s imperative that you follow yours to the letter. We’ve only got six weeks before election day.”

  He raised his hand. “Yes, Cooper?” I asked, shuffling pages around in my file.

  “Thank you, Miss Peroni,” he addressed me formally. When he’d walked in, it was apparent that he was still miffed by our black book conversation earlier. “Why are there photos of me from the Easter egg hunt in here for distribution?” he asked, holding one up as if it were evidence in a trial.

  I curled my lips in to smother a laugh. It was one of my favorite days from last year. My father was supposed to be in the bunny suit for the Lions Club’s annual Easter egg hunt, but he hadn’t been feeling well. Since the younger Dr. Bishop hadn’t thought it was wise for an ill sixty-year-old to be sweating in a heavy fur-lined bunny suit all day, Cooper had offered to fill in.

  Everything that could go wrong did. The bunny head had fallen off just as a toddler was about to sit on his lap. The sight of Cooper had made her explode with tears, howling and crying until her mother had come running over. Of course, at some point in his life, Cooper had dated and jilted the mother, so that had earned him a slap in the face.

  Add in the fact that he sat in melting chocolate so his pristine white bunny suit had a big chocolate ass. Overall, it had made the bunny portion of the day a categorical failure—yet it had humanized him in a way that the whole of Hope Lake appreciated.

  “It makes you relatable,” I explained, holding the photo up for everyone to see. “People think you’re just Cooper Endicott, great-great-great-—you know how many greats it is—grandson of Montgomery Campbell and the heir to the Campbell legacy. You grew up in the biggest house on the hill. Your mother is the governor. Not to mention the fact that you dress . . . well, like that,” I said, waving at his outfit. “People think you’re out of touch. Something like this shows just how much you care about the town and the people who live here. Prior to running for mayor, you were always volunteering, yet no one knew it. I’m not saying we EDtv you and document everything you’ve ever done or are doing, but we need to construct a carefully crafted message showing people that the Cooper they know—the one who grew up here, the one who moved back here after college, the one who’s dedicated his life to public service a
nd the betterment of the town—is the one who’s running. Not this caricature that Kirby is painting of you.”

  “Wait,” Cooper said, holding up his hand again. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “Nothing at all. But you’re in a very expensive suit all the time. It probably costs what I pay in rent. If I’m noticing that, someone like Kirby is going to notice it as well and use it against you. He’ll say that it shows you’re out of sync with everyone else because you’re a Campbell and that you can’t relate to Hope Lake’s citizens or their needs because of that. He’ll flip the narrative against you. Instead of the Campbell name being a selling point, it’ll be a liability as long as he’s writing the copy.”

  “You’re always so buttoned up, Cooper,” Mrs. Mancini added. “Loosen up a little. You need to come down a couple pegs to the rest of us.” She motioned for him to loosen the tie.

  Cooper laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll loosen up.”

  As if to prove a point, he tossed his bespoke jacket to the side and untucked his oxford shirt. In doing so, he showed off his toned, muscular stomach, making Mrs. Mancini blush. The elder Dr. Bishop whistled, her dentures popping out briefly.

  “Hey, now, come on,” Cooper called out, getting red in the face. “We’re supposed to be changing the narrative, remember?” He shook out his arms and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up.

  Inexplicably, my mouth dried up. I had never paid attention to his forearms before, what with their ropy muscles and dusting of light brown hair. “Um, wh-where were we?” I stammered, trying to look away without it being obvious.

  Judging by the way Mrs. Mancini was grinning, I assumed that I hadn’t been successful.

  • • •

  BEFORE COOPER LEFT FOR THE night, I pulled him into Mrs. Mancini’s small sewing room. I tugged the pocket doors shut and laid out the goals for the debate at the high school on Wednesday. Hopefully it would be a way for him to engage the teachers, the students, and the students’ parents all at once.