In Her Eyes

by Renée J. Lukas

  “Could you repeat the question please?” she asked. She never asked that before. It was as if she’d gone into a trance when the moderator asked her position on gay marriage. She was having some out-of-body experience, it seemed, and I was, in spite of myself, worried for her.

  “What is your position on gay marriage?” Came the question again.

  “I can’t,” she said slowly, “in good conscience, judge another human being because of whom he loves.”

  The crowd burst into a roar like a pack of wild animals. It was a defining moment.

  My jaw hung almost to the floor, as I watched in surreal, spinning awe. Was I right in believing deep down that she’d never changed? My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the blood rush to my ears. She’d used the word “conscience.”

  Of course Jerry Johnson and Myron Welles, her opponents, rushed to condemn homosexuality, using words like “abomination” and how anti-gay their legislation would be. But I couldn’t hear any of them. I only saw Robin’s face, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling. Her stone-cold expression revealed nothing, and she seamlessly went on to talk about other issues. But that would be the one that might very well sink her career. I knew it, and I’m pretty sure she knew it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Adrienne

  “Holy shit,” I kept saying, sitting in front of the TV.

  “Folks here are calling this debate one for the history books.” The reporter was beside himself. “Governor Robin Sanders has just backed down, changing her position on gay rights…the woman who once proposed a bill to fine gay couples for public displays of affection.”

  The recap was as dramatic as the debate. Every pundit seemed to be wetting his or her pants.

  For Robin Sanders to say she couldn’t judge gay people was like the Pope wearing leather pants down the streets of Rome. It wasn’t something that was ever going to happen.

  When it did, nobody was more shocked than I was. I paced around the apartment, wondering if I should call her, but I scrapped the idea as soon as the news showed her big motorcade leaving the site of the debate. It reminded me how we lived in two different worlds.

  I stared at the screen, my eyes glazing until I was looking through it. I wondered what would’ve happened if I’d turned it off before hearing her answer, before seeing the cassette tape in her hand. I quivered inside, seeing it again in my head. She held it up for me, the mix tape I’d made for her in college. You have to be strong, Adrienne, I told myself. I knew what was and what wasn’t possible.

  Oh, she was like a fucking song I couldn’t get out of my head…all my life. A ghost, she was, haunting my life.

  I was vaguely aware that one of her spokespeople was being interviewed immediately after the debate. They wasted no time. I somehow snapped myself back into reality.

  “No,” the spokesperson argued. “She said nothing about changing her stance on gay rights. She said she’d review everything that comes across her…”

  “You have to admit this is quite a departure from her usual…”

  “It’s not a departure,” the spokesman, who was sweating profusely, interrupted. “To say you’ll consider carefully everything that comes across your desk isn’t suddenly condoning homosexuality. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Her comment about evolving on that issue…what about that? It seems she made a bold statement tonight.”

  “Look, I’m not going to analyze every word she said. Governor Sanders’s position on gay rights, gay marriage, has always been quite clear.”

  I popped open a cold beer from the fridge and raised it toward the TV. “To you, Robin.” She’d come a long way, and I liked to think I had something to do with that.

  * * *

  My friend Jerry called first.

  “What the hell was that?” he said. “Did you see?”

  “I saw.”

  “Does this mean you and her—”

  “No.” I was quick to shut down the idea of an “us.” Jerry knew I’d gone to Atlanta, and that it didn’t really go well, but I was sworn to secrecy about Robin coming to Boston. Nobody knew about that.

  It seemed that I was the catalyst who helped her move toward the person she wanted to be, as she’d done for me. Later I’d learn that it was actually her film class friend Andrew. She’d found out that he died tragically in Mississippi, on his way to Biloxi with his new husband.

  Andrew didn’t die in vain. His life meant something. More than he’d ever know. He was the one, the memory of him, that made Robin choke on her rehearsed words at the most important debate of her life, the one whose memory made her say things she never thought she would say. Because of him, she couldn’t turn her back on the LGBT community. Never mind me—it was something about Andrew that made her stop her charade. For that, I’d always be grateful to him, even though I didn’t know him very well.

  “Why are you blowin’ it off?” Jerry persisted.

  “You’re such a pain in the ass.” I heaved a heavy sigh. “You don’t get it. Look at her world and look at mine. Even if we wanted to, we don’t go together.” After a pause, I added, “I’m proud of her, though.”

  “Shit, Drew. You’re not just proud. You love her.”

  I hated it when he tried to be deep. Even with his songs, he fancied himself some kind of philosopher. “The smartest thing you can do in this life is admit it.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Remember when you came by the station?” he said.

  “You lost me.”

  “The radio station where I used to work. When you knew that college wasn’t your thing, you came to the place you knew you’d find the truth about yourself.”

  A longer pause while I tried to figure out what the hell he meant.

  “Your song writing destiny!” he exclaimed. “It’s the same thing with her. I mean, with Carmen gone and all, I didn’t wanna say it, but you’ve always…”

  “Stop. Stop it right there.” I was shaking inside. I couldn’t let him finish. Even if he was right, I couldn’t face any part of my life that didn’t ring true, especially about Carmen. That would mean I’d have to live with the awareness that I was somehow a monster, committing to someone and sometimes cheating in my heart, though I was still on the fence about whether or not that was a real sin. I mean, how many people fantasize about other people when they’re with their partners? But I loved Carmen. I did. Maybe I was afraid of committing to her at first, but I did love her.

  I ran my hand through strands of hair, sticky with sweat. It was the hottest day we’d ever had in Boston. I might as well have been living on the sun. At least that’s what it seemed in my memory. Funny how your memory narrates the way you felt at a certain time, whether or not the details are right. Who knows, it could’ve been thirty fucking degrees outside. But I was burning up, watching that debate and talking to Jerry, my conscience, a chain-smoking sex maniac.

  I opened a couple of windows to let in the night air, and also so I could breathe a little easier.

  “You think she did it to let you know she’s…ready?” He was funny when he wasn’t sure if I’d clobber him.

  “I have to go.”

  The lure of her silky voice…

  “You owe it to yourself to find out.”

  The curve of her hips, gently rocking against me…

  As I started to end the call I could hear him yelling not to hang up on him. He knew me too well.

  When I sat back down on the couch and tried to get my bearings, I realized I’d never have my bearings again. What were “bearings” anyway? I was, and had been for some time, in a permanent state of disorientation, not knowing where the ground was, where the sky was. About all I was sure of was where I kept my guitar and the immediate need I felt to let this chapter of my life go so that I could really, finally, start to live again.

  I had to remind myself it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t love her because she batted her eyelashes at
me. I loved her because I had no other choice.

  Damn her! She’d done it to me again. She gave me this unforgettable night and with it a shred of hope. Then returned to a life that couldn’t include me. Then she’d find a way to make that life work even after the debate, I knew it. I’d be left with nothing but another twisted, screwed-up memory that had no basis in reality. I had to meet someone, connect with someone who could really be someone to me. Robin couldn’t and wouldn’t. I was sure of that.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Cory

  I knew I was going to have to ask Adrienne more about the debate or, as she had just called it, “the day the earth stood still.”

  Before doing the interview with her, I’d brushed up on as much information as I could, devouring all of the videos and interviews I could find around that time on the Internet. I found one of Larry Huff, the spokesman for the Sanders campaign, leaving the studio with shouts from reporters at his back. He was wiping his face and neck with a handkerchief. A silver-haired veteran of political maneuvering, Huff seemed to be far off his game that day. His demeanor suggested he’d never dealt with anything quite this tricky before.

  Some behind-the-scenes footage from the archives left some very revealing moments:

  “Who the hell are you?” Huff asked a young, nervous intern standing helplessly nearby with a lanyard around his neck, looking like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be. Huff blew past him and ripped off his own badge, letting it fall to the floor.

  I wondered what had happened to that intern, a guy like me, trying to move up the career ladder. What a night to witness. And did he stay in politics? I’d never seen him since.

  From all the videos during that time, it appeared that all the networks were centers of chaos, trying to explain and analyze what had happened. And apparently, Robin was far removed from all of it, riding in a quiet limousine back to the mansion in Georgia, although I’d imagine it couldn’t have been a very quiet ride inside the vehicle.

  I’d read what the unauthorized biography of Robin Sanders said about this night:

  There was always peace in the quiet, space to let her thoughts play and take her wherever they would. Tonight they would take her to Boston, to the place where her lover, Adrienne Austen, lived. After the debate, Robin had planned to surprise her lesbian lover by returning to Boston. But first, she’d have to face her family. And make a public statement. While everyone was on TV blathering about what she did or didn’t mean, said or didn’t say, no one had yet heard from Robin Sanders herself.

  According to Danielle Haversten, the security person who escorted Robin Sanders into the mansion that night, her daughter Kendrick was the first to meet her and tell her she was proud of her.

  “You’re beautiful,” Robin told her.

  Kendrick wasn’t an effusive sort of person, but tonight was different.

  According to Haversten, that night after the debate went like this:

  “Where’s your father?” Robin asked, her heels echoing across the tile floor.

  Kendrick told her that he’d gone into the study, and she hadn’t seen him for a while. She gave her mother a peck on the cheek, then a thumbs-up before going upstairs.

  Robin smiled warmly at her, watching as she ascended the grand staircase. But there was no place in the governor’s mansion that was safe from the sounds of the confrontation between Robin and her husband Tom Rutherford.

  Tom had been drinking brandy since the debate. When she entered the study, their conversation could be heard by the entire staff.

  “Congratulations,” he said sarcastically. “You lost the presidency.”

  “Now, Tom,” she began, as though she were soothing an unruly child.

  “At what point did you decide to give up?” he asked bitterly. “Because, uh, you know, I thought we were in this together.” His words were slurred with alcohol.

  “It wasn’t a conscious decision to say what I said tonight,” she spoke in a hushed tone, though it didn’t matter, careful with each word. “I couldn’t repeat the same talking points. I couldn’t do it.”

  “As if I don’t know why the sudden change of heart!” His words thundered outside of the study.

  “Tom,” she countered in a calming tone, “Lord knows I have my faults. But I never planned to change anything about my campaign. There, under the lights, it all sort of…happened.”

  There was a long silence, a feeling about this night—it seemed to be a point of no return.

  “You used to look at homosexual couples and say they should have their own state!” He laughed a raging, ironic laugh.

  “I was speaking out of fear,” she countered.

  “Fuck it! Fear…”

  “I need to go away for a short while,” she said.

  “Of course you do.”

  “I need you to look after Kendrick. I’m going up to pack and I don’t want you in the room tonight. It’s obvious you’re in no condition to talk.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t talk to you. I don’t even know who the hell you are!”

  The unauthorized biography included what the author claimed was an excerpt from Robin’s diary. No one knew how it was obtained or if it was actually from her diary—if she even had one. It read:

  The familiar street in Boston where Adrienne’s apartment was waiting. Anticipation rose inside me, as the memory of my first visit here made my heart begin to pound. I walked faster, as my security detail struggled to keep up. I’d made them park around the corner. I didn’t want them to be so conspicuous—not that I cared anymore. All of the things that used to matter so much to me simply didn’t matter at this moment.

  I hadn’t thought through my next steps the way I always had, everything planned like a chess game where I had to make sure my strategy was always a winning one.

  Not now.

  I was letting my heart guide me to this city, Adrienne’s city, and whatever life had in store for me.

  I felt so light, practically flying up the stairs. When I reached Adrienne’s floor, I tried to catch my breath. In my haste I hadn’t considered the possibility that Adrienne might be out this afternoon. If that was the case, I’d leave a note, call her from my hotel. I laughed a giddy laugh to myself, deciding I’d figure it out as I went along, something so far out of character. But I didn’t care.

  I rang Adrienne’s doorbell.

  There was a long silence before I heard footsteps and finally saw her on the other side of a half-open door. She wore a thin Patriots jersey and shorts, and her hair was tousled, falling in her face. She seemed genuinely surprised to see me there.

  “Wha…?”

  I laughed. “You at a loss for words? I would never believe it.”

  Adrienne seemed stunned.

  “You saw the debate?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well?” I smiled. “I’ve been told it was my most memorable performance.”

  “I was proud of you,” Adrienne said, unusually restrained.

  I was pleased, though, to see how obviously surprised, and moved, Adrienne seemed to be by my spontaneity.

  Then a woman in her underwear strolled behind Adrienne in the apartment, and for me, everything went black—a cruel, striking blow I’d never considered. I immediately fell from the clouds I’d been floating in for the past several hours, crashing to the ground with each stair I descended. I couldn’t get to the lobby fast enough.

  “Wait!” Adrienne called. “Hang on!” She raced to meet me on the last stair.

  I turned around. “Put some pants on.”

  “It’s hot in the apartment. The heater’s busted, I mean. It won’t shut off.” Adrienne reached for me, but I backed away, my knuckles white on the banister. I was crushed. There was nothing more to say. But I would have to say something before Adrienne could hurt me any more.

  “It’s not as though we committed to each other.”

  “I didn’t expect…” Adrienne struggled, her face riddled with
pain.

  “I realize that,” I said, glancing upward to the apartment. “You’d better get back to…whomever she is.” My haughtiness returned. It protected me when I needed it. I rolled my shoulders and lifted my chin. After all, I had to keep my pride above all else.

  I broke into a run through the lobby, unable to keep the tears at bay.

  “Robin! Wait!”

  But I kept going, willing my feet to keep moving. There would be no more thoughts of Adrienne Austen. It was, once and for all, over.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Adrienne

  I hadn’t thought that she had been making some declaration that included me. Yeah, her performance at the debate was great and shocking and everything I thought I wanted from her. But I didn’t fit in her life, and I knew it.

  I stared out my apartment window, expecting to see a motorcade out front. But there was nothing like that. Sometimes the big picture window was too big, especially at times like these. I was too exposed. No good place to hide. And the world was too large, confronting me like a familiar enemy. I wanted to crawl under the covers, but there was a virtual stranger skulking around my apartment. Her name was Sheila. We met the night before at a bar, when I was trying to convince myself that I could, and should, make a life without Robin.

  I remember standing at the window and laughing. This probably scared Sheila, who was gathering her clothes quickly behind me.

  “It’s all right,” I assured her.

  “I know, but I gotta go.” She brushed my cheek with a kiss and left.

  * * *

  I booked a flight to Georgia the next day.

  There are two kinds of people in the world—those who wonder about doing crazy things and those who actually do the crazy things. I knew which group I fell into, especially on the painfully long flight. I’d flown quite a bit over the years, but never had a trip taken as long as this one felt. Everything was in slow motion, the crackling peanut bags being opened by everyone around me, the lazy clouds floating outside my window as if they had all the time in the world. I was coming out of my skin, thinking of how Robin must have felt seeing another woman in my apartment, how I had to get to her fast, listening in my headphones to some lame recordings the band had done and planning to tell them to ditch them all and start over when I got back. It’s funny all the disconnected thoughts you have when flying. It’s as though your whole life is suspended for those hours up in the clouds.