Sure enough, Jeffrey’s name was prominently displayed when I checked the screen. I held up an apologetic finger as I stood. “Could you excuse me for a second? I have to take this. Work.”
“Try promising more outside seating options!” Jackie called after me.
I gave her an exaggerated thumbs up behind my back as I hurried out of the room and out on the terrace.
“Don’t tell me you’ve already managed to get bombed at a seventy-year-old politician’s party and need a ride,” I answered the phone by way of greeting.
“Very funny, Gwen.” The rolling of his eyes was practically verbal. “Do you remember Jane Winthrop?”
“The woman who manufactured another two years of status quo in a dying district? Vaguely.”
“Tell me how you really feel. Anyway, she cornered me and we got to talking about her maybe consulting on my campaign. She wants to talk it over more.”
I frowned. I had never met Jane Winthrop face-to-face, but her reputation was well known in local politics. She had recently bought Howard Saud his seventh consecutive term, despite a rather nasty scandal involving a 20-year-old page. She ran ruthless, cutthroat campaigns that got serious results. Her name was as synonymous with winning as it was with going negative. The thought of someone else impeding on my territory was… not a great feeling. At all.
“Are you sure about that? You’ve never been an ‘attack ad’ kind of person, and I’m not a fan of them myself. She runs scorched earth campaigns, Jeffrey.”
“I know, I know. I swear, I wasn’t even considering it when she approached me, but she made a good case. My poll numbers are good, but they’re not great.”
“They’re fine,” I snapped on instinct, but it was partly true. His lead over his Republican challenger, a greasy car salesman of a local entrepreneur who thought he knew better than the stiffs up in Washington, was slim and shortening every day. “Am I not doing a good enough job for you?”
“No, no! That’s not it at all! Don’t even think like that. You’re the one who said I needed to ‘diversify’ my approach.”
I didn’t have to see him to know he’d tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could physically do air quotes.
“Yeah, I meant by kissing more babies or going after non-traditional demographics, not running smear campaigns. If you were any other politician, this would be fine, but, well, you’re you.”
“I know that. I'm not even seriously thinking it it, but she offered and it seemed rude to tell her no right away. Can you please come talk to her? She wants to get together before eight.”
“Fine. Have her set up a meeting. If it’s at a restaurant, make it very clear to her that she’ll be the one paying. Okay?”
“I expected nothing less.”
I hung up without saying goodbye. I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease at the conversation, but I shoved it down deep. Jeffrey considering onboarding a consultant wasn’t personal; logically I understood that. Politics was politics. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting a little.
I made my way back to the table and smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re fine,” Jackie assured. “You seem upset though. Bad news?”
“Can any work-related news be good news?” I joked. “Unfortunately, Inow have a surprise meeting at eight.”
“Oh, well. Sorry about that.”
The disappointment in her voice was too poorly concealed to be disingenuous. I counted that as a win.
“Don’t be. That’s the nature of the job. Grinning and bearing the company of people I wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire and pretending to like gluten-free foods and the smell of old men are the bulk of my job description.”
That elicited a laugh from her. I grinned back, pleased by the pleasant spread of her plump lips.
“I guess that means you won’t be sticking around, huh? It’s almost seven, after all. Not much day left.”
I checked my watch and frowned. Shit, she was right. Where had the time gone? Had it really been almost two hours since I left the fundraiser?
“Wow, I hadn’t even noticed the time” I said in bewilderment. I smiled, looking slyly at Jackie from beneath my lashes. “You’re really easy to talk to.”
Jackie’s own pleasant smile turned shy and adorably dopey at the compliment.
Ugh. If me calling a grown woman any variance of cute and adorable was going to start being a thing, I was going to be very pissed off at myself.
Jackie lifted her glass to her lips to hide her smile, but I could see the edges of her lips curling upward behind it. Adorable.
Again: Ugh.
I slipped from the table and smoothed down my skirt, stalling for time. I grabbed my glass and downed the last of the wine in effort to stock up on liquid courage before I faced The Beast.
I placed the glass back on the table and smiled. “This was nice, especially given the day I’ve had. Enjoy your soda for one. Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime?”
The glimpse of the cheeky little fuck from before reared its head in her smile. Unsurprisingly, I was just as much into this Jackie as Adorable Jackie.
“Maybe you will.”
Jeffrey texted me that Jane had made the three of us reservations at Le Petit Paris.
Jeffrey: I know you don’t care for French but at least PRETEND to like it
Gwen: She wants to impress you by taking you to some high class French restaurant? I’ll order the most expensive thing on the menu and just not eat it. That way everyone wins.
The restaurant was lowly lit and full for an early evening. I spotted Jeffrey in a back corner talking to Jane Winthrop and made my way over.
Jeffrey’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Gwen!”
I smiled my paparazzi smile for Jane as Jeffrey pulled a chair out for me. “Sorry I’m late. I had a previous engagement.”
“Hope I didn’t bring y’all out of anything important,” Jane said with a sweet smile. Her Southern drawl made her voice spill like honey, and I hated that it charmed me.
Oh, but you did. “No, no, nothing important. Just drinks with a friend is all.” I smiled as I thought about Jackie’s shy smile, the hint of kittenish playfulness under all that sugar and coy. “I’m happy to be here.”
Jane’s eyes twinkled in the mood lighting. “Well, that ain’t true, now, is it?”
I smiled, surprised by her boldness. “No. I guess it’s not.”
A waiter stopped by our table with a tray full of drinks and placed a glass of sparkling wine in front of me.
Jeffrey took his own glass of red wine and smiled.“Hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you.” At my raised eyebrow, he explained, “Dover Sole Meunière?”
I sniffed. “Acceptable.”
Jane took a delicate sip of her wine before rubbing her hands together. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we. I hear y’all are going against that slimy little weasel Osten, that right? I’ve dealt with enough vermin in my day to know there’s more than one way to take ‘em out. You wanna win a campaign, and I wanna help you win.”
Jeffrey smiled politely. I was much more withholding in the face of Jane’s enthusiasm. Working with politicians for a living made one wary of any show of overly enthusiastic positive emotion, especially when you were being sold something.
I took a sip from my own glass and made my voice as pleasant as possible. “No offense to you, but what makes you want to help Jeffrey? Last campaign you ran put Pinkerton in the fed. State senate seats are a little small-fry for you, aren’t they?”
Jane leaned in and winked. “There’s no such thing as small when it comes to politics, sweetheart.”
I bristled at the pet name on instinct. Being a woman in politics had conditioned me to be wary of sweet niceties, intent be damned. I told myself to give Jane the benefit of being Southern and just a little too friendly for NorCal tastes.
I forced a smile and mirrored her by leaning in and lowering my voice as well. “I app
reciate the sentiment, but we’re politicians. We’ve manufactured enough bullshit to smell it when it’s being served to us.”
She threw her head back and cackled. “Oh, I like you! I like you just fine! Okay, you caught me. A little birdie told me y’all was needing some help on the campaign trail and might be interested in picking my brain a little. ’Course, I didn’t want to make any commitments until I checked you out for myself. I like your message, Jeff.”
Jeffrey’s brow furrowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Winthrop—”
“Oh, sweetheart, Mrs. Winthrop is my ex-husband’s shiny new twenty-year-old wife’s name. Call me Jane.”
Jeffrey laughed, surprised. I smirked in spite of myself.
“Jane,” he corrected, “thank you, but I’m a little confused. Who told you I was having trouble?”
“Why, your father did, of course.”
His father. Of course.
Of course Dick Crawford thought I wasn’t doing an adequate job. That man would rather keel over and die than acknowledge my hard work.
A comforting—or, more likely, restraining—hand was placed on my knee under the table. Jeffrey shot me quick apologetic look. I ignored it in favor of flagging down a waiter to get a refill.
“Oh my, it seems I really stepped in it, didn’t I?” Jane groaned and shook her head. “I was certain he had told you both. Surely he had nothing but good intentions in mind. From what he said, he just thought you could use a little help.”
“And did he tell you Jeffrey already has a campaign manager?” I asked coolly.
She shrugged. “Of course he did. Said you two were a regular power couple. He was under the impression it wouldn’t be a permanent arrangement, though.”
“In what way?”
“Aren’t you considering running again?”
I reached for my glass on instinct, only to remember it was empty. I gripped the neck for strength instead.
Ever since Senator Shelby announced he would be stepping down next cycle rumors had been flying around as to which Democratic congressman would pick up his seat. Somehow my name got involved in all the whispering. Luckily the chatter hadn’t made it past Capitol Hill, but that barely controlled the headache.
“I’m not thinking about that right now,” I said. “I’m focused on Jeffrey’s campaign.”
“Of course! That’s all that matters now, right? I just think your father-in-law wants to keep all avenues open. You know how Dick is, always looking twenty paces ahead of everybody else.”
The effort to calm everyone’s nerves was a successful one, I had to admit. I could see the manager coming out of her in subtle yet powerful ways. Under different circumstances, I’d be more charmed than passively impressed. These was not those circumstances.
Jeffrey, ever the politician, smiled without giving anything away. “I know, I know. Still, I hope you can understand that this has thrown us for a loop. We’ll have to get back to you on that offer.”
Jane reached across the table to pat his hand. I tried to reconcile the sweet, slightly hunched over woman in front of me with the cutthroat manager who’d once dropped an incumbent’s approval rating to single digits.
“You take all the time you need to, sweetheart.” She downed her glass and gave a satisfied sigh. “In the meantime, how’s about ol’ Jane buy everyone a round of these little fruity things here?”
The second the dinner ended and we’d both shaken Jane’s hand and thanked her for the evening, I demanded a trip to Starbucks to calm down. Perhaps knowing all of this this was partially on him, Jeffrey silently obliged and called a Lyft.
“I can’t believe your father would do something like this,” I said for the thousandth time as we waited in line at a packed Starbucks.
“Come on, you don’t mean that. You know this is exactly something he would do,” he joked nervously. If I wasn’t preoccupied with fuming, I would’ve thrown him a pity laugh.
Even before Jeffrey and I divorced, my relationship with Dick Crawford wasn’t sunshine and roses. Dick, a staunch Reagan Republican, never understood why his only son shacked up with a bleeding-heart liberal in the first place. Jeffrey’s political stance changing and our divorce was all it took to to send that last, shaky bridge crumbling down.
Every time we were in the same room together, he managed to bait me into an argument, political or otherwise. I wouldn’t be surprised if I developed early onset arthritis from how often I’ve clenched my fists over being called “honey” while debating the merits of increased funding for public transportation.
Jeffrey’s relationship with his father was entirely different, though no less strained. Dick used to call him his “favorite neocon,” an affectionate and derogatory pet name that perfectly summed up their mismatched relationship. Where I was quick to get in Dick’s face at the slightest quip, Jeffrey was passive and far too accommodating. As depressed as he had been when I came out to him and asked for a divorce, I would bet anything he was equally relieved to not have to play referee anymore. Or, at least, to not have to play it as much.
“I’m going to talk to him.” Ugh, even saying it made my fists clench involuntarily. The scrawny teenager handing me my black coffee looked as if he wanted to bolt.
“Gwen—”
“Don’t defend him. You know he’s wrong about this.”
“Of course he’s wrong. I’m not saying he’s not.” Jeffrey took his own decaf from the kid with an apologetic smile. “I just think we should be calm about this.”
I scoffed. “Calm about this? Are you kidding me right now?”
He opened the car door for me and closed it after I got in even as I stared daggers at him from a foot away. I was grateful to have someone in my life who handled my explosive temper with poise and only a little bit of exasperation. I reminded myself of that so I wouldn’t throw the contents of my cup in his face when he spoke again.
“You two bring out the worst in each other. If you go over there now, you’ll just end up fighting, and nothing will get fixed.”
“Who says I’m going over there to fix things?”
“Gwen—”
“Fine, I won’t go.” I sipped my drink and rolled my eyes. “But if I can’t talk to him, you better.”
“I will.”
“Tell him this isn’t any of his business and that I can handle this campaign just fine on my own.”
“Yes, dear.”
I cleared my throat and give him a sidelong glance. “You do know I can handle this, don’t you?”
I turned toward the window and away from his softening eyes. I hated that Dick could still make me question myself after all this time. I was a damn good campaign manager, I knew that. Still, it didn’t hurt to have a little validation.
“Of course you are. You’re god’s gift to politics.”
I smiled in spite of myself “Don’t flatter me. You’ve already got my vote..”
“I’m not. I’m deadly serious.”
I waved him off with flippant shake of my hand. “Stop. I’m trying to be mad at you.”
“I’ll talk to my dad, I promise, but I’m telling you nothing is changing here. You are my campaign manager, not Jane. Not anyone else. So long as you’re up to it and keep getting the results you’ve been getting, you’re my pick.”
The earnestness in his voice and face did a lot to quell some of the rage still boiling inside of me. Even so, after all that fuss, I wasn’t about to just forgive him so easily. I had a reputation to uphold, after all.
“Fine,” I said with a long-suffering sigh. “Tomorrow you talk to Daddy Dearest while I go chat up this piece for the Herald on how great you are. Fair trade?”
“Fair trade.” He laughed and patted me on the arm.
My condo came into view. I shouldered my purse and rattled on without missing a beat, “I emailed a copy of your schedule to you and put a reminder on your planner. You’ve got WKRZ tomorrow at nine. I’ll come for you at eight. Do not be late.”
“Should I—”
“Be ready to leave at exactly eight. Not up at eight. Leave at eight.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “What would I do without you, Gwen?”
“Die, probably. Certainly not get reelected, which is arguably worse.”
We rolled to a stop in front of my building. I got out and smoothed down the front of my skirt. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and scrub this stressful day off me.
Jeffrey rapped his knuckles against the inside of the car door. I bent down to where he’d slid across the seat to lean out and look up at me.
“I’m gonna handle this, okay?” he said. “Don’t be mad anymore. Though I know you like being mad about things.”
I gave him a half smile for his troubles. There was something to be said about the man’s patience. Listening to your dad and lesbian ex-wife go for each other’s throats constantly couldn’t have been easy on him, but dammit, the man was a pro.
“Don’t wear that tie that I hate,” I said, far too affectionately.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” he replied with a sympathetic smile before letting me slip back into my sanctuary for a warm bath and a stiff drink.
Two
Jackie
“So, how was it?” my best friend and roommate, Olivia, asked the moment I walked through the door.
I groaned loudly enough for her to hear me over the pumping of whatever new age mood music she was blasting from the TV. Olivia had been my best friend since forever, and she had been there to help me after my torn ACL ended my career three years ago. If it wasn’t for her, I would be an even bigger mess than I already was. I loved her, I really did. Didn’t love the nosiness, however.
To buy some time, I played dumb. “How was what?”
“Oh my god, don’t pull that. You know what! How was your swanky lady-loving club?”
When one of my old teammates from the San Francisco Sonics had slipped me that sleek little black-and-gold card for The Rose, I had been hesitant. I could count the number of people who knew I was out on one hand, ReeAnna being one of them—and one of the few ex-teammates who didn’t still bear a grudge against me
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