Domestic Affairs

by Bridget Siegel

  Billy, then in his late twenties, was the legislative assistant to an elderly congressman whom Aubrey, a young, self-proclaimed trophy wife, just a year out of UGA, had convinced to be the featured guest speaker of her event. Aubrey could convince anyone of anything without their even realizing they had been convinced. As far as Jacob could tell, even before she won the Miss Georgia crown, the spotlight seemed to follow her around. The universe is probably under direct orders never to let the light dim, Jacob thought, recognizing he had spent more time than he cared to admit trying to figure out what it was that made her unacceptable behavior so acceptable to everyone else.

  He was sure that it was more than just her pretty face framed by locks of always-perfectly-sculpted blond hair, though neither of those things hurt. It was something inherent in her personality. When she demanded things, people treated her as if she were doing them a favor. And as far as Jacob could tell, it was a talent she was born with.

  “She kept me working!” Aubrey’s mother was known to say. Which was actually fact, he had found out, not just a cute phrase. Aubrey’s mom had once told Jacob that she planned on being a stay-at-home mom but went back to work because when Aubrey was in the second grade, she had marched downstairs, one hand on the hip of her frilly beauty-queen dress, and announced that she would “no longer put up with a public school education.”

  “Charming!” people would say when the story was recounted by Aubrey or her mom. Spoiled and obnoxious seemed more like it to Jacob. But like all things Aubrey-related, that was not something one said aloud. He sometimes wondered if it was an emperor’s-new-clothes kind of thing.

  Habitat for Humanity, Aubrey admitted to Jacob on the way to an event years ago, was her least favorite of the social organizations.

  “I prefer anything with less dirt. But Landon really enjoys it.”

  And with that Aubrey had lasered in on the potential. The cause would have great mass appeal and the group was new enough that the Taylors could be a significant part in its growth, giving them the public platform they needed to get press coverage. Jacob wasn’t sure how certain Aubrey had been that she had found the perfect building block for a gubernatorial or even a presidential campaign, but Jacob was sure that selfish motivation was the driving force. Any alpha girl knew that you couldn’t reach the socialite apex without demonstrating real leadership, if not ownership, of a philanthropic organization. So Habitat it would be, and Aubrey walked into the organization just as she had entered the world of private schools: with the understanding that there was no other place she wanted to be.

  Together Aubrey and Landon were an unstoppable force, just as she planned. Landon organized the volunteers, adding legions of his students to the workforce, then managed the crews with a roll-up-your-sleeves-together motivation. Aubrey had tapped into her social address book, inviting everyone with a name or a checkbook to the “Raise the Roof Party” she had put together on the open field next to one of the houses Landon was building.

  By the time the first event kicked off, Aubrey had over five hundred people at the tented affair, all of them happily snacking on canapés arranged on pieces of lumber and Georgia peach pies on decorative step stools. She had raised more than five times the organization’s entire budget. She had astounded even herself with the speed and ease with which she and Landon took it over. In the third month of planning, with half the money already raised and the Taylors footing all the bills, the founder, a minister they knew well, insisted they list themselves prestigiously on the invitation as the group’s chairs.

  “Only if it’s helpful to the organization,” Aubrey had said, probably with her usual absurdly fake sweetness. She added in the next breath how “wonderfully perfect” Landon would be as the emcee.

  Taylor, then an unassuming adjunct law professor, was indeed the perfect emcee. He gave a rousing speech, saying, as Billy would recite verbatim, “We live in a world where we have taught our children to pick up litter off the street, but we have left them unconcerned with the man, the woman, the child on the street. It’s time to re-instill in the new generation the idea that the purpose of life is not just to enjoy the world they were left, but to leave that world in a better place for those around them and those to come.”

  Now, nearly two decades later, Jacob looked back over at Billy, who seemed to emphasize his own earnestness by nodding along with the parts of Landon’s speech he had written or just really enjoyed. Jacob wondered how Billy could still find fresh emotion in any of the speech. It was unquestionably one of the good ones in Taylor’s repertoire but Jacob could recite it himself, and Billy had to have heard it at least fifty more times.

  Billy turned his head and gave Jacob one of his typical knowing, fatherly looks. Jacob smiled and mouthed the words as the governor said them.

  “I may have stumbled across Habitat for Humanity, but Aubrey put it on the map.”

  Billy conceded a smile when Jacob mimed a hand wave and tilted his head, exactly mimicking Taylor.

  FOUR

  The day of tryout meetings with Governor Taylor came more quickly than Olivia wanted. She felt like she needed a month to plan for it. And at least another week after that to plan out her look. She slipped on her black Theory dress, which fit perfectly around her waist and hips and had a high scoop neck and knee-length hem that made it suitable for business. Her black Christian Louboutin stilettos, with their signature red soles that made Jimmy Choos seem cheap, finished out her look. She had gotten them in exchange for a scarf that Aaron and Angela, two of her favorite donors, had given her one holiday. She still couldn’t believe a pair of plain black shoes could cost $590. She could barely pay her rent.

  It was exchange only. And the shoes do make every outfit so much better.

  Of course, she probably shouldn’t have worn them as much as she did. Okay, she probably shouldn’t have run in them as much as she did. Her first boss in politics, Gabrielle, had taught her, among other things, Campaign Lesson #6: Always have walking shoes and standing shoes. Flats to walk in and Louboutins to stand in. It was actually brilliant in theory and Olivia really tried to do it, but the number of times she was running late, literally running late in the heels, far outweighed the times she was prepared enough to have the walking shoes with her.

  She looked at the clock. Seven fifteen. Shit. The first breakfast wasn’t until eight thirty but she really wanted to get there early and be über-prepared. She gathered up her binder and folder. Her type-A personality had gone over and above on this one. She had the governor’s schedule printed out along with extensive briefings for each of the six meetings. Each briefing had background info on the person’s business, family, and anything else she could find, as well as all the money they’d given to anyone ever. She actually liked doing the research; she’d been with the district attorney so long that his briefings lately consisted of her whispering a few key points to him as they walked into a meeting. She tried to skim through the pile of papers just to triple-check for mistakes as she left her building for a much-needed coffee.

  “Woo-hoo. Looking pretty there.” Harun, who held down the coffee cart outside her small walk-up brick building, was the cornerstone of her every morning. Not only did he provide the essential caffeination, but he always found something to compliment her on. Even when it was tough. “Looks like you’re working hard; good job, kiddo,” he’d say on particularly rough days.

  Her BlackBerry buzzed with a message from her sister: Good luck today.

  She knew that Marcy didn’t really want her getting into another campaign, but she was sweet enough to remember that this was a big moment for Olivia. Olivia also took the text as a warning: “I remember. Thus be prepared for a lecture or two to come on why political campaigns are bad for your health, ability to relate to the human race, and love prospects.”

  Thanks, Olivia wrote back, literally skipping down the subway steps. Nothing could deflate her glee on this day. She jumped through the open doors of the subway and chose to stand even thoug
h there were empty seats. She was too excited to sit. Olivia was the type of kid who always loved the first day of school, and this was that times ten.

  When she bounced out of the doors ten minutes later she wasn’t even fazed by the fact that she had gotten six new messages in ten minutes. She scrolled ahead to the two from Jacob.

  Jacob@LTaylor.com: How’d the 7 am go?

  Olivia felt a stroke of panic as she grabbed for her schedule and switched to the second message from him. Could she have read it wrong? Did she miss a meeting? The first meeting?

  Jacob@LTaylor.com: Just kidding. Have fun today.

  Olivia let go of the death grip she had on her papers as the blood flowed back to her fingers.

  LivGreenley@gmail.com: Soooo not funny. Almost had heart attack in subway.

  Jacob@LTaylor.com: Sorry, but it was a little funny.

  Jacob cackled as he threw away the empty Domino’s boxes and made his bed down in Atlanta. He pictured Olivia having a nervous breakdown outside of the Brinmore. She became such a spastic freak when she was nervous. He probably shouldn’t have joked with her like that. But he was in such an outrageously good mood. Having her staff the day was a total coup.

  After two weeks of talking every night on the phone, Jacob had convinced Sophie to come down to Georgia and visit. With a friend, of course, since Sophie told him two weeks was not sufficient time to warrant a weekend alone despite his argument that in campaign time, that was equivalent to at least three months. She and her best friend, Jane, would come down on Jacob’s air miles, of which he had hundreds of thousands thanks to campaign travel and no time to use them himself thanks to campaign work. He needed at least a day to clean before she got here. Which he would, of course, cram into an hour. He looked at his TV, embarrassed that his cable had been turned off. Even if he were trying to be organized, he probably wouldn’t have caught the bill or the second and third notices with all the traveling. And he wasn’t trying. Every once in a while he got the urge to get on top of his finances. Okay, well, that was really only when he started dating someone new or when he had been dating them long enough for them to get on him about it. It was too much to be organized for the governor and the campaign and then care about his own life on top of that. In fact some days he felt like a part of him was purposely rebelling by leaving his house a mess. It was the only part of his life that could be like that.

  Even a week earlier, Jacob would have never even thought about missing a trip with the governor—not even for his grandmother’s eightieth birthday party, which he’d skipped for work the year before. His grandma Lee didn’t mind, since Jacob was helping the governor, or “my Landon,” as she referred to him.

  But his anxiety about how the governor would accept his minutely concocted justifications for staying in Georgia had been unnecessary. The governor hadn’t even waited for the full explanation, complete with manufactured to-do lists. When Jacob had said Olivia would staff the day the governor answered with a simple, rarely heard, “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Olivia said to herself, straightening her posture to walk into the Brinmore. Jo was, as always, greeting and maneuvering people at the door. She smiled at Olivia; threw her a kiss; mouthed, “Hi, sweetie”; and motioned her toward the corner table in the lobby.

  “Crap,” Olivia muttered when she saw Governor Taylor sitting comfortably, already on the last sips of his orange juice and, from the looks of it, into at least his sixth newspaper.

  Why do all the candidates I work for have to be morning people?

  “Good morning, Governor,” she said as she reached the table.

  “Hello there, Miss Olivia.” He stood as he moved some papers off the chair so she could sit.

  “Early start to the day?”

  “I try to get up and run at six,” he said with that drawl. “Leaves me enough time to get to the papers before the meetings start. Though admittedly,” he added contemplatively, “it doesn’t always work.”

  Olivia resisted the urge to make a joke about running and tell him that she hadn’t run since high school soccer, as he suddenly appeared more formal and intimidating without Jacob by his side. She took a breath and composed herself.

  “So what do we have on tap today?” he asked, as if he hadn’t had a schedule faxed, emailed and handed to him at least four times already that morning. “Do you want a coffee?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Olivia hated eating or drinking at meetings, although she would have benefitted from the savings in food costs. She never knew what was too much or too little, and the men always deferred to her to order first. Usually she just got a Diet Coke, in meetings when it would be too awkward not to have anything.

  “We’ve got a full schedule,” she said, pulling out the folder and trying to sound her most businesslike. “I think some really good potential supporters.”

  “You feel good about it?”

  “Sure, of course.” She was unaccustomed to the question. Most candidates didn’t have time for or interest in how she felt about a schedule, or anything else for that matter. At the same time Olivia realized how proud she was of the day she had put together.

  “Great, great,” he said, looking at her as he flipped through the pages. “Thanks again for staffing this day. I’m so glad you’re coming aboard.” Then he paused and looked down at his BlackBerry. “I’ve just gotta make one call before eight–thirty. Billy—he’s my chief of staff. You’ve met him?”

  “No, not yet. Spoke to him on the phone though.”

  “He’s the greatest. Really good.” The governor began to dial.

  Olivia handed him the briefing and began to look around for Yanni, the first meeting. As she scanned the room, Jo caught her eye and came over.

  “Hi, Jo.”

  The governor, remembering his Southern manners even during the phone call, stood and kissed her hand.

  “Hello, hello,” Jo said in a motherly whisper, so as not to actually disturb the call. “We have you guys set up at a corner table in the main dining room whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks so much, Jo.” Olivia smiled.

  The governor had already gone back to his call.

  Olivia sat trying to look busy without making herself so busy that she would lose her focus on him. She used the time to study him, his voice, his movements, see if she couldn’t get into a rhythm that would assure donors it wasn’t her first day by his side.

  “Okay, okay, I understand what you’re saying and I have to go to these money meetings, but do me a favor, Billy, just check the wording in that bill. It’s the paragraph on top of page twelve I’m concerned with. I think we can do this better. Let’s get Senator Saujani on it too. She’ll help here.”

  A candidate who reads bills. Olivia hadn’t been sure there were any of those left and adored him for actually being interested in governing, not just the politics of it.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” he said as he hung up the phone and started to the table in the dining room.

  “Just one thing I wanted to be sure you saw on this first meeting.” She had watched the governor glance at his briefing but knew he couldn’t have read it through. “Most likely Yanni will talk your ear off on banking issues, but just in case”—she paused, trying to consider a euphemistic way to say it—“he’s had a bit of a family shake-up recently, so I’d stay away from the personal side of things.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying what?”

  “The short story is his wife just left him. For his brother’s wife.”

  “What?!” His eyes popped so far out of his head she had to giggle.

  “Governor.” A brusque voice called him over to a table off to the left as they walked, cutting her explanation short. It was Stephen Bronler, the king of BSDs. Though in his case, he was at least justified in claiming that title. He had built up a small film company from scratch and had become the ultimate titan of the movie industry.

  “Stephen!” The governor moved in for a big hug. “How are you, man?”
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  Stephen stood and threw his muscular arms around the governor. Though only an inch or two taller, he appeared to tower over Taylor because of his robust build. Olivia knew from having written countless briefings on him in the past that the cool mix of colors in his skin was a product of his Indian mother and Moroccan-Russian father. He confirmed her long-held belief that children of mixed ethnicities were, without fail, gorgeous. “Good, good. That production tax-credit law you signed for us in Georgia was huge.”

  “Win-win, man. We’ve had more state revenue off that bill than we ever imagined. If you hadn’t brought that to my attention we would have missed out on a lot of good money. You know they did The Blind Side in Georgia?”

  Olivia tried to slip into the background. She had worked with Stephen on the last presidential campaign but there was no way he could have remembered her.

  “You know Olivia Greenley?” Taylor asked.

  Olivia wondered if she had not kept her inner monologue to herself.

  “Of course,” Stephen said, moving forward and grabbing her arm. “This girl is a winner. You working for him now?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer to the somewhat awkward question, continued. “Why don’t you guys come in and see me tomorrow morning? Let’s talk about doing an event for you.”