Politically Incorrect

by Jeanne McDonald

There were only three people who might be calling me at this hour. It couldn’t be Harper. We’d already spoken. I doubted it was my ex-husband, Russell, because we rarely spoke, so that left only my daughter, Jordyn, who was probably calling to tell me she made it back to DC safe and sound.

  Per our usual holiday tradition, we’d spent the last two weeks in Dallas. Jordyn visited with her dad, and I, well, I spent time reading some Nietzsche and catching up on a years’ worth of lost sleep.

  I pressed the button on my steering wheel. “McNeal.”

  “Hey, Mom.” Yep, number three’s the winner.

  “Hi there, sweetheart. How was your flight?”

  Girls giggled in the background and Jordyn called out hi to someone. “It was fine. It snowed here last night.”

  I veered into the right hand lane, preparing to make my exit. “I bet you're excited about the fresh powder. I’m sure you and the girls will be heading to Snowshoe before classes start.”

  One of the things I both loved and feared when it came to my daughter was her obsession with extreme sports. Jordyn had never been afraid of anything and would try everything at least once. She loved to snowboard, surf, and skydive. Name anything dangerous and she was into it, as well as being damn good at it. When she was twelve, she broke her collarbone snowboarding. It scared the crap out of me, but it didn’t stop her. If anything it pushed her to try harder. I lost count at the number of broken bones she’d suffered, but I never got tired of watching her push herself to be the best. One might say, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. At least in my sport, death wasn’t a possibility.

  “We talked about it, but nothing’s set in stone yet,” she paused, “So…”

  My eyes cut to my side mirror checking the lane beside me. “So, what?”

  “How’d it go with sexy doctor-dude?”

  I dropped my head slightly, shaking it. “Terrible. All looks and nothing else.”

  Jordyn groaned. “No, really? His profile seemed perfect for you.”

  “It just goes to show that no matter how great people seem on paper it doesn’t mean they’re in fact a well-rounded person.”

  I spent a few minutes giving Jordyn an overview of my night, sparing her no detail. When I was done, Jordyn remained silent for a moment. A loud gust of air expounded from her lungs through the phone. “You. Can’t. Be. Serious.”

  A light laugh echoed in my chest. “I wish it were a joke, but he actually said that to me.”

  “What a peckerhead! Is he fucking blind?”

  “Language, Jordyn!” I didn’t mind my language, but my daughter was better than me and shouldn’t be using such vulgarity.

  She blew off my comment as any teenage girl would. “The guy’s a douche if he couldn’t see the gorgeous, sophisticated woman sitting in front of him. Frankly, he didn’t deserve your company.”

  Another laugh burst through my lips. “Sweetheart, do you think I’m offended by what he said?”

  “Aren’t you? I would’ve been crushed.”

  The gravel beneath my tires crunched as I turned down a long, winding road. There were very few streetlights, making it difficult to see, so I flipped on my brights. I was truly in the country now. Well, as country as the city of Dallas could get.

  “Pissed, sure, but he didn’t hurt me. He’s a small-minded person who doesn’t deserve another thought from me.”

  “How do you do it?” Jordyn inquired.

  “Do what?”

  “Let stuff roll off you so easily.”

  This wasn’t the first time we’d had a conversation like this, and I’d bet almost anything it wouldn’t be the last. Though, I never minded having a repeat occurrence with my daughter. All women needed to understand that independence wasn’t a dirty word. It was a key to womanhood and security.

  I curled my lips upward, contemplating my words carefully. “Hmm. It’s simple really. You have to like yourself, and you have to know who you are.”

  “That’s all?” Her voice rose an octave in disbelief.

  A tiny chuckle escaped me at her skepticism. She definitely was her mother’s daughter. Never take anything at face value. Look deeper. Understand everything. Then make your conclusion.

  “Think about it. When you like yourself what others say doesn’t matter because you already know the truth. I know who and what I am. The good doctor doesn’t. He attacked what he considers to be my shortcomings, because those are exactly the things he hates about himself. Age scares him. Being undesirable scares him. Simple-minded people attack what they fear. So, yeah, that’s it.”

  “I hope one day I’ll be as strong as you are,” Jordyn boasted.

  I scratched the top of my head and pulled up to the entrance gate of Lone Star Ranch, one of many estates belonging to the Harper clan. This was a place I knew all too well, having spent a great deal of time here with Harper during our business adventures. I rolled down my car window, only to be met with a burst of cold air mingling with the heat trapped inside my car. A deep shiver skittered down my back as I pressed the buzzer on the callbox.

  “You’re already stronger than I’ll ever be.” Which was the absolute truth. I couldn’t begin to imagine growing up in the electronic age where anything and everything you did could and would be caught on camera. That was something I incessantly preached to my candidates. A good rule of thumb to follow was if you wouldn’t do it in front of your grandmother, don’t do it in public. Plain and simple. People will catch you and they will always use it against you.

  A crackling sound came from the box and I heard a voice resonate over the speaker. I stuck my head out of the car and waved up to the camera to announce myself.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I just arrived at Harper’s. He called while I was on my date with Dr. Douche wanting me to come by to see a new potential.”

  “So, Uncle Harper rescued you from your date?” she teased.

  “For business.”

  “Right,” she drawled. “You know, Mom, I always thought you and Uncle Harper should get together.”

  “What?” I squelched through a snort.

  “Yeah. It’d be the perfect matchup. You know each other well. Besides, Uncle Harper’s hot for his age.”

  For his age. Good grief. Harper wasn’t too much older than me. Oh, to be eighteen again and think forty plus was old.

  The gates opened and I slowly pressed on the gas. My car moved past the entrance and the metal enclosures slid shut behind me.

  “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this before. There’s got to be a certain chemistry between two people for even an inkling of a relationship to work.”

  “I know, and you and Uncle Harper have chemistry.”

  “No, what we have is a warped form of sibling rivalry.” I laughed. “He’s like a brother.” Granted, Jordyn wasn’t lying. Harper was a pretty sharp looking guy for a man pushing fifty, but we’d known each other for far too long. The thought of anything happening between Harper and me was out of the question.

  “You’re probably right.”

  At the end of the long, winding driveway, stood a house that looked as if it belonged on one of the plantations in Gone with the Wind. Bright lights lit up the front, with its large pillars and dual winding staircases leading to the balcony and glittery windows. Though dormant due to the winter, the vines of ivy which grew up toward the roof added a shade of elegance to the abode. From what I knew, Lone Star Ranch had been in existence since 1902 when the Harper family struck oil. Money and crude flowed freely through Harper’s veins and this house was evidence of it.

  “I know I am.” I drove to the front of the house. “But anyway, I’m here. Can I call you back in a little bit?”

  “Just call me tomorrow. I’m about to crash for the night.”

  “I’m on a morning flight to DC, tomorrow. How about you just stop by for dinner?”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Goodnight.”

  I
cut the engine just as Jordyn disconnected the call. Reaching into the backseat of my car, I grabbed my leather briefcase and pulled my makeup bag from the hidden pocket. With the overhead light turned on, I quickly applied a fresh coat of lipstick and mascara. Not that I was the kind of woman who could be considered narcissistic, I had no time for that sort of self-love, but I was the kind of woman who knew appearance meant everything and the lack of lipstick could suggest scandal. So I never left home without it.

  I quickly combed my fingers through my golden tresses, giving my flattened hair a little bit of its former body back. A fingernail over my eyebrows ensured they were perfectly sculpted around my hazel brown eyes. My lips rounded in a satisfied grin with my appearance. I returned my makeup bag back to its hidey-hole in my briefcase, before tossing it into the backseat. Grabbing my purse, I slid out of the car, closing the door behind me. I buttoned the front of my frock coat and slipped my clutch under my arm. The sound of gravel crunched under my heels as I made my way to the front door of the Lone Star Ranch. My finger perched on the doorbell, I rang it and waited.

  God, this was turning into one long night.

  The door opened and I was welcomed by the elegant black and white tiles of the foyer. A large chandelier dangled from the raised ceiling above my head. I stepped inside the house, clutching my purse beneath my arm. Light sparkled around me in subdued hues, producing an elegance that only these old homes could. Engulfed by the warmth of the house, I released my grip on my coat and adjusted my black A-line skirt. With the tip of my fingernail, I brushed my bangs away from my face.

  A tall, slender man bowed his head in my presence. “Ms. McNeal,” resonated the butler’s New Yorker accent.

  “Good evening, Ivory,” my thickened southern drawl resounded. I’d spent so much time in Washington, DC that my Texas accent was pretty much non-existent anymore, but it never failed, when I returned home it reappeared in full force.

  Ivory adjusted the bowtie at his slender neck and closed the door. One last shiver skittered down my spine from the burst of icy wind that managed to slip past the door before it shut.

  “May I take your coat?” Ivory addressed me with polished social grace.

  My gut instinct was to wrap my coat tighter around my chest, but decorum wouldn’t allow it. I slipped my frock coat off my shoulders, juggling my clutch between my hands in the process. Ivory held his arm out for me to drape the jacket. With my clutch secured under my arm, I deposited my coat along his forearm.

  “Mr. Harper is expecting you in the den.” His white gloved hand extended toward the hall.

  “Thank you. I know where to find him. Bourbon in hand, I’m sure.”

  Ivory slipped a little chuckle, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as he realized I’d noticed. After all, it was unwise to comment, even if only a simple laugh, on his employer’s bad habits. I waved him off with a wink, letting him know his secret was safe with me. Ivory bowed his head and departed the area.

  Each step I took echoed as I walked down the long hallway toward the den. Even from the hall I could smell the pungent scent of cigar smoke. Harper was already in celebratory mode, which meant he knew he had a winner.

  To the side of the room, Harper stood in front of a blazing fireplace. Deep in thought, his arm rested on the mantle, a crystal glass, half filled with bourbon, dangled from his fingertips. In an ashtray, mounted on the mantle, a cigar burned but remained otherwise untouched.

  My fingers brushed against the dark, smooth wood of the den door. It opened with a creak. Harper lifted his head at the sound, and a sincere smile appeared on his lips. “Elizabeth.” The way he spoke my name seemed to linger in the room. His pale blue eyes sparkled in the firelight and his handsome, yet rugged features were merely accented by the warmth the fire provided. Dark brown hair, peppered with gray, and a chiseled jaw dusted with silver stubble. Harper had aged well over the years.

  He placed his glass on the mantle and extended his hands out toward me as he made his approach to where I stood. Dressed in his usual fitted jeans, cowboy boots, and starched brushpopper, he fit the perfect stereotype of a Texan. Over the years I teased him about his style, but he held true to his heritage. Just one of his many endearing qualities.

  “Harper,” I replied, taking his outstretched hands.

  “So glad you could stop by.”

  “As if I could ever turn down an invitation from the great Guy Harper,” I jested.

  Harper pulled me into a hug, holding me tight against his hard chest. For a man who was nearly fifty, he had the body of a thirty-year-old. A body that, as Jordyn would say, could melt the panties off any woman. Not that I ever understood that phrase. Never had I known a man who could melt my panties off. Nope, they typically stayed intact until I willed them to be removed.

  I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around him, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne mixed with the spicy aroma of the alcohol he’d ingested. The combination reminded me of home.

  “You’re not going to regret dumping your date for this. I promise.”

  I stepped out of his embrace and marched over to the mantle, snatching up his abandoned glass. In one gulp I downed the crisp liquid. “That remains to be seen. What ya got for me?”

  Harper chuckled at my abrasiveness, but didn’t hesitate. He stepped behind the bar and poured himself another drink. “So I take it you haven’t heard the news?”

  I placed my purse on the leather chair near the fireplace and walked over to him, presenting my commandeered glass for a refill.

  “What news?”

  Harper clapped. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me? I can’t believe you don’t know. This is a first.”

  Instead of pouring bourbon for me, as he had for himself, he grabbed the decanter filled with scotch and doled out two fingers full. “I must bask in this moment. I can’t believe the Queen of Politics doesn’t know…”

  I gritted my teeth. Harper knew how much I hated that nickname. I wasn’t the queen of anything. I just happened to be the best at my job. “Stop gloating and tell me what I’m missing.” I grabbed my glass, taking a swig of its treasures.

  Harper’s lips quirked in a ghost of a smile. “Thomas Bailey’s stepping down,” came his hushed voice.

  My glass nearly hit the floor from my shock. Somehow I managed to catch it without spilling a drop.

  “Nice catch.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “Nope. Christmas is a little late this year, or maybe it’s a little early, but either way, I’ll take it.”

  My hand shook with each word for emphasis. “Senator Tom Bailey is stepping down?” I asked in disbelief. “That man’s been in office since the dawn of time.”

  “Seems that way. But it’s true. He announced it about an hour ago, but I got the inside scoop yesterday. His wife’s Parkinson's has worsened, and a little birdy told me she’s dealing with dementia, too. They’re not giving her much time and he says they want to be home for her final days.”

  For a moment I actually felt sad. “I’m sorry to hear that. Doris is a sweet lady.”

  “She is and I feel for them, but do you know what this means?”

  I gulped down the rest of my drink, grinning on the inside while maintaining my solemn demeanor. “It means there’s a senate chair open for the taking.”

  “It does.”

  The glass in my hand clanked against the wood of the bar as I rested it for another refill. “And I bet this next drink you already have a candidate in mind.”

  He poured me a double.

  My laughter filled the room at winning my little wager. “Who is...he?” It was never good to assume that the suggested candidate would be male, but it was still the norm, even with the first female president currently residing in the White House.

  “He,” Harper confirmed, “is the perfect candidate.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, you realize you’re asking an impo
ssible task of me here. It’s not going to be easy to sell a Democrat to fill a Republican’s seat. I’m in for a heavy year if I take this on, which means,” I examined my fingernails, fighting back the grin trying to expose me, “this won’t be cheap.”

  Harper hummed in acknowledgement. “Is that so?”

  I lifted my shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “It is. So, I’m curious. Will your candidate be able to cover my fee or will he have someone bankrolling this venture for him?”

  Harper dropped his head back in laughter. “Money’s not an option with this one. I’ve got him covered.”

  “Interesting. So you really like this guy.”

  “He’s different. I think he’ll overcome the stigma. We need fresh blood, Bet, and fresh ideas. This guy’s got them. I’ve been following him for some time. He’s the real deal. The breath of fresh air that Texas and the democratic party needs.”

  Skeptical, I rolled my eyes. “Promises, promises. Tell me about him.”

  A smirk twisted Harper’s mouth. He pulled his glass to his lips and took a drink. “I’d prefer you to meet him,” he mumbled over the rim of the glass.

  I dropped down on the sofa, crossing my ankles and tucking my long legs back. “He’s here?”

  “Yup. I invited him here because I knew if I simply told you about him, you’d probably laugh in my face and turn me down. But just like Ross Cooperman, I know as soon as you meet him, you’re going to fall in love with him.”

  “Cooperman’s on board? You’re telling me that the DNC is giving him their full support?” A hint of shock and sarcasm peppered my tone. The Democratic National Committee in Texas was usually as skeptical as I was, so for Cooperman to actually be on board before I was even introduced to the candidate really had me suspicious.

  Smug as ever, Harper scratched his jaw and shrugged. “Full backing.”

  “Who the hell’s this guy that he already has the full backing of the DNC?”

  Harper placed his tumbler on the counter and strode over to the sofa where I sat. He reached across me to the phone on the end table. His lips twitched as he spoke into the mouthpiece, “Send him in,” and hung up. Crossing his leg over his knee, Harper leaned back and rested his arm behind me along the top of the sofa.