Conservative Affairs

by Scott, Riley

  John resisted the urge to hang up the phone. He needed to have Natalie’s word that she wouldn’t spill the beans. If Madeline wasn’t trying to cover up a secret, she had no reason to pay him off. “What’s it going to take for me to get you to drop this whole thing?” John finally asked.

  “I want her phone number. That’s all.”

  “No deal. What else?”

  There was an angry sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ve got in my hand the number of the guy who interviewed me from Channel 4.”

  John’s heart rate quickened as she read the number aloud.

  “You tell me what it’s going to be, John. I can call this number, or you can give me Maddie’s.”

  He had no choice, and if there was anything John hated, it was being trapped.

  “Fine. Don’t expect her to answer,” he said, reluctantly reciting from memory the number of Madeline’s work Blackberry.

  “That’ll be all,” Natalie said.

  He wanted to tell her that she was damn right that would be all. He never wanted to hear from her again, but she had already hung up. A dial tone buzzed in his ear, and he threw his phone across the room, watching it as it collided with the wall and shattered.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jacquelyn felt the effects of the wine flow through her like tiny fingers running up and down her body. At one point in her life, she would have insisted she was merely “tipsy,” but she was woman enough to admit that tonight she was drunk.

  She rose from her seat at the bar. Every night since the news of the affair broke, this little place called Larry’s had been her escape from the hellish time she was having.

  Sure, Madeline had returned to work—but did it really matter? She no longer interacted much with any of the staff—including Jo. She dismissed the importance of on-camera interviews unless they were in the form of ten-second sound bites.

  In fact, she had lost her edge. Her fire was almost totally gone when she gave speeches. Much as Jacquelyn would like to blame that on Jo, the speeches themselves were still good ones. It was the speaker who was at fault. The passion that had helped Madeline pull in piles of campaign donations three years ago had all but disappeared.

  At the same time, in a strange way, she appeared to be happier than anyone had ever seen her. She just didn’t appear to want to be mayor—or a mayoral candidate—anymore. She was slacking off, shirking her public duties, and people were beginning to notice.

  In light of her apparent apathy, Ian had questioned her about her intentions to run for reelection. He had recounted the event to Jacquelyn later with obvious confusion.

  “She says she wants to run, but she didn’t seem convinced,” he had told her, scratching his head. “She sounded like a parrot, repeating things she had said a thousand times before, and she wouldn’t look me in the eye. When I pressed, she told me that she couldn’t handle another major shift in her life right now and that she still has things she wants to accomplish in office.”

  The fact of the matter was that Madeline was being irresponsible, and Jacqueline had decided to follow suit. If Madeline didn’t care, why should the staff? Each night, she drank until she felt a little out of control, and then she took a cab home. Tonight, though, she was feeling a little more adventuresome. She wanted to take it a step further.

  “What would Madeline do?” she asked aloud to no one in particular, laughing at her own joke. Actually, Madeline would probably duck out of here and go hide out somewhere. Jacquelyn laughed at this thought too, hiccupping from the alcohol.

  She stumbled and fell into a man sitting at the bar.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, helping her back onto her feet.

  “Thanks. I’m good.” She smiled at him. He was pretty attractive, at least to her drunken brain, she thought. “Are you okay?”

  He smiled. “I’m fine, thanks. By the way, I think we have actually met before. I’m Isaac Williams. Do you remember me?”

  “Oh shit,” she said, covering her face. The TV guy was here. Was he going to run a story on what a drunken mess the mayor’s communications director was becoming? “I’m going home,” she managed to blurt out before turning to walk away.

  “Hey, wait,” Isaac called, slapping some money down on the bar to pay for his drinks.

  She continued walking until she was right outside the door. She would wait fifteen seconds to see if he followed, but if he didn’t, she would continue home. She started counting aloud. She was only at two when he burst through the door.

  “Jacquelyn,” he said as he reached her. “I just wanted to tell you not to worry. I’m not filming right now, and besides, I wouldn’t do that to you. You saved my job for me by calling me first that night.”

  His smile grew and she relaxed some. He wasn’t going to blow her cover. The last thing she needed right now was a public fall from grace. Even with Madeline’s apparent aloofness, it probably wouldn’t be long before Jo would get a promotion of some sort. The natural progression for speechwriters was to move on to becoming communications directors. For Jo to reap the reward of all of her ass kissing, someone had to get the boot. That someone was probably Jacquelyn, so she had been making sure to walk the line.

  “Thanks for not saying anything.”

  “Oh, of course,” Isaac said. “That’s the last thing you all need right now. I imagine life is hell for all of you.”

  “You have no idea,” Jacquelyn answered.

  “I’m living in the back of a news van,” Isaac said, pointing across the parking lot. “I think I probably have a pretty good idea of what hell looks like.”

  They laughed, and she leaned in close, drawing in his scent. It had been a while since she had stood close enough to a man to let the smell of his cologne linger on her senses.

  She smiled up at him. “You schmell good,” she slurred. “Either that or I’m drunk, but I think you actually schm…smell good.”

  He laughed and stumbled a bit. He was as drunk as she was—if not more so.

  “You smell good too,” he said. “And I know it’s not because I’m drunk.”

  “Oh yeah? Look at you, Mr. Sober Man.” She imitated his staggering walk.

  They both started laughing hysterically, and Jacquelyn leaned against the wall for support. After a moment, she caught her breath and turned to face Isaac.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, suddenly wishing that sober people could just ask the things drunk people did. Life would be easier if you could just say what you wanted.

  “Well, we do have a lot in common. I mean, we both smell good, and we both hate our jobs,” Isaac said, stepping closer to her so that their faces were only inches apart. “The real question is, do you want me to kiss you?”

  Embracing her new risk-taking side, Jacquelyn did not reply. Instead she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in to kiss him wildly and drunkenly. It was a sloppy kiss, but he didn’t seem to mind. He returned it just as wildly.

  A witty comment popped into her head, and she giggled, breaking apart their kiss.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Isaac asked, suddenly self-conscious.

  “No.” She was still laughing. Drunk Jacquelyn was hilarious, she thought. She loved when she made herself laugh. When she was sober, people said she wasn’t that funny. That’s why she had decided she liked being drunk, because then, at least she thought she was funny.

  “Well, then what is it?” he asked.

  “I was just going to ask if this was off the record.”

  He laughed, and Jacquelyn decided right then that she liked him. If he laughed at her jokes, that was good enough.

  Isaac caressed her right breast. “That wasn’t off the record, but this is,” he said, rubbing his hand in a circular motion.

  She let out a low moan. “Take me home, Isaac.”

  It was as simple as that. She was going to be dangerous, and she was going to enjoy it.

  * * *

  Jo had two envelopes sitting on her bedside table.
Her brightly illuminated bedroom and an unruffled pillow mocked the fact that it was three a.m. and she had not even laid down. Thoughts of the day’s events and her awkward lunch delivery continually played through her head. When her BlackBerry rang, she reached for it automatically.

  Answering the phone in the middle of the night had become routine in college—you never knew when someone had made a smart decision to call for a ride home after too many drinks. Jo had had a deal with her friends. If they called—and she wasn’t drunk too—she would come and give them a ride. Now, in the line of work she was in, middle of the night calls sometimes meant that there was an emergency.

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice filled the line. “I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “No…it’s fine.” Jo couldn’t place the voice. “I just needed to talk to you,” the woman said shakily.

  “Who is this?” Jo asked.

  “Please don’t hang up,” the woman asked frantically.

  “I’m not hanging up,” Jo said. “Who is this?”

  There was a moment of silence. Jo was tempted to hang up and put herself to bed, but she remembered the raw emotion with which the woman had begged her not to hang up. Compassion for the unknown caller filled Jo, even as tired as she was.

  “Hello?” Jo tried again.

  “It’s Natalie.”

  Jo had heard the name Natalie enough in the news throughout the past two weeks to have the name stop her in her tracks. There were a lot of people named Natalie, though, and there would be no way for John’s mistress to know who Jo was.

  “Natalie who?” Jo said, clearing her throat.

  “Maddie, it’s me.”

  “I think you have the wrong number,” Jo said, trying to steady her breath. She couldn’t imagine how anyone involved in Madeline’s personal life would have her work number.

  “Please don’t hang up,” Natalie pleaded. “I need to tell you I’m sorry.”

  And I need to tell you to fuck off, Jo thought. This woman had the nerve to screw with Madeline’s life so badly by sleeping with her husband and then want to say she was sorry. Jo was disgusted.

  “Look, I don’t know anyone named Natalie, and my name isn’t Maddie.” Jo’s voice had turned into a hiss. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.”

  Jo clicked the phone off, but as soon as she did, the same number was calling again. She answered and hung up without speaking. The truth seeped in. Madeline did, in fact, know the woman—enough for Natalie to call her “Maddie.” Putting the puzzle pieces of possibility together, she gasped. If this was the Natalie from Madeline’s college years, the threat of information leaking was much higher. Her heart was pounding, and fear of being outed warred for precedence over sympathy for Madeline’s broken heart. She couldn’t make sense of why anyone would have her number—or what that might mean about what else had been disclosed.

  Quickly, she dialed Madeline’s cell phone, not caring that it was the middle of the night, fears about someone finding out her secret beginning to fly through her mind.

  “Hello?” Madeline answered groggily, obviously having been woken up by the call.

  “It’s Jo. Who did you give this number to?” she asked, accusingly.

  “What the fuck, Jo? It’s three in the morning.”

  “I know what fucking time it is. But I just got a call on my BlackBerry. A woman asking for you, calling you ‘Maddie.’ What have you been telling people about us, and why are you giving them my number?” She was angry and trying to figure out what kind of games Madeline was playing at, diverting personal calls to Jo. She shouldn’t have to put up with this after everything she had already done.

  “I haven’t said anything.” Madeline sounded drained. “And you promised not to call me. Do I need to fire you right here, right now?”

  The threat didn’t scare Jo. Hell, it might be easier if she was fired. She glanced at the letters on her bedside table.

  “There’s no need for that,” she said stiffly. “But, seriously, did you say anything to anyone? Why is Natalie calling me—of all people?”

  There was silence. “You spoke with Natalie?” The question sounded as though it came from a wounded child.

  “I sure did.” The mix of anger, confusion and fear Jo felt erased all her inhibitions. “She wanted to apologize. Me, on the other hand, I have some questions I want answers to. Let me start with these. Is the Natalie who slept with your husband the same as Natalie, your ex? Because she sure seemed to think of you as a friend. And if that’s the case, why the hell is she calling me?”

  Madeline’s breathing had become uneven, and Jo felt hers match the pace.

  “She’s the same woman,” Madeline finally answered. “And I’m not sure how she got your number. I certainly haven’t spoken to her. John knew I was staying with a staff member, but he didn’t know who. I don’t know what else to say. I’m trying to absorb all of this as well.”

  “Okay. I think we’re done here. Thanks.” Jo knew the words were cold, but she was tired of turning the other cheek. If taking a stand meant being brusque and high-handed, so be it. She glanced at the envelopes and nodded, her decisions validated. Before Madeline could say anything in response, Jo hung up.

  So, John knew that Madeline was staying with a staff member, though not which one, and he had once had access to staff contact information. That wasn’t enough to explain things, though. Especially since the media had reported that the mayor was now living in a local hotel.

  She studied her phone, racking her brain for other explanations. As she fiddled with the buttons on it, she realized that her BlackBerry number and Madeline’s were identical except for one number and the digits that differed were one above the other, which could lead to misdialing. That would make more sense, especially with an upset caller, but it still left her unnerved.

  She was thinking about calling to apologize and asking if Madeline thought the call could have been the result of an accidental dialing of a five instead of a two when the phone rang again, flashing the same number on the screen. This Natalie was nothing if not persistent. Jo reached over and hit the ignore call button. She did it another dozen times before the caller finally gave up and she was able to slip into bed and try to forget the way Madeline’s voice still got to her.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Spanish tile gleamed, and the interior was breathtaking. There was an island in the kitchen where breakfasts could be served or friends could gather during a party. The living area was spacious, and the Jacuzzi tub in the master bath alluring. Yet all Madeline saw was the windows.

  There were windows everywhere. In this house, there would be no privacy—no chance of ever giving into the passions she felt. Even with the next house a good distance away, Madeline felt as if she were on display.

  It was Saturday, and she had gone to look at houses as she had promised Ian. This was the fifth she had seen, and though it was by far the nicest, it made her very uneasy.

  “I think it’s time for me to head to the office for a bit,” Madeline told the Realtor, trying to let her down easily. The truth was that she wasn’t ready to decide on anything yet, not with her whole life so up in the air.

  “Okay, well, please let me know if you need anything,” the Realtor offered, extending her hand for a handshake.

  “I will. Thank you,” Madeline offered as kindly as possible.

  She headed back to her car, still feeling unsettled. She wasn’t sure yet that she wanted to serve a second term as mayor. Or if she wanted to live in Oklahoma City anymore if she didn’t. What she would do with a whole house to herself anyway?

  To further complicate matters, Jo’s call last night was driving her crazy. The fact that Natalie had broken through to not only her personal life, but also to her professional life was as frightening as the way she had reacted to Jo’s voice on the phone.

  She drove back to the hotel, stopping for a bottle of tequila on the way. At some point, she had stopped caring about buyin
g alcohol in public, though she was careful about where she did it. In the shadier parts of town, no one even knew that she was mayor. They didn’t seem to care about anything as long as she had cash.

  The fact that she felt the need to take even that much care upset her, though. She was done worrying about all of this. It was time to hang it up, she decided. There would be no second term for her. She wasn’t sure how to break the news to her staff, but she was certain now that she was done.

  * * *

  Tired and frustrated from the previous night’s events, Jo stared at the envelopes on her bedside table, trying not to overthink her decision. She had been staring at them for the better part of the day, regretting that she’d have to wait until Monday to deliver them. If she weren’t afraid of having a face-to-face conversation in a hotel room with Madeline, she would march them over to her immediately. She needed out, and it needed to happen now.

  Working in politics was not the place for her any longer. She didn’t know what was, though, or where she’d go from here. She couldn’t keep living a lie, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Leading a double life was exhausting. She needed out of the spotlight and out of the line of Madeline’s confusing stares.

  The rain beating against her windows echoed the call in her heart. The day’s weather had gone from sunny and cool to rainy, dark and cold in an instant, a reflection of how she felt. It was time for a clean slate—time for everything to be washed away.

  She watched the rain stream down the window and, having come to a decision, felt the storm within her heart begin to ease. She could now freely admit to herself that she had fallen for Madeline Stratton, just as she could admit that it was a stupid thing to do. It was time to move on to a new job, possibly even a new city. Most importantly, it was time to move on from Madeline.

  A knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts. She got out of her chair, no longer surprised by the arrival of guests at odd hours. Her apartment had become the go-to spot for confused or curious co-workers, it seemed. She flung the door open without checking the peephole, resigned to the fact that it would be someone from the office. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Madeline, soaked to the skin from the rain.