by Karin Tanabe
I couldn’t believe she was admitting to ghosting Stanton’s legislation. Olivia—a journalist and a senator’s mistress—had written something that the president was poised to sign in a few weeks. I had to write a follow-up on that. It would be huge.
Olivia turned toward me and gave me her classic newsroom smirk.
“Sometimes in life, Adrienne, it all comes down to motivation.” She looked at me, my yellow dress damp around the neck from sweat. “Two people can want the same thing, but the one who’s more motivated will get it. When I close my eyes before bed every night, I see my mother shooting herself in the head. I have Technicolor memories of finding her lifeless, bloody body folded over on the shower floor.”
She gazed at my parents’ beautiful house, the horses, the sprawling green fields, then looked back at me and smiled.
“What, I wonder, motivates you?”
I watched Olivia walk down the steps and climb into Sandro’s black car. She drove out the gate and turned left, not toward the Goodstone Inn, but toward home, toward her husband.
Inside my apartment the phone started ringing but I didn’t rush inside to get it. Instead, I walked down the wooden barn steps, through the unfenced field, and headed alone toward my parents’ house. The world around me made the distinct sounds of summer and the heavy, humid air suddenly felt good against my hot skin. When I was a few yards in front of the house, Jenny from the media team called me for the fifth time that day. I answered my BlackBerry and listened as she said, “Lawrence O’Donnell’s bookers want you back on. Tonight. Live. I know you’re doing Hardball, but it’s in the same building. Can you? I already gave them a tentative yes.” I gave Jenny a firm no and kept walking.
The Foster Care Empowerment Act, what the pundits had taken to calling Stanton’s only redeeming legacy. Olivia had written it, not the senator or his staff or a group of lobbyists—an actual girl who had gone through it, had first been abused, then been cared for, and finally, found her way out. I remembered reading the details of the bill in the newsroom. Hundreds of thousands of kids would get federal funding for three more years of their lives. Right now, the day they turned eighteen, they stopped getting financial support. This bill would extend aid until they turned twenty-one. I thought of myself at eighteen, wearing a pink sundress with boxes of brand-new things, dropped off at Wellesley for my freshman fall by my two adoring parents. They paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for me to go there—my full tuition. And when I moved to New York City after graduation, they paid my rent for the first year, came up to the city, and helped me get settled in. I had depended on them then. And at twenty-eight, living on their property, I still needed their help now. How many kids weren’t so lucky?
But this story was huge. If I told Upton he would remind me that I was ruthless—journalism’s new pit bull—and we would sit down and put it to press. And for what? The ones who were at fault had already lost their jobs. So Olivia had pushed the bill on Stanton—manipulated him to get what she wanted. Wrote it, even. Once Congress passed it, she probably had Stanton nudging the West Wing staff to make it a priority. Then she had ensured it front-page List coverage. But did it matter? It was a good bill. It was an important cause. It had already been approved by both the Senate and the House. Olivia wasn’t exactly inviting terrorists onto our shores.
I shook out my hair, pinned my bangs back so they weren’t falling into my eyes, and started walking faster. I headed up the long hill, turned left behind the house, took three steps into the woods, and started sweating, my cotton dress sticking to me like medical gauze. I didn’t have stealth rubber shoes on, nor did I have a bag filled with camera equipment and a change of clothes. But I started walking toward the Goodstone Inn anyway.
The trees above me were full and green. The only sound I could hear were my feet against the dirt.
I did love Middleburg. It was beautiful and silent and only filled with secrets if you looked for them.
When I got to the stone fence where I had first approached the hotel, that night I saw Olivia’s car parked in front of the Bull Barn, I stepped over it easily.
I wanted to walk up to the barn. I felt like I had to see inside the tiny little place that catapulted my career forward. I had never looked at it without being crippled by suspicion and fear.
There was no breeze as I walked toward the little red house. The back of my neck felt wet and stiff.
The scenery reminded me of my childhood. I thought of sitting on the back of Payton’s horse, when I was too small to ride on my own. We had trotted together on these same hills, before they became a place for the rich to disappear in style. Everything had been so easy then. Before I understood what my mother did for a living, newspapers were nothing more than recyclable words on a page, good for making papier-mâché and wrapping homemade presents.
I was almost at the top of the hill, the one where the navy Ford Explorer with the Arizona plates had driven up the night I photographed Stanton and Olivia. There was so much space to walk through, so much land. Sandro, the loyal Texan, would have liked it.
It was a shame. The whole thing. So many people got hurt, and the only ones who came out better for it so far were me and the new junior senator from Arizona. The New York Times called Taylor Miles the most openly racist politician since Georgia’s Lester Maddox. But if the foster care bill became law, perhaps more good could come.
I was still about a hundred yards away from the barn when I spotted someone walking toward me. It was a young man, dressed for the outdoors, not taking a stroll for the sake of walking. He was heading directly to me.
“Can I help you?” he said when he got into earshot. He smiled and kept heading my way. “Are you staying with us?” I looked down at his shirt. It was getting almost too dark to see, but when he got closer, I read his small, elegant brass name tag. Roger Pippin. Goodstone Inn Security.
My article may have left the state of Arizona in the hands of a xenophobic leader, but it had certainly heightened guest protection services at the Goodstone Inn. This guy probably had my mug shot and a Taser in his pocket.
I looked out toward the Bull Barn. There were no lights on inside, no cars parked out front. The sun, minutes from sinking behind the hotel’s rolling hills, was spreading its rays on the red walls.
It was a far cry from the Oval Office or the Mayflower hotel, where other political affairs had gone down, but there was no such thing as privacy anymore. Everywhere was the wrong place at the wrong time, even out here in Middleburg.
“I can help show you to your room, if you’re staying with us,” said the polite Goodstone guard again. He had dark shaggy hair and tan arms. He was stocky, and looked more like a Bard College grad with a love of organic farming than security enforcement. But he clearly didn’t want me loitering in the fields in the early evening, looking lost.
“Are you staying in the main house? Or in one of our separate suites?”
Still avoiding his gaze, I watched as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon. In minutes, the sky would be covered in dark pink rays of dying light and the temperature would drop a few degrees. But the humidity would stick. Some things about the idyllic area I had called home for so long never changed.
I smiled at the guard, still waiting patiently for my response, and shook my head slowly back and forth, feeling my hair move against my bare shoulders. “Staying. No,” I said. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying here after all.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m forever indebted to . . .
My brilliant, generous parents. Mom and Dad, without your love and support I would still be in the backyard chatting to an imaginary cat and eating mud. Thanks for buying me books, reading me books, and encouraging me to live, live, live!
My big bro. Ken, your creativity is addictive, and with every word I write I’m just trying to keep up with your production line of great ideas.
Craig Fischer, l’homme de ma vie. I can’t live without you and this book wouldn’t be here witho
ut your patience and (manly) cheerleading. I’m so thankful; I might even go to another Nebraska football game . . . and wear flats.
Bridget Wagner Matzie, also known as the best agent a girl could ask for. You’re professional and hilarious, and your faith in me over the years has been caviar for the soul.
My editor at Atria, Sarah Cantin. If I could handpick anyone to work with, Sarah, it would be you. From the first time we chatted, I knew how lucky I was. Thank you for your warmth, encouragement, and editing prowess. Every time your name pops up in my inbox, I smile, and every time your edits come my way, I become a better writer.
Judith Curr, Greer Hendricks, Tom Pitoniak, Carole Schwindeller, Diana Franco, Anne Spieth, and the rest of the Atria dream team.
Robin Bellinger for her superb early edits.
My wonderful friends—the Outdoor Ed girls, my Vassar family, the Sisters of the Crisis—you’re a hilarious bunch, and I blame you for my future Botox needs.
And lastly, The List is very much a book about friendships formed in and around a newsroom. Thanks to my work wife Amie Parnes, Beth Frerking, Stacey Pfarr, Rebecca Frankel, the CLICK girls, the POLITICO crew, the glamorous Washington Life team, and the ITP gals for making the written word so much fun.
THE LIST
Karin Tanabe
A Readers Club Guide
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
1. As a group, discuss how you consume political news. What is the first type of source that you turn to—websites? Blogs? Television? Radio? Facebook or Twitter? Did reading The List change how you think about the media, particularly the way that American political stories are reported?
2. Despite the intense atmosphere at the Capitolist, Adrienne soon discovers, “The paper chewed employees up and spat them out in a matter of months, sometimes weeks. But the ones who made it past the breaking point loved it beyond all reason.” Why do you think this is? Do you think Adrienne reaches this level of loyalty to it by the end of the novel?
3. On the surface, Adrienne and Payton are very different, but in what ways are they also similar? How do you think Adrienne’s relationship with her sister shapes her personality?
4. Discuss the factors that are motivating Adrienne to dig deeper when she first discovers that Olivia and Stanton are having an affair.
5. “That was the thing about female print journalists. Dressing up, grooming, having two angular eyebrows—all frowned upon. It was still that archaic mentality of trying to blend in with the boys.” Consider the ways that gender politics factor into life at the Capitolist. How does the double standard that Adrienne articulates in this quote affect the ways that both she and Olivia approach their jobs?
6. Caroline Cleves Brown, Adrienne’s mother, was a newspaper journalist too, but in the heyday of print journalism. Do you think Adrienne has a naïve perspective of the new media world going into The List because of her mother’s career?
7. What did you make of Sandro? Did you feel that he led Adrienne on? What did you think about the note that their relationship ended on—were you hoping for a different outcome?
8. James Reddenhurst is, on paper, a near perfect man for Adrienne. Why do you think she can’t commit to him? Is it because she’s infatuated with Sandro, or is it something about James? Would you have picked James over Sandro?
9. Hollywood is fascinated with politics and vice versa. How has new media turned politicians into celebrities, and why are Hollywood actors invited to political events? What does this mean for both the news and politics?
10. Did your feelings toward Olivia evolve over the course of the narrative? Do you divide responsibility for the affair equally between her and Stanton, or do you think that one of them is particularly to blame?
11. If you were in Adrienne’s position, would you have published the story about Olivia and Stanton? Why or why not? In general, do you think that the extramarital affairs of politicians should make headlines? Does the fact that Olivia was a reporter, writing about Stanton, make the revelation of their affair seem more newsworthy and less sensational?
12. Did you think the Style girls were justified in their anger that Adrienne didn’t share the news of her scoop with them before it went to press?
13. In her final confrontation with Olivia, Adrienne says, “I felt guilt—of course I felt guilt—but then in Arizona, and now on TV, I was just doing my job. She of all people should understand that. And she would have done the exact same thing.” Do you agree?
14. How did you interpret the end of the novel—what do you think Adrienne was planning to do? What did you think she should do?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. Imagine that you are casting the movie version of The List. Who would play Adrienne and Olivia? What about Stanton, Sandro, or Payton? Share your imaginings with the group.
2. The celebrity-packed White House Correspondents’ Dinner plays a major role in Adrienne’s time at the Capitolist, and over the past few years, has become a significant event in Washington, D.C. Who would your dream guest be to interview on the red carpet? As a group, you might look up coverage of the event from years past. Consider visiting Click, Politico’s equivalent of the Style section, which author Karin Tanabe once wrote for: http://www.politico.com/blogs/click/.
3. Both the town of Middleburg, and the Goodstone Inn, are real places in Virginia. Check out the actual Bull Barn on the Inn’s website: http://goodstone.com/.
4. Many of the places Adrienne visits in Washington, D.C., are real too, including the Smithsonian ice rink, Oyamel restaurant, Kramerbooks, and the Freer and Sackler galleries. If you were writing a fictional book about your hometown, which real places would you include in your story?
5. Adrienne spends lots of time crafting her first-day-of-work outfit and it turns out to be all wrong for Washington. Discuss your biggest fashion faux pas. Were any ever caused by first-day jitters?
6. The pace at The List keeps Adrienne from having a social life, sleeping more than five hours a night, or even washing her hair with liquid shampoo. Discuss your craziest jobs ever and what you learned from them.
Photograph by Julian Barton
KARIN TANABE is a former Politico reporter whose writing has appeared in the Chicago Tribune, Newsday, and The Washington Post. She has made frequent appearances as a celebrity and politics expert on television, including on Entertainment Tonight, Inside Edition, and CNN. She currently lives in Washington, D.C.
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WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Karin Tanabe
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First Washington Square Press trade paperback edition Febru
ary 2013
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Designed by Akasha Archer
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tanabe, Karin.
The list : a novel / Karin Tanabe.—1st Washington Square Press trade pbk. ed.
p. cm.
1. Women journalists—Fiction. 2. Legislators—United States—Fiction. 3. Adultery—Fiction. 4. Washington (D.C.)—Fiction. 5. Political fiction. I. Title.
PS3620.A6837L57 2013
813′.6—dc23
2012022076
ISBN 978-1-4516-9559-5
ISBN 978-1-4516-9560-1 (eBook)