by Robbi McCoy
“That woman is worth millions, maybe even more,” I told Jerry after she was out of earshot. “She bankrolled the portrait gallery at the museum almost single-handedly.”
Poor Jerry was feeling intimidated. As was I, but not as badly.
I’d met some of these people already and was beginning to know some names and faces, and, although their watches cost as much as my car, I knew there were good-hearted people among them
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and they had only wished Rosie the best. They had recognized her potential, and that was good enough for me. And I had learned too that the best of them saw their fortunes as a lucky happenstance and an opportunity to contribute to the welfare of the community that supported them. This was all new for me, this point of view, and I was sure that Jerry was still in that frame of mind that resents all of these lucky bastards.
Not everyone at the party was rich, though. There were the regular folks, too, who had given time instead of money, like Faye. And there was Ginny and her girlfriend Aura, who showed up in matching rented white and lavender tuxedos. When I saw them, I felt my face stretch into a wide smile. They were adorable and seemed very pleased with themselves. I thought I could read Rosie’s lips as she gripped Ginny by the shoulders and said,
“Aren’t you two the cutest things!” I saw Ginny hand her camera to someone so that she and Aura could stand on either side of Rosie to get their picture taken between sprays of pink roses. She was their hero too. And they had a special connection with her that I envied.
In one corner, we’d mounted a chalkboard. Periodically, one of the volunteers wrote in the latest figures from the election returns coming out of the county courthouse. Consistently, Garcia was ahead, Kiester was last. The polls had been accurate.
Rosie’s position fluctuated slightly up and down, but maintained second place, and by ten o’clock, she was far enough behind Garcia to concede.
Rosie climbed onto the stage and took a microphone, motioning to someone to turn the music down. “Listen up,”
Rosie said. “This is the official announcement. I would like to congratulate Mike Garcia for his resounding win.” Boos and cries of protest arose from the crowd. “To those of you who stuck with me, I want to thank you for your dedication. I know it wasn’t easy and I know you took a lot of abuse. I’m sorry I couldn’t pull it off for you.” Rosie’s gaze scanned the crowd. “Jean, where are you?” I raised my glass and she caught my eye. “Ah, there she is. My deepest gratitude goes to Jean Davis for her heroic
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performance as my campaign manager. When I was ready to give up, Jean knocked me upside the head and back into the race.
Because of her remarkable efforts, we have achieved the most important victory of this campaign—we’ve kept Kiester from being reelected.” The crowd cheered. “That was my aim from the beginning, so I’m counting this election a success. To Mike, I give my heartiest congratulations, as well as all the help I can give him in his new position.” She offered a toast to Garcia, then said,
“As of this moment, I am retired from politics forever! Drink up, everybody!” She raised her champagne glass to her lips and drained it in one swallow.
I, too, drank some more champagne, feeling overwhelmed with emotion.
“Congratulations, Jean,” Faye said, running into me in the kitchen where I was stacking some trays. I felt restless and wanted to occupy myself. Faye, looking flushed and sexy in a revealing gown, said, “Rosie told me about your idea to oust Kiester. Very clever. And you did it, too. I knew something was up. I just didn’t guess that was it. A victory after all.”
“It might have been my idea, but it was Rosie who did it.”
“All the same, Jean, you should be proud of yourself. I was there, remember? I’ve seen you in action and I’m proud of you.”
Faye took hold of me and gave me a warm hug. “Rosie’s right, you two make a great team. She really can’t say enough about you.”
Well, that was good to know. Rosie was always so willing to share credit with someone else, one of her most agreeable traits.
As the evening wore on, my mood gradually deteriorated.
The momentum was wearing off and I found myself forcing smiles.
“What’s the matter with you?” Jerry asked me in a quiet corner. “Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?”
“I don’t feel festive,” I said. “I’m just sad, I guess, that it’s over.
It’s been a hell of a ride.”
He nodded his head agreeably, but I knew what he was thinking. Thank God, it’s over!
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I was the only one who was gloomy. Rosie clearly wasn’t.
She was overjoyed. She would soon be on to other projects and wouldn’t look back. This was one adventure in her life among many. For me, it was singular. The best I could hope for is that I didn’t revolve around this spot for the rest of my life, that I could do something else of interest. The experience was valuable, however brief it had been. I felt like crying.
Late in the evening, after several of the guests had gone, Jerry and I got separated. When I was ready to leave, I went looking for him. I hoped he had kept his promise about not drinking so he’d be able to drive safely. I was in no condition to do it myself. I looked through the main room and the kitchen, then went through a sliding glass door out onto an unlit sundeck. No one else was there. I went over to the railing and leaned against it, looking out across the lake. Down by the water, two shadowy figures stood with hands clasped between them. They kissed briefly, then leaned against one another, watching the sky.
Toward the south I easily picked out Orion, the three bright stars of his belt prominent. There was no moon, no breeze. The air was chilly, but tolerable, a fine November evening. I stood for a while listening to a flock of Canada geese far overhead, out of sight, meandering south, and to the sound of loud music from within, feeling sick to my stomach and unsteady.
“There you are,” said a low voice close to me. It was Rosie’s voice. I turned to see her standing just behind me. I hadn’t heard her approach, didn’t know if she’d been there for a while. “Your husband is looking for you.”
I stared into her eyes. “Yes, it’s time for us to go.”
“Sit down for a minute, Jean,” Rosie said, indicating a redwood bench placed beside the doors. I sat beside her. Someone had put one of the pink rosebuds behind her ear and she looked, well, rosy.
This was the first time all evening I had a chance to get a really good look at her. The diamond earrings and matching necklace were dazzling clusters of teardrops. Ostentatious for Rosie, but this was a big night, appropriate for big statements. The straps of her aqua gown were thin on her shoulders, a gauzy film of the
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same color covering her arms. The neckline dropped across her chest to meet in a V over the plump curve of her breasts. The dark, mysterious groove of her cleavage disappeared beneath the silky material. Soft, everything about her was so soft.
“Jean, I have something for you,” she said, producing a bulky rectangular object with a big red bow on it. “To thank you, though this will hardly suffice.”
I took the gift. It was a roan-colored leather accordion-style briefcase. The lining and edge stitching told me that it was finely made and undoubtedly expensive.
“For your new job,” Rosie said. “I guessed that you didn’t have one.”
“No, of course I don’t,” I said, near tears. “Oh, Rosie—”
“You really threw yourself into this campaign,” Rosie said, seeming uncomfortable. “I expect you’ll suffer a bit of post-election depression. Not surprisingly.”
“This has been one of the happiest times of my life. I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss you.”
“Don’t start bawling, for God’s sake.” She attempted a laugh.
“Look, Jean, just because the election’s over, it doesn’t mean good-bye. There’s the Partnership. We’ll be working together often, I expect. I’m counting on you t
o throw yourself into that with as much enthusiasm as you did this.”
Yes, I thought, but it won’t be the same. I won’t see you every day. She patted my hand, holding it between both of hers briefly.
There was nothing I could say because everything I thought of to say sounded so ridiculous, so childish, so pathetic.
“It’ll be okay,” she said tenderly, looking directly into my eyes. “You’ll get over it.” And, then, with an unconvincing smile of reassurance, she touched my cheek lightly before standing and leaving me.
I sat where I was for a few minutes. Rosie was right. I had the new job to occupy me. It would be a challenge. And it would be important work. As she said, I would get over it. Over this sadness, over the post-election blues. Is that what she meant?
I could hear the song playing inside. Second time around
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now. I think I’m falling in love with you. There’s a universe in your eyes.
That’s where I want to live.
Jerry and I drove home in silence. After we’d gotten into bed, Jerry said, “It was a pretty good shindig.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, already half asleep.
“That briefcase Rosie gave you is really nice.”
Jerry was talkative in his joy, the joy of averted disaster, perhaps, for, whether he could articulate it or not, the end of this election was cause for hope and celebration for him. He no doubt hoped that it meant the return to all that he cherished in our lives.
“And Faye’s date, Bob, wasn’t he good-looking?” he was saying.
“Yes, extremely. We’ll probably never see him again, though.”
“You’re right. Faye doesn’t let any mold grow.”
No, I thought, Faye wouldn’t let herself get moldy. I snuggled into the bed, curling up on my side.
“That Bob said he saw two women kissing out back,” Jerry said. “Wouldn’t you know there’d be some of that going on.”
Two women? I recalled the couple by the lake. Yes, they had been women. I had known it at the time, but it hadn’t registered.
How peculiar.
“Do you hate them?” I asked Jerry.
“Queers? No, I don’t hate them. As long as they keep quiet about it and keep away from me. I’m so glad Brad and Amy turned out normal.”
“They’re a little young to know for sure,” I said.
“No, they’re not,” Jerry said emphatically. “Brad’s had half a dozen girlfriends. And Amy, you know she lives for boys.”
And what about me, I thought. I’ve been married to this man for twenty-two years.
“No, our kids are normal,” Jerry concluded.
“Yes, probably,” I said, then fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
We usually got a lengthy e-mail once a month from Bradley.
He would take a couple of hours out of his schedule to write us from an Internet café in some exotic locale. On November 22, Thanksgiving Day, this month’s message arrived from Paris, and Amy printed it out for all of us to read.
Last night we went to see the Follies. Ooh la la! I had a huge dinner, lots of wine, and then the show kept us out until the wee hours. People dine very late here. I’m getting used to sitting in a restaurant for three hours in conversation, as though it’s someone’s living room. We drink beer and watch the people and talk about life and art and politics. I feel like Hemingway. You would love it here, Mom. I can just see you waltzing carefree along the bank of the Seine at midnight. It’s all so liberating.
One of the things that overwhelms me about Europe is the omnipresent sense of the past, the great weight of it. Memories are long here, identities stabilized, and people don’t get excited about everything like Americans do. I saw a man doing an oil painting of Notre Dame and thought that probably a lot of people had sat just there doing just
that for hundreds of years. It made me happy, and I had to stop and think about that before I recognized it as happiness. You know, you don’t know what can make you happy. You don’t know it until it happens, and then you don’t understand it. But I think it has something to do with finding your place in the scheme of things. It’s hard to know where you belong in a world this complex, but I think you can feel it when it happens. It’s like how fish know the place where they go to spawn, even when they’ve never been there before. They know it’s the right place, though. I don’t think people are so different, on some level.
I read several pages of Bradley’s upbeat letter, glad that he was happy, wanting to be there with him, although my imagination wasn’t wild enough to place me in that picture. I’ve never been to Paris, I thought wistfully. Probably never would be.
Funny that Bradley saw me waltzing carefree along the Seine.
He was remembering when Jerry and I had taken ballroom dancing classes. I’d really enjoyed that, and Bradley, who was six at the time, had clamored to be my practice partner on weekdays after school when his little sister was napping. He always insisted on clipping on his little red bow tie to practice, just the two of us in the front room, music playing, waltzing awkwardly and giggling, my little gentleman and me. Those happy interludes, something I’d nearly forgotten, were obviously some of his fond early memories.
Bradley’s letter left me sad, pretty much my mood all the time now. The election had been over nearly three weeks. I hadn’t seen Rosie. She called once to tell me that the Partnership members had approved me as their administrator. They were still in the process of looking for an office space. Meanwhile, they would send me information at home so that I could prepare.
Rosie’s call was brief and professional. I was hurt by her impersonal tone. She was friendly, but in the same way she always was when speaking on the phone with anyone. After nearly three months of being swept along by the winds of a hurricane, I’d been dropped into a calm so complete that my senses seemed atrophied. There was nothing on the horizon. I was adrift on a monotonous ocean.
I called Faye at work the Monday after Thanksgiving and asked her to meet me for lunch. She came from her office, smartly dressed and madeup. I must have looked dowdy in comparison.
“I’m glad you called, Jean,” she said, glancing over the menu. “I needed to take a break from that place. How are you? You look tired.”
I just shrugged.
“I think I’ll have the salad bar,” Faye told the waitress. I ordered the same and we headed toward it to pile chilled plates with baby lettuces, spinach and radicchio.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” I asked Faye, once we were settled at our table.
“Yes. Bob,” she said.
“Bob? The same Bob as three weeks ago, Bob?”
She nodded. “He could be around for a while, Jean.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Good. It’s about time.”
I wasn’t really hungry and ate without much interest. Faye told me a little more about Bob. She seemed genuinely fond of him. I was glad for her.
“You’re in a funk, aren’t you?” Faye said after a few minutes of silence.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me. It’s like everything was great and then suddenly nothing is. Nothing is right.
Nothing.” I was frustrated, unable to articulate how I felt.
“Nobody sick? Kids okay?”
“The kids are wonderful.”
“Your parents are okay?”
“Yes, they’re fine.”
Faye shrugged. “So what’s wrong?”
“I’m not happy.”
“Well, I’ve got to tell you that ‘happy’ is not a word I would have used to describe you for years. Which is strange to see, for me, anyway, because I knew you in high school.”
“It’s a long time since high school, Faye.”
“Sure, but you weren’t the serious type, not even close. I mean, you can tell by your GPA that you weren’t. You were smart,
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but you didn’t have much interest in school. Too busy having fun.
That’s why we were friends,
remember? You and me, we were the same. Don’t you remember all the fun we had, all the trouble we got into?”
“Sure I do.” I smiled.
“Oh, my God,” Faye continued, “all the boys! You were such a tease! They were all ga-ga over you, Jean. You were so cute. Oh, how I used to envy you that, but, if I couldn’t be as cute as you, I could at least run around with you and reap the benefit.”
“You were cute, too, Faye,” I said. “We made a pretty irresistible pair. But you can’t just have fun all the time once you grow up.”
Faye’s lip curled up on one side, as if she wanted to contradict that, but she didn’t. “No, of course not. That’s not really what I meant. I know you have to be a responsible person. But you were so carefree, Jean, and it was great to be around.”
Carefree? That was the word Bradley had used in his letter,
“waltzing carefree.” When, then, had I lost that capacity?
“I suppose I’m no fun to be around any more.”
“Don’t get defensive. You’re fine, but I’ve got to say that I was just thrilled watching you running Rosie’s campaign. It was a glimmer of that lively girl that I remember. And that’s why I think you’ll be okay once you’re working again. There’s no doubt that Rosie is going to kick you into gear. As soon as you get into that new office and the phone’s ringing, you’ll be right back in action. That’s all you need. Hard work is a terrific high, when it’s work you enjoy, of course.”
“Have you seen Rosie lately?” I asked, clinging to the mention of her name.
“I saw her yesterday, actually. She came into the office. She was making plans to go to Phoenix. A business trip. She asked me about you.”
“Did she?”
“Yeah, how you were, if I’d seen you.”
Rosie’s thinking about me, I thought, and my pulse quickened.
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Faye went on. “She seemed well, keeping busy as usual.