I force my face into a mask of polite interest. “Oh?”
“Let’s not play games, Grace. I know Conover was considering you. At least until he got Boyle on board. Your star was rising, but now you’re about to fall off the radar if you don’t choose where your loyalties lie.”
“And what do you suggest?”
“Back my husband. Throw your weight behind him on all the issues where you’re strongest. Women’s issues. Gun control. Environmental policy.”
“But those are the issues where we disagree most.”
Lauren shakes her head, as if I’m a slow learner. “That doesn’t matter, Grace. The people who know you know what matters to you. They know what you stand for. If you back Aaron Darrow, they’ll see you stand for him.”
“But that won’t be true,” I argue, amazed by her simple math that just doesn’t add up. “I can’t expect voters to conflate the issues I’ve worked on for years with what Darrow stands for. Whatever he stands for,” I add.
Truth? Darrow stands for whatever gets him elected.
The question is, do I?
“You can’t expect a fling with Conover’s consultant will get you anywhere,” she adds lightly. “I hope for your sake you’ve nipped that in the bud.”
I’m mid-sip on my coffee and I make a gurgling noise as I try and fail to keep my face impassive. “I think my record should speak for itself.”
Lauren leans in, her voice lowered. “Grace, can I tell you something? Woman to woman? In politics, your record will never be the first thing voters notice about you. There are certain standards in Washington—”
“You mean, double standards—”
“It is what it is, Grace. Perception trumps reality. Perception is reality. So you can either wait in the wings for Conover to pick you, which he won’t, and let this opportunity pass you by, or you can grab the bull by the horns and come out in support of Darrow.” She straightens. “If you’ve got half the ambition I imagine you have, I think you’ll realize which ticket’s the winner.”
I push a few files around on my desk. “It’s anyone’s race right now.” Boyle’s supporters could put Conover on top, but Conover’s health crisis could undermine him.
She shakes her head. “It’s ours to win, but right now, it’s yours to lose. It’s time to work with us.” She pulls a folder out of her slim leather bag and pushes it toward me. “These are the details of six appearances and interviews we’ve set up. You’ll appear there as a rumored running mate, but you won’t claim any connection to our campaign. That gives you the distance and credibility to say things about Darrow and Conover to help voters compare and contrast.”
I open the folder and scan the talking points. “You want me to lay land mines.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Voters will listen to you on the issues. You don’t have to come out fully endorsing Darrow until the end of this, so long as you play your part right in these discussions.”
“You mean you want me to stick to the script.”
“You’re a fast learner, Grace.” Lauren’s lips curl. “And there’s one more thing. If you’re going to run with my husband, you need to stop seeing Jared Rankin.”
My eyes fly wide open, absolutely caught. “I’m not—”
“Really, Grace? Don’t lie to me. I told you to cut it off and you haven’t. He probably sent those.” She waves her hand toward the Oregon grape and rose bouquet, and my blush is admission enough.
How the hell does she know I’m still seeing him?
“Let me tell you something. Jared Rankin can’t be trusted. He’ll get in your pants while it serves his purpose, and then he’ll move on.”
I close the file. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for us to discuss this.”
“Don’t be stupid, Grace. Jared cares about two things: his campaign and his dick. If you can give him what he needs in both departments, he’ll keep you for a while, but considering Conover’s going to pick Boyle, I’d say your time is running out.”
The word stupid reverberates in my head. Stupid. Have I been stupid all along, believing Jared’s interest in me is more than sex and politics?
Lauren stands in preparation to go. “I’ll bet he hasn’t even kissed you.”
The words hit me like a slap in the face, like a blow to the chest, like the ultimate land mine. How could she possibly know? I suck in air, at a loss for words, and then Lauren answers my silent question.
“Jared gets around, Grace. I knew him when he was running small campaigns and I was covering the California state legislature.” She flicks her blond hair over her shoulder as if he were nothing but a pebble in her road. “Look, don’t take it personally, Grace. He’s good for a fast fuck. But intimacy is not in his DNA. He doesn’t do kissing or commitment because he knows he’s going to have to move on to the next candidate in a few months. And find the next woman to go with it.”
“This conversation is over,” I choke out, my head spinning with images that all too easily confirm what she’s saying.
“I’ve already dropped your schedule with Trey,” Lauren adds, moving toward the door. “Better pull yourself together, Grace. You’ve got voters to impress.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I bend over my desk, bracing myself on my hands with my head upside down as I try to get a grip.
Jared cares about two things: his dick and his campaign.
That’s why he doesn’t do kissing or commitment.
I can’t trust him.
Conover’s going to pick Boyle.
Jared’s through with me.
I sprint to the bathroom, making it just in time to heave up my morning coffee. I’m grateful few of my colleagues are in Washington during the summer recess so I can at least puke in peace.
I take my time rinsing my mouth, washing my face, and patting it dry on scratchy brown paper towels. Still, the dampness makes the hair around my face springy and curly, and I’m ashamed that Trey notices when I return to the outer office.
“Still not feeling good, baby girl?”
I shake my head and sink into the squishy chair beside his desk.
“I’ll call that fancy seafood restaurant you went to with the Darrows and give them hell if you want.”
“Thanks, Trey, but I doubt that’s it.” It’s just too much—the stress and the intensity and the late nights and skipping breakfast and the sad, scary news on television yesterday and Lauren’s revelation today.
“Is it Jared? Because he left you a message when you were meeting with Lauren.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He called the office because your cell phone was on silent.” Trey passes me the slip of paper with Jared’s name and number. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”
“For what?”
“He just said you’d know. I figured it was for canceling your plans this morning, because after the flowers…” Trey’s voice dies away. “Anyway, we’ve got a big day. The schedule Lauren dropped off has your calendar packed, and I’ve had to work some magic and bend the time-space continuum to make it work.”
“So I can’t go back to Oregon?” My face falls. I need some quiet time in a kayak right now, just gliding over cool water, but Washington’s got its sticky, humid fingers all over me.
“Not this week. And next week’s the convention.” Trey raises his brows. “You’re not going to want to miss that.”
I prep hard for my first two interviews, reading dozens of past articles each journalist has published to get a sense of how they like to quote, in short phrases or long ones, how they color their stories with details and whether I can detect bias on any of the issues.
I try calling Jared a few times but his phone pushes me straight to voicemail.
Conover’s going to choose Boyle. Maybe Lauren’s prediction is true. Maybe he’s done with me as a potential running mate, and so he’s just … done.
I force myself to focus as I welcome a journalist to my office in the afternoon.
&n
bsp; While my last round of press coverage was more abstract and feature-ish, these meetings are finely pointed: the journalists are hoping to sit down with a future running mate.
Of course, the first reporter’s first question is, “Darrow or Conover?”
I laugh lightly. “That’s the million-dollar question for all of America, isn’t it? I can’t remember a time when the race has been this close, or this exciting so close to the convention.”
“But for you, Congresswoman Colton? Who do you support? Whose ticket could you potentially join?”
“That’s up to the senator or the former governor, not me.”
“Have you been approached by the candidates? Are you considering a bid with either of them?”
“I’d consider a lot of things, and of course speaking to both candidates is always a pleasure. They’re both tremendously accomplished men.”
“And have they offered you a place on their ticket?”
“I believe it’s up to them to announce a running mate. But it’s certainly a compliment to be mentioned on a short list.”
And so it goes. I get through that interview, and another, and I leave my office dragging from the effort of the bob and weave.
Jared doesn’t call, and my mind spins a million meanings behind his telegraphed I’m sorry.
My apartment is too quiet, too lonely, and I consider calling Aliza or Lacey. But in the end, I cuddle up in my yoga pants to a glass of wine and stacks of reading that all swims fuzzy in front of my face. My brain refuses to absorb any of it.
I pour myself into bed, exhaustion overtaking me. I clutch my phone in my hand, typing, erasing, and retyping a message. Finally, I give up and dial, listening to the ring.
“Rankin here.” His tone is commanding, his accent clipped.
“It’s Grace.” How could he not know it’s me?
“Just a moment, please.” I hear rustling, then a door opens and closes. His voice drops low. “OK, I’m here.”
“What are you doing?” I try to keep the suspicion out of my voice.
“It’s not a good time now, Grace.”
“It’s almost midnight. What could you be—” Oh. I backpedal. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your … business meeting.”
Maybe his candidate and his cock have both moved on to other people. I hold my breath, silently begging him to deny it.
“Look. Things are moving fast here and I’ve got my hands in a lot of pots now.”
I’ll bet that’s not all you’ve got your hands on.
“Lauren came to see me today.” I change the subject, if only to preserve my heart from knowing too much. “Darrow wants me. He wants the endorsement and then he’ll choose me.”
“You’ve got a guarantee on that?” Jared’s tone is harsh.
“No. Not precisely. But since Conover’s going to choose Boyle, Lauren suggested that I could be Darrow’s running mate. If I play ball with their agenda.”
“She means, if you check your platform at the door and fall in line behind his.”
“That’s not what she said.”
“It’s what she meant. Look, Grace, you’ve got no guarantees. With anyone.”
“Not with you, either.” I can hardly keep the bitterness out of my voice. No kissing. No commitments. That’s what Lauren said is Jared’s way.
Jared huffs. “We are not having this conversation now.”
“We’re not having this conversation ever. What are you so afraid of, Jared? Making a commitment to anyone? To me? Because I don’t know where your loyalties lie, and it’s time for me to fish or cut bait. I have to choose.”
“Choose who you trust.”
“You don’t make that easy.” Hell, he makes that damn near impossible with the walls he’s built around his heart and his life. He’s impossible to know, and Lauren’s revelation today makes me question everything I thought I knew about him.
“Then I’ll make it easy for you. You don’t trust me, and yet you trust Lauren, who I’ve told you a dozen times can’t be trusted. But if you’re not going to believe me, then fine, Grace. There’s nothing more to say. I give up. Go with Darrow.”
“You give up?” My voice rises. “Like that? You just fucking give up on me like I’m disposable?”
“Listen to me, Grace.” His voice is low and angry and dangerous. “I did not give up on you. But Conover and Boyle might be a foregone conclusion. I’ve been working all day on that. And I won’t apologize for who my candidate chooses.”
“I won’t apologize for my choices, either.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Grace. If you go with Darrow, you’re going to have to apologize for everything you’re about.”
I’m quiet on the line, still torn between the candidates, and between what I know I need from Jared and what he’s willing to give me. I take a breath, and confess it. “I need you, Jared. I need you on my side.”
“I’m always on your side, Grace. Always.” There’s warmth in the deep timbre of his voice, and yet I can’t believe him. He holds too much back.
“Then tell me what you think is right.”
There’s a long pause on the line, so long I strain to hear the tiniest sounds. Where is he? In Missouri with Conover? Or in some anonymous hotel room with another woman?
“Go with Darrow,” Jared finally says, his normally warm drawl now ice cold.
“What?” I can’t believe I heard him right.
“Go with Darrow,” he repeats. “If being the running mate is your dream, then he’s probably your best hope to make it happen. Conover’s leaning toward Boyle, and this health scare is going to knock him back a few points in the polls at least. He might not even win the nomination. So go with the man who can take you all the way.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said!” Jared explodes. “What do you want from me, Grace? A guarantee it’s all going to be flowers and rainbows for the rest of the campaign? Nobody can give you that. Nobody.”
“Not even you,” I add quietly.
“Especially not me.”
I take a long, halting breath, feeling like Jared’s truly given up on me. “When are you coming back to Washington?”
“Does it matter?”
His words shatter me and I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. “I need you, Jared.”
“No. You need to get ready. Because Darrow’s going to chew you up and spit you out into something unrecognizable. And I don’t want to be around to see you when he does.”
My phone beeps and I stare at the screen, stunned.
He hung up on me.
He doesn’t want to be here for me, or with me.
He’s done with me.
Chapter Thirty-Six
There is no time to mourn the end of my relationship.
Because it never was a real relationship.
Only Trey gets me, thoughtfully shuttling Jared’s wilting flowers out of my office and into the trash.
I’m booked for a national news talk show tomorrow, so I’ve got to be on the shuttle tonight to New York, then to the studio by five a.m. I’m nervous, but just as in law school, the more I prep, the more grounded I feel.
Trey brings us lunch and drills me on what we call “Rude Q,” hard-hitting questions I might be asked on a variety of issues, all phrased and framed in a way that feels like a no-win situation.
I stick to my guns, refuting the bad information Trey laces into questions on health-care policy and educational standards. I use bridging statements to direct minefield questions on affirmative action toward a focus on equity and opportunity. I weave real stats into my answers, and when Trey lobs follow-up questions to undermine them, I back them up with stories.
A good story can kill a hundred stats.
Just ask Ronald Reagan, the Great Communicator. He could weave a tale ripe with bullshit into an urgent national priority. I don’t need to pass judgment on his policies, though. What matters is that he was insanely effective in getting e
lected, and then in pointing the country in the direction he wanted to go.
Darrow’s office delivers a dozen new briefs to me and Trey and I divide and conquer, each of us reading and highlighting the pages in multiple colors: yellow to remember, green to repeat as a soundbite, pink to avoid at all costs.
There’s a shitload of pink by the time we’re through.
“You really going to do this?” Trey asks, looking skeptically at the pages. “If you stick to your guns, Darrow’s not going to like what you have to say. But if you go with what these briefs tell you to say, your supporters are going to think you had a brain transplant.”
The echo of Jared’s words ring in my ears. He’s going to chew you up and spit you out into something unrecognizable. And I don’t want to be around to see you when he does. My chest tightens and I blink against my stinging eyes. I cried enough for a real relationship last night. I can’t waste my final prep time to do more of it.
“I’m going to walk a fine line,” I admit to Trey. “I’ve got to present my perspective without alienating Darrow’s supporters.”
“You mean, without alienating his campaign,” Trey clarifies.
I nod, a little ashamed that he, too, doesn’t think Darrow’s the best choice. “I don’t have to come out with an endorsement yet, and they’re not going to make an announcement of the running mate until they’re sure of the nomination.”
“They’re still feeling you out,” Trey says thoughtfully. “I’ll bet they’ve got a polling panel all set up for after this show.”
“I don’t doubt it. The theory is that I’ll have more credibility pre-endorsement, when voters see me as an independent voice.”
“You are an independent voice, Grace. You’ve tackled some of the hardest and most unpopular issues out there,” Trey says. “Nobody wants to touch guns. They don’t. They get all somber and teary-eyed each time there’s a shooting, but in terms of constructing laws that could actually protect people, most other politicians don’t want to do jack.”
He’s right. Building a coalition of support for my legislation—no matter how simple and sane—is a painful uphill climb. Even a law requiring people to report if their gun is stolen gets transformed by the gun lobby into an affront on the Second Amendment.
The Phoenix Candidate Page 16