The Longer The Fall

by Aviva Gat

  Over the years, their sexual relationship morphed as does all couples’. During the years when their children were babies it was difficult and sometimes nonexistent. They were often too tired and seemed to always have one son crying, awake from nightmares or snuggling with them in their bed. As their children got older and stopped waking them up, Madeline decided it was time for them to manage their sex life as they managed all other aspects of their lives. They should have sex once a week, she decided. It would be quiet, simple married-people-sex, the kind that ensured their sex life never completely disappeared and Brandon would not be incentivized to stray. It was the kind of sex life where both of them could rationalize that that was what sex was like for people approaching forty while managing busy careers and two children. There would be no dry spells, no reasons to fight about not having sex and they could both feel good about the fact that they still had sex, even after 13 years together.

  “Second time this week!” Brandon said with a big smile as he drew circles on Madeline’s shoulder with his fingers. “Guess you really missed me too with everything going on.” Madeline smiled at her husband, who appeared satisfied with their sexual relationship throughout the years, except during the young baby period.

  “What can I say?” Madeline smiled back at him, giving his masculinity a huge boost. “It’s been a long week.” It truly had been. Madeline thought back to the blackmail, the rumors of her being vetted for a vice presidency run, the whirlwind days in DC. She was ready for a quiet weekend at home with her family. One without politics, or appearances. Where she could just enjoy being a woman, mother, and wife to a truly wonderful man, even if he wasn’t the best in bed.

  Chapter 7

  “What about a picnic in the park? Or a trip to the zoo?” Brandon suggested to Madeline the next morning when they were still in bed. Madeline was wearing her pink plaid pajamas, which she had put on the previous night after the necessary twenty minutes of post-sex naked snuggling. Brandon had also put on a pair of boxers—sleeping naked was something for carefree young lovers, not parents of two children who could easily surprise them with an early morning visit.

  “Picnic,” Madeline responded after taking a moment to think about her choices. “I feel like I just spent the last three days in the zoo.”

  Brandon laughed. “It was that bad, huh?”

  “I’m not sure I’d say bad, but it’s definitely a jungle,” Madeline responded, thinking about the hours in senate hearings, the meetings, the networking events that filled her days in DC. She’d rather not think about them now, she decided, pushing everything to the back of her mind. It could all wait until Monday.

  Suddenly they heard a scream and then a loud crash coming from downstairs. Madeline and Brandon both jumped up and looked at each other. “Sounds like we’re also living in the jungle here,” Brandon remarked. “Must be the boys making breakfast. I’ll get up and join them. You take your time.” Brandon kissed Madeline’s cheek and then leaped out of bed into their master bathroom to brush his teeth. With one hand on his toothbrush, he used his other hand to brush his hair and splash a little water on his face. Then, exactly two minutes later, he dried his face and threw on a shirt as he left the master bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Super dad, thought Madeline, smiling to herself. She was sitting up in their bed and she remained still for a few more moments. She treasured having a few minutes to herself whenever she could get it, even if she could hear Brandon and the boys yelling downstairs. There was more banging, the sounds of stomping feet, whining voices and laughter, but Madeline tried to tune it out for a few minutes.

  She pulled herself out of bed and into the bathroom where she caught her eyes in the mirror. She had deep green eyes that Jane was constantly trying to complement with her outfit choices for Madeline. Her wavy brown hair, which she pulled back in a ponytail when she slept, was messy and falling around her ears. Frizz lined her forehead, which was greasy and creased with lines from too many photo opportunities in front of strong flashes. Lines also surrounded her thin pink lips and crept out from her eyes. She put her hands on her face to trace them, the maze on her face. This maze would never be seen outside of her home. For any appearances where there would be cameras, she had her make up professionally done, covering her pores, wrinkles and making her skin look even better than it had in her 20s. On the day-to-day, she made up her face herself, following detailed instructions from her makeup artist, to ensure she was never candidly caught on camera. One bad picture and that would be the first people would see when they Googled her name.

  First, she released her ponytail, letting her messy hair loose to graze her shoulders. Then she combed it back into a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. Then she brushed her teeth and washed her face, following with her routine of anti-wrinkle creams and moisturizers that she had been assured were necessary for her career’s success. She laughed when thinking about her image consultant’s seriousness about this matter. Would they ever say something like that to a man? That he needed to rub six different creams on his face throughout the day if he ever wanted to even think about the White House? Of course not. Men could get away with sun spots, wrinkles, white hair—for a man these were signs of wisdom; but for a woman, signs of obsolescence. Madeline understood she was playing in a man’s game and she had to work extra hard to succeed. She would do what she needed, go the extra mile, rub the creams on her face.

  Still in her pajamas, Madeline made their bed and left the master bedroom. From the hall, the sounds of giggles and clanking in the kitchen were louder. She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where Brandon was standing in front of the stove with pancakes sizzling in the pan in front of him. There was orange juice spilled on the counter and the boys were already snacking on Cheerios as they waited for Brandon to finish cooking.

  “Maybe it’s time we tell Molly to stay on the weekends,” Brandon said with a smile. Molly was usually only with them during the week, unless they had a specific reason they needed her on the weekend. Mostly Madeline and Brandon tried to be full-time parents on the weekend. They wanted their kids to feel like they were a normal family, but it was hard sometimes. Sometimes Madeline traveled on weekends or had to attend different events. Sometimes Brandon had to work on reports or projects that hadn’t been finished during the week. Molly helped them those weekends. But when their weekends weren’t an extension of the workweek, when Madeline and Brandon slipped into full-time parents, they put in the same effort they did in their careers, trying to excel in parenting as though it were just as competitive as political elections or the technology industry. They always wanted to be the best, no matter what it took.

  Madeline immediately started wiping down the orange juice on the counter. Then she poured glasses for the four of them and took out plates and syrup for the pancakes. When Brandon finished cooking, he brought a steaming plate to the table and the boys abandoned their Cheerios for the hot pancakes. They ate as a family, the boys telling them about their week. Adam had learned how to play basketball at school and had now decided that when he grew up he would be a professional basketball player. He’d been practicing all week during recess and lunch at school! Noah, on the other hand, had been home with Molly, finishing up his suspension. Molly had forced him to clean his room, help organize the living room and dust the bookshelves. She hadn’t even let him turn on the TV once, not even once! They ran errands or cleaned, Noah complained. Even being at school was better than being stuck home with Molly, he admitted reluctantly. Madeline was happy that Noah hadn’t enjoyed his suspension. She hoped it meant he would avoid further punishments at school, but she decided not to bring up the subject of the recent bullying incident, especially not in front of Adam who didn’t seem aware of his older brother’s behavioral issues.

  After breakfast the boys brought their dishes to the sink and disappeared to get dressed and steal a few moments of television while Madeline and Brandon prepared for their picnic. Madeline washed dishes while Brando
n packed a basket with bread, cheese, fruit, crackers and other items they had in the house that would make for good picnic food. When they finished, they got dressed and finally got the boys into the car.

  They drove to a nearby park where there was a playground with big slides and plenty of things to climb. Brandon lay down a blanket on the grass where they could watch the boys play. Once the boys were running on the playground, Madeline and Brandon sat down on the blanket and opened a bottle of sparkling water. Madeline leaned into Brandon’s shoulder as she sipped her drink.

  “Madeline Thomas!” Someone said from behind them. The voice had the hint of a snicker filled with satisfaction as though it said I caught you. “Look at you just lounging around!”

  Madeline and Brandon turned their heads to see a woman in dark jeans and a t-shirt standing above them with her hands on her hips. “Even senators get some time off,” Brandon responded with a polite smile.

  “Senators maybe, but not mothers,” the woman replied. She had a smug smile on her face, still holding the I caught you look. Madeline was used to people looking at her this way. For every person who admired her, there were at least three who hated her—for being a republican (she was from California after all), for not being a good enough mother, or for the most absurd reason of all, for being a woman. This woman, no doubt, fell into the second category.

  “That’s why we’re here spending Saturday with our boys in the park,” Brandon again responded politely. “Can we help you with anything?”

  “Oh, yes I can see how much time you spend with your boys,” the woman said. “You don’t know who I am, do you, Madeline?” The woman addressed Madeline as though it wasn’t Brandon who had been speaking to her. Madeline pushed herself off of Brandon to sit up a little straighter.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right, I don’t know who you are,” Madeline now took control of the conversation. She needed to appease this woman, make her feel important. Then, she could even turn her into a supporter if she felt like she had the Senator’s ear. “Would you mind introducing yourself?”

  “I’m Mrs. Albertson,” She responded, as though that should ring a bell for Madeline. Madeline’s brain started filing through the folders in her mind for Albertson. This woman hated her for her mothering, and believed Madeline should know who she was. That made it simple enough for Madeline’s brain to zero in on the right folder right away.

  “Jamie’s mother,” Madeline said. She stood up to face this woman eye-to-eye, although Madeline was a few inches taller than her. This extra height helped her in these situations, people were forced to look up to her, which subconsciously had a desired effect. “Hi there, so nice to meet you.” Madeline extended her hand to shake Mrs. Albertson’s.

  Mrs. Albertson returned the gesture, shaking Madeline’s hand. The first step toward turning from hating Madeline to supporting her. “You would have known who I was already if you had been to Parent’s Night at Highland.”

  “You’re right, I felt awful that I missed it,” Madeline responded, still shaking the woman’s hand. “Brandon was there though, did you have a chance to speak with him?” Madeline motioned to her husband, still lying on the blanket.

  “I wanted to speak to you,” Mrs. Albertson said. “Your son is bullying mine.” She said this as though she were revealing a devastating secret to Madeline. “You would know that if you were around more.”

  “I am aware of the situation and we’re working on it,” Madeline responded. “I apologize for Noah’s actions.”

  “What are you doing about it?” the woman asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You know this is a very serious issue and it can’t be taken lightly. Maybe in your line of work bullying is used to get what you want, but in school it is a serious problem. I’m not sure what you are teaching your boys, but…”

  “I assure you, we take this very seriously,” Madeline responded, mirroring the woman’s stress on the word serious. “I don’t condone bullying in my job or at home.”

  “I hope that’s true. Jamie is a very sensitive boy and he was very hurt by Noah. If it happens again, we’re going to have to take further actions,” the woman said, seemingly content with her threat. “You know, my brother-in-law is a lawyer and he is also very committed to ensuring this doesn’t happen again.” The woman nodded her head as though her motions said more than her words.

  “We understand completely,” Madeline responded. “Thank you for voicing your concern to us.” Madeline nodded and turned to sit back down on the blanket, signaling to the woman that the conversation was over. The woman didn’t seem to understand that her ambush had been squashed and that her reprimanding of Madeline was over.

  “Is Noah here? At the park? I’m not sure that is a good way for Noah to spend his suspension,” the woman said, her tone becoming more judgmental than passive aggressive. “Playing in the park is not the kind of punishment that will teach him to stop bullying.”

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Brandon said, putting his arm around Madeline, who was again leaning on his shoulder. “We are perfectly capable of making our own parenting decisions.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Well, if I were you—”

  “You’re not,” Brandon said, cutting the conversation short. “Thanks for your input, but we don’t really need your help with our children.”

  “Maybe if you were around more—”

  “Thanks again, but we’re done here,” Brandon again cut her off. “Have a great day.”

  The woman opened her mouth, either in shock or to continue spewing her unwanted advice, but no words came out. Instead, she turned around, muttering under her breath and looking up at the playground where Noah and Adam were climbing through the jungle gym.

  “Don’t worry, you’re a great mom,” Brandon said, kissing the top of her head. “Even if you bully everyone into doing what you want.”

  Madeline laughed and took a drink of her sparkling water. She watched her boys laughing and running around and listened to Brandon’s breathing behind her. Even without further interruptions, with just a picnic and a sunny sky above them, Madeline couldn’t relax. Her mind was still racing, connecting the incidents of the last week, trying to find meaning in them all, find how to fix things. She kept a smile on her face, trying to enjoy the day off with her family. But even with the cloudless sky, the warm air, the breeze, her happy family, something was nagging her. Holding her back from enjoying the moment.

  Chapter 8

  “I wish we had something more substantial to tell you,” Agent Murray said. It had been almost a week since Madeline had received the blackmail letter. A week during which the letter hung over her like a cloud casting a shadow on everything she did.

  “Can you tell me again exactly what you have been doing in this investigation?” Madeline asked, sitting across from the three agents in her kitchen.

  Earlier that morning, Agent Murray, who seemed to be the team leader had called Jane. It was just a friendly call to tell her there was no news and that they were still working on the case. When Jane called to update Madeline, Madeline insisted the agents come to meet face-to-face. “No news” was not good news. It meant time was running out before her campaign relaunch event, before the blackmailer promised to publish whatever evidence he or she allegedly had about Madeline’s alleged infidelity. With the clock ticking, Madeline needed to see the agents to understand whether they were taking this as seriously as necessary, or whether her career would start spiraling down the drain in just a few weeks.

  “We spent two days in New York last week interviewing employees at the Langham,” Agent Murray said. “Mr. Chase was very cooperative, as were the other employees we interviewed.”

  “Mr. Chase?” Madeline asked.

  “The doorman in the picture,” Agent Murray responded, recalling the picture of Madeline walking into the hotel in her red suit where she greeted the doorman. “He’s still a doorman there, although he now usually works early morning shifts.
He said he used to work in the evenings two years ago when the picture was taken. He spoke about you very fondly, saying you were one of the few important guests they have at the Langham who actually said hello to him. He said most guests look right through him, not even noticing him opening the door, nor responding to his greetings of ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good evening.’ He said he appreciates your visits and hopes to see you again soon. He couldn’t recall anyone suspicious around the hotel that could have taken the photograph or followed you.”

  “What about the other man in the picture?” Brandon asked. “The African American one.”

  “Mr. Chase didn’t recognize him. He said he was likely just someone walking down the street who got caught in the picture. We have no more leads on him. Other hotel employees all said the same things.”

  “And what about the letter? Any clues from that?”

  “The letter and picture have been in forensics all week,” said Agent Hart. “The letter was typed on standard paper that could have been purchased anywhere and printed on any standard printer. The letter was mailed through the post office from a drop box near the Langham…”

  “That’s a clue isn’t it?” Brandon jumped in.

  The agents all looked at each other. “It tells us the blackmailer, or someone working on their behalf, was near the Langham on the day the letter was mailed. That could narrow it down to, let’s say, at least a million people,” Agent Hart responded.

  “What about fingerprints?” Brandon asked.

  “The letter itself had no fingerprints,” Agent Hart responded. “The envelope was covered in fingerprints, but most were not legible, but this is standard for anything that has passed through the post office. All the different mail handlers touching it during sorting, it isn’t worth it for us to follow that unless we believe that someone at the post office is the perpetrator and I don’t think that is the case.”