Domestic Affairs (37 page)

Olivia picked at her dessert. “I'm so sorry, but I have to bail after this. I have so much work to do.”

Tracy threw up her arm. “But it's Saturday night!”

Stephanie looked over. “You work for Landon Taylor, right?”

“Yup.” Olivia nodded.

“Is he the hot one?” Amy added in.

Olivia bobbed her head again and tried to stifle her ear-to-ear grin.

Tracy leaned in toward Olivia. “So have you, like, met him?”

“I have,” she said. She could guess the next question before Stephanie asked it. Olivia had heard it a million times before.

“Is the campaign your real job?”

“It is.”

Stephanie continued. “They pay you for it?”

“Not enough for the hours she works!” Marcy chimed in.

“That's definitely true.” Olivia acquiesced, wondering why no one ever understood that campaigns had paid staffers. “But it is my job, and there's more of it to do tonight than I could hope to get done. Sorry!”

“So have you met his wife, too?” Tracy looked at Olivia impatiently.

“I have.”

“I am obsessed with her. Did you see the pictures of them in
Lucky
magazine this month?”

“Yep.”
Yes, I did see the pictures of her looking absolutely gorgeous splashed all over the pages of my favorite magazine this month. And their kids.
Olivia tried to disguise her flinching. Seeing the kids was the worst. She thought back to California and how adoringly Margaret had looked up at her dad, and how Dixon had jumped into his arms on the way out. They were hardly ever on the campaign trail, so Olivia could usually live in complete denial of the innocent victims of her actions. But when they were there, her conscience became a monster inside her head.
They won't be victims.
She tried to quiet the inner admonishing voices.
They'll never know.

“She is sooooo beautiful. The article said they have dinner once a week at IHOP. Is that true? That is so cute.”

“Yes, they do.”
Not. They do not.
Olivia grinned at the idea that Peter and the press team could get magazines to print pretty much anything.

Olivia's sister put down her coffee. “I have to say, I was totally wrong. He's not one of the bad guys at all. I just read one of the stories about their relationship. He seems completely devoted to her.”

Olivia felt a twinge in her jaw. “Yep.”
Except he is one of the bad guys. Well, not bad. He's a good guy. They would understand if they knew Aubrey. He's not like those other guys.

Marcy beamed.

Olivia couldn't imagine what was making her sister look at her with this level of real affection, even . . . was it pride? Marcy laid her hand on Olivia's shoulder. “Do you guys know Olivia is the youngest finance director of a presidential campaign ever? She's in charge of all the money they raise.”

Olivia smiled but her chest ached a little. That's who she was supposed to be. She was supposed to be the youngest top fundraiser in the country. She was supposed to be someone her sister was proud of. She was not supposed to be the candidate's girlfriend. The affair.

Her sister continued on.

Each compliment made Olivia feel worse.

“If he wins, Olivia will totally work in the White House!”

“Really?” Tracy asked. “That would be so cool. I bet his wife will be a total Jackie O. She's so fashionable.”

Stephanie jumped in. “Hey, do you think you could get her to wear one of my company's sweaters? My friend James at Bulgari said after she wore one of their watches on
The Colbert Report
, it sold out in two days.” She touched the pretty, blue cashmere sweater that hung perfectly on her shoulders. The one that would undoubtedly look fabulous on Aubrey.

“Umm, yeah. I could try. I mean, I don't really know how that works.”
Let's see, “Hey, Aubrey, I know I'm sleeping with your husband, but could you do me a favor?”
Olivia squirmed in her chair.

“Thank you so much. That would be totally huge. I'll send you a few Monday.” Stephanie beamed.

Thankfully, the conversation came to an end when the restaurant owner, a tall, shaggy-looking guy whom Olivia was sure she had met a few times before, came over and let the group know Alek had taken care of their bill. Olivia was thrilled not to have to spend the seventy-five dollars she probably would have had to shell out and also happy knowing the goodwill would definitely get her out of the rest of the night's plans with much less of a fight.

At the door of the restaurant, which was jammed with people trying to get in, Olivia said her final good-byes. She pulled her BlackBerry out and began walking north toward her apartment. Landon had just arrived at Teterboro and would get dropped off at the Brinmore, where he'd “take a stroll.” Jacob, the only person who might question the Saturday-evening walkabout, was eagerly off to Sophie's—to take her up on his third “last chance.” The governor could fail to come back to the hotel without anyone's noticing.

Olivia walked around until she found a small bar down the street from her apartment. It was a dive bar, with tables lining the side of the room. In the back was a pool table and a Centipede video game. It was totally empty, probably either because it had just emptied out from the night before or because it hadn't been busy since 1982. Same
smell either way. She moved swiftly to a table in the back corner, happy to be unnoticed by the young bartender who was busy yelling in an Irish accent at the soccer game on TV. She took the seat facing out so that the governor could have the seat facing the wall.
AHAP. As hidden as possible. The Campaign Lesson that started out in the twenties but seems to be moving up in importance these days.
She laughed, thinking it was probably a rule of chivalry to let the lady take the seat facing out anyway and decided to let that be the explanation she'd go with in her own head, rather than the one that kept him more inconspicuous.

After surveying the single-page, plastic-covered menu—half of which was taken up by types of beer—Olivia quickly ordered from the young, Irish boy who was at the bar. A tequila for herself, and a sauvignon blanc for him.

“Nope.” The waiter spoke rapidly.

“Nope?”

“No sauvignon blanc.”

“Oh, okay, what other types of wine do you have?”

“White and red,” he said, seeming annoyed she had asked. Between each word he uttered, he looked back at the TV as if the game, which Olivia could see was just starting, was in its final moments.

“White sounds great. Thank you. And we'll have sliders, fries, and a quesadilla. Please.” It seemed like a good combination of bar food but Olivia held her expectations low, knowing the downside of finding empty restaurants in New York City was that they were usually empty for a reason.

Olivia hoped the drinks and food would come before the governor arrived, so he wouldn't even have to share a glance with the waiter. It seemed possible, as long as the game lasted at least an hour or two, for them to eat completely unseen.

Twenty minutes later, as Olivia snacked on the fries, which were soggy and as terrible as she had predicted, Landon came in. His Great American Vending Machine Company hat, the one he wore because it made him feel more discreet, was pulled down to below his eyebrows, and his leather jacket hung down just past his waist. She raised her hand a bit. Without another person in the bar, any type of signal was
wholly unnecessary, but it was the natural extension of her yearning to reach out to him. He nodded and moved forward with the cool grace she loved. As he sat down, he grabbed her thigh and gave it a squeeze.

“Hey, babe.” The corners of his lips went up and she could see just a bit of his teeth. It wasn't like the smile that was always plastered on his face for the press. It was special. Just for her.

She lifted one eyebrow, cautious to keep her reaction tame, even though no one was around to see it.

He looked like a kid when he dug into the slider. “Good place,” he said, slyly taking a look around.

“If by ‘good' you mean ‘empty,' then definitely.” She leaned into the table and rested her chin on her intertwined fingers, acutely aware of the difference in feeling from one table—with her sister—to this one, and wondered how she could feel so much more like herself with him than she did with friends or even family. Conversation, as it always seemed, came so simply with him. She loved the way he made talking about serious topics over a drink seem so acceptable.

“I really want you to meet this guy Chad. He's doing incredible work on gay marriage out in California,” the governor was saying. “He traveled with us all through New Hampshire today. I was so glad to hear someone stand strong publicly on the issue. It's not good enough to be okay with it, to go halfway. Those guys drive me crazy—‘Vote for me because I won't be terrible on the issue.' I'd rather lose an election than elect someone who wavers on their morals. It's ludicrous.”

She could do little other than gaze dreamily. He was her favorite textbook come to life, packaged with blue eyes. He wanted her to meet Chad. She knew he would probably never introduce her to him, and if he did, it would be as the girl who worked for him, not the woman he loved, but at the moment, none of that mattered. He wanted her to meet him. And him to meet her.

The smell of the bar and the taste of the food couldn't possibly hamper Olivia's evening. To her this bar became perfect. She remembered the first-date stories her friends had told her that night at dinner. She didn't mind first dates—making small talk was a staple of her job, after all. It was second dates that killed her. On the second, she would have to explain further; they would surely find out that she had
only read the first paragraph of the five books she had claimed to have read on their first date and they would undoubtedly not understand anything about polls, filings, or primaries. With Landon, there was no second date, no need to do the whole get-to-know-each-other thing. They had known each other for what seemed like at least a lifetime.

“So, we got back some poll numbers.” He picked at a slider.

“Oh, yeah? And?”

“Apparently they're pretty good.”

“That the technical wording Richard used?”

He laughed. “Well, I won't know all the numbers until Monday but sixty-three percent think we have the right direction for the country.”

“That's amazing!” Olivia spoke with French fries in her mouth. She meant to stop chewing but got excited about the numbers, which were incredibly high for so early. Olivia felt a rush of excitement. She was completely confident they would win, but she loved when outside sources confirmed her admittedly biased feelings.

“Yeah.” Landon hung his head like a kid who just got socks for Christmas.

“Are you not happy with that?” She didn't understand why he seemed almost upset.

“No. I am. The other part they told me was my Iowa negatives are down to thirty-four. I'm supposed to be glad about that.” His voice wandered off with his eyes.

“Is that a question? Because yes, you are supposed to be glad about that. That's down, what, four from last time?”

“Five.”

“Okay, so what's with the melancholy?”

“Look something up for me on your BlackBerry, would you?”

Olivia pushed away her drink and held her device at the ready. She was pleased to be needed but baffled, as always, by his total incompetence around computers and BlackBerrys. It wasn't anything atypical. Politicians were often completely helpless with anything technological. Between being on the road all the time and having staffers who printed out or emailed anything and everything they needed, being able to pull up a website or open a document on a phone was just not a necessary skill. Except of course at eleven thirty p.m.

“Okay, shoot. What do you need?”

“What's the population of Iowa?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, and don't tell anyone I asked. It's probably something I should know.”

“Wait”—she paused with a mocking tone—“you want me to keep a secret?” She opened her eyes wide.

“Very funny, smart-ass.”

“Okay, it's three million seven thousand eight hundred and fifty-six.”

“Okay, hold on.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “Okay, so thirty-four percent of three million seven thousand eight hundred and fifty-six is around one million.”

“Okay,” she said, not following.

“That means that a million people, no, over a million people don't like me.”

“What?”

“More than a million people don't like me! And that's just in Iowa.”

“Landon.” She sighed, unsure of what to say. She had never thought about polls from a personal perspective.

“
Hmpf.
” He sat thinking again.

“Landon, if everyone liked you, you would not be standing for anything. You don't want crazy extremists liking you. The only people who are universally liked are people who don't make tough choices, take tough stands.”

His voice seemed to lighten a little. “Are you telling me my negatives should be higher?”

“Very funny. I'm serious. Why do you always see the cup as half-empty?”

“Why do you always see it as half-full?”

“Touché.”

“Actually I think I see it half-empty because it forces me to look for ways to fill it. A constant need to fix. It's what makes me who I am at my core actually. If you see the world as half-full you have less impetus to fix it.” He stopped. “Unless you're you. Then you can apparently see the glass as half-full and still want to fill it.”

“Ha! You know, I'd probably pour water in a totally full glass.”

“It's one of the best things about you. Speaking of full glasses, another?” He lifted up his empty wineglass.

“I don't know—you've got to be awake for the morning shows. We want them to invite you back.” She laughed, as it had become a joke between them that his sacrifice was going on the, as he would put it, “morning trash” just so he could spend Saturday nights with her.