Domestic Affairs (4 page)

Jacob knew Taylor saw her mean ways: He heard her scream at interns and staffers, saw her throw tantrums when a driver was one minute late. But aside from the rare moments when Jacob could watch her obvious disapproval cause the governor to almost twitch his eyes downward with what seemed like a pang of sadness, the governor really didn't seem to mind at all.

He's too focused on the world to care
, Jacob always thought.
The two of them together could make an impact on society, and that is more important to both of them than love.
It sounded weird even to say it in his head, but he knew it was true. He knew it because Taylor had practically said as much. It didn't really make sense, but Jacob had come to accept that's just how it was for Aubrey and Landon. And thankfully, the world bought in big-time. Aubrey and Landon were America's version of royalty.

So who cares if the attention of a pretty girl who thinks the world of the governor makes him feel better about things. Why not?
Besides, in this case, the pretty girl was a friend and a fundraiser, two things Jacob sorely needed on the campaign.

Jacob glanced at Lori, for once grateful that the governor didn't know what an ass she truly was. Usually, Jacob would be annoyed at Taylor's insistence on talking to people whom Jacob thought of as, quite frankly, a waste of blood. But today, when he had three meetings cancel and he had to fill their time with whomever he could get at a moment's notice, the governor's naïveté became fortunate. To his credit, the morning had been filled with great fundraising meetings, so really it wasn't too bad that he had occupied the empty afternoon slot with Lori Sanders, who was now going on and on about how much money she was going to raise for the campaign.

Jacob considered Lori a Blowhard, his term for someone who always promised to raise $50,000 and then never had more than 5K when he showed up at one of their events with his candidate. Blowhards were never short on things to say, especially when it pertained to themselves or their fundraising skills. After wasted appearances happened twice,
any self-respecting staffer would never rely on the Blowhard again for anything other than filling time. Jacob had actually thought about using the few hours that weren't chock-full to catch up on work he knew they both probably had, but idle time on a candidate's schedule was never left alone. Even if he knew Lori was a waste of time, at least the meeting kept them in the hotel and was completely containable. He rolled his eyes thinking about a campaign's knee-jerk need to schedule every moment, knowing he wanted this campaign to be different from the others. Long-term planning always took a backseat to putting out fires and rearranging minute-to-minute activities. Today was a perfect example of Jacob himself doing it. When the union meeting had been canceled the day before, he had immediately called Lori instead of sitting back and thinking about what else could have gotten done or referring to a list of the big-picture things that needed scheming.
Campaigns and long-term thinking don't go together well. But they should. This one will. I'll change that.

Eight years earlier, before anyone in politics knew who she was, Lori had hosted a presidential fundraiser at her town house on the Upper West Side. It was one of the first events of that cycle and the campaign packed it with their celebrities. It had become the hot ticket. The event wound up raising 1.2 million, an outrageous sum when you consider it came in $2,000 increments. And although the fundraisers knew Lori was only actually responsible for about $10,000 of it, everyone else credited her with the whole 1.2. So the myth was born, and Lori made the most of it.

For a few years she could still get a few of the celebrities and contributors she befriended to come to her house. She could pull off a fairly decent event. But, as was true for most future Blowhards, it was a slippery slope. Within a few years, Lori could never be counted on to raise more than $10K or so, the only amount she'd ever actually raised. And $10K or so at Taylor's level was chump change. In his case $10,000 could be raised in a two-minute phone call made during one of their scheduled call-time sessions.

Jacob peeked at his BlackBerry and replied to a few emails. One of the nice things about being on the road with a candidate as his gatekeeper was that no one ever seemed to mind your constant
BlackBerrying, even if it flew in the face of manners. It was as if people just assumed urgent business called. In meetings like this, Jacob relished the slack. He couldn't stand to hear any more about how connected Lori thought she was.

“Oh, I can definitely put you together with Gerry,” she was saying. “We're super close. He and Becky would probably love to do something at their Southampton estate. Have you seen it? I mean, it's absolutely gorgeous.”

Jacob laughed inwardly, hyper-aware that extent to which someone quantified how well they knew someone else was usually in inverse proportion to how well they actually knew them. He thought for a moment about telling Lori that her “super-close friends” had sold their Southampton estate over a year ago but held his tongue.

That's why I could never be a candidate
, he thought. He watched Taylor listening to her next story as if they were negotiating world peace.
He has to have heard this story at least as many times as I have and yet he appears to genuinely enjoy this shit. I wonder if he actually does.
Jacob's BlackBerry buzzed.

[email protected]
:
I can do 10:30 but I warn you I may be sleepwalking.

Keeper
, he thought. He had only been on one date with Sophie but really liked her. She wasn't a “political groupie,” as Jacob liked to call the girls who hung around political campaigns, willing to do just about anything to be close to someone close to the politician. He had heard DC called “Hollywood for ugly people” many times before, and politicians anywhere, particularly those with Governor Taylor's status, were its stars. Jacob's proximity to Taylor made him a prime target for the groupies, something he'd prized at first but had soon tired of.

The tricky part, when it came to dating, was finding not only someone he liked, but someone who was okay with ten thirty p.m. dates, constant BlackBerry checks, and absurdly timed calls from a candidate. Jacob was scheduled to leave New York that night after staffing Taylor at a dinner (“staff” being a campaign term for clinging to the principal and serving his every need), but he had convinced the governor to let him stay the night and go to a morning meeting with
Olivia. “She could really use my help,” he had said. It wasn't a lie,
exactly
. His help wouldn't hurt.

As expected the governor had gladly agreed to the proposal provided Jacob could be back in Georgia in time for the County Democratic dinner the next night.
Brilliant plan
, Jacob thought, congratulating himself, since it had left him free to meet up with Sophie, just as he had devised.

[email protected]
:
Brinmore?

Dates at the Brinmore were the other thing he would have to explain at some point. He could “buy” her fancy food and drinks as long as he wasn't actually paying for any of them. The campaign had its various perks but his salary was not one of them. The majority of his meager paycheck went to a large, rather ugly, and wholly unfurnished apartment in Atlanta in which he spent maybe twelve hours a month.
I should try to rent it out. Or just give it up. I could get a hotel room for the two days I'm in town each month. I guess I'd need to get a storage unit for my stuff. That might cost just as much. And when would I pack?

“Everything okay over there?” Taylor asked, nudging him.

“Ah, yeah.” Jacob knew how to bounce back quickly when caught like this. “Yes. Sir. Just making sure I have your messages correctly.”

He smiled a bit, knowing he had just lost a round of the game he and Taylor played, catching each other daydreaming and then calling one another out on it. Time to pay up by getting him out of this meeting.

“Actually, Governor, I hate to cut things short but you have to get on the press call in ten minutes.” Donors and press were an amazing pair in politics. The donors were in awe of the press and would let a politician out of anything to go talk to them. And the press were not deferential to anything except a politician's need to be with donors. It was another one of those things that made no sense, but worked so well in Jacob's favor that he didn't dare question it.

“Yes, yes, go,” Lori said as she put her black American Express down to pay for the meal.

The governor thanked her, making it seem like he didn't want to leave. He followed Jacob out through the restaurant, stopping to shake
hands. He thanked every waiter and server and, of course, Jo. As soon as they got into the elevator, Taylor relished his win.

“Nice of you to leave that little fantasy world of yours to get me out of the meeting.”

“You seemed to be enjoying it so much I didn't want to get in the way of the fun.”

The ribbing continued as they walked to the governor's “dayroom,” a small suite that hotels customarily lent politicians who spent the day taking meetings in their restaurant. A politician could use the space to freshen up between coffees and meals and do calls as if there actually were a press call. The day room was a helpful, necessary, secure place to store the campaign staffers' collection of small black carry-on luggage and to have the many conversations that were not appropriate for public places. It somehow made Jacob also feel a little less like the nomad he had become.

He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face and liked the idea that he could reach for the towel with water in his eyes and know where it was. He wasn't sure if it was the comfort of recognition or just the momentary break from having to think of something new, but whatever it was, it made him smile.

The owner of the hotel was a big Democratic campaign supporter and over the years, Jacob had developed a relationship with him and his assistant, Deirdre. Now that Jacob was working on a presidential bid, all he had to do was make a quick call to Deirdre to reserve just about anything he wanted.

Taylor and Jacob settled into the room. Taylor began checking his messages, and Jacob turned the TV to CNN, loud enough for them to hear but quiet enough to deal with other business. A quick call to Deirdre had extended their use of the dayroom without question, or charge, to an overnight stay, completing Jacob's plan.

We're in the room till six thirty p.m.
, he rationalized to himself.
It's not like they could've rented the room out anyway.

“Why are we eating at the Brinmore?” Sophie asked. She had a stitch of reluctance in her voice.

It wasn't that the hotel wasn't good enough. Just the opposite, in fact. It was
too
good. Good as in expensive. Really expensive.

“Whoa. You weren't kidding when you said we were going a step up from two-for-one margarita night,” she said. She surveyed the menu with a confused look and started listing items on the menu.

Should I ask her to marry me right now, or would that be too forward? This is only our second official date. She hasn't even experienced my man parts yet. I wonder if tonight that will change. Oh, shoot. She's talking. Pay attention.

“Or maybe the chicken with prosciutto and sage—which do you prefer?”

Say something safe.

“You really can't go wrong with either choice.”

“Either choice? I gave you three choices. It's only our second date and you're already tuning me out?”

Shit. So much for that whole man-parts thing.

“I'm so sorry. It's just that I have a ton on my mind with work. The governor is supposed to give a lecture on the financial crisis at the University of Georgia in a few days, and I promised I'd shoot him some analogies he could use to simplify things.”

That was technically true but also bordering on dishonest, intellectually at least. It was one of those “I'm trying to impress someone” résumé lies. The governor or some economic policy adviser would likely be the one to come up with the analogy, but the governor did tell Jacob to give it some thought. To be sure, Landon Taylor was not sitting at home waiting for Jacob to write his UGA financial-crisis speech, but Sophie didn't need to know that. Not yet at least. Especially given he was just caught paying no attention to what she was saying.

Jacob thought he had mastered the art of making yourself sound as important-as possible without lying. He was convinced every political staffer did it. As time wore on, he “wrote” a speech he'd helped edit, embellished an encounter with a celebrity, and even, on occasion, inserted himself into a story he had heard about so many times that he might as well have been there.
Harmless
, he thought.
Saved time.
And he had a pretty darn good idea where all political staffers learned the technique—from their bosses.

“Well, I certainly don't understand the financial crisis at all, so I'd love for you to try some of those analogies out on me tonight.”