Authors: Emma McLaughlin
“Oh my God, I have literally never been so cold in my life. People live like this?” Beneath the denim jacket that provided little protection against the snow, I recognized her ‘funeral’ dress—a short sleeve black jersey number she got at Target. She’d re-touched her roots so recently the skin at her hairline was still pink from the bleach. “
No one
wanted to let us up here. And I say that as a girl who checks IDs for a living. Can I smoke?”
“Not in the hotel—and I don’t know if they let you out that you’ll be able to get back in—it’s getting pretty crazy.”
“I should’ve bought one of those patch thingys. Think anyone here has some Nicotine gum?”
“I’ll check.”
“Could you?”
“I’m firsty. And hungwy,” Ray Lynne added from mom’s arms.
“And I’d like to sit down,” Grammy said as she unwound her scarf. She was favoring her good hip.
“Okay, let me get you guys to your room.”
“Who’s winning?” Billy asked.
“Way too early to tell.” I put my arm around him.
“Amanda, is that your family?” Lindsay called from inside, crossing to us. In her blue silk suit she looked so perfect—she’d been camera-ready since six am. I was momentarily embarrassed that my family looked like what they were, people who’d navigated multiple airports with a two and a half year-old to be with me. I made introductions, saving Mom for last. “And this is Delilah.” They shook hands, as she sized Lindsay up—the woman who had wooed away her daughter.
“I was just going to take them down to their room so they can get a bite to eat.”
“Nonsense,” Lindsay waved them in. “We have enough food in here to run for the White House all over again and no one has the appetite to touch it.”
“Oh, we’re not really dressed for—” Grammy shrank in her soft pants and cardigan, but Delilah kind of squared her hips.
“Oh, please, you’ve just gotten off a plane. Would Ray Lynne like to look at a book?” Lindsay took her from Mom and steered Billy in by the shoulders. She had a glow—I could already imagine her in a
Vogue
spread timed with the inauguration.
“Damm, Mandy, this is so exciting.” Delilah pinched my arm like I was ten as we followed them into the suite. “Are you gonna live in the White House?”
“Oh, no—very few staff sleep on site, if any. I mean, I’m sure people have night shifts, but then they go home.”
“Well, I’m telling everyone you’re moving to the White House.”
I smiled while I fixed Grammy a plate. Ray Lynne had joined the twins for story time with their indefatigable nanny. “Tom Collins?” I asked her, picking up the whiskey.
“Here, let me do that.” She took over.
“Ah, I see someone know’s how to fix a drink,” Tom said as he joined us. While Merrick was parked in front of CNBC looking like he was trying to pass a kidney stone, Tom was still working the room, campaigning when there was no one left to convince.
She pivoted to him, smile cranking up. “Never bartend a bartender.”
He laughed. “Amanda, you didn’t tell me your Mom could be your sister.”
She laughed and bumped me on the hip with her hip and I bit my tongue from saying that having a slutty mother isn’t something you brag about. “Mom, meet Tom Davis, the
imminent
Vice President of the United States.”
“What can I fix for you, Mr. Imminent?”
“Is that a Tom Collins?”
“Yep.”
“Make it two.”
“Coming right up.” She flipped a lime off the back of her hand and caught it.
Tom was impressed. Or after being offered three hundred corn dogs, he didn’t know how to stop being impressed. “First Shot Girl, you’re hired.”
She grinned.
“Mom, I’m sure Ray Lynne is exhausted. Why don’t I show you and Grammy to the room so you can tuck her in?”
“I have just spent the entire day buckled in next to my mother. So how about you let me enjoy one drink.”
“Fair enough.”
The grandparents had been banished to the adjoining sitting room where story time was being held. As Tom returned to Merrick, I went in to scoop my little sister from the floor in her hot pink velour sweat suit with CUTIE studded on the back and helped Grammy from the couch.
“Amanda,” Tom’s mother, Belle, paused me. “Do you they have any crudités or hors d’oevres out there?”
Lindsay’s mother, Anne, flared her nostrils at Belle’s mispronunciation, which made it sound like she had asked for ‘crude whores’. Poor Belle. Sitting next to Anne they looked like one of those
In Style
spreads of two identical outfits, the nice version and the cheap one. Of course, Tom must have given his parents money, so her suit couldn’t have actually cost less than Anne’s. In fact, it probably cost more because I once heard Lindsay say that her parents wouldn’t accept anything from her. But from her brassy blonde hair next to Anne’s subtle butter color, to the garish hues of her silk scarf tied next to Anne’s elegant navy, Belle Davis looked, well, tacky.
“I’ll bring you some,” I said.
“Amanda, did I tell you my grandfather was in the state legislature?” Belle looked up at me girlishly, her eyes rimmed with a little too much mascara.
“You didn’t.” She did. Twice already.
“It will be so nice to have a Davis back in office.” She wrapped her poppy colored nails around her knee and raised it. “His whole life I have told Tommy he was born for this.”
“Amanda,” Anne brayed as I brought back a plate of carrot sticks for them. She had a commanding voice. “Can you get that PR person to come find me? No one has answered my question yet.”
“About?”
“What I’m supposed to say if anyone asks me who I voted for.”
“Why? Who did you vote for?”
“Well, we voted to re-elect President Hopkins, of course. In case they ask. I don’t want to lie. But I don’t want to embarrass anyone.”
“You voted for Hopkins?” I tried not to sound horrified.
“Amanda,” her father said gruffly. “We have been Republicans all our lives and we are not going to switch our party affiliation now.”
Belle gave them an incongruously sweet smile, as if she hadn’t understood.
“A mother needs to have a strong hand in raising a child,” Anne continued. “Lindsay always siphoned off too much of her time and energy for Tom—helping him build his practice, helping him meet the right people. She gave up everything for him.” I was confused, used as everyone is to hearing that phrase describe women who had chosen their families over their careers. Hadn’t she done both? “Lindsay should have had more time with Ashleigh.”
“Lindsay should be home raising those new kids she wanted so badly,” her father declared. “Not being put to work all over the damn country.”
“I think she enjoys it,” I suggested meekly.
He made a humph sound.
“Okay, well,” I said brightly as if we’d been discussing voter turn-out in Dubuque. “I will be right back if anyone needs anything.”
Downstairs in their hotel room I made up the sofa bed for Billy and tucked Ray Lynne into the queen she would share with Mom. “Grammy will sit with you while you fall asleep.” I kissed her nose as her eyes fluttered shut. I leaned over and took a deep breath of her—gummy bears and that soil smell of sweaty kids. “How’d it go today?” I whispered to Grammy once Ray Lynne’s breathing deepened.
“She flirted with every man flying alone, ring or no. She had it in her head any man who could afford a ticket—was one. I suppose I should just be happy she didn’t join the Mile High Club today,” she sighed.
“Grammy!”
“I’ve read Danielle Steele.”
I laughed. “How’s Billy doing?”
“As best as can be expected.” She pulled out her Sudoku. “He shouldn’t be running after a toddler.” I couldn’t disagree. “He needs a man around. Someone to show him what’s what.” Apparently Mom was on the task.
My phone buzzed with a text. “
Um, am I in the wrong hotel suite? Was I supposed to go directly to the White House?
”
“
Don’t move! I’ll be right up!
”
“Grammy, do you mind staying with her?” I asked.
“I’m just happy to be here,” she said. “Go. Work.”
I raced back up to the (fingers-crossed) Presidential Suite and Pax dropped his garment bag to sweep me into his arms. It was a romantic and extravagant gesture in a room full of those who had either been carefully choreographed—or been carefully choreographing—for so many months.
Tom came right over to shake his hand. “You had my vote first thing this morning, sir. How’s it going?” Pax asked him.
“The east coast polls are closing now. They’re calling Georgia, South and North Carolina for Hopkins, which we expected. We’re still ahead, because we’re carrying the northeast. But we won’t know how things are really shaking out for another hour. And there’s been heavy rain in California so there’s that.”
“What does that mean?” Pax asked.
“Fuck if I know, but they haven’t shut up about it all day.” Smiling, he patted Pax on the shoulder and went back to Lindsay.
“God, I could rip that dress off you righ here,” Pax whispered in my ear.
Delilah came out of the powder room, drying her hands on one of the Merrick Davis napkins. “Who’s this?” she asked, her smile suddenly a little flat.
“Mom, remember Pax Westerbrook? The one who had the house down in West Palm?”
She looked him over. “The one who thought you stole his watch?”
He blushed. “I’ll never be able to live that down, will I?” He held out his hand. “Hello Mrs. Luker, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, not Mrs.—just Delilah.” I wasn’t sure exactly why I hadn’t told her about Pax. As much as she had always met my boyfriends, I never really confided in her anything about them because I hated it when she confided back. Some women may want a Mom who’s more like a girlfriend, but I think they don’t know what they’re asking for.
“And that cute thing in the corner glued to his phone is Billy,” she pointed.
“He looks just like you,” he said politely.
“Oh? I think he looks like his Dad—that I remember. Mandy, anyone here single?”
“Sadly, I think everyone but the candidates is.”
“I think I see a gentleman who needs his drink refreshed.” She sauntered across the room. “You probably want to get settled,” I suggested to Pax, wanting to move us out of the sightline of whatever Delilah was about to try to make happen.
“Don’t you need to stay?” he asked.
“Everyone in this room wants to help Merrick and Davis. I think they’d curl in a ball to make a human footstool if either guy asked. I won’t be missed for twenty minutes.”
“Come here,” Pax said as we crossed the threshold of his room, pulling me hard against him and then pressing me equally hard against the slamming door. In seconds my panties were on the carpet and my legs were wrapped against his waist. I thought there was no way I’d be able to come on the fumes I was running on, but he knew just how to touch me until the adrenaline and cortisol and fear and need popped inside me like a balloon filled with Jel-lo shots.
“
Now
, we’ll never forget tonight. You sure you don’t want to lie down?” he asked afterward, gingerly lowering my feet back to the floor.
“I can’t. I’ll wake up next Tuesday.” I tugged my skirt down and swiped up my thong. “How do I look?”
“A little fucked.” He took my chin and kissed me gently on the lips.
My phone vibrated and I opened the text, not wanting to believe what I was reading. I literally shook the phone and looked at it again like it was a Magic Eight Ball.
“What?” he asked.
“They called Pennsylvania for Hopkins. Shit.” I blew out hard, possibilities we’d all held at bay suddenly demanding my attention like a damp patch you suddenly have to admit has rotting wood behind it. Merrick had spent his biggest media buy in Pennsylvania. “We
have
to take Ohio, Pax, we have to. Let’s go. I feel like I need to be staring at the TV, willing this to go right.” I was talking too fast.
Back at the suite Delilah was standing awkwardly by herself in the middle of a room where the energy had switched from pent-up jubilation to bracing for impact. “Mom?” I asked as Pax went to call his colleagues. “You okay?”
She was holding a drink she’d mixed for someone who was now in no mood. She set it on a side table. “I guess I should go to bed.”
High school. Two am. Coming out of her room to find Mom still waiting to be picked up. Her pack of cigarettes smoked to stubs.
I guess I should go to bed.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Even as I said it the thought occurred that she should be saying it to me.
“I hope I can sleep.”
“I know, we’re all pretty wired.” I looked past her at the sliver of TV visible between people’s shoulders.
“And my back.”
“What’s wrong with your back?”
“Dr. Hamlin—who sometimes comes by the bar with his wife—he says it’s a bulging disk. Might be herniated.”
“Ow.”
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep working on my feet, lifting those buckets of empties.”
She had my attention. “What about a desk job?”
“I haven’t had one since Freddie took a chance on me at the dealership.”
“What about night classes?”
“How am I gonna pay for night classes?”
“Well, what’re you gonna do if your back goes?” My voice was rising. “You don’t have insurance.”
“I was thinking . . .”
I hated when she said that. It was always a preamble to a revelation that required something of me I’d be forced to give some way or another.
“. . . that you could maybe send me a little more every month I could go down to four shifts a week, maybe take some pressure off.”
“Off?”
“My spine.” I fought the instinct to step away, could feel my stomach seeking refuge up and under my ribs. When I was eight I’d seen a billboard for rentals starting as low as four hundred a month. I counted Mom’s tips one morning when she was sleeping. I read her pay stubs. And I figured we could swing it. But the next day she was fired for mouthing off and I realized that the dollars in the shoebox were irrelevant. There was nothing about Delilah that could be planned on, around, for. “Will you cover it?”