30
I had hoped we would have new headshots by the luncheon at Indian Spring at the end of the week, but Marilyn said she and her fiancé got delayed and would be in town on Friday. So I invited them to come to the club, and we could figure out pictures from there. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get some shots of him speaking, which Marilyn assured me wouldn’t be a problem.
Stuart was mostly ignoring my existence, but that was better than open hostility. And I chattered away, amiably pretending I didn’t notice his silence as we drove to the club.
“So this photographer—” Michael said.
“His name is Dan,” I said. “I only met him once two years ago, but if Marilyn says he’s good, he’s good.” I hoped that was true. Although anything was better than the unsmiling pictures he had been using.
Stuart shook his head from the front seat. He was clearly offended even though I hadn’t said the last part out loud. But that was the most reaction I had gotten from him all week, so maybe he was thawing.
The interns were already there, setting up the room with the borrowed Fourth of July bunting. “Eventually, we should probably buy our own decorations,” I reminded Stuart as we checked their progress.
“We don’t have money for a newspaper ad,” Stuart snapped, finally speaking. “Let alone stars-and-stripes banners.”
“Bunting,” I corrected. “Banners are signs. This is bunting.”
He glared for a moment, then stormed off.
“He must be so much fun at parties,” I said to Michael.
“He’ll warm up,” Michael assured me. “I promise. He’s all bark.”
I chuckled at the image of Stuart as a terrier, then straightened Michael’s tie.
“I always feel like a kid when you do that.”
I dropped my hand. “Sorry.”
“Not in a bad way—my mom used to do that too. But she stopped around my bar mitzvah.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have rose to my lips, but I swallowed the words. I may have been bossing him around, but I still worked for him. Instead, I said nothing but dusted the shoulders of his suit jacket.
As we retreated to a side room to wait for the lunch to begin, I thought about what Stuart had said about a newspaper ad. In theory, new pictures would be good for that. But the reality was that a print ad wasn’t worth the amount you paid for it most of the time. Profiles were worth their weight in gold—after all, that was how I found Michael and decided to work for him. And for someone young and good-looking, television was even better. It’s too bad there are no debates to televise, I thought. That had been the final nail in Nixon’s coffin. I looked across the table at Michael. He was still green politically, but he could have given Jack Kennedy a run for his money if the sound was off.
He may get there yet, I thought.
“What?” Michael asked. “Is there something on my face?”
I shook myself out of it. “No. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
Claire poked her head in and signaled to us. “Who’s introducing him today?” she whispered as all three of us stood up.
“Me,” I said as Stuart said, “I am.”
We faced each other, but Michael put a hand on Stuart’s arm. “Beverly for the women’s lunches. You’re still my choice whenever we address men.”
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to stop myself. “I bet I could get a roomful of men’s attention.”
Michael’s face contorted as he struggled not to laugh, and Stuart glowered.
“I’m teasing,” I said finally. “Lighten up, Stu.”
If looks could kill, I would have been floating facedown in the swimming pool that was just visible through the dining room’s windows.
Thankfully, his eyes lacked the power to commit murder, so I strolled past him, took my place at the podium, and introduced Michael.
I saw Marilyn come in about a third of the way through Michael’s speech. He was giving pretty much the same one from the first lunch, but he had written out an approximation of what he had ad-libbed when Stuart tried to sabotage me. And the women here clearly had friends at Woodmont because they were ready for him, hanging on every word and cheering at his line about respecting instead of protecting.
Marilyn’s fiancé crept around the side of the room with his camera, blending in so seamlessly that I doubted most of the attendees knew a photographer was present. Marilyn grabbed a seat near the back, spotted me and waved enthusiastically, and then listened as well.
When Michael finished to a round of thunderous applause, she made her way over to where I was standing but was stopped three times by women who were apparently fans of her book. One of them had her sign a napkin.
“Beverly, darling,” Marilyn said, throwing her arms around my neck. “How are you?”
The emphasis on are irritated me. Too much of our mothers talking about my impending divorce.
“Fantastic,” I said.
“You look it,” she said, completely unfazed if she heard the edge in my tone. “It’s been way too long. I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”
Debbie had been a baby then.
“Honestly, it doesn’t feel like that long—but that’s because I’ve been reading about you in all the magazines.”
Marilyn pursed her lips modestly and shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. I’m new and I’m cute. We’ll see how my second book does.” Then she took my hand. “But enough about that. I’m here for you today, darling. How on earth did you get yourself involved in politics? My mother was vague on the details.”
I gave her the short account of Larry’s affair, though a more graphic version than I gave my own mother, and then the need for a job.
“And you couldn’t have found a better way to stick it to him,” she finished for me. “Want me to name a character for him and kill him off in my second book? I’m happy to do it.”
I laughed. “Sure. But please make it a particularly embarrassing death.”
“Drowning in a vat of pig excrement it is.”
I laughed again, loudly enough this time that people looked over. “Perfectly fitting,” I said.
“So tell me, is he going to win?”
“Larry?”
“No, this Landau fella.”
I let my gaze wander over to him. He was talking to a couple of women, who seemed completely enthralled. “I don’t know, if I’m being perfectly honest. He should. His heart is in the right place on every issue. He wants equality—not just for women. For everyone. But the guy Larry works for is a powerhouse. And Michael is pretty green. If I had a few years to fundraise, we’d be in better shape. It’s definitely an uphill battle.” I hadn’t vocalized my doubts to anyone—not even Nancy. Michael looked over at me, feeling my eyes on him, and smiled, buoying my confidence. “But I’m going to work as hard as I can to make it happen. And if I fail, at least I’ll know I did my best.”
When I looked back at Marilyn, she was watching me, not Michael. “You really believe in this guy, don’t you?” she asked.
It wasn’t something I had thought about. When I came to work for him, I didn’t care who our senators were, I just wanted to punish Larry. But the speech at Woodmont changed that. I wanted him to win because I trusted him.
But I found myself nodding. “I do. He’s exactly what our state and country need.”
“Then let’s fix one of your big problems. How much money do you need to beat Larry’s guy?”
“Marilyn, I’m not taking your money.”
“Why not? By all rights, some of it should be yours too. If you’d been bad enough to get sent to our great-aunt Ada, she’d have probably left half of it to you.”
“It takes an astronomical amount to fund a campaign.”
She crossed her arms. “I mean it: tell me how much.”
I had a number in mind, but it was ridiculous. So I threw out a lowball.
“Bev,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. “How much do you actually need?”
I sighed and told her.
“Done,” she said. “Do I make a check out to you or to him?”
“Marilyn!”
“What? I can’t take it with me. And I don’t know if I’m having kids or not. If you say he’s going to help people, why not make the world a little better for everyone?”
“I can’t take that much,” I said.
“Then I’ll give it to him directly,” she said, digging in her purse and bringing out a checkbook. She uncapped a pen and began writing.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Has anyone ever stopped you from doing something?”
She grinned. “Many have tried, none have succeeded.” She tore the check out of the book, folded it, and slipped it into my hand. “When the election is over, you should pop on down to Key West. I’ve got someone there who would absolutely love to meet you.”
I couldn’t imagine “popping” anywhere with Robbie and Debbie, but maybe if the divorce was finalized by then, I could go on a weekend when Larry had the kids. It would be nice to actually catch up with my cousin, even if I had no intention of being set up with whomever she wanted me to meet.