27. The Protest
27 THE PROTEST
Cal
“You don’t want to say anything to your sister?” Mother demanded, harsh.
“Mother, what Chloe does is up to Chloe.”
“You didn’t arrange this?”
“I cannot tell Chloe what to do, Mom. Honestly. She is out there protesting and engaging with people her age. While her politics and mine align, I have not coached her or asked her. She has not talked to me. You know how she is. I know more about her life on social media than I do from anything she says to me.”
“I hate that part,” Mom said.
“Chloe is her own woman. I am not getting involved. I don’t even have time, Mom. I’m headed to a charity event.”
We were deep in the middle of a days-long protest hoping to smoke out our police chief while watching people tie up Lakeshore Drive in a fit of rage. Deep down, it pleased me to see people like Chloe—privileged people who could otherwise ignore these problems—were out walking with protestors who felt their lives were at risk daily. Citizen protests were the only way I saw my administration’s path changing in its relationship with law enforcement. To date, the protests had been organized and largely nonviolent, but something had to give. Everyone felt the tension.
“Fine. But I don’t like it.”
I rolled my eyes.
Jo stood before me; arms folded in annoyance. I was running late.
“I gotta go.”
“Don’t get hurt,” Mom said.
“I am a big boy. I can handle it.”
I hung up, tucking my phone in a tuxedo jacket pocket.
“You know, I’m all dressed up, looking like a million bucks, and waiting on your ass to get off the phone,” Jo said.
“I know. My mother is panicked over Chloe. And yes, you clean up nice.”
“That girl is pigheaded, but she’s right,” Jo said as we boarded the elevator. “Doesn’t your mother want to be on the right side of it?”
“She doesn’t want her friends bothered because Chloe stands for something.”
“You ran a reform campaign and were always surrounded by Black folks. I’m not sure what else there is to say. Did she forget about that?”
I snickered. “Mom gave up on me being chill long ago, but we’re different. Chloe is her precious angel baby who had everything from day one. I had to be tough. She wants Chloe to have it easy. Yes, there is some implicit bias there, but Mom’s main point is, why fight so hard when I ran so you could walk? And why not make money with all that privilege?”
“Must be nice to be a rich white lady.”
“It’s easy,” I admitted. “To be white, I mean. Now, what do I need to know about this event?”
“Alderman Lewis sees this as the crowning jewel of his summer, Cal. The charity raises money for summer camp, but it’s his pet project. Make an effort. Write a check. Make nice with organizers. It’s the same game it always is.”
I zoned out, going to my Making Nice place. Deep down, I wanted to refresh my browser nonstop to see if the union or chief had news. I wanted him to step down. It’s what the community needed. It’s also what I politically required to get the council to change the appointment rules. Despite the stress, this was a convenient way to press my agenda.
We arrived at the venue for the banquet shortly after it began. I was never early—always late, but not in a rude way. I gave good face—something David taught me. He thrived on social interaction and I always led with that. We had been so alike in that way. Danna could be an ice queen, but David had to be personable. I never understood how it worked. It just did . I wondered if I would ever have someone in my corner to settle me as she did.
As we entered, I spotted Daphne at the bar. I knew her wild blonde hair a mile away. She left it down, as I liked it. I approached, ignoring Jo’s pleas to beeline it to the host and I spotted a bejeweled clip she’d used to tuck hair behind her ear. The urge to kiss her and pull the hair at the base of her head overcame me. I smelled her perfume before she saw me—floral and sweet. She was sexy as hell in a pink gown that accentuated her round, firm ass.
“Hi,” I said. “You’re here.”
“I came with Mum,” Daphne answered. “She said she was lonely. I’m trying to be supportive. Of course, she’s ditched me for a friend.”
I chuckled. “That’s how I always feel escorting my mother or sister anywhere.”
“Well, I am glad to see you,” I spotted Jo’s annoying waves from the left of Daphne’s head.
“I’m… I’ll be back. I’m sorry. Jo is about to land a fucking plane over there. I have to go see the alderman.”
“Got it,” Daphne said. “It’s okay.”
The way she smiled melted me. The urge to kiss her grew stronger. Her gorgeous green eyes begged for more. I couldn’t do it, though—not here.
“I will be back. Promise,” I said.
I stepped to where Jo stood.
She pulled me in, “Is there something you want to tell me about Daphne Delphine?”
I did a double take.
“The minute you could, you went straight to her?—”
“She’s just a friend,” I lied.
“Well, I will remind you that you’re making a speech at the DNC in a couple of months—the speech to end all speeches. I busted my ass to help get you the keynote. The last thing that people want right now is to see you with a much-younger woman who isn’t even divorced and is the daughter of your notable dead best friend.”
I winced. “I am doing my best to keep it under wraps.”
“Mind yourself. Keep it quiet for now.”
She knew me too well. I worried that if Jo already knew, other people were soon behind. She was right. This was about to be my moment. Any concerns about conflicts of interest, would wait.
* * *
Daphne
I watched Cal work the room like a champ. I knew how to be a politician’s wife. I was used to being left to my own devices—as I had for the best part of the decade. This was different, though. I was the girlfriend no one knew about. It felt a little shameful, but a lot hot. I only agreed to attend for the chance to see Cal in a tuxedo.
When Cal returned, he looked winded and needed a drink.
“Need something to wet your whistle?” I joked.
“I’m so parched,” Cal admitted. “All the talking, you know?”
“I do,” I said. I didn’t want to admit how much I knew.
We approached the bar where I ordered another gin and tonic. He took a glass of champagne and took a long sip.
He kept his voice low, “You look downright stunning, Daph.”
I blushed.
“Don’t play coy. You know how good you look.”
“I’m… well, glad you like the dress.”
“I do. But it’s not the dress. It’s everything.”
“I had a minor win today,” I admitted. “That is giving me some encouragement.”
“What is that?”
I nodded toward a woman in an expensive lace shawl. “Carlos and Caroline Menendez are interested in my luxury-focused concept. Thanks for giving me that heads up.”
Cal beamed. “That is great to hear. I want a full report later.”
My face dropped as I thought about later .
“What, Daph?”
“Later in a biblical sense, right?”
Cal sighed and looked around. “I don’t want that, Daph. Let’s say later as in… well, when can you get away?”
“Cal, you have a shit ton of?—”
“Daph, when? I owe you given my rude departure last weekend?—”
I took a deep breath. “I could get away tonight. Mum knows I’m seeing someone.”
“How?”
“She found my pills.”
“Pills?” Confusion spread.
I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, those pills,” Cal got it. “Ah. Well, does she know?—”
“I’m not daft, Cal. She has no clue who it is. She thinks he’s a stranger. All she knows is that I have no intention of bringing him back home to North Astor Street.”
“Good,” Cal said. “Things are more fun on Superior. I will be here another couple of hours—mostly circulating. I’m not ignoring you. It pains me even to contemplate that. I’ll text you, but it’s not just… well, I want to hear about everything.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll try.”
I longed for him to brush my lips with his thumb the way he did or to kiss me gently. I wanted him to acknowledge me—really show that he was here for me. Instead, Cal faded into the background. As I watched him disappear to do his job, I spotted my mother on the other side of the bar.
I approached, sick of standing awkwardly alone.
“Mum,” I said. “I’m going to head out later tonight.”
“For what?”
“I have a date,” I said. “Sort of last minute.”
“A date? Still to come?” Disapproval spread.
“Yeah. He’s still at work, but I want to see him,” I said. “I am going to go to his. Don’t stay up. I just wanted to let you know I’m not going anywhere yet.”
She nodded. “Well, at least he has a job. A real one, right?”
“A real job, yes.”
My mother was convinced politicians didn’t actually work. She saw it as a silly job that made no money—likely because Chandler never made any and he never did much other than politicking. Unfortunately, Cal was a politician. But he didn’t need my money and was currently trying very hard to hold a machine city’s police union accountable for endemic policing issues.
“Alright, well, don’t do anything stupid. Ring me if it goes south,” Mum said.
“I will.”