Chapter Thirty-Seven Maddie
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Maddie
On Sunday morning, I try to give my mom the cactus. I tell her how happy it will be in her mild California climate, and how, unlike me, she will actually keep it alive.
She gently pushes it back into my hands as Nolan loads my suitcase into the trunk of the car.
Then she gives me a crushing hug that pushes the air from my lungs.
“I love you, my sweet, fiery jalapeno of a girl.” She steps back and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as her other hand runs over my bob, like she’s memorizing this image of me and replacing the blond stranger that she’s had to live with for the last few years.
We say our goodbyes and Bee wonders if maybe we should make a last-minute change of plans and do Christmas in Kansas so Nolan and Mom can see some old friends and help me settle into my new place.
The airport is holiday chaos, and as I go through security, I feel like an overprotective mother as I try to shield my cactus from any rough handling, but I and the prickly little thing make it through.
Because the LAX drop-off math is a constant mystery and you can only be there way too early or five minutes before your flight, I am at my gate three hours before it is time to board.
I perform the required act of confirming that, yes, my gate does indeed exist, and then I’m off in search of overpriced food that doesn’t taste like cardboard.
After settling on a dumpling place with my ideal ordering process—free of humans and from the safety of my own phone—I settle in at the bar to read a few bookmarked articles on my phone with my cactus currently taking up residence on the counter.
Two dumplings in, I hear the stoic voice of a reporter coming from the giant screen above say, “. . . Gentry Cooper Wade the Third, the California assemblyman elect of a notoriously upper-middle-class suburban district that is a stronghold not just for one party but for the Wade political dynasty in general. Political pundits have been eagerly awaiting the debut of the youngest of the Wade prodigies, and it seems that he isn’t waiting for his swearing in for his first political scandal.
And viewers, I have to be honest when I say, it might just be his last.”
My heart skips a beat as I allow myself to look up. Whoa. This is national news. What the hell could Gentry have done to get himself in the national spotlight?
“For those who did not follow the race, Wade announced a rather controversial policy proposal just a week before Election Day and made a name for himself as he rallied support for his California Sex Worker Registry plan. Well, we here at CTB have confirmed with a reliable source that the youngest Wade’s interest in pornographic material is perhaps more personal in nature.
” The reporter, her hair a short brown crop, her eyes twinkling with glee, continues on as I sit there with a half-eaten dumpling hovering in front of my agape mouth.
“Footlicker95, also known as Gentry Cooper Wade the Third, was identified in what is being called a guerrilla data leak similar in nature to the Fasse Global leak investigated by this reporter ten years ago.”
My dumpling and chopsticks clatter to my plate then. My chest is alight with a burning excitement and something akin to hope. But above all, I feel like a predator satisfied.
Bram. Holy fuck. He’s still got it.
I am way too turned on right now to be sitting in an airport eating dumplings. Oh god, and I am still so, so sad. Sad and horny. What a combination.
I don’t care that Gentry watched porn. A handful of times we even watched it together—though it was rather vanilla and definitely free of foot fetishes. But I do care that he was so dead set on vilifying sex workers and also framing porn as a dirty little secret.
I push my lust and curiosity aside as I force myself to metabolize the rest of the report.
“The leak appears to be targeted, as no other identities outside of a few financial heavy hitters and a US House representative from Kansas have been named. The leak also includes services rendered, featuring receipts for video chats and escort services paid for by Wade. We can also confirm that Wade, over the time frame the data leak covers, was in a serious relationship with his longtime girlfriend, Madelyn Kowalczk. While Kowalczk had only just begun to venture into the limelight, what many didn’t know was that she is the younger sister of Nolan Shaw and sister-in-law to Bee Hobbes.
This reporter can’t help but wonder if Gentry was a fan of Bianca Von Honey, Bee Hobbes’s adult film alter ego.
When asked for a statement, Gentry’s office did not respond. ”
Gentry never did like Bee, and I wonder now if his breakup with me was preemptive in anticipation of this new front-running policy of his. Among many other things.
“I told him that registry would kill his campaign, but did he believe me? Of course not.”
I glance over and right there just two seats down is Penelope Pike with two glasses of half-drunk wine (one red and one white) sitting in front of her, along with a bowl of edamame carcasses.
“Penelope Pike,” I say. “I hope you’re not planning on flying a plane after double-fisting two glasses of wine, are you? Not after all the lectures you gave me about not giving a shit if I ever actually drove drunk, but only caring if I got caught.”
To her credit, Penelope laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve witnessed such a thing. If it weren’t for the two glasses of wine, I might not notice anything amiss. Her dark blond hair is pulled back into a chignon and her suit jacket is carefully draped over the back of her chair to avoid creasing.
“I am sorry about this debacle,” I sweetly lie through my teeth.
She waves her hand like she’s clearing the air of a bad smell.
“Oh, I did my job. I got the dolt elected. His grandfather always said the Wade genes became more and more diluted with every birth. It only makes sense that little baby Wade would be the dullest of them all. He didn’t even have the soundness of mind to use a fake billing address, if you can believe it. ”
“Wow. So I’m guessing the cheating wasn’t a onetime thing, then?”
She frowns. “That depends on how you look at it. Some political wives don’t count physical interactions with sex workers as cheating. For their own sanity, of course.”
Oh god, that makes me cringe. “Well, I’m still sorry you have to clean this up.”
She takes a swig of the white and chases it with the red.
“Oh, there’s nothing to clean up. The elder Wade is about to release a statement condemning Gentry’s behavior.
The family will urge him to step down or face retaliation.
If he has any bit of sense, he will, and the best Gentry can hope for is ten years on the charity circuit in the lead-up to a comeback campaign one day. ”
“That is very satisfying.”
She nods. “I do like being right, so yes, in a way it is.”
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“Taking a little vacation back to the Midwest to visit family in Iowa. I need a fucking break from the coast. Just stuff me full of potatoes and feed me some salads that are free of vegetables and full of mayonnaise.”
“Amen to that,” I say, and hold a dumpling up to cheers.
She returns the sentiment with her glass of red. “Maddie, I don’t often apologize, but I don’t take pride in how we let you go.”
She says it like I was laid off from a job, and I guess I sort of was.
“I hear Veronica Balentine is absolutely smitten with you. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Good to know.”
She throws back the rest of her red and starts digging through her overstuffed Hermès bag before coming up with her wallet.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she tells me.
“Kids like Gentry are made for this. The personality is practically bred out of them, but being a normy and then putting yourself out there for the public to pick apart and consume after someone like me has already ruthlessly done so . . . it takes thick skin, Maddie. You’re made of some strong stuff. ”
My lips twitch into a smile. “It’s the Midwest in me.”
She guzzles the rest of her white. “I couldn’t take it. It’s why I dish it out instead. I don’t want to be the person in charge. Just the one who pulls their strings.” She shivers greedily at the thought. “Yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me.”
Yep, Penelope Pike is shit-faced. But more surprisingly, I think I might like the woman just a little bit.
She stands and holds her hands out for a moment and checks her balance. “Yup,” she says proudly. “Good to go.”
“Have a safe flight,” I tell her, “and if you do fly the plane drunk, just don’t get caught.”
She thinks about that for a minute. “That really is shit advice, isn’t it?” She tugs on her blazer and throws an extra twenty on the counter after I already noticed her tipping 30 percent on the app as she closed out her tab. Good tippers can’t be entirely monstrous, right?
She points at me, her finger focused more at the artwork of a panda on the wall behind me. “And if you ever want to throw your name out in California, I think we would make an absolutely gruesome twosome.”
To my shock and slight horror, she throws her arms around my shoulders and kisses each of my cheeks before whispering, “The world could use a few less Gentrys and a few more Maddies, if you ask me.”
She pulls back, noticing my cactus for the first time. “What’s with the plant?”
I open my mouth to answer, but then with a slightly sloppy shrug she adds, “Never mind. I don’t actually care. See you around, Maddie!”
As she expertly (and impressively) weaves through the crowd, I watch her go with an unexpected smile on my face.
I sit there for the next two hours and help myself to a celebratory, overpriced cocktail as I watch the breaking-news ticker scroll across the page.
Two other reporters in new time slots give the same report on Gentry along with a rundown of all his family’s prior scandals and their own hot takes.
Unfortunately for the Wade family, it’s a slow news day.
I want to feel warm and fuzzy and satisfied, but the only person I want to talk to about all of this is in Mount Astra, Kansas, probably chasing down a frog, a dog, and three girls as he gets them ready to go back to school after the holiday.
Penelope’s words stir in my chest. More Maddies. Less Gentrys.
But I’m only one person. One woman who feels more like a girl on most days, who is so often guided by calculated anger. Who is too cunning and unlikable. And too fat. With a severe haircut and poisonous red lips that aren’t approachable or accessible.
But I am one person who has the ability to find others like me.
Not only that, but I have the ability to make those women electable and I think—I truly think—I can accomplish that without forcing them to give up so much of themselves.
Maybe it’s not about losing yourself. Maybe it’s a matter of curating yourself and saving the softer, private parts of yourself for the pieces of your life that aren’t up for public consumption.
Maybe it’s about having a hard shell so that you can protect your soft interior.
I don’t think I want to fight the battle of one person. I want to build an army so that it can fight a war. And there’s only one man who I want waiting for me every night when I return from the front lines.
The echoing voice of overhead speakers crackles as a gate change for my flight to Kansas City is announced.
Quickly, I pay my bill and gather my bags, all while wedging my cell phone into the crook of my shoulder and my prickly pear cactus in one arm.
The line rings four times before I get an answer. I’m practically running to my new gate now as I realize it’s on the other side of the terminal.
“Madelyn,” Veronica Balentine says into my ear. “Are you heavy breathing into the phone right now? Please tell me you’ve not accidentally called me while in the act.”
“No,” I pant. “Running to my gate at LAX.” I cannot and will not miss this flight. I know what I want and I want it right now.
“That should be an Olympic sport. Now, that would get me invested in—”
“I don’t want the job,” I blurt.
“Pardon?” she asks. “You don’t want to run for office with a war chest at your back. Is that the job you are speaking of? This better not be for something silly like love.”
“It’s not,” I tell her. “Well, it is. And also, I love Bram Loe. So I’m fucked anyway and you do not want me as your candidate. Trust me. But it’s more about me and figuring out who the fuck I am and what the fuck I want, and Veronica, I do not want that job.”
“I presume you’ve received another job offer?”
I skitter to a stop at what I think is the line for my flight. “No, not exactly. But I know what job I do want,” I tell her.
“Oh? And what job might that be?”
I hand my ticket to the gate agent and step with purpose onto the jet bridge. One step closer to home. One step closer to him.
“Your job,” I tell her. “I want your job.”