21. Cats Out of the Bag
21
CATS OUT OF THE BAG
DARREN
“ I was handling it,” Rausch says.
“Well, what a great job you did,” I say.
“Darren,” Evangeline warns, and my eyes snap to hers momentarily, but I’m too angry to listen.
“It’s fine. Let him have his hissy fit,” Rausch says.
“You think this is a hissy fit?” I ask indignantly. “I don’t like secrets. I’ve had enough of them!”
“I’ve been forthcoming with you about everything that matters,” he demands.
“Everything that matters,” I laugh out the words.
“There are some things you don’t need to know.” I open my mouth to protest but then he interrupts, “until it becomes a problem.”
“Do you need me to tell you that it was a problem the minute the Post got ahold of the story?” I say more calmly than I feel.
“I was…”
“Handling it,” I finish for him. “ I handled it.” I flick my eyes to Evangeline, who is standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand and a worrisome expression.
Rausch stands up, motioning between the two of us. “So, you held a press conference without consulting me?”
“We decided it would be better to control the narrative before the Post article came out,” I explain.
He holds up a paper in his hand. “Did you actually blame the health care system for creating prostitution?” he asks.
“No”, she protests.
He scans the paper again. “Correction, the greed of the pharmaceutical companies.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says.
“How about men and social constructs?” he adds.
She lets out a frustrated breath and grabs the paper from him.
“That’s not what I meant,” she protests. “They twisted my words.”
“If you had come to me first, I would have helped you put together a statement they couldn’t have twisted,” he demands.
Evangeline tosses the paper onto the kitchen island with a slap. “I’m not going to lie to people. I just told my story.”
She catches my eye and I hold it for several heartbeats, feeling the wave of emotion cross the room.
“Do you think people care about the truth?”
“Aren’t journalists supposed to be unbiased?” she asks.
“That’s a very na?ve way of looking at things,” he scoffs. “Do you know who owns the Post?” he asks but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Look it up and you’ll understand why I say that papers are a business. They care about profits. Spinning a story to be profitable is what they do. So, you can tell them your story about how you had to drop out of college to pay for your grandmother’s care and they will tell the story about the Democrats move towards a socialist health care system!” His voice echoes off the clay bricks of the fireplace and the room goes silent.
Shit.
I hate it when Rausch is right.
“They don’t know how much work you’ve done for the foundation, for domestic abuse victims,” Rausch says with slight indignation. “Or what you’ve given up in order to serve your community, or what a generous person you are.” He looks like he could go on but doesn’t.
“What can I do?” Evangeline steps forward, her back straight with a determined expression.
“Now that the cat’s out of the bag, let them see who you are,” he explains.
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask with trepidation.
“More press coverage, speaking engagements, public appearances with the two of you together,” Rausch rattles off.
“I was thinking more behind the scenes.” She slumps against the arm of the couch.
“There’s no going back now,” Rausch warns.
“Darren’s running, not me.”
“Do you know the saying, behind every powerful man is an even more powerful woman?” Rausch cracks a rare smile.
Evangeline wags her finger in front of him. “Do not try to flatter me in order to get what you want.” She makes her way into the kitchen and scoops up her coffee mug.
Rausch follows her and I watch in amusement. “Obama was lagging in the polls until Michelle started campaigning for him.”
Evangeline peers at him over the lip of her mug with narrowed eyes.
“Who do you think was running the country, Bill or Hillary?” Rausch continues and I have to cough into my fist so I don’t laugh out loud.
She sets the cup down and places a hand on her hip, shaking her head.
“It’s not gonna work.”
“Do you think Jack would have been elected without Jackie?”
“Oh my God! Darren,” she waves a hand at me. “Help me out here. I just can’t with him today,” she says, and dumps the remaining coffee into the sink.
“I thought it was a pretty good one,” I laugh.
“Do not agree with him,” she pleads.
Rausch stands with his hands clasped in front of him and a straight face.
“What about all the negative press?” She waves a hand.
“Langley has nothing now. Everything’s out in the open,” I say, peering over at Rausch. “Right?”
A fleeting thought about the letter my mother wrote, and I can’t help but think there are other skeletons hidden in my family’s closet.
He clears his throat. “Give it a week, and the press will have moved on,” he explains. “And don’t go rogue anymore. I can coach you.”
Evangeline looks to me for confirmation.
“We can’t hide out here for the rest of the campaign, and Rausch is right, things will blow over.”
A wry smile plays at the corners of her lips, and I roll my eyes.
“You heard that too,” Rausch says to her, raising an eyebrow, but the rest of his face remains impassive. “Darren said I was right.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” I laugh, and my phone vibrates.
Evangeline picks it up to hand it to me. I can see the worry in her eyes, but I shake my head to convey that now’s not the time to discuss. Not with Rausch here. She hands it to me, and I shove it in my pocket.
“I need to get back to Washington. I’ll put together some appearances and speaking engagements,” he says, pointing at Evangeline, who still doesn’t look pleased.
As soon as the door shuts, she turns to me. “You’ve been speaking to your grandfather? When were you going to tell me?” She folds her arms over her chest.
“I haven’t been speaking to him,” I reply truthfully and walk back into the kitchen. “He got my number, and he wants to meet.”
She leans against the island. All she has to do is look at me to pull truths.
“With everything going on I never got a chance to tell you,” I explain, opening the refrigerator and leaning inside but not finding anything I want.
“Are you going to see him?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I slam the refrigerator door closed.
“What changed?” she asks.
“I wanted to meet him because I felt like I didn’t know who my dad was.”
“And you thought he’d be able to give that to you?” She circles her arms around me.
“Not really no, but at the time I thought he was the only family I had left.” I kiss the tip of her nose and the top of her cheek. “I was wrong.” I kiss her lips, tasting coffee and vanilla. “You’re my family.”
“You make it hard for me to leave,” she says.
I pull back to look at her with a raised eyebrow.
“There’s a board meeting for the foundation,” she tells me, but she doesn’t look excited. “This is the first time I’ll see them after the press conference.”
“You shouldn’t worry about what they think of you,” I tell her.
“I’m not, but I never got a chance to talk to Bethany or Audrina before.” She shakes her head. “I blindsided them.”
“They’ll understand,” I reassure her.
“I hope you’re right. I don’t want any of this to impact the foundation.”