35. Devlin
DEVLIN
S carlett lasted longer at the party than I thought she would.
She hung in there patiently while I worked my way through the crowd.
Using every weapon in my arsenal, I reassured each person that I was happy and healthy and ready to work.
If the questions went beyond probing, Scarlett stepped in with a redirect that usually dizzied the interrogator into submission.
“My great-granddaddy was one of the founders of our town,” she was saying proudly. I loved watching stuffy society try to cover their shock at learning the Bodine family’s bootlegging history told with the same pride as their Mayflower ancestral lineage stories.
An hour after I’d intended to leave, I finally got Scarlett in the car.
We both collapsed against our head rests with twin sighs of relief.
“Well that was somethin’,” Scarlett said.
“You can say that again.”
“I would, but I’m too tired.”
“Are you too tired for?— ”
“Sex? No, I think I can rouse the energy for a couple of orgasms,” she said, smiling without opening her eyes.
“I was going to suggest pizza.”
“I could definitely eat and then have some of those orgasms.”
I brought her hand to my lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Pizza and sex sound like exactly the perfect thing.”
“Did you have a good time?” she asked, turning her head to look at me.
“As good of a time as you can have at a work function.”
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
Did I?
“There’s a certain satisfaction in successfully navigating the social minefield of politics,” I said. “But it’s no night at The Lookout.”
She laughed. “I know you’re making fun. But you promised me pizza, and I’m still making up to you, so I’ll choose not to fire back.”
“I appreciate your restraint,” I laughed. I turned the key in the ignition. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was... interesting,” she said slowly.
“Hmm. That certainly sounds definitive.”
“I learned a lot,” she said.
“For instance?”
“For instance, there are catty Misty-Lynn-like assholes in every town.”
I was curious who she’d labeled as a Misty Lynn. There were quite a few likely choices.
“And I learned that it’s never appropriate to use plastic dishes and utensils. And that everyone will like you more if you let them talk about themselves.”
“All accurate assessments. Although I personally believe that Solo cups and paper plates have their place. ”
She looked out the window, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I liked seeing you in action, but I felt like I was watching an actor playing a part.”
“That’s pretty much exactly what it is,” I admitted.
“Why can’t people just be real?” she asked. “Why can’t they say, ‘You know what, Stuart? I don’t want to support your initiative to jail the homeless.’ Why does everyone have to pretend to be polite?”
“It’s how things get done,” I explained. “Everyone pretends to play nicely together until we can’t pretend anymore.”
“I heard you were on leave. Mental health leave,” Scarlett said.
I swore quietly. “Let me guess. Misty Lynn the Second?”
“And third.”
“When I hit Ralston, my ex-wife’s lover, my family went into damage control mode. Everyone knew what I’d done. Most would have done the same in my position. But, in the eyes of the constituents...”
“You come off as unstable. Can’t keep a wife. Now you’re violent,” Scarlett filled in the blanks.
“I basically handed everyone a weapon to use against me. I took a leave from my job. My parents and our publicist told everyone that it was an unfortunate reaction to too much stress.”
“And now you’re left proving that you’re not mentally unstable. You’re just a normal guy who decked an asshole.”
“But I have to prove it by playing the game, following the rules.”
She shot me a look. “And not decking anyone else?”
“I’ve got a second chance to make the next session a good one. Improve my chances for re-election. Then I can start thinking bigger.”
“Do you want to? ”
I turned down a side street and drove past the pizza parlor in a hunt for a parking space. “My goal is Congress.”
She was still watching me. “That, Mr. McCallister, doesn’t answer my question.”
“Politicians don’t know how to answer direct questions.”
“Maybe you don’t know what you really want,” she ventured.
I squeezed into a space a block down.
“That’s the hunger talking. Come on. I’ll let you pick the toppings... on your half.”