Chapter 3 #2
At just the right time, before everyone was too full or too drunk to pay attention, Rory gathered everyone into the living room.
He found his spot in the open space between the crackling fire and Jasper’s shiny black Model D Concert Grand Steinway.
As of late, I’d been covering the beautiful piano when we had guests, because two weeks earlier, I’d cringed when a drunk woman thought the top made a good coaster for her gin and tonic.
Rory and I had done so many of these fireside chats that he didn’t even need to summon me. I assumed my place next to him and smiled. Forty or so people pushed their way into the living room, and as the Hen Loather patiently waited, the volume of their little conversations dwindled to near silence.
If he made love to me like he gave a speech, I’m not sure I’d ever leave my bed.
Or that I ever could! He waited until all the guests had found their spot, his eyes bouncing from one person to the next as he made each of them feel like it was his or her special night.
Then he unleashed his rehearsed grin, and the remainder of noise in the room disappeared.
I used to cherish that handsome grin. It’s part of what made me fall in love with him.
I remembered seeing it for the first time while standing on that stage in New York.
I remembered his kind wave. Oh, how I missed those days.
Now, I had to swallow the bile that rose in my throat when I saw this repulsive gesture, because I knew it was the trademark of the politician who had impeded our marriage, the politician who had possessed the Rory I’d married.
Once the nervous energy had filled the silence, Rory reached out, took my hand, and “graced” me with that same smile.
All for me! (Right? What a showman.) Remember, I had acted for half my life.
I returned a smile that looked even more sincere than his own.
No one could see the poisonous thoughts dancing like little devils behind my eyes.
As usual, Rory raised his free hand in the air, which wasn’t necessary because everyone had already quieted, ready to listen.
He’d once admitted that raising his hand before a speech gave the impression, or more accurately, the illusion, that he was swearing under oath, that any words that followed this powerful gesture came from his heart, and that any words that followed fell just shy of the Word of God.
God, or the politician, or Chicken Hater, or the Dream Killer, everyone but the Rory who had captured my heart, opened his mouth and showered the people with his wisdom.
As he did so, I marveled at the hives forming around his neck.
I could tell they bothered him, too, because every once in a while as he blabbered, he’d gone in for a scratch.
After a brief and apparently itchy monologue, Rory glanced at me, and I knew that was my cue.
He said to the crowd, “Margot and I are so happy to welcome you into our home. You can probably guess who’s responsible for the beautiful decorations and this scrumptious holiday food.
” What a hypocrite. Also, notice how he said, “holiday,” and not Christmas.
He flashed another grin, his sparkly whites shining like the piano keys of a new Steinway. “Margot is the Dick Cheney in this relationship. I’m merely a pawn in her game.” He turned to me and added, “And I’m lucky as hell that she even lets me on the game board.”
A round of obligatory laughter circled the living room. Eager eyes slide toward me, and I didn’t exactly hate it. I missed my stage days.
Rory let the commotion die down before continuing. “Thank you, my love, for supporting me all these years. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.” Did he know how to play his part or what?
I smiled a thanks and turned to the guests, our audience.
It was my turn now. I said with a smile that could melt the Sabres’ hockey rink, “Dick Cheney. Really? Who in the world still makes Dick Cheney references? That was so five years ago.” The guests grinned.
I had them right where I wanted them. “And please don’t tell me I look like some old man.
” The guests exploded with laughter. I’d won that round.
I felt oh, so comfortable speaking in public and enjoyed performing again.
If Rory wanted to play, I could too. I said, “I’ll avoid any George W.
comparisons or hunting-accident jokes and just tell you that, though my husband drives me crazy sometimes, this man cares about you.
All of you. He cares about this town. We’re all lucky to have him.
” A Tony-award nomination was surely in my future.
Though I had graced a stage or two in my day, I was still learning from Rory.
The first thing he always did when giving a speech was to thank someone else.
That’s why he’d put the attention on me.
He was establishing that he was a selflessly generous man.
Tonight wasn’t all about him. In return—though I was truly sincere—I thanked my kitchen staff, who had lined up in the back.
After the applause, Rory and I waxed on for a moment about the charity.
Like I mentioned earlier, I can’t for the life of me remember the details of what we were raising funds for, but please don’t think of me as a selfish, disingenuous hag.
Every charity did matter, but I was dealing with my own demons.
My marriage was a catastrophe. My yearlong plan to get Rory back was going awry.
I was holding on with everything I had, hoping and praying that Jasper hadn’t noticed the downward spiral of his parents’ decaying marriage.
For some silly reason, my Christmas wish was that Rory and I would have it all worked out by the time Jasper returned from his music camp in Texas.
That hope was fading into impossibility.
Because this whole bit of banter had become our schtick, I knew what was coming, and I prepared mentally.
Rory said to his congregation, “Would you mind if I ask something of my wife? You might know that I found this lovely being on a Broadway stage. Almost unfairly, I stole her from a very promising career.” He turned to me and asked, “Margot, would you mind singing a tune for us before we return to our conversations about the amount on the check we’ll write tonight? ”
I remember wishing that Rory wanted to hear my voice. Like he used to. I wished his request hadn’t become part of our schtick.
Everyone clapped and cheered encouragement as I thought about what I might sing.
I hadn’t prepared but didn’t need to. I was never short on songs.
When the clapping stopped, I rested my hand on the piano.
As I’d grown accustomed to doing, I stared at a spot on the black cover and breathed in a few breaths.
Once the character awakened inside of me, I raised my head to the crowd and sang a jazzy, up-tempo version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” Halfway through, I began snapping my fingers and, by the end, the guests were all singing along with me.
Rory and I had them in the palms of our hands.
As usual, shortly after our speech, Nadine and I found each other and drank wine in the corner.
She made a comment about how great the food was, and I told her I hadn’t been able to try it because of my diet.
She encouraged me to keep doing what I was doing because it was working so well.
She was even nice enough to ask the details of the diet, as if she needed to lose a pound.
My diet was no secret, and I happily shared.
“Just don’t eat starchy or refined carbs.
No bread, rice, potatoes, flour. Nothing enjoyable.
Actually, just don’t eat. If you’re hungry, eat air.
There are no calories in air.” I feigned taking a bite out of the air in front of us and chewed.
Nadine laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. After we’d exhausted diet talk, I asked, “What do you think you’ll do after this job?”
She shook her head. “I try not to look too far into the future.”
“That’s a good point. You’re so much younger than I am, but when I was around your age, I mistakenly thought I had everything figured out, and then I met Rory, and the whole thing blew up in smoke.
Not in a bad way. It’s just that when you’re in your…
” I almost guessed an age but held back.
“When you’re so young, you think you have the world by its tail.
Then one shift can change everything. Just like that.
So, take it from me, you’re right in answering the way you did.
Don’t look too far into the future.” I raised a finger.
“But we all know working in politics requires a certain amount of foresight. What if Rory doesn’t win the next election? What if he ends up running for senate?”
Nadine shook her head, as if she’d spent plenty of time pondering the thought. “I hope he’d take me with him. He’s a great boss and even better politician. He’s been good for our city.”
“Answered like a politician. Maybe you need to be the next mayor.”
She and I laughed, and we both knew she could say nothing more than the best about my husband.
I might have thought her kind comments about him were too flattering, almost like she was attracted to him, but everyone in his office bathed him with compliments.
For that matter, everyone in Burlington did!
From his coworkers’ comments and what I’d seen, Rory was a good boss. He fought to get his staff raises and more vacation time. He didn’t ask more of them than he did of himself. He always had a smile on his face. Never raised his voice.
Later, after hiding in the kitchen with the team for a while, I wandered through the living room looking for a new circle to join. While most of the guests enjoyed the good food, I chewed on another bite of air.
I spotted Rory talking to Kim, you know, the harem leader.
The one with the video-game face. I didn’t know where Kim’s husband was, but Rory made her laugh again.
I hate to seem like the jealous type. I really do.
I know he was being a good boss, just being friendly, and there’s nothing wrong with making people laugh.
However, inside my heart, I longed for my husband to make me laugh again.
I wanted him to want to make me laugh. Rory said something apparently even funnier, and that’s when Kim smacked him on the shoulder and nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter.
A sharp pain surfaced under my ribs.