Chapter 9 #2
“If you say so.” Anya shrugged. “I hope you get the job with Wheeler, if that’s what you want.”
“So you can keep thinking you’re too good for me,” Gabe muttered.
“What are you talking about?” Anya snapped.
Gabe looked up to make eye contact in the mirror again. “You know exactly what.”
Anya frowned—she really didn’t. Then she noticed that Tallulah was staring, and a wave of guilt washed over her; she hadn’t meant to ruin the end of Gabe’s visit with his girlfriend.
“I’m sorry,” Anya said to Tallulah. “I guess this is why I’m his nemesis. Judgmental asshole and all.”
“It’s not judgment,” Tallulah said softly.
“Sure it is,” Gabe cracked, and Anya laughed uncomfortably.
“No.” Tallulah looked right at Anya. “It isn’t.”
“Merge onto 405 Freeway South in three hundred feet,” the GPS broke in, and Anya was grateful to be able to focus on the road. They all fell silent for a minute.
“So, Tallulah.” Anya cleared her throat. “Where are you flying off to?”
After they dropped Tallulah at LAX, Gabe really didn’t want to sit in the front seat with Anya.
He was so pissed he couldn’t stand to look at her.
For reasons Gabe couldn’t fathom, Anya seemed to be just as angry; she turned on NPR and didn’t say another word for the entire drive.
Traffic was abysmal: an accident on the 405, construction in Westwood, Anya stopping responsibly at every yellow light.
The roads finally opened up in Beverly Hills, but being there annoyed Gabe even more. He hated his parents’ neighborhood.
It took nearly two hours to get to Jeff Rooney’s house, an ostentatious modernist palace with canyon views, all black iron girders and glass walls like a Bond villain’s lair.
Anya gaped with wonder as they pulled up the big circular drive, as a well-dressed valet took their car, as they walked into the home’s grand entry with its gargantuan Chihuly chandelier.
Her awe grated on Gabe’s already frayed nerves.
She thought he was dirt, but she was impressed by all this?
“There you guys are!”
Gabe snapped to attention when Jo walked into the room alongside Jeff Rooney. They’d only met a few minutes prior, but they already looked like old friends.
“Jeff, this is Gabe and Anya, two of my senior staff,” she said.
“Soldiers for the good fight.” Jeff gave them the same charming smile that had graced dozens of magazine covers, and Anya giggled appreciatively.
Jeff was in his forties and shorter than you’d expect (movie stars usually were), with a toned physique, a dark auburn beard, and deep blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he grinned at Anya. Gabe instantly disliked him.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, I’m such a fan,” Anya said. “Thank you so much for having us in your home.”
“A fan, eh?” Jeff gave her a mischievous look. “Please tell me you’re not one of those Marvel groupies who likes me in tights and a cape.”
Anya flushed. “I, actually— What you did, shooting those commercials in Japan so you could pay to get all those people out of Burma, to escape the junta? I thought that was really amazing.”
“I should have guessed,” Jeff said kindly.
He could have sold that ugly chandelier and saved a few more Burmese people, Gabe thought.
“So what’s our agenda?” Jo asked. “The fundraiser starts at seven-thirty?”
“With guests arriving at seven-fifteen, so we have just under an hour,” Gabe said. “Congresswoman, you and I need to lock your remarks, and then we have some local press here for availabilities. I think they’re in a sitting room.”
“The solarium,” Jeff corrected. “It’s a great room for interviews—good light, nice backdrop.”
“Terrific.” Gabe clenched his jaw.
“And Mr. Rooney, you’re with me,” Anya said. “To film a video for the campaign? If that’s okay?”
“Of course.” Jeff smiled. “And please, call me Jeff.”
“No chance.” Anya grinned, and Jeff laughed—a little too hard, in Gabe’s opinion, but whatever.
Jo only wanted a few changes to her remarks, which wouldn’t take long, so Gabe ducked into the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat. Preethi was there too, already digging into a plate of dumplings pilfered from one of the catering platters.
“These are so good,” she groaned. “There’s like a hoisin sauce? But smoky? I want to eat a thousand.”
“Thank god, I’m starving,” Gabe said as he loaded some dumplings onto a plate.
“You didn’t stop for In-N-Out?”
“Wasn’t worth it to spend another ten minutes with Anya. She’s such a miserable human being.” Gabe popped a dumpling into his mouth and chewed forcefully. Preethi was right, it was really good.
“So…not a good drive?” Preethi asked tentatively.
“That’s an understatement. First she was rude in front of Lu, then she gave me the silent treatment—like I did something wrong?
I don’t know why I’m surprised, she always finds a way to be offended by everything I do.
That should be her job—professionally offended.
She’d be better at it than anyone else in the country.
She could write a how-to book for beginners on being a condescending nightmare. ”
Gabe stabbed another dumpling with his chopsticks, but when he looked up, he saw Preethi was staring at him strangely.
“What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“I don’t know, dude. Shit-talking competent women? Not my favorite color on you.”
She said it with a hint of a smile, but it put a pit in his stomach all the same.
“Hey, Preethi?” One of their video staffers popped into the kitchen. “Jo’s asking for you in the solarium.”
“Be right there!” Preethi hurried out of the room, leaving Gabe alone with his dumplings.
Gabe felt gross, like he needed a long run and a scalding shower. He didn’t know why he let his frustration with Anya get the better of him that way.
Because she’s right about Wheeler, and you know it? Because your so-called dream job is proof of what a hack you really are?
He pushed the thoughts down; he couldn’t deal with this now.
He had only half an hour to edit Jo’s remarks, and he needed to find a quiet place to work—no small feat, considering the entire house was a glass box teeming with cater waiters.
Gabe walked out of the kitchen and turned down one hallway, then another, hoping he’d find an open door to an office or a den or something, but he paused when he heard Jeff Rooney speaking in a harsh tone.
“This makes a mockery of my intelligence,” Jeff was saying.
“I don’t think so at all,” Anya replied, her voice high and anxious.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a professional writer? You can’t write something better than this?” Jeff raised his voice, and anger flared in Gabe’s chest—how dare he speak to Anya that way?
Gabe stepped into the room where they were filming, a library with a fireplace. The video crew looked terrified, Anya looked stressed, and Jeff Rooney looked absolutely irate, a stack of papers rolled up in his hand.
“Hey.” Gabe kept his demeanor calm. “Everything okay in here?”
“Hardly,” Jeff sniffed. “This script is obvious and pedantic.”
“It was approved by your team,” Anya said shakily.
“It shouldn’t have been.” Jeff smacked the script down on the table.
“Jo Sessego is running against one of the most insidiously fascistic members of the Senate, someone who wants to strip Americans of our most precious civil liberties, and you want me to talk about sunshine and puppies and a brighter tomorrow? It’s asinine. It’s drivel.”
“Whoa, Jeff, that’s my fault,” Gabe said.
“Why?” Jeff sneered. “She wrote it.”
“But I dictated the message,” Gabe said firmly. “Anya—Anya would never write something like this. You have no idea how much she cares—about Congresswoman Sessego’s values, about always doing the right thing. She has the strongest moral compass of anyone I’ve ever known.”
Gabe caught Anya’s eye for a moment. Her expression was surprised and confused, but intensely focused too. He felt pulled to her, like there was a fiery thread connecting his body to hers—but he couldn’t get distracted. He had to keep talking.
“Campaigns need people like Anya, but they also need people like me. She wants to make the world a better place––but me? I want to win. I don’t care if the message is asinine.
I care that it tests well with women moderates—the same women who watch your movies, and a must-win demographic for our campaign.
If you want to shout into the wind about civil liberties, I’m sure Anya could write you some bang-up prose.
But if you want to help Jo Sessego get to the Senate?
” Gabe tapped the same stack of papers Rooney had deposited on the desk. “This is what people want to hear.”
Jeff took that in for a moment, then eyed Gabe wryly. “Doesn’t give me a ton of faith in the electorate.”
“Me neither.” Gabe smiled. “But we do our best with what we have.”
Jeff looked at the script, considering…
“Mr. Rooney?” A woman with earphones and a clipboard rushed into the room. “We need you out front. Guests are starting to arrive.”
Jeff turned to Anya and the video crew. “You guys okay to film after dinner?”
Anya nodded with visible relief. “Absolutely.”
“Great.” Jeff followed the clipboard woman out of the room.
The video team started adjusting their gear, a whir of noise and movement, but Anya stood perfectly motionless, still staring at Gabe.
“What?” he asked. His throat felt dry.
“Did you mean any of that? Or were you just convincing Rooney to do the video?”
He smiled sadly, remembering the way she’d looked the first day he met her, stubborn and gorgeous in the morning sunlight, so intensely ambitious and optimistic it took his breath away.
“Anya, I meant every word.”