“Mrs. Lassiter?” Jane persisted. Hoping the candidate’s wife would not hang up. Hoping being this pushy wouldn’t blow her chances for an interview. She had to reclaim her life, one story at a time. If Moira was hiding because her husband was having an affair, that was front-page news. No matter what Alex thought. She simply had to prove it.
“You and I last saw each other, remember, at that fund-raiser for the Home for Little Wanderers? We had such a great talk that night. You told me all about-”
An intake of breath on the other end interrupted her, mid-pitch. “Yes, of course, I remember, Jane. And I’ve always admired your work. I’m sorry for what happened to you. It seems-unfair. What can I do for you?”
Moira was cutting to the chase. Skipping further niceties. Jane followed suit, fast-forwarding through her new job with the Register to her new assignment. She assured the candidate’s wife the interview would be nonconfrontational, no surprises, and exactly what the readers wanted to hear.
“Voters, I guess I should say, not readers.” Jane, wrapping up, reminded Mrs. Lassiter what was at stake. “People love you. But your staff tells me-you’re taking a break? Just talk with me on background, maybe. If you decide to go on the record, we can discuss that later.”
Jane squinched her eyes closed, hoping. Maybe she’d be able to give Alex some good news. Maybe, just maybe, there would be a story.
“Jane?”
“Yes?” Jane felt her stomach flip. In a split second, she’d know.
“Maybe. Let me think about it.”
Damn. “So when-?”
Jane heard the unmistakable click as Moira Lassiter hung up.
Flash. No, no flash. There was certainly enough light in her apartment to take the photo without the flash, Holly knew, but it might look more perfect with the flash. She could try both ways, of course, then see.
The green LASSITER FOR SENATE balloons caught in the eddies of the apartment’s aluminum heating vent, bumping and floating across the photos pushpinned to the bulletin board. Holly had tied a three-foot-long green satin ribbon to each balloon, then attached them all to the bottom left corner of the bulletin board.
Then the heat came on, blowing the stupid balloons right in front of the pictures. Now she couldn’t see the Lassiter announcement, or the shot of the front of his campaign headquarters.
She huffed out an impatient sigh. It shouldn’t be this difficult.
Leaving the camera on her new tripod, she crossed the living room and slammed down the thermostat. She didn’t need heat. She needed the balloons to stay in place for the photo to be perfect. It wasn’t perfect. She needed one more shot. Could she get it today? She had to get it today.
Taking a deep breath, she counted to five and thought about happy endings. A kiss in a corridor. A promise made.
A promise broken.
The timer apple dinged.
Time to go.
“What is it about politicians, anyway?” Jane sat in the lumpy upholstered swivel chair outside Alex’s office. His door was uncharacteristically closed. She could see through the window that he was on the phone. She’d wait. Her thumbs moved swiftly over her BlackBerry keyboard.
I mean, Ame, is everyone in DC sleeping with anyone who walks through the door? Are wives blind? Bored? Off with other men?
She could picture Amy at her desk in D.C., probably holding a phone to one ear, sending e-mails on her computer, and texting with Jane at the same time. Jane wished she lived closer. It was difficult having your best friend five hundred miles away. Especially recently.
“LMAO,” Amy texted back. “We got a guy, state rep, sleeping with his secty. Until wifey got wind. Now husb in doghouse sted of statehouse. Said he thot she’d never know. Moron. What up with hot Alex, sistah?”
“How they think they get away with it? And the other woman. What’s in it for her? Sex? Power? Thrill of deception?” Jane hit Send. The screen stayed blank. Amy was probably talking to a real person. Then more green letters popped into view.
Avoiding question, Janey girl. ☺ Hot Alex? All work and no play…
Jane smiled. She should never have mentioned him to Amy. Why did everyone on the planet think she should be hunting for a husband? She’d have one. Someday. Probably. “Married. Big time. He’s my boss, remember? End of story. Gotta go. xoxo”
The office door clicked open just as Jane tucked her phone into her tote bag. Good thing Alex-Hot Alex-hadn’t been reading over her shoulder.
“Sorry, Jane,” he said, gesturing her into his office. He used his heel to click a doorstop into place, keeping his door open.
The job must be getting to him, Jane thought as she stepped inside. She noticed bags under his eyes, had never seen those before. He wore the same tweed jacket as yesterday. Maybe even the same brown turtleneck with his jeans. Stacks of file folders threatened to topple off his desk. A sleek white laptop, open and humming, sat in the center. Next to it a big PC showed the flickering Register home page.
Alex flipped the laptop closed, then flopped into his chair. He swiveled toward her, keeping his left hand on the laptop cover. “What can I do for you? Moira say yes?”
Jane stared at his hand.
“Jane?”
“Uh, yeah, matter of fact. Kind of. Maybe.” Jane looked at the diplomas on the wall, looked at the two still-unpacked cardboard boxes in the corner, looked anywhere but at Alex’s left hand.
Which was no longer wearing a wide gold band.
“So what’d she say? She give you a time? Wait a sec. Here’s a-” Alex thumbed through a pile of manila folders on one corner of his desk, then stood, reaching for a stack of papers stapled at one corner. The rest of the folders slid to the floor, scattering white pages across the mottled gray carpeting. “Shit. I mean-sorry.” Alex glanced at Jane, apologetic. “Sorry. Way to start the day.”
He organized them back into a stack, then gave a little shrug. “Anyway. So. Moira?”
“You okay?” Jane risked the question. Maybe she’d seen too many movies, but that missing wedding ring had to mean something. The messy desk, the repeat clothing, the tired eyes. Maybe the wife was having an affair. Or. Maybe he was. Maybe there was another woman, and Alex’s hotshot wife threw him out. None of her business, sure, but maybe that was why Hot Alex was trying to derail her Lassiter affair story idea.
Alex blinked, silent for a beat. He sat back in his chair, crossing one ankle on his knee. “Okay about what?”
“Forget it. Just-anyway. Moira.” She filled him in on the morning’s conversation, painting in brisk strokes how the candidate’s wife had seemed sympathetic and left the door open for an interview. “She’s always been ‘the good wife,’ you know? Every time I’ve seen them together, she’s as doting as Nancy Reagan. Lassiter can do no wrong, say no wrong. That’s why I’m still thinking there’s more to this.”
“More?”
One more try. “Yeah. You think something’s going on with Moira, said that from the beginning. Now I think you might be right. But it’s not about Moira. It’s about Owen.”
“How about the other woman?”
“The other-?” Was he changing his mind on her story? She smiled, eager. “That’s what I meant. Exactly.”
But Alex was shaking his head. He picked up a stack of papers, handed them to her. “No. I mean Eleanor Gable. Here’s a background file for you. While you’re waiting on Moira, put together a takeout on the glamorous Ms. Gable.”
He held up his hands, bracketing his words like a scriptwriter pitching his next big-screen story. “‘Can a gorgeous rich girl from the North Shore parlay her family’s wealth and her crowd-pleasing style into a seat in the U.S. Senate? Eleanor Mead Gable like you’ve never seen her.’ Something like that. You can handle both, right?” Alex nodded at her encouragingly, as if trying to get her to nod along with him.