7. Anthony

Chapter 7

Anthony

Jesse nailed the debates. The other candidates had their strengths and weaknesses, but Jesse easily came out ahead. A businessman from Palo Alto gave him a run for his money on solutions for California’s economic issues, but Jesse was still a strong voice in that part of the debate. Then he promptly owned the businessman when it came to social reform and education.

The icing on the cake was Jesse’s proposed legislation for domestic abuse. We’d carefully kept that card up his sleeve until now, and he played it with a gambler’s precision, throwing it down and leaving the other candidates scrambling to find a reason to oppose it or give their own better solution. Surprise, surprise, after the debate concluded, informal polls on news sites showed Jesse with a substantial lead in the primary, and commentators speculated he had a much stronger than anticipated shot at not only securing the primary, but beating Casey.

After another week of appearances and interviews in the wake of the debate, we finally had an evening of downtime. Naturally we spent it going over speeches and campaign strategies. At least this time we were in Jesse’s living room instead of on a plane, in a car, or in a hotel room. This was the closest thing to relaxation either of us would get until the election was over, so I wasn’t about to complain.

As Jesse and I pored over speeches and calendars, Simone appeared in the doorway.

“You guys ever going to take a break?” she asked with a tired smile.

“A break?” Jesse said. “What’s that?”

She laughed. “Anthony, you’re not running him into the ground, are you?”

I wish. I coughed, then smiled. “No more than any campaign manager should.”

Jesse shielded his mouth with a piece of paper and, in a stage whisper, said to his wife, “Help. Me.”

She giggled. “You’re on your own. I, however, am going to call it a night. Don’t work too hard, boys.”

Jesse waved a hand toward me. “Tell that to him.”

“You’re the one who wants to be governor,” I said.

“Damn it.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “If I’d known there was actual work involved…”

Simone laughed. “Well, it keeps you busy and out of trouble. Anyway, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” Jesse and I both said.

And with that, Simone left us to our papers and schedules. No kiss good night. No I love you . More sparks had flown between my cold fish of a college roommate and me when one of us said we were turning in for the night. Ever since those two had started raising my suspicions, I’d tried to brush it off as nothing, but something didn’t add up. I probably wouldn’t have noticed with any other couple. Married life was hardly sparks and fireworks after a few years, but the difference between their public appearance and private life was so pronounced it stood out. More and more, their happy front read like the all too perfect alibi of someone with a guilty conscience.

I thumbed the edge of a spiral notebook. “The two of you seem pretty happy together.”

Jesse smiled, but it was that damned podium smile. “Yeah, we are.”

“Are you?”

The smile faded, and he eyed me suspiciously. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you two as solid as you look?” I inclined my head. Yes, Jesse, I’m direct. Get used to it. “As solid as you’re appearing in front of the public and cameras?”

He fidgeted. “Does it matter?”

“Your marriage is all over the public’s radar as a reason to elect you over Casey. I’m running you on a platform that includes being a solid family man. So yes, it does matter. At least tell me so I know enough to do damage control if something comes out.”

A humorless laugh brought a vague flicker of life to Jesse’s expression. “Right,” he said, more to himself than me. “If something comes out.”

“Meaning?”

He looked disinterestedly at a speech for some event or another, probably as a reason not to look right at me. “Do you really expect us to be swooning and fawning all over each other every moment of the day?” he asked dryly. “You do know we’ve been married for a while, right?”

“Of course I don’t expect that. I just can’t help noticing you two only swoon and fawn over each other when there’s a camera pointed your direction.”

“So you’re an expert in how couples behave on and off camera now?”

“I’ve been around Hollywood and politics enough to know an act when I see one.”

Jesse glared at me, but then he tore his gaze away and pushed the speech aside on the table. Second after second crept by, and he didn’t offer a defense. Not even a diversion or change of subject.

I swallowed. “Just tell me what I’m up against here.”

He wrung his hands and fixed his gaze on them instead of me. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and finally faced me. “All right, look. Things haven’t been good for…a long time.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘haven’t been good.’ And while you’re at it, ‘long time.’ ”

He shifted his eyes downward again. “Once the election’s over, we’re getting a divorce.”

My lips parted. I’d sensed trouble in paradise, but a planned impending divorce? Oh no. No. No. Not good. Not when his rock-solid happy marriage was part of his damned platform.

I forced my voice to stay neutral. “You can’t be serious.”

Jesse sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I am.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. “And yet the two of you went on the goddamned front page as being a happy—”

“What do you want me to do about it?” he snapped. “It’s done.”

“As is the marriage that’s the fucking backbone of your public image,” I threw back.

He put up his hands. “What the fuck do I do, then?”

I barely kept myself from lashing back at him, but something in his voice gave me pause. Jesse wasn’t normally so defensive. Nothing flustered the man, nothing got under his skin, but this subject had his hackles up. As well it should, I supposed. I didn’t imagine he enjoyed playing the happy husband when his marriage was dead and gone.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled. Then I gestured sharply toward the door leading out to the veranda. “I need a cigarette.”

“Fine.”

I half expected him to stay inside and wait for me to have my smoke, but he got up and followed me out. I figured he wouldn’t want to continue the conversation until I’d gotten my fix and he’d had a chance to catch his breath or cool off, whatever he needed to do. But no, apparently we were doing this now.

I couldn’t get my fucking cigarette out fast enough. Fumbling with it and, subsequently, my lighter, I swore under my breath, desperate for that hit of nicotine. After a long, aggravating moment, everything cooperated. I held the flame to my cigarette, lit it, and set my lighter on the table as I pulled in that glorious lungful of smoke. Still watching him, trying to read his posture or his expression or something, I turned my head and exhaled.

Once the nicotine was safely working its magic on my nerves, I said, “How long has this been going on?”

He glared at me.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Look, I just want to know what I’m working with here.” I took another drag, a smaller one this time, and blew it out. “If this is some conclusion you two have come to recently, okay. Private matters are private matters. But is this going to come blindside me as something that’s been going on for months?”

“We’ve…” Closing his eyes, Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose and fell silent for a moment. Finally he drew a breath, opened his eyes, and kept his gaze fixed on the pool as he went on. “It’s been over for a while. ”

I picked up my lighter just to give my free hand something to do. “Is ‘a while’ a month? A year? Since the second date? Throw me a bone here, Jesse.’”

His lips tightened, and I swore I could hear his teeth grinding with frustration. Tough shit, buddy. Drop this kind of information on your campaign manager this late in the game, expect to get grilled. Them’s the rules.

Jesse pulled one of the chairs out from the table where we’d had our first conversation. The legs scraped across the cement, emphasizing the silence. He took a seat, and for a long moment, he rested his elbow on the table and chewed his thumbnail, looking at the pool with unfocused eyes.

About the time my cigarette and patience were both approaching their ends, he spoke. “We’ve been discussing the divorce for the last few months. To tell you the truth, it should have happened a long time ago.” Even softer, possibly to himself rather than me, he murmured, “I never should have married her in the first place.”

Oh crap. That wasn’t a good sign.

I took one more drag from my dying cigarette. Absently turning my lighter over and over in my other hand, I said, “Why the charade? I mean, you’re hardly the first politician to get divorced. Your uncle’s been married how many times?”

Jesse swallowed but didn’t look at me. He stared at the pool, and I watched through the thin smoke as soft ripples of turquoise light played along his sharp jawline and teased an extra glint out of his blue eyes.

I smothered my cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Something wrong?”

He stayed focused on the pool and took a long breath. “Roger thinks it’s best if I keep it quiet. Thinks it’ll be…” His shoulders sank. Then he rested his elbow on the edge of the table and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not the divorce itself. Roger thinks if Simone and I keep up this charade, then…”

I flipped my lighter between my fingers. “Hmm?”

Lowering his hand, he turned toward me, and his eyes looked utterly exhausted. When he spoke, his tone echoed that heavy, bone-deep fatigue. “As long as Simone and I are happily married, the public won’t find out I’m gay.”

My lighter clattered to the concrete at my feet.