The Candidate, page 14
“Alex, I think you’re falling in love with Jane.” He paused, as if expecting a denial, but Alex couldn’t give him one. “It’s not like I blame you.”
“Carter, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Alex wished she had a little bottle of Bailey’s or Irish whiskey for her coffee. She needed something a lot stronger than caffeine about now.
“I know you don’t, hon, but you have to. See, it’s about more than just you falling for Jane.”
“Huh?”
Carter looked as bleak as his creamless coffee. “See, I think Jane might be falling for you too, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
Alex had to remind herself to breathe. Oh, God, she wished it were so. But by the look on Carter’s face, his vote was definitely against it. “So you think this would be a horrible thing for Jane?”
“Right now, yes.”
Alex felt her temper rising. “I never expected homophobia from you, Carter.”
“Alex, my friend, I’m not being homophobic. I’m being honest. And I’m in your corner, as well as Jane’s. I think it would be wonderful if the two of you got together. Some day. I really do. But not now.” He sipped his coffee again. “Christ, Alex, this is the most important time in Jane’s life. She’s worked very hard for this.”
“And I could ruin it for her, is that it?”
“In a word, yes.”
They looked at each for a long time, Alex feeling like she’d just had the stuffing knocked out of her. There was no denying Jane had absolutely everything to lose. Alex knew she was being selfish, wanting to love Jane and wanting Jane to love her back. But it would all be on Jane, not her.
“Alex,” Carter said, “if you care for her, and I know you do, then you’ll let her go. For now, at least. Until we see where this campaign leads.”
“And if it leads all the way to the White House?”
He shook his head helplessly.
Alex recognized the futility of her position. Great. If she wanted any chance with Jane, she would have to hope the woman failed. It felt like some sort of punishment, coming this close to happiness, then having it snatched away. It wasn’t fair. But she knew Carter was right.
“Do you have an empty envelope, Carter?”
“No, but I can get one.” He asked the waiter for one and handed it to Alex, along with a pen.
Alex reached into her pocket and pinched the smooth stone between her fingers. She withdrew it, stuffed it into the envelope and sealed it. On the front, she wrote Jane’s name. On the back she scrawled: “I’m sorry for everything, A.W.”
“Carter, will you give this to Jane later?”
He looked at her curiously, but took the envelope. “What should I tell her?”
Alex felt close to tears and knew she would end up crying if she stayed any longer, and she would not do that. At least not in public.
She stood up on suddenly wobbly legs. “See you around sometime, Carter.”
Chapter 8
Jane and her staff made it through their first Super Tuesday and its hellish demands . . . though for much of it they were like automatons, rushing to appearances, churning out speeches, trying to be seen by as many people as possible. Jane didn’t think she’d ever drunk so much coffee. Or smiled so much. She could hardly remember eating and she knew she’d barely slept. But it had been worth it, and she’d do it all again in two weeks for the second and final big block of primaries.
Jane was in the home stretch of the campaign. In a few weeks, she’d know whether she had enough delegates to make her the party’s nomination for president. Right now, she was still running a close second to Dennis Collins. Out of hundreds of delegates’ votes so far, only a few dozen separated them. Predictably, Collins was getting the nod from the southern states and the conservative midwestern and western states like Nebraska, Iowa and Oregon. Jane had won Michigan, Ohio, New York and some of the smaller, more liberal states.
The upcoming California primary would be the biggest prize yet. Jane would need an outright landslide there to send her over the top, and while she wasn’t hopeful of that, she was counting on a solid win to launch a domino effect into the remaining primaries.
Jane’s staff were faithfully taking her cue and working every bit as hard as her. Bleary-eyed with exhaustion, her voice scratched raw, Jane was putting in sixteen-hour days, always cramming in one last speech or one last meeting, another handshake, another interview. Her staff buoyed her, gave her the energy and affirmation she needed because they believed in the whole package that was Jane Kincaid—the platform, the purpose, the person. She knew she couldn’t have kept on without them.
In a hotel room in Los Angeles, like battle strategists, they were plotting a speech Jane would give the next day to the city’s Muslim community that was expected to be covered widely by the media. It was a delicate discussion, especially now that Jane was insisting on discarding her original topic, immigration policy, and substituting it with a speech on terrorism.
A suicide bus bombing in Paris had killed six people just days ago, and there would be no better time to address Islamic terrorism to Islamic Americans, Jane argued. She knew they were hurting, too.
Jack Wilson, her chief of staff, privately agreed with Jane but he wasn’t keen on the speech. It was just too thorny an issue, he argued. “Our opponents will castigate us for trading tragedy for political opportunity, and the Muslim community will say we’re outsiders who should mind our own business. It’s a no-win situation.”
Jane silently mulled over his argument, chewing on a pencil. “It is a gamble, of course. But maybe, just maybe, the Muslim community wants to talk about it. Maybe they’re tired of being ignored, pigeonholed. Maybe they’re tired of people like us assuming what they want and don’t want.”
Steph and Carter jumped into the fray, each taking opposing positions. Attentively, Jane listened to the three of them in full debate mode, each of them throwing out arguments like darts— some hitting the mark, some not. Jane’s mind was nimble enough that, simultaneously, she could extract the relevant points from each argument and build them into the foundation of her own decision. She could drift in and out of a discussion, verbally or mentally, and still keep pace. She was like a runner who could veer off course and then veer back in, never losing step.
It was in those moments of drifting off that she would think of Alex, and it felt like falling off a cliff. She had been shocked and deeply hurt when Alex had abruptly left her campaign seven days ago—right after that unexpected, mind-blowing kiss. No note, no phone call, no e-mail, no explanation. No good-bye. Just the returned stone in an envelope with a vague apology scrawled on it.
What was that supposed to mean anyway, Jane wondered pointlessly and bitterly for about the four-hundredth time. Was Alex sorry they had kissed? Was she sorry she’d come upon that stupid scene with Keith Henderson? Was she sorry she’d ever met Jane? Or had she been apologizing in advance for defecting to Collins’s team? The curt declaration hurt. Badly. It felt like complete rejection. Betrayal, even.
“There’s no time for a poll,” Jane interjected, gravitating seamlessly back to the discussion. “And besides, I won’t have polls dictating my decisions.” Her mood was still black with thoughts of Alex’s departure. “I swear Dennis Collins runs his campaign on nothing but polls.”
And now Alex is on his detail. Jane mentally chafed at the idea that Alex had chosen to join her opponent’s security detail. Not only did the defection feel like a slap in the face, it cast the contest in a whole new personal light, as far as Jane was concerned. It gave her even more reason to want to win this fight. It bothered her whenever she saw newspaper photos or television footage of Alex standing dutifully behind Collins. She was both angered by and yet helplessly drawn to the images—Alex in her ubiquitous dark glasses, perfectly tailored suit, her short hair slightly windblown. She always looked composed and calm and in a perpetual state of alert readiness. She looked good, as always, but surely she couldn’t be happy working with him, Jane thought bitterly. Why did you do it, Alex? What went so wrong? You said you cared for me. Was it a lie?
Jane weaved back into the debate. “Look, we’re going to do this. Let’s get to it and write that speech, shall we?”
Jane’s staff unquestioningly rallied behind her decision. She expected and got nothing less than total loyalty once her mind was made up. Her team was a family and they would do their utmost to defend her decisions and make them a success. They trusted her fully and she, in turn, trusted them.
Jane opened her notebook and picked up the gnawed pencil. “Okay. I want to stress that we all belong to the human family, and that this shared humanity unites us and transcends divisions.” She looked around the room, waiting for a response.
“Yes, that’s good,” Steph said with feeling. “And how about this . . . that suicide bombings and the killing of innocent people alienates an individual both from God and their human family.”
Jane felt energized by the whirlpool of ideas. “Carter, I need some background on Islamic religion,” she said. “I don’t know a lot about it, but I’m sure Islam no more condones murder than Christianity.”
Carter smiled confidently. “I happen to know a very handy verse from the Koran. It says, ‘Whoever kills a person has killed the whole of humanity’.”
“Excellent!” Jane exclaimed, scribbling furiously. “I’ll use that. But I’m not going to get too mired in religion. I want to stress that we all need to differentiate and not generalize the minority from the majority, that we not brand a whole group of people as killers or haters of Christians. We all want the same things in life—basic freedom—and that’s going to be my theme.”
Jack stood up. “How about we all break for an hour and see what each of us comes up with?” He made a show of balling up Jane’s now-discarded speech on immigration. A slow smile spread across his craggy face. “Jane, this will either be a brilliant move or a flop. But either way, you’ll show you’ve got a lot more balls than Collins. Or the president, for that matter. Neither of them has ever stepped a toe into the Muslim community, let alone addressed terrorism with them.”
Jane nodded absently and resumed chewing on her pencil. “Steph, when are we back in Washington?”
“Day after tomorrow, we go home for a couple of days.”
“And what’s Collins’s itinerary this week?”
Steph quickly checked her handheld computer. “He’s in Seattle today, Denver tomorrow, then it looks like he’s back in Washington, too, for a few days.”
Jane relaxed back in her seat, immersed in new thoughts.
Alex idly watched the passing ocean through the window as the limousine zipped along the freeway toward Seattle, where Dennis Collins was to visit a hospital before being feted at a dinner. She swung her gaze to the Democratic frontrunner, in whispered conversation with an aide, and wondered, without emotion, if she were looking at the next President of the United States. The incumbent president was beatable, and the nation seemed to be in the mood for change. Alex had heard enough talk and read enough newspapers to know that President Charles Howard had few loyal supporters anymore—that those groups and individuals he could typically count on as a Republican and a sitting president had begun casting about for someone else to get behind. For various reasons, America had become disillusioned with its one-term president, and the media had already begun labeling him a loser. What’s more, President Howard had started looking the part of a hunted animal, which left the door wide open for Dennis Collins. Or Jane Kincaid.
Jane. Just thinking about her evoked a strange blend of longing and nostalgia. And pain. What had transpired between them was so personal and so deep, that Alex found it hard to objectively analyze Jane’s prospects. She did know without a doubt that Jane was likeable. She had the air of a winner when she walked into a room or parted a crowd. She was smart, funny, honest, compassionate, tough when she needed to be, genuinely warm and patient when it mattered. Stunningly gorgeous. Men wanted to bed her. Women wanted to be her. Could she be any more perfect for the part? Could she be any more perfect?
And then there was Collins. He looked like a winner too, with his tanned, masculine good looks and fatherly gray hair. He was the ultimate professional politician—a senator for more than twelve years, a Congressman before that. He was slick, polished, never muffed a line, never got into hot water, said all the right things in perfect pitch. He came across as even-tempered, patient but decisive. Yet in almost a week of following him around on his protection detail, Alex never once saw him say or do anything spontaneous. He was scripted up the yin yang, and Alex saw no evidence that he was as brilliant and dynamic as Jane. He was cool, lusterless, formulaic. Not a man to really love or hate. But the son-of-a-bitch will probably win, because he’s a male and he’s a transparent package and he hasn’t really made an enemy of anyone. There were no surprises with Collins, no risks, no excitement. What you saw was what you got—a manufactured winner with little substance, as far as Alex was concerned.
It was a tragedy that the best person for the job might not win, and though Alex was supposed to be impartial, she knew that was a load of crap. Especially in her case. Tears coalesced just below the surface and Alex slipped her dark glasses on. She would love Jane, always. She knew that, felt it with all her being. Jane had settled softly but surely into her heart, like silt floating to the bottom of a riverbed. Her feelings for Jane would always be there, just below the surface of her life. And that’s where they would have to remain. She could never again show Jane that she cared for her, could never put Jane at risk of falling in love with her.
Yet she missed Jane. Terribly. It was made worse by the fact that she didn’t even know when she might see her next. The two candidates were rarely in the same city at the same time, and never at the same event, and Alex felt reasonably sure that it would be weeks, maybe even months before she’d get a glimpse of Jane.
Maybe it’s just as well, Alex thought despondently. She had no idea whether Jane would even want to talk to her again, after leaving the way she did. I never even said good-bye. Oh, Jane, I couldn’t have, don’t you see? I wouldn’t have been strong enough.
Alex stared out the window again, watching the scenery slide past and losing a bit of herself with each mile that was farther from Jane. She was not the same person, the same agent she was a week ago, because the part of her that cared was gone. She hoped Jane still cared passionately about what she was doing, that she was still focused. The sacrifice of their permanent separation would all be worth it if somehow Jane could earn the nomination. She most certainly would have been a lock to lose had Alex stayed on her detail. The temptation of more of those searing kisses was too strong, and the lure of what Alex felt certain was mutual sexual attraction was just too great. Silly rumors had been one thing, but a full-blown love affair would be fatal to the campaign. And Alex would not be responsible for that. She would stay the course no matter how much it hurt. It was her—and Jane’s—only option.
* * *
Jane straightened her ponytail, then nervously pressed her palms down the pleats of her khaki Capri pants. Her canary yellow cashmere top was already sticking to her and she wished she’d picked something lighter. March in Washington was unusually warm this year, and the cherry blossoms were full out, making the trees look like giant white, sweet-scented flowers in bloom.
She stood on the small stoop of Alex’s brick, two-story, Georgian-style rowhouse and admired the heavy door, which glowed blood red in the setting sun. Nice touch, Alex. She smiled at Alex’s adventurous choice of color, enjoying the momentary mental detour from the apprehension she felt. Jane took a deep breath against the flood of anger, hurt and anticipation, then rapped firmly on the door.
It seemed like an eternity before it was pulled open, and Alex was suddenly and breathtakingly there in wide-eyed surprise. A fist dove for sanctuary in the front pocket of her baggy, Adidas shorts, her other hand firmly holding the door. Her face was unreadable but for her shock at seeing Jane. God, it was good to see her again.
Any thoughts of being angry at Alex had vanished at the sight of her. Jane smiled weakly and lowered her voice to a teasing octave. “Would you believe me if I told you I was in the neighborhood?”
Alex looked at her disbelievingly, then sharply scanned the street behind her. Only Jane’s black, Audi S4 was in sight. “Where are your bodyguards?”
Jane shrugged. “I actually convinced them to wait at the end of the block.”
Alex’s eyebrows jumped. “How did you manage that?”
Jane laughed and took a step closer, somehow successfully vanquishing her desire to reach out and stroke Alex’s tanned cheek. “I had to promise that from now on, I would be so cooperative that I would actually start following them around.”
Alex finally smiled, and Jane felt absurdly happy. “I see. I just may have to remember that little deal in the future.”
Jane felt like doing cartwheels right there on the tiny front yard. Did she say future? Is she coming back?
Jane grinned and lightly shook her finger at Alex. “Believe it or not, I do know how to cooperate with the Secret Service.”
Alex tossed her a knowing grin that hinted at the intimacy they’d shared. She was all butch sex appeal as she leaned casually against the door frame. “Well, personally I’d like to think that the level of cooperation depends on the agent.”
Oh, God, she’s flirting with me. Jane felt a rush of heat deep in her center. She could not resist admiring Alex’s muscular, tanned arms, and her thick shoulders beneath the tight black T-shirt. The quadriceps of her legs bulged. It was enough to spark the same pleasurable ache she’d felt the night Alex kissed her so soundly.
Jane knew they were in dangerous territory here, looking at each other like that, both signaling that they were very much aware of their mutual attraction. She had to keep things moving along, show that she was in control, show Alex that she hadn’t forgiven her for walking out of her life like she were simply trading in a car. No, they would set things straight right now so that Jane could slot the whole Alex Warner experience in its rightful place in her mind. She needed to stop worrying and wondering about Alex and what might have been and get back to what was real. Her campaign depended on it.
