Compromising Positions (14 page)

I held my breath, wondering what he might say next, and he didn’t let me down. In seconds, he answered.

You’re right. You’d be the prettiest speaker at any dinner. See you tomorrow at my car. Take care until then.

My mouth dropped open at the sight of an unquestionable, outright flirt. Feeling warm and giddy, I stared at it for so long I forgot to reply. When I remembered I owed him a response, I tapped away.

You’re awfully nice to me. Thank you. Have a safe flight.

Not long after ten the following night, I found Michael standing against the side of his car while he read his phone. This time he was in jeans with a sport coat. He looked so damn sexy, and the car was so shiny that the scene looked like an ad for men’s cologne.

He grinned when he noticed me heading his way. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, returning his smile.

When he took my suitcase from me, I again had the urge to touch him. This time I wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek. It felt like the proper greeting for a guy you like who picks you up at the airport. When you were in your thirties with a decent job, no one picked you up at the airport unless he was your boyfriend. But he wasn’t my boyfriend, he was my… well, I wasn’t sure what he was. I restrained myself and simply said, “Thanks. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” he said as he seemed to take a longer than normal look at me. “This is a nice ending to a tiring trip.”

“It is. Much better than a nasty cab.”

“Oh, so now you like my foreign car.”

“I never said I didn’t. I said it was nice. I just commented it wasn’t American.”

“Sure…”

We talked about our trips on the way to my place, and when we arrived there, he brought my bag to the doorstep. Angst came over me because I didn’t want the night to end. We’d only seen each other for twenty minutes. Then I remembered something. “Um… I know it’s late, but Trish always leaves me dinner in the fridge. I think she said it’s chicken enchiladas. Do you want to join me?”

“That would be great,” he said, as a grin spread across his face.

“Excellent,” I said and opened up the door.

After I turned on the lights and said hello to Severus, I nodded toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Do you want a beer?”

“Thanks. Sounds perfect with Mexican food.”

We chatted about our favorite Mexican foods as he opened the beers, and I heated dinner. While I plated the food, he asked, “Can I help with anything?”

“Could you clear the newspapers off the table?”

“Sure.” Just as he picked up the stack of papers, a note fell to the floor. He glanced at it and then looked at the paper sitting atop the stack. He grimaced and exhaled. Handing the note and newspaper over to me, he said, “I believe Trish left you a note.”

“Oh yeah. She does that too. She leaves me articles she thinks I should read. Is it funny? Sometimes they’re funny.” Without waiting for his answer, I read it aloud. “Read this. A little information on your not yet divorced friend.”

My gut clenched, and I looked at the newspaper on the front page of
The New York Times
Style section, the same photo I’d seen long ago when I first Googled Michael took up most of the page. He was in his tux, looking dour and annoyed, while his stunning wife showed a dazzling smile. I took a quick breath and started the damage control. “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t—”

“No. Please don’t be sorry,” Michael begged. “I’m the problem. We’re… friends and I haven’t been forthright with you. You shouldn’t have to learn about me from the paper.”

“But—”

“Here,” Michael said, gesturing to a chair at the table. “We can eat dinner, while you read. When you’re done, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“No, we don’t have to do this,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yes, we should. Sit down, and I’ll get the food. The story’s accurate. I knew it was going to run yesterday. It’s part of a big article on high-profile divorces.”

“Okay…”

I began reading the article, while he got the plates and beer. When he sat down and started eating, I thought I needed to say something. “She’s very beautiful.”

He shrugged with a sour face and went back to eating. No longer hungry, I picked at my food as I read. When I finished reading, he was done with his meal and leaned back in his chair, drinking his beer.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I said, even though I was dying of curiosity for details.

“No, I want to. I want to tell you everything.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Let’s go sit down.”

As he led me into my own living room, I was dazed. I wondered what was so dark and stormy about the marriage, but mostly I was surprised he was holding my hand. When we sat on the sofa, and he took my hand again, I gulped. Did friends really display affection like this? I didn’t think so. He stared at our hands clasped together, and without raising his head, slowly stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. He chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie. I really like this.”

“I do, too,” I said under my breath. It was hard to be this close to him, to have him touching me, knowing he needed the comfort but selfishly wanting something more from him instead.

His eyes met mine, and with a slight squeeze of my hand, he said, “So, here’s my story. I met Stacy five years ago. We went out a few times over the course of a few months. I needed a date for a big wedding of a friend. It was one of those weekend-long things at a resort outside Chicago. I wasn’t that into her, but she was fun to be around. We spent the weekend drunk or in bed, usually both.”

I nodded, though I didn’t understand why you’d spend a weekend in bed with someone you didn’t really like that much. It was the kind of comment that would earn me an eye roll from Trish and an evil snicker from Larry. Then I imagined being naked in bed with Michael a whole weekend, and it was such lusty thought that I had to stop the fantasy for future use. Meanwhile, Michael took my nod as encouragement to continue.

“After the wedding, I stopped seeing her that often,” he said. He shook his head. “I wasn’t really interested in her. The night that I thought would be our last date she told me she was pregnant.”

“What? Do you have a child?” I gasped. It didn’t seem possible given his work schedule and lifestyle.

“No. No child.”

“Did she have an abortion?”

“No abortion. She had a miscarriage six weeks after we married.” He frowned, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he was married to her or because she had a miscarriage.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s a blessing for everyone.”

“So you didn’t want to marry her? Did you want the child?”

“When I thought of someone who was my flesh and blood, I knew I wanted the child. I couldn’t imagine saying it should die. But when I thought of marrying someone I didn’t love and raising a kid with her, in my heart of hearts, I wanted her to have an abortion. It was horribly selfish and wrong.” He looked down at our hands and exhaled. “Not many people know this about me. Only my dad and lawyer.”

“You didn’t tell your mother?”

“No way.” His eyebrows rose fearfully. “I didn’t tell my sister either.”

“So what did you say to Stacy?”

“I didn’t tell her how I felt. I told her it was her choice if she kept the baby.” He looked at me with apprehension. “I believe that.”

“You do?” I was skeptical.

“I do. I know you’re trying to reconcile this with my pro-life voting record, but we can talk about that later.”

“Okay.” I said, though I doubt he could ever explain to me how those two things reconciled. I flipped my hair over my shoulder, waiting for more of the story. “So, she wanted to keep the baby?”

“Very much so.”

“But you didn’t have to marry her, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, I did.” He gave me a look like I was nuts. “You think I’d have an illegitimate child? A child without my name?” He shook his head. “No, no, no. I wouldn’t let that happen, and I wouldn’t do that to her. And my father certainly wouldn’t let it ever occur in the Grath family.”

“But then you’re trapped in a loveless marriage. How is that good for the kid?”

“It was my mistake. I needed to pay for it.” He shrugged. “So the
Times
article is correct about the negotiations of money. It hints that there’s something fishy about it all. What it doesn’t say is that we’re debating a confidentiality agreement. The last thing I want out in the world is this whole mess.”

“It doesn’t seem that messy.”

“We had a debate about a pre-nuptial agreement, and where to get married. I wanted a civil ceremony. She wanted a big wedding. That was all pretty rough. I gave in because we needed to get married so quickly.”

“You had to keep up appearances?”

“Of course. The miscarriage happened so soon, though, anyone who thought she might be pregnant was proven wrong. After she lost the baby, everything broke down between us. I demanded we use birth control, and she refused to. Her argument was we were blessed before; we should be blessed again. Mine was that it was a mistake before, and we should wait until we were really ready. Eventually, she gave in on that one.”

“Wait. I don’t understand,” I said, holding up my hands. “Why did you stay married if there was no longer a child in question?”

“Divorce in my family? Not taken lightly.” His face was stern. “And she’s Catholic.”

“But Catholics get divorced and have annulments all the time. Why couldn’t you?”

“I told you I’d tell you everything. The fact is I thought about divorcing her. I even talked with my dad about it. He hated the idea. In the end, I kept the marriage going because I knew I wanted to run for office, and there’d be a seat opening soon.” He scratched his head sheepishly. “I know it’s not very honorable.”

I stared at him for a second considering the situation. Plenty of politicians did political calculations about their private lives. I’d done it myself. “That’s not as terrible as you seem to think it is. It sounds like you were trapped anyway.”

“No, it was awful. The marriage totally broke down a year before the election—even she wanted out. I promised to take care of her financially if she kept up the charade until I was elected.”

“So if you had an agreement about money, why are you fighting?”

“She wants more.”

“Oh.” The rich fighting over extraordinarily large sums of money was a foreign subject to me.

“So that’s my story. That’s what I’m trying to keep out of the press.”

“It’s not that bad, Michael.” I sighed. “There are worse things in the world. If the truth did come out, I don’t think it would be that hard to explain away. She’ll come off looking like a horrible money grubber. Frankly, I think she may be bluffing you to get more money.”

“Whatever. I just want it over.”

His beautiful blue eyes were blue in more ways than one. He was so sad. For all his political bravado, he seemed like a very sensitive man. A distant memory came back to me as I looked at him. I wondered if I should tell him. At first, I thought no, because it could end whatever might be starting between us. Then I realized I had to say something, given what we’d just discussed. Otherwise, I would be the one hiding a past.

I asked hesitantly, “So what would you have done if Stacy had said she wanted an abortion?”

“Well, I’d have felt horrible about it, but it’s not like I could’ve stopped her. If she did have one, I’d have been racked with guilt—both because I caused an abortion and because I was getting away scot-free, so to speak.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and took my hand away from his. When I looked at him again, he frowned in concern. “What did I say?”

“It’s my turn now.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what was sure to be rejection. In his eyes, it was probably unforgivable. My heart hardened, as I told myself if he didn’t understand, then it wasn’t meant to be. With my eyes set straight on his, I announced, “I should tell you this. I had an abortion when I was sixteen.”

“You did?” The expression on his face was one of calm alarm.

“Yes. After my old boyfriend moved away, I was depressed. There was this guy, Chad, kind of a rocker guy, rode a motorcycle, did poorly in school, but he’d always flirted with me. Anyway…” I tried to figure out how to describe what it was like to be an awkward, good girl, getting the attention of the bad boy and what it could lead to. “Did you ever see the movie
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that was me. The nice girl who got caught up with a jerk, only to get pregnant.”

“How long had you been dating?”

“Dating?” My stomach twisted just as it always did when I told the story. It was the physical sign of why I so rarely spoke about it. “We didn’t really date.”

“What happened?” he asked, leaning in further as if that might loosen up my tongue.

For a split second, I questioned whether it was wise to continue. One day we might not be as friendly as we were tonight. Then I considered all that he’d disclosed to me. A part of me felt a need to share this with him. I exhaled and said, “The backseat of his brother’s car. I was saying ‘no.’ He was saying ‘yes.’ He won.”

Michael stiffened with alarm and asked frantically, “He
raped
you?”

Even though I’d repeated the words before, they came slowly to me. “I’d say it met the definition of rape. That night it felt like rape, but…” I shook my head. “The high schooler I was would never, ever have called it that.”

“And. Afterward. What happened?”

“He lost interest. I guess I was a lousy lay.” I stared at the ceiling, remembering my own stupidity. Eventually, I sighed. “When I found out I was pregnant, we hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks. I was pretty sure he was after this other girl, Shelly, by then. I waited until after lunch, and I told him. He just shrugged and said it was too bad. Then the bell rang. I went home and bawled my eyes out, and the next morning there was an envelope with fifty dollars and a note that said ‘sorry.’” I rolled my eyes. “Not exactly a gentleman.”

“That’s awful. So what happened?”

“I had an abortion, mostly paying for it myself with my savings I’d been working on since I was seven.”