Compromising Positions (4 page)

“I might have sprained my ankle.” Trying to move her leg, she winced.

“Let me check it out,” Alan said as he kneeled down beside her.

As he delicately handled her ankle, I trotted across the street. When I got there, I ignored fire-breathing Trish and tried to catch Jessie’s eye. “Jessie, believe me. I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m so sorry.”

For a brief moment, she looked up at me with pretty green eyes that had previously been hidden behind those awful glasses. Her innocent expression soon changed to a sad one, and she shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

Alan, the goddamn hero of the hour, said to me, “It’s cool. I’ve got things under control.” Then he and Jessie exchanged questions and answers about her pain while I stood there like a pathetic asshole.

Trish practically hissed at me. “Will you just leave?”

I didn’t want to leave. If I could only have had a minute with her, I could’ve apologized and explained myself. She was busy talking with Alan and whimpered in pain as he examined her ankle. It wasn’t like I could interrupt.

Cathy must’ve joined us because I heard her sour voice, “Let’s get out of here, Michael.”

The last person I wanted to be associated with at that moment was Cathy. I shook my head and mumbled, “No, I need to do something.”

Cathy huffed, “Suit yourself,” and sauntered off.

I looked at the scene one more time, only to get a glare of pure hatred from Trish. I was seriously unwelcome, so. I turned and slowly trudged away toward my office. I felt horrible, like I was the worst person in the world.
I can’t believe I did that. Jessie probably thinks I’m a complete asshole.

~~~

I chided myself all the way back to the office. One of my eager interns called out with a cheery voice from behind the reception desk, “Good morning, Congressman.”

It was times like this where my introversion really took over. My first thought was to escape into my private office and slam the door shut. Yet, there were people in the waiting area other than my staff. I had to be pleasant. Senators could get away with being self-absorbed and surly, but I was a freshman Representative—the lowest on the congressional totem pole. I had to be polite and upbeat, so I returned the intern’s “hello” and then smiled at the visitors, who beamed that a dorky congressman like me acknowledged them.

When I glanced up, Jeff stood at my side with a look that said he’d been waiting awhile. “Morning Congressman. May I speak with you for a minute?”

I hesitated, but unfortunately duty still called. “Sure, Jeff. Let’s go in my office.”

Once we were safely inside, and I was silent, Jeff closed the door behind him and asked, “Everything okay?”

I’d only worked with Jeff for a few months, but the days were long and the topics we discussed were almost always confidential and sometimes personal. We were both guys around the same age, even though he was happily married with a great wife and more kids than names I could remember. We’d become fast friends, and he often picked up on my thought process. I debated whether or not to tell him what was eating me.
What the hell.
He’s just going to figure it out anyway
.

Loosening my tie a bit, I sat down on the sofa. “It’s not a big deal. I just had a misunderstanding with someone.”

Jeff sat down in the armchair next to me. “What happened? Who was it?”

“Jessica Clark,” I said with remorse.

Jeff’s eyebrows immediately rose. “And?”

“And… she fell on the ice, and she thinks I laughed at her, but I didn’t.” I grimaced. “She really hurt her ankle. She must think I’m a complete asshole.”

“Well, did you apologize? Did you help her up?”

“Of course I apologized, but she was distracted…” I was becoming bitter. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t help her because Alan Young was right there.”

“Young? The Dem from Iowa?”

“Right. He’s a doctor, so he flew over like a damn superhero to see if she was hurt. Plus, that chief of staff of hers was being an unbelievable bitch.” I rubbed my forehead, reliving that uncomfortable moment. “I hate that Jessie thinks I’m a shithead.”

Remembering Trish’s barking at me only made me more annoyed. I tried to shrug the whole mess off, though I didn’t convince either of us. “Whatever. I’m not going to worry about it. It’s not like I’m ever going to work with Jessie on anything. I rarely even see her.”

Jeff shook his head and gave me the unvarnished advice that he’d been hired to give. “No, you should say something to her. You need to apologize again. You shouldn’t have a silly misunderstanding like this with a colleague, even if she is a Democrat and in a seat we want to win. It’s little things like this that can bubble up into a giant mess later on.”

A part of me was glad to hear that I was being advised to reach out to Jessie. It did make good political sense, and personally, I wanted to redeem myself. “So what should I do? Send her flowers?”

“Uh, no. Not flowers. That could be seen as forward. Just drop by her office and tell her you’re sorry about what happened.”

I imagined walking into Jessie’s office to offer my apologies. Something seemed off about it. “But I don’t want to go in there empty-handed. I should have a gift.”

Jeff was quiet for a moment, in obvious thought. He then spoke with some hesitation. “I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you seem to care an awful lot about what she thinks of you.”

I tried not to blink, hoping it wasn’t obvious to the rest of the world, just to my chief of staff. “Well, yes. That’s natural, right?”

“Michael…” Jeff said in a warning tone, “I need to tell you—”

“Don’t. You don’t need to say it. I’m not chasing after Jessie Clark or any other woman right now.”

“Good, because there are things…”

“No. Don’t worry. It’s just that I don’t like her thinking I’m a jerk. From what I know of her, she seems like a really good person.”

“And pretty… in a way.”

The way he said it sounded like he was trying to get me to say more. I wouldn’t let that happen and was quick to answer, “And not my type.”

Jeff nodded. I left him no choice but to believe me. He knew what Stacy looked like, and from what he knew of Jessie, there was no similarity. After a few seconds, he said, “Good. So if you just want to make a peace offering, give her a plant or something like that.”

“A plant?” I’d never bought or cared for a plant in my life. The thought inspired me though. “How about some wine?”

The good Southern Baptist, Jeff frowned. “What if she doesn’t drink?”

“She’s a Democrat. Of course, she drinks.” I laughed and considered the options. “A nice bottle. But I know nothing about wine. Let me ask Emily what she thinks.”

In a flash, I was texting my restaurateur sister.

Hey Emily. What’s a nice bottle of wine?

“I think a $20 bottle from the corner store is sufficient in this situation,” Jeff muttered.

I ignored him and waited for Emily’s reply, which came shortly.

Hi. Since when do you drink wine?

A rapid fire squabble began again. It always happened, whether it was by text, email, voice, or in person.

Which is why I’m asking you about wine. Just answer my question.

Jenson Cellars. Any of the reds. Good luck finding it.

I rolled my eyes at my snarky sister, but replied anyway.

Thanks.

You’re welcome. Call Mom. She’s worried about you.

Ignoring my sister’s plea, I put the phone back in my jacket and asked Jeff, “Can you get one of the interns to go to Vino and pick up a Jenson Cellars red wine?”

“Sure.” It was only one word answer from him, but it sounded a little judgmental. “Now that’s done. You need to call Janice… or Mark… or both.”

I naturally stiffened in reaction to my lawyers’ names. Mark was the Grath family’s longtime attorney, while Janice was my private divorce attorney, who’d been a colleague at my old firm. Mark had urged me to hire her saying, “She’s your friend. She’s top-notch, and you need a female lawyer. With Stacy hiring Didi Chelsea, we can’t have this looking like the boys beating up on the girls.”

Even though Stacy retained a notoriously ruthless and flashy divorce lawyer, I still held out hope that our divorce wouldn’t turn into a public battle. Few people knew about the circumstances surrounding our marriage. I’d only told Mark and my dad, both of whom decided that speed and damage control were of the essence. At their advice, I had pressed Stacy for a pre-nuptial agreement and a quick civil marriage. Mark had even suggested we pretend to elope to give the hasty wedding a romantic twist.

Unfortunately, my mom caught wind of the plan and put her foot down. Evelyn Grath was going to have her children married in the church, which meant that the Catholic marriage couldn’t be encumbered by an outside agreement such as a prenup. I knew why I was marrying Stacy, though, and it didn’t feel holy to me. It felt obligatory. I’d made my bed, and now I had to lie in it. The last thing I wanted was a mockery of a church wedding.

The pre-nuptial agreement was tough in its terms of confidentiality, but very generous in the amount of financial compensation she would receive. Stacy still rejected it outright and balked at the idea of a civil ceremony. Although she was a practicing Catholic, her objections weren’t based on the laws or blessing of the church. She wanted an elaborate society wedding so she could show off, though to me she said it was romance and fate—like our marriage was meant to be—otherwise we wouldn’t have been blessed. “It’s destiny, Michael. Don’t you see?”

I didn’t see. It was only a stupid mistake, resulting in a life change I didn’t want. When Stacy said crap like that, it really made me question what I was doing. But I’d been brought up to be an honorable gentleman. I was supposed to live up to my obligations, so I capitulated and agreed to the damn wedding. I’d promised to take care of her and said she’d never have any need unmet, but she had to keep things private.” She said, yes, and now that promise was being put to the test.

Jeff actually knew everything about my marriage and divorce. There was too much potential political fallout for me to leave him in the dark. Hearing him say I needed to call my lawyers, I groaned, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t know. But I can guess…” Jeff held his hand up while rubbing his fingers together, and signaling money was at issue.

“Right. Why do I even ask?”

Standing up from his chair, Jeff said, “You should call now… before your meeting. I’ll come back in a few.”

As soon as I settled behind my desk, I called Janice. Her harsh, Chicago accent barked through the receiver. “Michael, this soon-to-be ex-wife of yours is a real bitch, but I’m guessing you know that, or you wouldn’t be divorcing her.”

“That’s right. What’s she doing now?”

“Well, I got a call from Didi earlier today. It was a pleasant conversation about scheduling around vacations. Then, she dropped the bomb. They’re unhappy with the settlement offer. Stacy believes that you’ve hidden assets from her. They want to look into the rest of your family’s finances–especially your father’s and even your sister’s restaurants.”

“Great.” I scowled, as I turned my chair to look out the window onto the Capitol building.

“I called Mark. We’ll take care of this, but you know the investigation isn’t the issue. This is a sign that they’re playing hardball.”

“I know. And the longer they play that way, the more likely it is that the divorce gets fought in the press. I don’t want that.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I thought back to some of my fights with Stacy over the years. Without the unconditional love necessary for a good marriage, our arguments were often ugly. Yet, no one ever had caught word of them. Even when we announced our divorce, there was scant information in the press as to why we were splitting up.

I’d never doubted Stacy’s pledge for privacy. She’d convinced me that she wouldn’t want her life splattered across the pages of the
Chicago Sun-Times
. But maybe the lure of money and desire for retribution had changed Stacy’s attitude towards bad publicity.

Janice tried to ease my mind. “Don’t worry right now. Mark and I will keep them at bay. It’s not in their interest to go public.”

“Yet. It’s not in their interest to go to the press yet…”

“Well, yes. Of course, they still may, but let us handle it for now.”

“I should call my father.”

“Mark already has.”       

“That’s probably for the best,” I said as I watched the light snow fall onto the bare trees lining Independence Avenue. I didn’t want to ruin my day any more than I already had.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jessie

The following morning, I hobbled from my office sofa to the closest electrical outlet because my laptop was about to die. Juggling the crutches and tangled cord wasn’t easy. My broken ankle was a pain in so many ways, and I was continually finding new reasons to kick myself for it.

Plus, there was the lingering embarrassment from humiliating myself in front of Michael and that crazy right-winger, Cathy Mathers. I’d always hated her on TV. Now I had another reason. As for Michael, even if he had apologized for laughing at me, he’d definitely lost a lot of his shine for hanging out with her. Were they friends? Or, God forbid, dating? If he was seeing her, even his blue eyes couldn’t redeem him for me. As for Trish, between laughing at me and being with Cathy, she flat out despised Michael now.

Just as I leaned down, about as awkward as possible, from my crutches, there was a knock at my door. “Come in.” I called.

Trish entered and closed the door behind her. “Hey. Alan Young is here for you.”

“That’s nice of him to check in on me.” I smiled.

“He has flowers…” Trish smirked before she exited.

Flowers?
That seemed a little odd to give a colleague, but I dismissed it. He was a farm boy from Iowa. Those nice Midwesterners did crazy things like that. As I went back to fiddling with the cord and outlet, I heard him enter the room.