14
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”
“Open the door, Mercedes. Let’s not talk in the hall. It’s late.”
She didn’t want to let him inside. She wasn’t strong enough to resist him. She wasn’t one of his politico guests, she was just the woman who loved him.
And because of that, she unlocked the door, and he followed her inside.
He didn’t look angry, didn’t look mad, he took her in his arms, held her close, so tightly, like he would never leave her.
Mercedes began to cry. She wasn’t an elegant crier, it was dramatic, loud and never pretty.
Sam didn’t seem to mind. He stood, stroking her hair, making it harder and harder for her to do the right thing.
“I love you, Mercedes.”
Oh, God. That was below the belt, dirty pool and a personal foul. It only made her cry harder.
“I think I knew a year ago. I just looked at you, looked in your eyes and fell. I didn’t want to. You were trouble. I knew it, and I spent the last year trying to do my job, live my life, forgetting about you. You know how stubborn I am. But I couldn’t forget. You were always there. Always in my head. It took me over a year to come up with a legitimate excuse to see you again. And the first shot I had, I took it. I thought we’d sleep together, and that’d be the end of it. But it was the start of it, not the end. I’d wake up thinking about you, wondering what you would say, wondering which smile you were wearing. You have at least three that I know of. The plain-jane, life is great smile. The snarky little Miss Brooks smile, and then there’s the last smile. The one you don’t flash very often, but God, when you do…Every neuron in my brain lights up like a pinball machine on tilt. I stumble over my words, and that from a man who gets paid a lot of money never to stumble over words. I have that picture stuck in my head forever. I know it’s fast, I know it doesn’t make sense, I don’t have any facts to back it up, but I’ve accepted it. Love isn’t logical.”
“Sam, we’ll get caught. And next time, there won’t be a way out.”
“Then I’m not in the election. I don’t like people intruding in my private life. I don’t like flashbulbs going off in my face. I don’t want to end up in the tabloids. If I don’t run, that problem is solved.”
“That’s not an option.”
“It is for me.”
“What about the show?”
“The show will be fine. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
She cushioned her head on his chest, listening to the quiet thud of his heart, feeling so safe, so secure, but Sam Porter couldn’t fix everything, and she knew what was going to happen if they stayed like this. His career would be ruined. His image would be shattered, and there would be no one to blame but her.
All through the night she let him love her, let him whisper in her ear, let him hold her, but this time Mercedes held back a small piece of herself.
It was time to rebuild the walls around her heart.
AN AFTERNOON OF WORKING for her sister-in-law Sheldon should have been exactly what Mercedes needed. Work was a chance to keep her mind off other things, namely her relationship with Sam. The Battery Park apartment Sheldon and Jeff shared had been transformed into a full-fledged activity zone. Sheldon’s new project to bring music to inner-city kids was up and running. There was a table with office supplies and a fax spewing pages. Stacks of paper and envelopes were everywhere, and judging by the size of her pupils, Sheldon looked to be on her fifth cup of coffee.
Mercedes studied the place in awe. “Wow. I have to say, that for a pair of slackers, this puts Jamie and Andrew to shame.”
Sheldon just looked nervous. “There’s so much to do. You wouldn’t believe how much work is involved in actual work.”
Jeff put an arm around his wife. “Spoken like a princess who’s never lifted a finger.”
Mercedes rubbed her hands together, forcing a smile. “Ah. All this love, it makes my heart go pitter-patter. So what am I supposed to do?”
“Okay, slave, we’ll start you with easy stuff. Check over these press releases and see if you find any glaring typos.”
“Check check. I can do that.” Mercedes took the pieces of paper and collapsed on the couch to read.
“So when are we going to hear?” asked Sheldon.
“Hear what? Nothing to hear. I hear nothing.”
“You haven’t been home much, Mercedes.”
“Busy, this and that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. Lots of this. Lots of that.”
“What’s his name?”
“He has no name. There is no him. I’ve just been doing a lot of work for the book.”
“Right,” said Jeff skeptically.
Sheldon wasn’t letting her off the hook so easily. “So if a certain someone happened to mention to me that they had seen you in the company of a certain well-known political candidate at a certain club last night, that’d be wrong. Right?”
Mercedes nodded, keeping her head down. “Right. That’s definitely wrong.”
“And if that someone also mentioned the exact leather dress that I remember buying with you down in the West Village, well, they’d be wrong again. Right?”
“Right. That’s definitely wrong.”
“Oh, when are you going to stop it, Mercedes? Everybody in the family knows.”
Mercedes didn’t want this, she wasn’t ready to have this discussion, especially when there probably wouldn’t be anything to discuss. “Can you leave me alone?”
Jeff raised an eyebrow, shared a look with Sheldon, and then went back to typing on the computer.
Mercedes edited press releases, stuffed envelopes, and made phone calls. Six hours, and seven paper cuts later, she didn’t feel any better, but at least the piles were getting smaller.
Jeff ordered pizza, and while they were eating, Mercedes looked at her sister-in-law with new eyes. “So you’re in charge of a concert?”
“Not in charge, exactly. I’m just organizing. It’s the first fund-raiser for the foundation. We’ll have some local orchestra kids play in the St. James Theater, and charge rich people a total fortune to get in and see it. Raise some awareness. Get some bucks, and hopefully fund a few more orchestra programs for the non-arts schools in the city.”
“Ambitious,” said Mercedes in between bites.
“Not so much,” muttered Sheldon.
“She runs from the ‘A’ word,” whispered Jeff.
“I’m just a schlub,” answered Sheldon.
Mercedes smiled, because Sheldon still didn’t take teasing well. “Not so much. So, the countdown to the McNamara-Brooks nuptials begins.”
“Right now.”
“Strippers all ordered for the bachelor party, Jeff?”
“Bite your tongue,” snapped Sheldon.
“Well, after the bachelor party that Andrew threw for you…” Mercedes said, trailing off.
“What bachelor party?” asked Sheldon.
“There was no bachelor party, Sheldon.”
Mercedes checked her watch. “Oops. Look at the time. Gotta go.”
HER NEXT STOP WAS HER mom’s house because sometimes there truly was no place like home.
Thea Brooks was an aspiring actress, who had spent roughly forty years aspiring. However, with Andrew’s help, they’d always had a roof over their head, and food on the table, and Mercedes’s mother was no closer to her dream than when she started, but she was happy.
She stared at her daughter with that unique mom-sense that mothers had. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a lot.”
“You wouldn’t be here if something wasn’t wrong.”
“Maybe I just want to see my mother. Did you think about that? Spend some quality mother-daughter time with the woman who spawned me.”
Her mother smiled with that “not a chance” look.
“I want to ask you a question,” Mercedes stated.
“Shoot.”
“You’ve always gone after your dream, done what you wanted, but say that my father would have stayed with the family. Would you have given it up?”
“I thought this was going to be an easy question. You didn’t used to ask hard questions, Mercedes.”
“So would you have quit?”
“You’re thinking of quitting your writing?”
Mercedes would give up her writing in a second for Sam, but it wouldn’t make a difference in the election. It was a grand gesture, but one that was still much too late. “Actually I’m more interested in what happens when someone chooses to give up something for someone else. If you had done it, would you have resented him?”
“With your father, resentment comes easy.”
“But what if he wasn’t such an s.o.b., and you loved him, really loved him, but you gave up something important. Something big. Wouldn’t you be mad—deep down inside?”
“Did he ask me to give it up?”
“No, he didn’t want you to give it up, but you opted to do it because you knew it was the only way you could be together.”
“I thought this was one question.”
“I don’t know, Mom. I think it’s a whole lifetime of questions, and I’m not sure what the answers are.”
“You want to tell me?”
Mercedes looked down at her hands. “I love someone. He loves me. He wants to do something big, important and noble with his life, but if he’s with me, he can’t. I’m baggage. He wants to give it up, so we can be together, but I think he’ll hate me eventually.”
“You’re not anybody’s ‘baggage,’ Mercedes.”
“Trust me when I say this. For him, right at this moment in time, I’m baggage.”
“What does your heart tell you to do?”
“Walk away.”
“Your heart?”
“I want the best for him. It’s a huge thing he’s trying to do. It’s not just writing, or acting, or something like this. This is big. I think he should have it.”
“That’s a decision you’re going to have to make, little girl. But you’re nobody’s baggage.”
Deep inside, Mercedes suspected her mother was wrong. Twenty-six years ago, Mercedes had been excess baggage, her father had left. Fast forward to the present, it was Mercedes that was going to lose the election for Sam. In her book, that counted for baggage.
Some folks weren’t ready for a congressman whose girlfriend wrote about turgid ridges of flesh pumping inside her warm, dewy lips. If she quit her writing, people would dismiss it as a reluctant gesture. It wouldn’t matter if they were right or wrong, it would only hurt Sam’s career.
If Sam quit the campaign, yeah, they’d be together, but at what cost? New Jersey would have lost the best congressman they’d ever had. And Sam would lose his chance to make a difference. Maybe there’d be later chances, maybe not. There were no easy answers.
Her mother gave her a hug, stuffed a twenty in her pocket, and sent her home. Mercedes arrived to an empty apartment. She flipped on her computer, and went to work. Everything she wrote was crap, mainly because she felt like crap, but she kept plugging away, because there wasn’t anything else to do. She watched the sunset over the rusted fire escape, but this time it wasn’t paradise. Reality had started to intrude.
SAM’S FUND-RAISER was at the Waldorf, and Tony escorted Mercedes. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Sam was being stubborn, and she wasn’t up to arguing with Sam when he was stubborn. Besides, she’d lose. He’d look at her with those dreamy green (not hazel) eyes, whisper to her in that husky voice, and her spine would melt to nothing. The rat knew exactly what he was doing.
The dress she wore was long, white, buttoned up to the neck, with flowing sleeves. She’d gone shopping and bought it especially for this occasion. Mercedes called it her angel of mercy dress.
The eighteenth floor had an art deco hall with palm trees filling the corners, and somewhere in the distance, the ghosts of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were tap-dancing across the marble floor. The reception tables were decorated with a tasteful, yet patriotic, red, white and blue. Mercedes walked into the room on Tony’s arm, and the first thing she saw was Sam, who took one look at her, and then blinked.
“Halloween coming a little late this year?” he asked.
“You’re not supposed to be talking to me.”
He shot her a long look. “I’m a politician now. I’m supposed to talk to everybody. You’re part of everybody. We get to talk.”
“Sam.”
“Mercedes.”
“No one’s going to talk to me?” Tony asked. “I’m the fake-date here, shouldn’t someone be talking to me?”
Mercedes patted his hands. “Do you want me to find you a campaign staffer that you can take home for the night? If you’ll feed me salacious details, I’ll write them up in my blog. Anonymous, of course.”
“You do anonymous so well,” drawled Sam.
Tony looked hopeful. “There are a lot of women here?”
Sam grinned. “Most of them are gainfully employed, have advanced college degrees, and are in the upper one percent of the tax bracket. It’s not a bad place to troll for babes.”
Tony looked even more hopeful. “Do you think they’ll mind that I’m not of their political persuasion? I could pretend if it’d help me meet somebody.”
Mercedes scoffed. “You’re willing to jettison your political party affiliation for sex? Amazing the times we’re in now, more and more people are voting independent.”
Sam shot her a look. “You’ve been watching CNN again, haven’t you?”
“I’m trying to learn your business, that’s all.”
“I’m much better looking than their anchors.”
“I thought you didn’t think of yourself as a pretty boy? I thought you wanted to be loved for your mind. Can’t live on both sides of that fence, Sam.”
Sam sighed. “Tony, can you get us some drinks? I need to talk to one of my constituents. Taxes. They’re a killer.”
“Sure, I’ll get the drinks. Two beers. Mercedes?”
“Wine, please. White.”
Tony nodded. “Okay. What do you think about the lady in the red dress. You think she’ll talk to me?”
“That’s the governor’s wife, Tony.”
“Oh,” he muttered. “I’ll just get the drinks, then.”
Tony took off, leaving them alone and Sam studied her dress some more. “I gotta say that dress is growing on me. A nice contrast to the leather, but it still works. Kinda nurse/schoolteacher/librarian fantasy all mixed together. I could get you a pair of those secretary glasses, maybe some edible underwear, and we could play later.”
“You are so not making this easy.”
“I’m trying to be charming.”
“Charming? You’ve just sent Tony off like an errand boy. You’re not being a good friend.”
“Are you kidding? You’re his date. I think Tony’s the big winner tonight. Of course, if he laid a hand underneath any of that virginal white lace, I’d have to kill him.”
“Why are you in such a good mood?”
“Because you’re here,” he answered simply.
The words touched her more than she wanted, but she understood. “You look spiffy tonight. No plaid. I’m proud.”
And he did look good. He’d worn something dressier than the usual sports jacket he wore on the show. The dark suit made his hair shine with sprinkles of gold, and he’d tamed some of the tousles. His tie was the conservative maroon stripe, favored by most of the men in the room. But her gaze kept wandering back to his eyes, which were actually more hazel than green tonight. Those eyes were bright with excitement, and she knew that not all of that was because of her. Sam wanted this, and she knew it. He loved the idea of duty and honor, of thinking for the good of the country.
“I thought you’d approve,” he said.
Tony returned, and Sam mingled, but every now and then, he’d look up, see her. Over the course of the evening, Mercedes met tons of New Jersey’s political elites. She wanted to tell them she voted for the other guy in the last election, just for shock value, but she kept her mouth shut. This was Sam’s night to shine.
And he shone. All the players were there. The fat cats, the bureaucrats, the other politicians, but Sam stood out. He wasn’t worried about pleasing the base, or negotiating deals for dollars. He simply wanted to do right by the state of New Jersey.
Mercedes sighed. It was enough to make her change her statehood. She had just taken a sip of champagne, when a man approached. Shorter, a young ambitious type, with stylish horn-rimmed glasses, and dark, gleaming eyes.
“Miss Brooks? We haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Martin Darcy, Sam’s campaign manager.”
She nodded politely. “Ah, yes, the campaign manager. I’m here with Tony, Sam’s friend.”
“I saw the tape of you on Sam’s show a few weeks back,” he said, and she realized those dark, gleaming eyes didn’t miss a thing.
“Oh, yeah.”
“That’s one of Sam’s better qualities, the ability to listen to both sides, find common ground, and move forward.”
Mercedes laughed, a delicate, trilling laugh. “I’m not convinced we found common ground. In fact, I’m almost positive that no ground was common at all. Ever. We ended up on an agreement to disagree. I write sex books. He doesn’t approve.”
Martin smiled. “He’s a real asset to the party this year and it’d be a real disappointment if he lost.”
“Oh, Sam’s gonna win,” said Mercedes.
“I didn’t think you were a fan.”
Damn. “Oh, I’m not a fan, but the other candidate? He’s bathtub-scum. It’s actually a lose-lose situation for me, being the loyal liberal that I am. But if I have to choose, if someone chains me down on a rack and forces me to vote, then I suppose I’ll hold my nose, and hope against hope—”
“I get it, Miss Brooks.”
“Good,” she said. If he wanted to play games, then she could play, too. “Ah, yes. And speak of the devil,” she said, spying Tony approaching, and taking his arm. “My date. The love of my life.” She gave him a warm kiss on the cheek. “Come, darling, let’s mingle.”
SAM CAUGHT UP WITH HER at the dessert table. “I understand there’s a big riot on the roof. I was going up to take a look. You should look, too,” he said, putting a hand in the small of Mercedes’s back and guiding her down the hallway, through an old storage room, around an air conditioning service corridor, and then pushing through a metal maintenance-type door.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to go on the roof,” she whispered.
“I know for a fact we’re not supposed to go on the roof, but I’m an investigative reporter, and sometimes, believe it or not, I actually investigate the facts, rather than just blindly spew them out on my show. Tonight, we’re investigating the roof.”
“Sam.”
“It’s true,” he answered, leading her up through one narrow flight of stairs, down another service corridor, and then up a narrow flight of stairs.
Finally, success.
The door opened up to New York at night, dressed in her Saturday evening best. St. Patrick’s Cathedral was lit up with white spotlights on the gothic towers. The regal structure looked like something out of a medieval fairy-tale. Rockefeller Center was prepping for the weekend crowds, and in the distance, the tiny pinpoints of streetlamps outlined Central Park.
This was the city she loved.
The wind blew around them, but Mercedes didn’t really mind the chill. It was so beautiful to watch, so peaceful. So lonely. In New York, it was so easy to feel small, so easy to feel lost.
Mercedes leaned against the ledge, and watched the world, shivering.
Sam came up behind her, strong arms wrapping around her, warming her from the chill, alleviating the loneliness. And who would keep her warm when he was gone? Who would stop the loneliness? There wasn’t anyone else.
“You’re okay?” he asked. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
It was the understatement of the year, but she nodded. “You’ll have to go back soon.”
“Too soon.”
“You’re doing very well out there.”
“God,” he said, his chest rumbling with laughter. “I didn’t realize how many people like me.”
She turned in his arms, turned away from the city she loved, and looked at him, looked in his eyes, memorizing every detail, the hard line of his jaw, the once-broken nose, the marvelous, expressive eyes that could trap her with a look.
“You’re going to win, did you know that?”
“I like to think positively, so yes, I think I’m going to win.”
“You’ll be a wonderful congressman. And they’re going to name elementary schools after you, and maybe build the Sam Porter Parkway.”
“I don’t think they should call it the Sam Porter Parkway.”
“Okay, maybe not. But you’re going to do great. You know that, right?” she said, her voice quivering, and she didn’t want it to quiver. Not now. This was supposed to be a perfect time. Their perfect time.
“Mercedes?” he asked, his thumb brushing her tears away.
She sniffed and waved her hand in the air. “Sorry. I’m just so happy.”
He tucked her head against his chest, rubbing her back, and once again she was there, leaning against him. It felt so nice. So wonderfully, permanently nice.
“Yeah, I can feel all that happiness radiating from you. I know you hate this, and I’m sorry. We can leave in an hour, I think. Duck out.”
“That sounds great,” she murmured.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m great. I love you, Sam Porter.”
She could feel the stillness in him. She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had tripped out.
Gently he grasped her chin, and tilted her mouth for his kiss. Mercedes had never dreamed of magical, starlight nights, and the noble knights who rode on white horses, but he was the stuff that magic was made of. He made her dream. She’d always imagined she was too tough to dream, too tough to love, but now she knew the truth. Love took strength and courage. It was the cowards who were afraid of love. She’d been wrong all along.
She kissed him with all of those dreams, all of that magic, and she hoped he would understand. This night, this kiss, this time, it would be hers, and hers alone.
This time, it was Mercedes who pulled away. “You should get back,” she said. When they walked downstairs, her legs were steadier, her back was straighter. She would be fine.
She picked up a glass of champagne, said a quiet goodbye to Tony, and then walked out of the hotel. She hailed a cab back to her apartment, and before she went inside, she threw her cell phone into a passing garbage truck.
She could pack up her things, bunk with her mother for a little, lie low so that Sam couldn’t find her.
She would be fine, she didn’t have a choice.