Elizabeth the First Wife (27 page)

I texted Maddie: 11:30. No drams of poison.

She replied: K. Huh?

Call? Not call? Call? Not call? I sat at my kitchen table, contemplating the blue Skype bubble on my laptop. Did I have the kind of relationship with Rafa in which I could ring him up even if we didn't have a household situation to discuss? Maybe not, but I wanted to let him know that his strategy had worked. Plus I'd just refreshed my concealer.

I clicked on “dial” and then felt foolish. Don't answer, I prayed, but then I heard the familiar high-pitched whoop, signaling a received call. Too late. Rafa's face came into view. He was sitting in my living room, obviously working even though it was well past nine. There was a stack of files and papers on the desk in front of him. In the background I saw a whiteboard with names and cards, but I couldn't make out the words. He looked pleased to see me. “Hey.”

“Hey. Hi. Hello.” Oh brother, let's see how many more greeting variations I can come up with. “I wanted to check in and see how…all the appliances were getting along.”

“They seem to be getting along just fine. How are your appliances?”

“My appliances are good, too.” Could the concealer possibly be
concealing my awkwardness? “Um, I thought you might want to know that I employed your strategy. I identified what I had to offer and offered it up to the unwilling party. I plunged right into that crosswalk.”

Rafa relaxed back against the couch and crossed him arms, “Good for you. Did the unwilling party bite?”

“He did. I think I got him.”

“I bet you did. Men have a hard time saying no to smart women. You've got our numbers.”

The compliment surprised me. “Oh no, we don't. It only looks that way.” Rafa was obviously busy, and I didn't see any cooking together in our immediate future, so I let him off the hook. “I can tell you're in the middle of something, so I'll let you go.”

But Rafa kept going with chief-of-staff talk. “Well, it appears that we may have to go public with Ted's interest a little sooner than we wanted. There were some rumblings and speculation in the press today about the possibility. And some of it is not favorable. We're getting bombarded with interview requests. So I'm trying to figure out a timeline and our staffing needs before a meeting tomorrow morning. It could be go time.”

The visual of sweaty, dirty Rafa was replaced with a snapshot of Rafa working alone in a pin-clean apartment done in tasteful muted colors but devoid of personality because he'd never had so much as a weekend off to pick up some accent pillows. I challenged him, “Is this what your life is like? The last guy up at night, the first guy up in the morning?”

“Pretty much.” He laughed. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love it. Okay, ninety-five percent of the time. The other five percent I wish I had a more normal life.”

“What does ‘more normal' mean?” I was curious about his definition because I'd had the same thought so many times about what I'd be doing at a single precise moment if I were Sarah and I had twins to feed dinner, or if I were Bumble and I had nightly
fundraisers to attend on behalf of a spouse. What would my life be like if it was more than just me? What would it be like if it was more normal?

“A family, a wife, a lawn to mow. You know, that sort of thing. I wonder sometimes if I don't have those things because I have this job. Or if I have this job because I don't have those things.”

“It's probably a little of both, don't you think?” Thank you, Dr. Lancaster, amateur analyst.

Rafa nodded. “Yeah. It doesn't help that everyone I meet in Washington is a lot like me. Dedicated to the job and not that available for a lot more than. …” He paused to think about exactly what to say.

I pushed because I was curious about what he might be looking for. And, after all, I was writing a relationship book, so this conversation could also be called research. “More than what?”

“Let's just say that the people I'm surrounded by came to DC to make a difference and get ahead. And not necessarily in that order. They have short attention spans when it comes to interpersonal relationships.” Rafa looked sheepish as he concluded, “Me included.”

Ah, work hard, play hard, and leave before breakfast. That whole scenario was totally not my issue. I'm sure Bumble and Sarah could each offer up a short lecture on what exactly my issues were, but they had nothing to do with not enough time or interest. According to my sisters, my singledom centered around a lack of self-confidence and sex appeal. (I think black turtlenecks can be very alluring in the right circumstance, but Bumble disagrees.) Honestly, I've never done any emotional digging on my own. That's what gardening is for. So I tried to buck up Rafa on his self-assessment. “So the relationship thing isn't working out. But you're making a difference, right?”

“Yup,” he sighed. “One press conference at a time.”

“Good luck.”

“I'll check in tomorrow.” With that, Rafa clicked off, but something in me clicked on. We had moved beyond appliances.

Rosalind & Orlando FROM AS YOU LIKE IT

HER:
One of Shakespeare's most delightful leading ladies. Independent, fun, charming, and not afraid to go into exile dressed like a man. Has much to say about the foolishness of love, but can't help falling in love anyway.

HIM:
Forest-dwelling little brother. A gentleman despite the lack of formal education. Noble, loyal, and brave when he needs to be. No match for Rosalind intellectually, but handsome enough to compensate.

BRILLIANT RELATIONSHIP MOVE:
Rosalind dresses as a man to instruct Orlando on how to woo a woman, proving you can, in fact, have your cake and eat it, too.

WHY THEY WORK:
She's smart and he's adorable.

HIS BEST ADVICE:
“Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.”

HER BEST ADVICE:
“Men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives.”

SHAKESPEAREAN COUPLE MOST LIKELY TO:
Co-host a morning talk show.

WHO THEY REMIND YOU OF:
Kelly Ripa and Michael Strahan.

CHEMISTRY FACTOR:
3.5 OUT OF 5

The address may have been Ashland, but the opening night felt like pure Broadway. The June air was crisp and cool, a perfect night for outdoor theater, and those lucky enough to have scored tickets in the daily lottery were dressed in layers as advised by the OSF website. A film crew from
Access Hollywood
waited outside the theater and, no doubt, reviewers from the
Los Angeles Times
, the
New York Times
, and
People
were inside. The crowd was abuzz in anticipation of the production that Taz Buchanan had described at the press conference as an “in-your-face, out-of-body mind-blower.” (Oh, Taz, that's a lot of body parts for one phrase.) But there was no doubt that the thirty-years-younger-than-the-average crowd was ready to party Elizabethan style, probably titillated even further by the show's No One Under 18 warning. Though the details had been kept vague, clearly the feeling in the crowd was that this
Midsummer
would indeed include sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. Some of the audience members seemed to be dressed in costume, sporting Grateful Dead
T-shirts and Indian-print skirts. Then again, that could just be what college kids still wore in Southern Oregon. It was exciting to be a tiny part of it, even if only from my house seat in the last row, view partially obstructed.

Maddie texted me from backstage: I'm SO nervous. Why?????? She was on duty in the bowels of the theater, where the actors readied themselves in a locker room–style dressing area and waited in a rundown green room equipped with a closed-circuit TV to monitor the progress onstage several floors above. No star treatment at OSF for FX or any of the actors. It was opening night and the energy in those claustrophobic spaces must be tangible. I was excited for her and a little jealous. She had become an integral part of the production team and FX's personal assistant, handling everything from his social media needs to his green tea demands. I texted her back: Me 2.

I was nervous. The last ten days had been a chaotic rush of writing, rehearsal, and Rafa, plus daily dog walks, occasional yoga classes, and frequent communications from my family, who seemed to think I was right around the corner and insisted on keeping me up to date on all things Lancaster whether I cared or not about how the roses were blooming in my mother's garden. Out of sight, out of mind didn't really work in my family.