Waltzing at Midnight (11 page)

I nodded. “Sounds like this isn’t the first time somebody’s had a crush on you.” I was amused at Rosie’s ruffled feathers. “I’ll assign her non-office duties for the rest of the week and keep her out of your hair.”

“Good. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I’m too busy to deal with this now.”

“I understand.” I opened the door. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

I sent Tracy out canvassing.

On the Sunday before the election, with two days to go, all indications were that Garcia had pulled into the lead. We had done it. We had done the impossible. And, surprising to all of us, Rosie was securely in second place. As we predicted, the electorate was returning to her. Wow, I thought. If I had just one more week, I could put her in the mayor’s office. Kiester, still reeling from our one-two knock-out punch, didn’t have a chance of regaining consciousness in time.

When I told Rosie the news, she just stood there, lips pursed, eyes shining, looking at me with gratitude. She shook her head, unbelieving. It was a very happy day.

On election day, I spent the afternoon at the rented hall supervising the last-minute decorating, the placement of the flowers, the arrival of food, the setting up of the sound system.

Amy had surprised me with her musical contribution. She did know what she was doing after all. I had expected “Who Let the Dogs Out?” and, instead, I got some really nice music like the kind they play on JCPenney commercials, songs that don’t really penetrate your consciousness usually, but make you want to buy towels.

It was all coming together splendidly, and I was high on adrenaline. After assuring myself of the arrangements, I went home to change clothes. Jerry fussed with his tuxedo, complained about his hair, but ended up looking as handsome as he ever had.

Before we left the house, he put his arms around me and said, “I love you. And I’m proud of you.”

Touched, I said, “Aren’t you going to tell me how beautiful I

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look too?”

“You’ll be the most beautiful girl at the ball.”

That may have been Jerry’s opinion, but when I saw Rosie, I had to concede that honor to her. She was jubilant when we located her in the crowd, a glowing beacon.

I introduced her to Jerry. “I don’t know what my wife will do now,” he said. “Our lives will be much duller.”

“You’ll probably enjoy that,” Rosie observed, good-humoredly. “I want to thank you, Jerry, for being so generous with her. Without Jean, this election would have been a disaster.

And this party—just look at this place. What a marvelous job you’ve done, Jean. And all the pink roses, they’re perfect. They just fill the air with perfume.”

“I’m glad you like it, Rosie.”

“I love it! A brilliant touch. My financial advisor will probably not love it, though.”

“You might be surprised,” I said. “After all, I’ve been budgeting for a family of four for a while now. You learn a few things.”

Jerry put his arm around my waist possessively. “Oh, yes,” he said, “Jeannie’s very clever. You should see what she can do with a can of tuna.”

I slapped him playfully, then we went to the refreshment table for a glass of champagne. I inspected the table’s contents—snacks, utensils, napkins, glasses, punch bowl and ladle. Everything seemed to be in order, but I still felt nervous. I drank two glasses of champagne in a row, then sampled some snacks—marinated shrimp, bruschetta with goat cheese and olive tapenade, crab-stuffed new potatoes. The food was good, high-class and fresh-tasting. Yes, I had done a fine job, a fabulous job, in fact. I met Rosie’s challenge with style. Congratulations, Jean! I said to myself, raising my champagne glass.

The room was jammed with men in tuxedos, women in evening gowns, the clinking of glasses, laughter and music. A ROSIE FOR

MAYOR banner hung over a platform at one end of the room.

Bud vases holding miniature pink roses adorned the tables. Large sprays of pink roses on stands were strategically placed around

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the room. A man and a woman in black inconspicuously worked their way among the guests, retrieving abandoned glasses and plates, replenishing hors d’oeuvre trays.

“She looks very feminine tonight,” Jerry said, as we observed Rosie from some distance. It seemed an idiotic thing to say, so I didn’t respond. Rosie, dressed in a low-cut aqua evening gown with a sheer over-jacket covering her shoulders, looked ravishing.

My eyes searched her out all evening, watched her talking to people, laughing, touching their arms, shaking their hands, her diamonds sparkling, her eyes glittering. She was never alone for a moment. Everyone wanted to be in her sphere of radiance.

People came and went, congratulating me and telling me what a valiant effort I’d made, how close we’d come. I smiled and chatted with the city’s elite: government officials, business executives, members of the Arts Commission and the Vision Partnership and various other community-service organizations, rich and influential citizens who had financed Rosie’s bid for mayor. One of these was Dr. Chandra Patel, of course, who looked incredible in a colorful sari and magnificent diamonds covering her ears and fingers. Her black hair was pulled up off of her thin neck into a French twist.

“Jean,” she said, taking both my hands in hers. “I’m so happy that we won!”

“Well,” I said, “I’m afraid we didn’t win.”

Dr. Patel tilted her head to one side, a crooked smile on her lips, and said, with certainty, “Oh, but we did! And I understand you are responsible for that. Rosalind has told me all about you, and I’m very impressed.” She glanced somewhat dismissively at Jerry, and then smiled serenely at me before leaving us.

“That woman is worth millions, maybe even more,” I told Jerry after she was out of earshot. “She bankrolled the portrait gallery at the museum almost single-handedly.”

Poor Jerry was feeling intimidated. As was I, but not as badly.

I’d met some of these people already and was beginning to know some names and faces, and, although their watches cost as much as my car, I knew there were good-hearted people among them

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and they had only wished Rosie the best. They had recognized her potential, and that was good enough for me. And I had learned too that the best of them saw their fortunes as a lucky happenstance and an opportunity to contribute to the welfare of the community that supported them. This was all new for me, this point of view, and I was sure that Jerry was still in that frame of mind that resents all of these lucky bastards.

Not everyone at the party was rich, though. There were the regular folks, too, who had given time instead of money, like Faye. And there was Ginny and her girlfriend Aura, who showed up in matching rented white and lavender tuxedos. When I saw them, I felt my face stretch into a wide smile. They were adorable and seemed very pleased with themselves. I thought I could read Rosie’s lips as she gripped Ginny by the shoulders and said,

“Aren’t you two the cutest things!” I saw Ginny hand her camera to someone so that she and Aura could stand on either side of Rosie to get their picture taken between sprays of pink roses. She was their hero too. And they had a special connection with her that I envied.

In one corner, we’d mounted a chalkboard. Periodically, one of the volunteers wrote in the latest figures from the election returns coming out of the county courthouse. Consistently, Garcia was ahead, Kiester was last. The polls had been accurate.

Rosie’s position fluctuated slightly up and down, but maintained second place, and by ten o’clock, she was far enough behind Garcia to concede.

Rosie climbed onto the stage and took a microphone, motioning to someone to turn the music down. “Listen up,”

Rosie said. “This is the official announcement. I would like to congratulate Mike Garcia for his resounding win.” Boos and cries of protest arose from the crowd. “To those of you who stuck with me, I want to thank you for your dedication. I know it wasn’t easy and I know you took a lot of abuse. I’m sorry I couldn’t pull it off for you.” Rosie’s gaze scanned the crowd. “Jean, where are you?” I raised my glass and she caught my eye. “Ah, there she is. My deepest gratitude goes to Jean Davis for her heroic

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performance as my campaign manager. When I was ready to give up, Jean knocked me upside the head and back into the race.

Because of her remarkable efforts, we have achieved the most important victory of this campaign—we’ve kept Kiester from being reelected.” The crowd cheered. “That was my aim from the beginning, so I’m counting this election a success. To Mike, I give my heartiest congratulations, as well as all the help I can give him in his new position.” She offered a toast to Garcia, then said,

“As of this moment, I am retired from politics forever! Drink up, everybody!” She raised her champagne glass to her lips and drained it in one swallow.

I, too, drank some more champagne, feeling overwhelmed with emotion.

“Congratulations, Jean,” Faye said, running into me in the kitchen where I was stacking some trays. I felt restless and wanted to occupy myself. Faye, looking flushed and sexy in a revealing gown, said, “Rosie told me about your idea to oust Kiester. Very clever. And you did it, too. I knew something was up. I just didn’t guess that was it. A victory after all.”

“It might have been my idea, but it was Rosie who did it.”

“All the same, Jean, you should be proud of yourself. I was there, remember? I’ve seen you in action and I’m proud of you.”

Faye took hold of me and gave me a warm hug. “Rosie’s right, you two make a great team. She really can’t say enough about you.”

Well, that was good to know. Rosie was always so willing to share credit with someone else, one of her most agreeable traits.

As the evening wore on, my mood gradually deteriorated.

The momentum was wearing off and I found myself forcing smiles.

“What’s the matter with you?” Jerry asked me in a quiet corner. “Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“I don’t feel festive,” I said. “I’m just sad, I guess, that it’s over.

It’s been a hell of a ride.”

He nodded his head agreeably, but I knew what he was thinking. Thank God, it’s over!

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I was the only one who was gloomy. Rosie clearly wasn’t.

She was overjoyed. She would soon be on to other projects and wouldn’t look back. This was one adventure in her life among many. For me, it was singular. The best I could hope for is that I didn’t revolve around this spot for the rest of my life, that I could do something else of interest. The experience was valuable, however brief it had been. I felt like crying.

Late in the evening, after several of the guests had gone, Jerry and I got separated. When I was ready to leave, I went looking for him. I hoped he had kept his promise about not drinking so he’d be able to drive safely. I was in no condition to do it myself. I looked through the main room and the kitchen, then went through a sliding glass door out onto an unlit sundeck. No one else was there. I went over to the railing and leaned against it, looking out across the lake. Down by the water, two shadowy figures stood with hands clasped between them. They kissed briefly, then leaned against one another, watching the sky.

Toward the south I easily picked out Orion, the three bright stars of his belt prominent. There was no moon, no breeze. The air was chilly, but tolerable, a fine November evening. I stood for a while listening to a flock of Canada geese far overhead, out of sight, meandering south, and to the sound of loud music from within, feeling sick to my stomach and unsteady.

“There you are,” said a low voice close to me. It was Rosie’s voice. I turned to see her standing just behind me. I hadn’t heard her approach, didn’t know if she’d been there for a while. “Your husband is looking for you.”

I stared into her eyes. “Yes, it’s time for us to go.”

“Sit down for a minute, Jean,” Rosie said, indicating a redwood bench placed beside the doors. I sat beside her. Someone had put one of the pink rosebuds behind her ear and she looked, well, rosy.

This was the first time all evening I had a chance to get a really good look at her. The diamond earrings and matching necklace were dazzling clusters of teardrops. Ostentatious for Rosie, but this was a big night, appropriate for big statements. The straps of her aqua gown were thin on her shoulders, a gauzy film of the

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same color covering her arms. The neckline dropped across her chest to meet in a V over the plump curve of her breasts. The dark, mysterious groove of her cleavage disappeared beneath the silky material. Soft, everything about her was so soft.

“Jean, I have something for you,” she said, producing a bulky rectangular object with a big red bow on it. “To thank you, though this will hardly suffice.”

I took the gift. It was a roan-colored leather accordion-style briefcase. The lining and edge stitching told me that it was finely made and undoubtedly expensive.

“For your new job,” Rosie said. “I guessed that you didn’t have one.”

“No, of course I don’t,” I said, near tears. “Oh, Rosie—”

“You really threw yourself into this campaign,” Rosie said, seeming uncomfortable. “I expect you’ll suffer a bit of post-election depression. Not surprisingly.”

“This has been one of the happiest times of my life. I’m going to miss it. I’m going to miss you.”

“Don’t start bawling, for God’s sake.” She attempted a laugh.

“Look, Jean, just because the election’s over, it doesn’t mean good-bye. There’s the Partnership. We’ll be working together often, I expect. I’m counting on you to throw yourself into that with as much enthusiasm as you did this.”