Waltzing at Midnight (5 page)

“But would I have thought so?” asked Clark. “Would I have busted my ass trying to get you elected if you’d told me this up front? It’s completely naïve to think that you can keep your personal life out of politics.”

34

She looked contrite. Rosie on the defensive was an uncomfortable sight. “Yes, you’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry to all of you. I’m afraid this is going to hurt us.”

“You’re damned right it’s going to hurt us,” Clark said. “It’s going to kill us. To successfully run a lesbian for mayor in this town would be tough under any circumstances. But to have it sprung on the voters three weeks before the election, well, there’s just no way. They’re going to feel like you betrayed them.”

“Yes, I know. Kiester’s going to win after all.”

“You’re giving up?” I asked, astonished.

Rosie looked at me sympathetically, as though I were the victim somehow. “Jean, we’ve lost.”

“But we haven’t lost yet,” I said. “This morning you were the hands-down favorite. And we don’t even know what the media will say. They might not say anything. And even if they do, it might not matter that much to people.”

Rosie smiled sadly, affectionately. “Jean, you don’t know where you’re living. We may be just a hundred miles from San Francisco, but we may as well be on another planet. The people here have their roots in farming. They’re conservative and they have traditional views. In any election ever held here where an initiative was on the ballot for gay rights, for abortion, for any of the typically liberal issues, every county in the Central Valley has always voted on what I would call the unenlightened side. That’s just a fact as irrefutable as knowing that California as a whole will always vote Democratic. This city isn’t ready to elect an openly-gay mayor. But, okay, we’ll watch the news before we throw in the towel. It’s almost five. Kiester will know how to spin this to his advantage. There’s no way he’s going to let it go.”

“You should have told me,” Clark muttered again.

Rosie was right. It was going to be a headliner. We didn’t have long to wait before her photograph was displayed on the screen along with the repetition of Holloway’s remark. Then they played a brief interview with Catherine Gardiner, who slid past their questions, saying, “Sure, I know Rosie. She deserves the job. I’d vote for her myself if I could, if I lived there, in that 35

town. What’s that town she lives in again?”

At this, I noticed the briefest of smiles slide over Rosie’s lips. Catherine Gardiner was a sharp-featured, wiry woman. She was wearing an absurd, ankle-length denim skirt and a peasant blouse. Her long, wind-blown hair was dark gray, caught on one side haphazardly in a silver barrette.

“How would you characterize your relationship?” asked the reporter.

“As a friendship,” Catherine answered, sounding as though she’d said exactly what she’d been told to say. Her tone was sly, faintly mocking.

“Ms. Gardiner,” he persisted, “you’re well known for your radical views. Does Ms. Monroe share these?”

“Oh, no.” Catherine laughed ironically. “Not in the least.

Rosie builds things. I tear them down. We couldn’t be more different.”

Next on was Hugh Kiester, pretending innocence. “It was an unfortunate comment,” he said. “I had a little talk with Holloway about it just a while ago. I think we should stick to the issues and stay away from personal remarks. If Rosie wants to keep her homosexuality under wraps, she should have the right to do so.

Although some voters may feel they have a right to know such things, I don’t happen to agree.”

“The bastard,” Clark snarled.

“Rosie Monroe was unavailable for comment today,” the announcer said. “And none of her staff would confirm or deny the rumor.”

Rosie switched off the set. “Well, there it is.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Clark said. “Your friend did fine. There was no confirmation there. They don’t have anything. I’ll arrange a press conference for you for tomorrow. You’ll deny it and we’ll put this to bed.”

Rosie shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It might save this campaign for us.”

“I can’t do it because it’d be a lie.”

“Dammit, Rosie, you can’t always tell the truth in politics.

36

You do what’s best. Anything that can get you elected is best in this case. Deny it. You said yourself that you’re not involved with anyone, so what difference does it make?”

“It won’t work, Clark. They’ll keep prying. They’ll find something.”

“What will they find? Come on, Rosie. Other than this poet woman, who apparently won’t squeal, what will they find?”

Rosie, exasperated, glanced around the room. When her eyes met mine, I saw how pained they were. “Clark,” she said. “I’m fifty-one years old. I’ve led a full life. If they look for it, they’ll find something. I’ll talk to the press tomorrow, but I won’t lie.”

“You’re not going to admit it? Do you know how bad that will look? It will look like you’ve been hiding it. Hiding being gay is worse than being gay.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Arrange the press conference, will you, please? Faye, do you think you could find out what was on the other stations? If they had anything more?”

“Sure. I’ll give you a report first thing in the morning on my way to work.”

Faye said good-bye, and after Clark made a few phone calls, he left too, obviously disgruntled. Everyone else was gone by then except Rosie, who was in her office with the door closed. I decided to see if she wanted to talk. Most of the time she seemed awfully tough, but people are like that in their public roles. I knocked on her door. “Come in,” she called. She sat at her desk, typing on her laptop. She looked up at me over the top of reading glasses.

“Hi,” I said. “Everyone’s gone.”

“Except you.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find a way to say nothing. It’s not one of my talents.

I tend to get right to the point and say what I think. This time, that wouldn’t help much. Have you got any ideas?”

“You’re still the best candidate, Rosie.” I sat in the straight-backed chair next to her desk. “You’re still honest and hard-working. People won’t change their minds about that.”

3

Rosie shook her head. “Jean, wake up. I’m pleased to see that you haven’t changed
your
mind, but you’re not typical. None of my attributes will matter to a certain sector of the public when they hear about this. Those people won’t vote for a lesbian, period.

If they found out that Christ was gay, they’d become Jews. Oh, sure, I might get a few new votes from the gays and lesbians, but it won’t even out. People vote in illogical ways, based on emotions, not facts. You must know that by now.”

I nodded. When I looked at her again, she was staring directly at me, her eyes placid. “It really doesn’t matter to you?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t think so,” I said, flattered that she seemed concerned about my opinion. “Your sexual orientation, it’s a private issue. It has nothing to do with your qualifications for the job.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. And I think that’s the answer.

That’s the only statement I can make tomorrow. Thanks, Jean.

Now get on home to your family. There’s no point in putting in overtime here anymore.”

“Don’t give up, Rosie,” I said. She managed a small smile. I left, feeling angry and confused. Was it possible, I wondered, that Rosie could lose the election over this? The Kiester campaign apparently thought so. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have played this card. Rosie seemed to think so too, and she knew the political climate of this town better than I did.

By the time I got home, I was overcome with fury toward Kiester. If he had been within my grasp, I would have strangled him. Instead, Jerry met me at the back door with a hug. I was home late, I realized, and hadn’t called. But he had heard the news. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been a pretty big shock.”

Jerry led me into the family room where Amy was watching television. They sat on either side of me on the sofa.

“It’s true?” Amy asked. “She’s gay?”

I merely nodded.

“Go figure,” Jerry said. “Oh, well, it just goes to show you. All politicians are phonies.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

3

“She was pretending to be something she wasn’t,” he said.

“She wasn’t pretending to be anything. She was claiming to be the best candidate for mayor. That’s what she was. Is.”

“Well, okay, so she wasn’t pretending to be straight, but she was keeping a pretty big secret.”

“It’s irrelevant,” I said testily.

Jerry loosened his comforting hold on me. “Okay, okay.”

Later, when it was time for the ten o’ clock news, I said to Amy,

“Switch to channel eleven. I want to see if they have anything to say about Rosie.” The late report was similar to the earlier one, except that the reporter questioning Kiester suggested that the rumor was politically motivated, intentional and sanctioned by Kiester himself.

“Of course it was,” I said, disgusted.

“That’s insulting,” Kiester said. “I’ve been running a fair, issue-oriented campaign. I’ve known Rosie for years and I like her. She’s a good woman. I wouldn’t sanction something like this. But it’s the sort of thing that’s bound to happen. There are obviously people who know about Rosie. Comments are made, often quite innocently. There was nothing malicious about Holloway’s remark. It was just unconsidered, said in the wrong place and the wrong time. The way to have avoided this sort of thing would have been for Rosie to be open about it up front.”

“He’s accusing her of deceit,” I said, feeling frustrated.

Then they showed the tape again of Catherine Gardiner’s statement. She had apparently said nothing more, but they didn’t let that stop them. They dug up an NPR interview from last year and played it over a publicity still of her. They had obviously been looking all evening for something controversial. She was asked her opinion of abstinence as a legitimate part of sex education. Her answer: “Yes, I think abstinence is a valid option to teach high school girls, at least the ones with underdeveloped sex drives. I would also advocate teaching them how to pleasure themselves, which is ultimately the safest form of sex and, for straight women, probably the best they’re going to get anyway.”

Amy’s mouth dropped open and she immediately went into 3

her Britney Spears imitation, saying, “Oh, my gawd, y’all! That’s just not right.”

Jerry looked at me accusingly, as if I were responsible, somehow. Well, that wasn’t going to help our position much, I thought, regardless of how irrelevant it was. Strange woman, this Gardiner. What was the attraction there for Rosie, I wondered.

“Honey,” Jerry said cautiously, “Are you going to keep working on Rosie’s campaign?”

I stared at him. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Well, we can certainly vote for her if you want, but I don’t want to be seen as a gay rights advocate or something. That isn’t one of our issues.”

“This isn’t about gay rights. What kind of a stupid thing is that to say?” I marched out of the room, angry again. If my own husband was no longer in Rosie’s camp, who would be? She was right, apparently, to be pessimistic. People in this town wouldn’t vote for a lesbian.

40

I accompanied Rosie to her news conference, waiting inside while she spoke to a half dozen reporters on the steps of her office building. There were some out-of-towners among them, I noticed, based on their camera logos. Our mayoral campaign had apparently gained the attention of neighboring cities. Rosie was dressed smartly, as usual, but her demeanor was diminished.

“Were you and the poet Catherine Gardiner ever lovers?”

one reporter asked.

“My private life is not an issue in this campaign,” Rosie said. “It has no bearing on my qualifications as a candidate. The insinuation that I’ve been dishonest by not discussing my sex life is absurd. Has anyone asked the other candidates to produce a list of people they’ve slept with?”

I watched them hound her and hated them profusely. They were destroying everything we had built up with this heartless assault. She continued her refusal to discuss the only subject they were interested in. It was a short interview. After she had retreated inside, I walked with her to her office, wordless. Though she had 41

stood firm and confident before the cameras moments before, she was a wreck now. She sat dumbly in her desk chair, staring into her lap where her hands lay immobile.

“Rosie,” I asked, “will you be okay?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, then said, quietly, “It’s over, Jean.”

“What about the sympathy vote? You’re being badly treated.”

She laughed shortly. “People are sympathetic with people they can identify with. Besides, it’s not sympathy I want to put me in the mayor’s office.”

“What difference does it make, as long as you get there?”

She continued to stare into her hands, wordless. I stood by the side of her chair and put an arm around her shoulder and held her, thinking how wide-ranging this woman was. A few days ago I thought I’d known her, then had discovered I didn’t. Now, did I know her better? Or even less?

“No, it’s all over,” she said, “all the work and money and hope, gone. This is so frustrating. It’s going to be a challenge to get through the rest of this campaign, to put a brave face on it. I feel so badly about letting everybody down.”

“But you didn’t let us down,” I said. “You did everything right.

It’s those Kiester bastards that did it. Those bastards knew they couldn’t win in a fair fight.”

She looked at me and smiled sadly. “Jean, you’re something of a surprise to me.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, releasing her.

“Well, Faye described you as a bored empty nester who needed something to do, who didn’t know anything about politics, but could answer a phone and hand out leaflets. Over the past couple of months you’ve unfolded into a strong, driven woman with remarkable organizational and interpersonal skills, with a tenacious public spirit, a fierce loyalty, a personality that I would never have described as Faye did. Was she putting me on?