Eliza Starts a Rumor(33)
As was his usual game plan, Marc began as if the ball were in his court.
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked.
“Well, it’s more like what can we do for you,” the older of the two women answered. “We are here to discuss a possible mayoral candidacy.”
“We think you have a real shot,” the man chimed in.
“And why do you think that?” Marc asked in a curt tone, forgetting to lay on the charm just thirty seconds in. They didn’t even try to hide their weakest motive.
“For starters, have you seen the Republican front-runner?” the older woman asked as the others laughed along.
The opposition made babies cry when they looked at him. Really. It was a phenomenon that had made him a YouTube sensation. If Marc hadn’t disagreed with him on nearly every issue, he might have felt bad for the guy. He knew that his own looks had been advantageous to him, but he thought they had no effect on his success as US attorney. No one gave a crap in court that he was as handsome as Atticus Finch. It annoyed him that these people brought it up first, even in a lighthearted way.
“The vetting process is intense. If you are interested, we would need to schedule another, lengthier meeting, but there are a few nonstarters that we would like to ask about right off the bat,” said the older woman, who was clearly in charge.
“All right then, batter up!” he answered with a smile, in an attempt to be endearing.
“Are you current on your state and federal taxes?”
“I am. I have a perfect record on that, audited once but nothing found.”
“Great. Any skeletons in your closet, particularly in regard to the ‘Me Too’ movement?”
“Nothing I can think of.”
“That’s a good answer, but we’d appreciate it if you really thought deeply on this. People come out of the woodwork,” the man added, strategically pressing the point.
“There’s no one. I’m sure of it. I have always been very respectful of women.”
“Are you currently in a relationship?”
“No, not at this time.” He sat back in his chair, feeling confident in his viability. Until a thought entered his brain like a bullet train.
“Wait, there may be one thing you should know. But no one knows about it, so I don’t think it’s a problem.” He paused for a few seconds. It seemed as though he was doing it for effect, but the truth was he had never said it out loud and was bracing himself to hear his truth.
“I fathered a child.”
“Really?” and “How long ago?” and “Was it put up for adoption?” they asked unilaterally and with an air of panic.
“He’s with the mother. He’s a few months old.”
“Were you helping out a friend who wanted a child?” the other woman asked, fingers crossed, no doubt. “That’s considered admirable,” she reassured her cohorts.
“No.” Maybe it could be spun that way, Marc thought, but he kept that thought to himself. He added matter-of-factly, “A woman I’d been sleeping with on a regular basis got pregnant and had the baby—on her own.”
The three of them huddled together in whispered conversation. Marc waited, twisting the straw in his hand until it dropped to the floor and rolled away from his desk. He watched it, wishing he could grab it back. The man spoke.
“Do you have any intention of being a father to this child, and is there a possibility of you getting back together with the mother?”
“We can’t get back together. We were never really together like that.”
“Well, you must have been somewhat together. You made a baby.”
“It’s no different than if I were a sperm donor.”
“I’m pretty sure it is quite different,” the older woman countered.
Marc shook his head slowly from left to right with no clear meaning. He was annoyed at himself for not considering this before. It was completely unlike him. The three leaned in again, and then the older woman said, “We are going to have to discuss this with the committee before moving forward.”
They all stood. Marc didn’t.
“We’ll be in touch.”
Marc had a real problem. While he wasn’t scared of holding what Mayor Lindsay himself coined “the second toughest job in the country,” the idea of himself as anybody’s father scared the crap out of him. Still, he thought, I can’t let this ruin me.
CHAPTER 19
Jackie
Jackie Campbell sat in his usual seat on the 5:49 and watched as two women bounded on like Butch and Sundance, just as the doors were closing. It made him laugh at first—that mad panic that, as a seasoned commuter and painstakingly punctual person, he never experienced. His smile broadened. Alison’s face, paired with the knowledge that she’d be traveling from the city that day, sparked immediate recognition, along with a stirring of excitement he had not felt in quite a while. The train car was unusually packed, and the two women found a spot by the doors to stand. He pulled out his phone to double-check that it was indeed her. He made the mistake of asking Skip, “Hey, doesn’t she look like that lady over there?”
Skip took the phone and flipped through Alison’s profile pictures.
“Oooh. Nice. She does. Is that the one you’ve been talking to, Tootsie?”