Young Jane Young(57)

“My mom said he wasn’t my dad,” Ruby said. “She said it was a ‘one-night stand.’ That’s when you sleep with someone for one night —”

“I know what it is,” Embeth said. “Ruby, your mom’s right. The congressman told me. He’s not your father, and I’m sorry to say this, but he doesn’t want to see you.”

Ruby nodded solemnly.

“But I thought he looks like me. He looks so much like me. It has to be true.”

El Meté flew through the open window and landed on Embeth’s shoulder.

“True! True!” El Meté said.

“Shh!” Embeth said.

“Party! Party!” El Meté said.

“Shut up, would you!” Embeth said.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Ruby said. “El Meté.”

The bird flew over to Ruby, and he alighted on her forearm.

“Can you see him?” Embeth asked.

“No,” Ruby said. “But I can feel him. What color are his feathers?”

“He has a red head, and a green body and wings, and there are blue tips at the end of his wings. He has green eyes and a pinkish beak. He’s very handsome and a little bit vain.”

El Meté nuzzled into Ruby’s breast.

“I wish I could see him,” Ruby said.

“I wish I couldn’t,” Embeth said.

“What do you think he means?”

“I try not to think about what he means. I guess he means I’m crazy or lonely or both.”

The police officer came into the office. “Your grandmother’s outside.”

Ruby wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You know her,” she said to Embeth. “Will you introduce us?”

“We’re not exactly great friends,” Embeth said.

In the waiting area, the former Rachel Grossman stood with her friend, Roz Horowitz. Rachel Grossman, who was tough as they came, had tears in her eyes. Those women had never liked me, Embeth thought. But maybe this idea that people didn’t like her was as much of a delusion as El Meté? Embeth put on her brightest politician’s wife smile. “Roz! Rachel! How wonderful to see you both. This is my friend, Miss Ruby Young.”

Ruby stepped forward – her chin stuck out, her shoulders back. “Hello,” she said. She squeezed Embeth’s hand and whispered, “Fugli forever.”



Embeth took an Uber to the hotel where the party was being held. She would get her car from the movie theater parking lot in the morning. The driver eyed her in his rearview mirror.

“You look familiar,” the driver said.

“I get that a lot,” Embeth said. “I have one of those faces.”

The driver nodded. “Yeah, but you’re someone, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” Embeth said. She checked her phone. A text from Jorge said, Don’t worry. I’m on my way and I’ve got everything. See you at the hotel. The text warmed her enough to try to make conversation with the driver. She had recently read that the drivers rated the passengers, too, which seemed ridiculous to her. Embeth always tried to be polite to waiters and drivers and the like, but she wasn’t always in the mood to put on a show. Did everything and everyone and every act require a review? “I’m not someone,” she said, “but I’m married to someone.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

“My husband is Congressman Levin,” Embeth said. “From the Twenty-Sixth Congressional District of Florida.”

“I don’t follow politics. He been in Congress long?” the driver asked.

“Ten terms,” Embeth said. “He’s up for reelection this year, and I know my husband’s very concerned about making sure that Uber pays employment taxes for all of its drivers.”

“Not registered to vote. Don’t care who gets elected.” The driver checked her out in the mirror. “That’s not why I know you. You look just like my ex-wife’s sister. Such a bitch, but what a great lay.”

Embeth didn’t know what to say. Did he expect her to thank him? She considered lecturing the man about what was appropriate language and narrative for a customer and a woman he didn’t even know. Embeth had no feelings, but she didn’t like the thought of someone like Ruby being exposed to such casual misogyny. But in the end, it had been a long day, and it was easier to stare at her phone for the next twelve minutes than confront a driver, IRL. When she reached her destination, she rated him one star.



Jorge waited for her in the parking loop in front of the hotel. She could see him, standing beneath a palm tree, conspicuously not sweating in his tuxedo, carrying a garment bag.

“No one’s here yet,” he said. “You’ve still got plenty of time to change.”

“Is Aaron on his way?”

“His flight was delayed. He should be here by nine thirty.”

“An hour and a half late? Not bad,” said Embeth. “How do you never sweat?” she asked.

“Um… I do sweat,” he said. “Inside, I’m filled with toxins and rage.”

They went up to her hotel room, and Embeth went into the bathroom, where she threw on some makeup, taking special pains with her eyebrows. She called out to Jorge, “Did you pack Spanx?”