Young Jane Young(58)

“You don’t need them. Just put on the pantyhose,” Jorge said.

“Foundation garments are everything, Jorge,” Embeth said.

Embeth hiked up the pantyhose, which were not as good as Spanx but would have to do.

She donned her wig as if it were a hat. Then she put on a cold-shouldered black jersey gown.

“I’ve had this dress forever,” she called.

“It’s back in style,” Jorge said. He always knew such things. “Everything old becomes new again.”

She put on a white-gold necklace that Aaron had bought her for some occasion or other and a pair of shoes that had a two-inch heel, which was all she could manage these days. She looked at herself in the mirror.

Despite the fact that he had omitted essential foundation garments, Jorge had done a fine job picking out this ensemble. He could be counted on to do anything.

When she left the bathroom, she found him asleep and snoring on the bed. She felt sentimental looking at Jorge’s restful face. He reminded her of Aaron, only he was better than Aaron. He was better than Aaron because he had never let her down. How she would miss Jorge!

Embeth nudged him awake. “I’m ready.”

“Apologies!” Jorge said. “I dozed off.”

“You wanted to talk?” Embeth said. “It seems we still have a few minutes.”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m still half asleep. One second.” Jorge sat up. The sleep made him seem younger and almost bashful. “This is hard to say…,” he said.

“Let me help you,” Embeth said. “After the election, you want to leave Aaron and me. It’s time, Jorge. It’s time for you to run for your first office. It’s time for you to make a killing in the private sector, if that’s what you want to do. It’s time for you to have something of your own. We’ll miss you, but we’ll support you all the way. We’ll help you raise money if you run. We’ll stump for you. We’ll help you find staff. You’re like a son to us. You must know that.”

“Em, that is very kind, but that’s not —”

“It is necessary,” said Embeth. “No one has been more loyal to Aaron than you.”

Embeth was an awkward hugger, but she pulled the still boyish man close to her. “Was there anything else?”

“How did it go with the little girl? What’s her name? Ruby?”

“Oh, fine. I don’t think Aaron’s the father. Ruby – that’s her name – wanted him to be, but Grossman said it was a one-night stand. Nothing to worry about after all.”



It was a party largely determined by negation. Two hundred fifty guests, because that was the fewest number of people they could invite without offending anyone. A celebrated chef prepared dishes with foams, because it was the season of foam, the season of flavor without substance. No one would overeat and everyone would go home hungry. A DJ because a DJ was tacky, but badly played covers were even tackier. Centerpieces made from herbs and succulents because Embeth didn’t want anything – even a flower – to have to die unnecessarily for this party.

It was a party. Indistinguishable from a fund-raiser except that Embeth felt certain Aaron would have managed to be closer to on time if a roomful of checkbooks had been waiting.

Of course, there were donors in attendance. The most loyal and biggest donors had had to be invited. The biggest folly was to have thought Embeth and Aaron could possibly have a party without them. Who was more near and dear than a loyal donor?

“I know it’s your night off and I hate to ask you, but might you have a word with the Altschulers?” Jorge said. “They look restless.”

Embeth went over to the restless Altschulers. “Embeth,” said Mrs. Altschuler. “How wonderful you look. What a spectacular night this is.”

“There was a time we thought the two of you wouldn’t make it,” Mr. Altschuler said.

“Jared,” Mrs. Altschuler scolded.

“What? There’s nothing wrong with me saying that. Marriages aren’t for the weak or the fainthearted. Emmy knows that.”

“I do,” Embeth said.

Out of nowhere, Molly the party coordinator urgently grabbed Embeth’s hand. Molly’s special skills seemed to be invisibility and sneak attack. “We can’t possibly hold the food any longer,” Molly whispered. “Chef José is freaking out.”

“Excuse me,” Embeth said to the Altschulers. “Chef José is freaking out.” Embeth kissed Mrs. Altschuler on the cheek. “We’ll have you over soon.”

Dinner was served. But every time Embeth was about to sit down to eat it, Jorge would ask her to have a word with a different guest. By the time Embeth had completed the rounds, all of Chef José’s magical foams had dissolved and her plate had been cleared.

Chef José came by to check on her.

“Did you enjoy the food, Embeth?”

“It was amazing,” she said. “Thank you so much for doing this, Chef José. You’re too good to us.”

“Anything for the congressman. I’m only disappointed that he himself did not get to eat it.”

“The vote. It couldn’t be avoided,” Embeth said for the hundredth time that night. “I’ll make sure to tell him how delicious it was. He’ll hate to have missed it.”