C Reiss - Spin

“Hi,” I said, sitting down and putting the linen napkin on my lap.

He pocketed his phone and smiled at me. “Thanks for seeing me.”

I nodded, casting my eyes down. When would I stop playing the injured party? Why did I fall into victimhood so easily?

And why did he fall into the role of evildoer without so much as a blink? His hunched pose, something his handlers had trained out of him a year ago, returned. That lock of light hair, the one he used to brush away in a move the cameras hated, dropped in front of his forehead. I saw the effort he expended to not move it. I saw the extra tightness in his fingers as they wove together in front of him. I saw everything, and when I would have made an effort to relax him before, I just felt a thread of satisfaction.

I hated our dance. It made me sick. But I didn’t know how to stop the music because I still loved him. The man who let me arrange the house any way I wanted, who laughed at my stupid jokes, who rubbed lube on me when I wasn’t working right. The man who made such good but failed efforts to get me to orgasm with his fingers or his dick in me.

“How’s Deirdre?” he asked then continued when I tilted my head. “One of the admins saw a Drazen admitted and called me. She thought it was you.”

“Is that even legal?”

He shrugged. “I know people. It’s my job. Is she okay or not?”

“She’s fine.”

I’d ordered our food ahead of time, and it came to our table in wide-rimmed white dishes that would go out of style at the turn of the next century.

“How have you been?” He shuffled his food around with the heavy silver fork. Because of his childhood impoverishment, he ate as quickly and cleanly as a steamshovel on amphetamines, so he only ate when his company was distracted by conversation.

“Fine, thank you. I’m script supervising for Katrina when I can, so I’m a little tired. But it’s fun. She got Michael Greenwich for the lead, and he’s been incredible. On the strength of his performance alone, she’s hoping to get distribution.”

He huffed. “I’m surprised anyone wants to deal with her after the lawsuit.”

“Yes, she’s just another uppity woman asking for what she’s due.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that, Tink.”

I stopped chewing. He wasn’t supposed to call me that anymore. I looked out the window. “One day, we’re going to get over this,” I said, looking again at the man I loved. “Until then, let’s avoid the small talk.”

He cleared his throat. “The thing with us, it hurt me. My numbers. Especially on the east side, where they’re really conservative.”

“Yes, I know.” God, the ice in my voice. It felt like someone else was talking. I could will myself quiet. I could will myself honest. But I couldn’t will myself warm.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just talking about what happened like it’s all about me and the campaign, okay? But that’s the business of the lunch. If you want to talk about it on a more personal level, I’m happy to.”

“You’re fine. I get it. Go on.”

“I have a Catholic Charities thing Thursday,” he said.

“Okay.”

“They’re supporting me because I’m not sitting still on income inequality, but the thing with us—”

“And Clarice.”

“And Clarice—who is gone—was a sticking point. They almost pulled out. So I’m here to ask for a symbolic gesture from you.”

“Of?” I asked, but I knew what it was.

“Of forgiveness. Christian forgiveness that’ll play with the San Gabriel Valley. Your family is a big diocesan donor. It won’t go unnoticed.”

“What does this symbolic gesture of Christian forgiveness entail?”

“If you could attend the fundraiser and stand by me.” He held up his hand as if warding off an objection I hadn’t yet made. “Not as my fiancée, obviously, but as a supporter. As someone whose priorities are my own.”

I chewed. Swallowed. Sipped water. I knew I’d agree, but I didn’t want to throw myself at his feet. He didn’t deserve it. Or I didn’t.

I’d heard a lot about what Daniel deserved. I’d heard that he was a worthless scumbag, and I’d heard promises to make his life in the mayor’s mansion a living hell. Those promises meant nothing to me. No one would hurt Daniel over infidelity. In five years, it would be forgotten. So I’d kept my venom to myself in public, and I released it around my family and Katrina.

But something came into my mind—a vision of Antonio beating Daniel’s head against a car. I smelled the blood and heard the crack of his nose as it broke from the impact. I imagined a tooth clacking across the metal, his contorted face as he said he was sorry, and Antonio and I partnering over the difference between his regret and his remorse.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked.

I changed the subject. “We decided the public appearances weren’t working.”

“And normally, I’d think it would just remind everyone of my weakness. But in this case, if people see you forgiving, they might follow. I can’t win unless I do something.”

I leaned back, appetite gone. “I can see the op ed pieces now. Another political wife forgives her overambitious man’s failings with other women. Judge her. Don’t judge her. She’s a feminist. She’s the anti-feminist. She’s a symbol for all of us. None of that falls on you. It’s all on me.”

“I know.”

“You are so lucky I don’t want Bruce Drummond in office.”

The air went out of him. He didn’t move, but I saw the slight shift of his shoulders and the release of tension in his jaw. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I’d still marry you if you’d have me back.”

“Daniel, really—”

He leaned forward as if propelled. “Hear me out. Not as the maybe mayor. As me. Dan. The guy you taught how to walk straight. The guy who bit his nails. That guy’s going to be seventy years old one day, and he’s going to regret what he did. I want you back. After this campaign, win or lose, let me love you again.”

Joy, terror, shock, sadness all fought for my next words. None of them won the race to get from my brain to my mouth.

“I swore I wouldn’t do what I just did,” he said. “But I miss you. I can’t hold it in anymore.”

My words came out with no emotion in them. “I’m not ready.”

“I’ll wait for you, Tink. I’ll wait forever.”

I didn’t respond because I couldn’t imagine myself being ready, and I couldn’t imagine committing myself to anyone else.

On Monday, I had twenty minutes before my meeting with the fleet guy and the studio rep, exactly enough time to get briefed by Pam.

“Studio’s sending a courier,” she said, leaning into the screen. “They said you could handle it.”

“Wow,” I interjected, “they don’t even pretend to care.”

Pam dropped her voice to nearly inaudible. “Rumor is Matt got the cash for his short from a Hollywood loan shark, and Overland covered the note to the tune of way too much. So if there’s a bus coming, he might get thrown under it.”

“They need to get their own accountants to do their dirty work. They have the best of the best.”

She slipped her rhinestone horn-rimmed glasses halfway down her nose and looked at me over them. “What do you think you are?”

“Adequate, since you asked.”

She shook her head and went back to work. I cleared my desk of a few million in incidentals before going to the conference room to do Arnie his favor.

The conference room was huge, set into the office’s bottom floor. Two sides were glass, looking over the reception area, and the other two walls were glass, looking out onto Wilshire Boulevard. It was designed for big faces to be seen together by the rest of the agency and by whomever was waiting in reception. Appointments might be based around making sure Mr. Twenty-Million-Dollar-A-Picture Actor was seen shaking hands with Mr. Academy-Award-Winning-Director in front of Ms. Top-Agent just as Ms. Actress-Who-Refused-The-Nude-Scene waited for an appointment. Like everything in the entertainment industry, it was maximum drama, maximum visibility.

Every time I went into that particular conference room, I checked the smoothness of my stockings, the lay of my hair, the seams between my teeth, even when I was just meeting a messenger to pass over audit materials. What used to arrive in a banker’s box of paper and ledgers and folders now came in the form of a flash drive and a manila envelope with a few summary sheets, which were useless. They were delivered by a short man in shorts, sneakers, and a flat cap. Matt’s line producer.

“I’m Ed, nice to meet you,” he said as he shook my hand and slid the hard drive and envelope onto the table.

“Nice to meet you too. What do we have here?”

“Everything up to the minute for the whole production. Hope you can help with this. It was kind of unexpected.”

I was about to respond and open the summary schedules so I could ask intelligent questions. Then I was going to finish my work and pick up dinner. I was feeling a turkey sandwich, salad, and bottle of water.

But that got shot out the window in a storm of hormone shrapnel when I saw Arnie coming through reception with a man in a dark suit named Antonio Spinelli. They were talking, but through the window, I saw Antonio’s eyes flick up at me and a smile stretch across his face. I frowned when Arnie opened the door to the conference room.

“Ms. Drazen,” he said cheerfully, “how is the handoff going?”

I slid the papers from the envelope just to distract myself, but my hands shook with rage or nerves. Possibly both.

“Just got here,” said Ed.