Текст книги "Hidden in Lies"
Автор книги: Rachael Duncan
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
THE NEXT MORNING I wake up to an empty bed. The sun is just peeking out over the horizon, and I know I should go downstairs to see Cal before he heads off to work. Stretching my arms above my head, I hoist myself up out of bed and throw on my silk robe that hangs next to the door before going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I stare into the mirror as I take in my reflection. I still look the same with my straight, light-brown hair, green eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones, but every day I feel myself changing slightly. The burden of playing the perfect, plastic wife is starting to take its toll on me emotionally, and I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep up the charade before I crack.
After I brush my teeth, I walk down the stairs and can hear Cal talking quietly as I get closer. I pause outside the entrance to the kitchen to listen to what he’s saying.
“I told you to get the damn votes. I don’t care who you have to fuck over or make promises to, get it done. If this bill doesn’t go through, I can kiss my presidential candidacy good-bye.” Cal pulls the phone away from his ear and tosses it on to the kitchen island. He runs his hands through his reddish-brown hair, letting out a deep sigh in frustration. I walk around the island to make my presence known.
When he lifts his eyes, I give him a small smile. “Good morning, love. Is everything alright?” I ask.
“Nothing for you to worry about. Do you want to have some coffee with me before I leave?” The stress lines in his face have smoothed out. That’s the one thing about Cal; he’s good at masking his emotions. It makes it difficult to read him, and one of the things that annoy me the most. He always gives off a cool façade. Always the politician.
Once I pour us both a cup of coffee, I set his in front of him and walk around behind him. Rubbing his shoulders, I say, “You seem tense. Everything going well at the office?” I know I’m prying, and I’m sure it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either, but maybe I can help or if nothing else, provide him some comfort.
“Like I said, dear, it’s nothing for you to worry about. Everything is fine.” His voice is tight and I know that’s the end of the discussion. Giving up on that line of questioning, I decide to ask him something else that I’ve been pondering recently.
“Are you planning to run for president? I thought I heard Aaron talking about it one day, but you never—” I’m cut off midsentence when he turns around on his bar stool and grabs my hands, cutting me a sharp look.
“Elizabeth, why all the questions? I told you, when I make a decision, I’ll let you know. Until then, don’t worry your pretty little head over it, got it?” His grip on my hands tightens.
Struggling to hold my tongue, my lips twitch with effort to smile. “Yes, dear. I only ask because I care.” I look down at the ground to break eye contact.
“I know you do,” he remarks as he lifts my chin up with his finger. “But it’s really not the place for a wife to be sticking her nose.” The back of his hand brushes against my cheek as his voice softens. He says this gently, but pointing out that he doesn’t see me as his equal has the opposite effect on me. My stomach twists and my jaw tightens being told so blatantly that I am beneath him, but I quickly cool my features to keep from giving away my disgust at his comment.
“My apologies.” I lean down and kiss him on the cheek which seems to placate him. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’m having lunch with Catherine down in the city.”
“That sounds nice. Tell Catherine I said hello and have fun.” He kisses me on the lips, smiling at me as he pulls back.
“Should I expect you home for dinner tonight?” I walk backward, letting our joined hands stretch out between us before letting go.
“I’m not sure. I have a few meetings with some lobbying groups, but I’ll call and let you know.” Getting up from his stool, he takes his coffee mug and places it in the sink.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” I say over my shoulder as I make my way back to our bedroom. Once I’m in the privacy of my bathroom, I sit on the closed toilet seat and struggle to put a lid on my emotions. My frustrations over being ignored and treated like a piece of decorative furniture are starting to fester the longer I’m married to Cal. Squeezing my eyes shut and balling my hands into tight fists, I shut down the part of my brain that’s telling me to march back into the kitchen and tell Cal to go fuck himself.
After sliding off my bathrobe and nighty, I step into the shower, letting the hot spray relax my tense muscles. Part of me wonders what would have become of my life if I had never listened to my mother’s constant talk about finding a man with money and just followed my heart. If I had married for love instead of wealth.
Maybe there was a man out there who was financially stable that I could have loved. I did try to find a man like that, someone who could provide for me that I cared about and enjoyed spending time with. I’ve never dated a man that I loved unconditionally, and I don’t think anyone has loved me without something to gain from our relationship. Unfortunately, I was never able to find a compromise between love and money and circumstances in my life forced my hand into settling with Cal.
I’m just walking through the doors of Siroc, the restaurant I’m meeting Catherine at. As usual, Cal had a driver come to the house to take me. Even though I don’t mind taking the Metro or a cab, Cal insists. He once told me that having the wife of a Fitzgerald taking public transportation was a disgrace and that he would not stand for it. Not to mention his mother and father would blow a gasket. God forbid the world thinks they’re average.
“Hello, Mrs. Fitzgerald, how nice to see you again,” the hostess greets me.
Smiling politely, I respond, “Thank you. I’m meeting Mrs. Williams this afternoon. Is she here yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your table.” Trailing behind her, I look around at the other patrons of this establishment. Being that this is in the heart of the city and not far from the White House, most people are dressed in business attire; suits and ties, pencil skirts and blouses. All of them no doubt working for the government in some aspect.
The hostess stops and waves her arm out, gesturing to a booth my friend is already occupying. As I’m taking a seat, the hostess says, “Your waiter will be right with you.” I reply with a thank you and she leaves us.
“Oh, Elizabeth, you look wonderful this afternoon, dah-ling,” she says as she drawls out the last word. The way she talks always comes off so fake to me, like she tries to sound rich. It’s incredibly annoying.
“Thank you, Catherine. You look lovely yourself.” Catherine always looks impeccable with her perfectly placed short, blonde hair, flawless makeup, and dressed head to toe in Chanel. She carries herself with an air of superiority, a thing that’s common among people of her stature. My husband and his family included.
“Oh, I look a mess,” she says as she gently pats her hair ensuring not a strand is out of place. This is her response every time she gets a flattering remark. I almost want to ask her how she expects me to respond to that. Sorry, but I inflate my husband’s ego enough at home. I don’t have the energy to inflate hers as well.
Ignoring her ill attempt to downplay my compliment, I look over my menu even though I already know what I’m going to get. The same thing I get everywhere I go; a salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing. My eating habits stem from another lesson my mother taught me on how to keep a rich man. Always maintain your appearance. When you’re younger, that involves eating right, watching calories, and exercising. And as I age, that will evolve into going under the knife to get a nip, tuck, and lift where needed.
The waiter takes our orders before leaving our table where I’m subjected to Catherine’s endless chatter about all things I don’t care about. Who’s dating who. What happened on this show with these housewives. Who had a nose job. Who carried a handbag from, gasp, last season. As always, I smile when appropriate and throw in mindless comments here and there.
Catherine is a nice woman, she really is, but she’s been trapped in this privileged bubble her whole life. For her a tragedy is when her Louboutin shoes get scuffed. She has no clue that there are people out there with real problems and struggles, but I’m friends with her to benefit Cal. Her husband is the owner of Williams Ships, one of the largest shipbuilding companies in the world. And Cal’s family has a highly lucrative contract with them to provide the steel needed to produce their ships.
“So I’m going to charter Henry’s private jet to New York this weekend for some shopping. Would you like to join me?” Catherine asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. Henry is her husband and sends her on weekend getaways often so that he can visit with his mistress. Everyone knows about it, so it would make sense that Catherine does as well, but something tells me she’d rather turn a blind eye than give up the lifestyle she has grown very accustomed to. While her parents are well off, they don’t hold a candle to Henry’s net worth.
“This weekend?” I ask, mostly to buy myself more time to think up an excuse for why I can’t go. Nothing would pain me more than to waste a weekend spending copious amounts of money on frivolous items. Yes, I have plenty of nice things from designers, but that’s all part of the façade. If one is to marry a Fitzgerald, then she will look the way a wife of such a prestigious family should.
It’s another thing Cal informed me of early on in our relationship: Fitzgeralds do not shop at Target. When he said this to me, I smiled and nodded, but inside I was cringing. What would he think if he knew that my family had to shop at Goodwill and consignment shops to put clothes on my back? He knows my family has struggled to make ends meet, but I don’t think he truly grasps the concept. For someone born into a family who’s never had to want for anything, the thought of not being able to pay your water bill is a foreign concept.
“Yes, this weekend. I thought we could leave on Thursday, stay at the Ritz, and come home Sunday night.” Taking a sip of water, she raises her perfectly-arched eyebrows expectantly, waiting for my answer.
“This weekend isn’t good for me.” I make a show of being disappointed by sagging my posture. “I already promised Cal that I would be all his this weekend.” It’s a complete lie, but one I’ve been keeping up for a while now pretending that Cal is the doting husband who loves to spend all his free time with me and attends to all my needs. This is obviously furthest from the truth.
She sighs. “Oh, alright. I guess I’ll have to battle the trenches alone.” Her phony laugh pierces my ears as I take a sip of my water to give my mind something else to focus on. Yes, shopping is exactly like a battlefield, I think sarcastically.
After another hour, I’m finally seated in the quiet space of the car assigned to pick me up from lunch. All that time with Catherine has given me a headache. Looking at my Rolex watch, I notice that it’s only one thirty, which means the cleaning lady is probably still there. It might seem weird, but it’s incredibly awkward for me to be home while she’s cleaning. I often wonder if she’s judging me for sitting around doing nothing while she cleans up after me and my husband. I had told Cal that I’m more than capable of keeping a clean house, but he wasn’t having any of it, insisting that he wasn’t going to have his wife’s hands scrubbing toilets. So, when I know she’s there, I try to steer clear. With no real plans, I decide to drop by Cal’s office for a surprise visit.
WALKING THROUGH THE front doors of the Russell Building, I’m always struck by how grand the southwest entrance is. My eyes travel three stories up the surrounding columns to the dome shaped top before taking in the two marble staircases leading upstairs. It’s a mini rotunda to match the Capitol’s, but without the famous fresco painted on the ceiling. I place my purse on the conveyor belt of the x-ray machine and walk through the metal detector.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the security guard greets me with a friendly smile and a tip of his hat. I don’t come here often, so I doubt he knows that I’m the wife of a senator.
“Good afternoon,” I reply with a smile. Grabbing my bag, I walk through the halls to the elevator and wait for it to arrive. Once I’m inside, I press the floor where Cal’s office is located and patiently wait. I don’t usually drop by unannounced since it tends to agitate Cal a little, but hopefully he won’t mind too much today.
Letting myself into his office, I’m greeted by one of the interns that works for him. She’s a young woman who’s eager to learn and submerse herself in this line of work, keen to move up the ladder. Almost too keen.
“Hello, Mrs. Fitzgerald. How are you today?” she asks, a bright smile on her face, but with some apprehensiveness.
“I’m well, thanks. Is Cal in his office?”
“Yes, the Senator is in there, but he might be in a meeting. Do you want me to check or would you like to go on back?” She starts to rise from her seat, but I wave her off.
“No, it’s not necessary. I’ll just pop in real quick, thank you though.” Turning on my heels, I walk toward his office door. I slowly turn the doorknob and poke my head in, but what I see causes me to pause for a few moments. Cal is kissing a woman on her cheek, but it doesn’t look like a regular peck among colleagues. His hand is placed gently on her elbow, as if to draw her into him. No, this seems more intimate. It could be the way she’s looking at my husband affectionately, or the way Cal doesn’t pull back right away. Either way, this is anything but professional. When they see me, they instantly put distance between each other and straighten up, looking tense.
“Elizabeth, dear, what a pleasant surprise,” he says in a light tone as he approaches me, relaxing his posture. It’s then that I realize I’m still standing in the entryway, doorknob still in hand. My eyes travel over to the woman and she’s looking at me with a small, unsettled smile, hands clasped in front of her, but something is off in her eyes. She’s tense and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she looks guilty and apologetic. Cal gently grasps my shoulders and leans in for a kiss. I’m frozen in my spot and don’t move to meet him halfway, but I need not be worried about that because soon his lips are sealed over mine. My body is screaming at me to pull away. He just had his lips on another woman’s cheek, but my mind is very aware of the fact that the whole office can see us right now and I need to keep up appearances. When he pulls back to look at me, I clear the fog from my head and play the role.
“Hi, love, I was just in the area and thought I’d drop in to see you.” It kills me, but I find the will to smile adoringly up at him, when I would like nothing more than to turn and walk back out of this door with not a glance back. It’s all about composure. I’m expected to present myself in a certain light. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“I’m glad you did. I was just wrapping things up here.” He turns back to the woman with his arm draped over my shoulders. “Is there anything else you needed to discuss today, Mona?”
She stares at me for a moment before swallowing hard and clearing her throat. “No,” she says as her attention focuses back on Cal. Her posture is stiff and she looks extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I think we’re finished for now. I’ll tell the firm to try to hold off the pressure.” She walks toward the doorway and Cal moves us out of her way.
“Sounds good. Have them call me if there are any questions or concerns.” She gives a little nod while avoiding eye contact with both of us and leaves. Cal slowly closes his office door behind her, as if he needs time to collect himself before addressing me, giving the two of us some privacy from the rest of his staff. I try to keep my comments and accusations to myself, but I just can’t.
“What was that all about?” My voice is low, trying to keep my composure and from being overheard through these thin walls.
“What are you talking about?” he asks. Abruptly removing his arm from my shoulders, he walks back to his desk and has a seat, fiddling with papers on his desk as if my presence agitates him.
“You seemed pretty cozy with—what’s her name? Mona?” I cross my arms over my chest and drill holes into his face with my eyes, challenging him to look at me.
Finally bringing his gaze up to mine, he says, “That was nothing, dear. You know how it is with those lobbyists. You’ve got to kiss a little ass sometimes to get what you want. I need her lobbying firm to back off on putting pressure on Congress to pass more gun regulations until after the elections.” He holds eye contact as I try to decipher if he’s telling the truth or not. He’s looking at me confidently like he’s challenging me to question him. While I still feel a little unsettled by the exchange I witnessed, I decide to let it go for now, avoiding an interrogation session and hoping it wasn’t anything more. I know it’s not uncommon for a politician to have a meeting with a lobbyist. But my intuition makes me feel uneasy.
Sighing to myself, I walk toward the chair across from Cal and slowly lower myself into it. “I’d love to sit and chat with you,” he says to me, “but I’ve got to be on the floor in a few minutes to vote.” He stands and grabs his jacket off the coatrack before putting it on. I hear the aggravation in his voice and the anger in his eyes when he says, “That’s why I’m so adamant you call beforehand, so that you’re not wasting your time by coming all the way out here.” He strides up to me and gently grabs my chin, lifting my face up.
My lips turn up at the corners. “It’s okay, I know you’re busy. And time spent with you is never wasted.” He releases my chin and grasps my hand, helping me up before kissing me reverently on my lips.
Shortly after I say my good-byes, I’m sitting in the back of the car on my way home. I try to dismiss the exchange I witnessed between Cal and Mona, but it’s hard. Call it woman’s intuition, but something about it just doesn’t sit right with me.
“Will you be needing my services for the rest of the day, Mrs. Fitzgerald?” the driver turns around to ask when he parks in front of my home.
“No, thank you. I think I’ll stay in and wait for Cal’s return.”
“Very well, then.” He hops out and comes around to open the door for me. Once I’m out, I dig around in my bag for my keys. Why do I carry handbags this big? They become a black hole where I can never find anything. I hear the driver pull away right as I locate my keys. Good thing I found them since he didn’t think to wait to make sure I actually got in.
Walking up to the front door, I’m about to insert my key when I notice it’s already slightly ajar. The housekeeper’s car isn’t out front, so I know she isn’t here still. I freeze as a flurry of questions run through my head. Has someone been in my home? What if they’re still in there? I’m slowly backing away from the door when I realize the alarm isn’t going off and I haven’t been notified by the security company of an intrusion. There’s no way someone managed to break in without tripping the alarm. Taking in a deep breath through my nose, my body starts to relax and I conclude that the housekeeper must have left the door open on accident on her way out.
Cautiously, I cross the threshold and listen for noise, just in case. My ears are met with silence, calming my nerves a little more. I walk through the entry way and into the kitchen looking around to see if anything is amiss. Everything looks to be the way it should be, so I continue my journey through the house. After I take note that everything is as it should be, no televisions, jewelry, or other expensive items missing, I flop down on the couch and chalk it up to the housekeeper being absentminded. It seems to be an honest mistake so I’m not going to mention this to Cal. He would blow his lid and I’d feel bad if the housekeeper lost her job when there was no harm done.
