Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage (30 page)

I walked away from both of them and went to call the therapist again. We talked about the press conference and tried to anticipate the welter of emotions I would feel with cameras popping and pointing while Jim exposed our marriage as a hoax in front of millions. Did the therapist know all this? Did she know more than she’d known a few hours earlier? She reminded me that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do.

When I hung up the phone, I decided unequivocally that I would attend the press conference, and I went into my closet to figure out what I was going to wear. For my own sake, I had to look put together. Jim had been playing a role and wearing a costume for most of his life, and ironically, on just the day he was shedding his costume, I understood his need for one and wanted one myself. If ever there were a moment when I had to look like a First Lady, this was it. So I decided to wear my blue St. John suit. It was one of my favorite outfits, and I felt I looked good in it. I got dressed, brushed my hair, and put on makeup. I could hear Jim showering, shaving, and getting dressed in his bathroom on the other side of our bedroom. What was going through his head as he prepared to give a single speech that would signify the end of the job he’d worked for all his life? I pitied him. As someone who had watched his career for nearly ten years and worked with him to support his goals, I wondered how he could so carelessly, so thoroughly, have destroyed what he’d achieved. How could he have let himself down like this? How could he have let
us
down?

IT WAS 3:00 P.M.,
time to leave for the press conference. Jim and I met in the bedroom.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We’re going to be late.”

We walked past the family room and told Elvie, Lori, Jacqueline, and my nieces that we were leaving.

“Are you going with Uncle Jimmy because he’s going to get a new job?” my niece Meagan asked.

That was one way of looking at it. “Yes,” I said, and gave all three girls a kiss and a hug. I hugged Jacqueline especially tightly. Jim and I walked down the stairs and went out through the first-floor kitchen. Olga, the residence manager; Freddie, my friend who worked in the Office of Protocol; and a few other staffers who were in the kitchen just watched us. Freddie had tears in her eyes when she hugged me. “We love you,” Olga said.

Outside, the state troopers were waiting at the car. We rolled down the driveway and through the black metal gate, past reporters’ cameras, and headed toward the statehouse twenty miles away in Trenton, where Jim would make the announcement. We hardly said a word during the car ride.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

How could he ask such a ridiculous question? It was now Thursday afternoon. Jim had first mentioned his “relationship” with Golan on Monday, first voiced that he
might
be gay the night before, and just two hours ago had stood by silently while I first read words on a page in which he defined himself as a “gay American” and announced that he would be leaving office in three months. Now we were heading to a press conference where he would reveal this to the world. And he wanted to know if I was OK?

As we were in the car leaving Drumthwacket, Jim told me again that I had to be Jackie Kennedy. “You have to smile,” he said.

I just looked at him.

“And if reporters ask you why you’re here, you should tell them, ‘I’m here because he’s my husband and I love him.’”

I didn’t answer.

“And if the reporters ask you what you think of gay marriage, you should say, ‘I’m sensitive to the issue.’”

I was trying to summon the courage—and the energy—to make it through the press conference, and he wanted me to discuss policy with reporters?

We arrived at the statehouse. Sure enough, reporters and photographers were outside snapping photos as we were helped from the car by the state troopers. The assemblage seemed both hostile and voyeuristic to me.
Snap, snap, snap.
They don’t call it the “glare” of publicity for nothing. We went in through the side entrance, which was typical, through a “secret” stairway, and through the governor’s outer office, out of sight of the media that had assembled for the press conference. As we made our way to Jim’s office, we walked past two secretaries and through the office of Cathy McLaughlin. They looked stunned. My in-laws were already waiting for Jim in his office. They looked dazed and distraught. Jack appeared incredulous. We hugged and cried. My sister-in-law Sharon arrived a few minutes later and asked how I was and hugged me. They all looked depleted and drained.

Jim went into another office to discuss the logistics of the announcement. I paced around the office, meanwhile, looking at photos—of Jacqueline, of our wedding—and some gifts that I had given Jim. Two items stood out—one was a card with a poem about believing in yourself, which I had given him after he lost the 1997 gubernatorial election. The other, wrapped in an American flag, was a bronze eagle—a bird he was especially fond of, for obvious reasons—which I had given him for his birthday a year earlier. That eagle, I had thought, might one day sit in the Oval Office. Many thought that Jim would make it to the White House. Although we never discussed it, he would smile whenever someone mentioned that he was “going all the way to the top,” and we’d just look at each other. It would have been a huge accomplishment, and if he’d decided that it was what he really wanted, I would certainly have helped him get there.

IT WAS CLOSE TO
four o’clock, and we were all anxious to get this over with. While we waited, my mother-in-law, Ronnie, approached me. “Is Jim announcing that he is resigning?” she asked.

“Yes,” I told her. “He’s resigning as of November fifteenth.”

Ronnie’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known this? How could he have failed to tell her? Ronnie walked over to Jack and Sharon to tell them.

Jim came back into his office. “Let’s go,” he said. He grabbed my hand, and we walked into the outer office, where the media awaited us. He looked over at me and said, “Make sure you smile a little more when I ask for forgiveness and thank you for bringing joy to my life.”

I didn’t reply. All I could think about was trying to be brave and not break down. I had thought I could do it, but now I didn’t know. I pasted something meant to indicate a smile on my face and vowed I would keep it there as long as we were in public. Jim walked up to the podium and I looked out at a sea of reporters and photographers. I glanced at my in-laws, standing behind me and Jim. Their expressions were fixed and blank.

Then Jim began to speak:

Throughout my life, I have grappled with my own identity, who I am. As a young child, I often felt ambivalent about myself, in fact, confused. By virtue of my traditions, and my community, I worked hard to ensure that I was accepted as part of the traditional family of America. I married my first wife, Kari, out of respect and love. And together, we have a wonderful, extraordinary daughter. Kari then chose to return to British Columbia.

I then had the blessing of marrying Dina, whose love and joy for life has been an incredible source of strength for me. And together, we have the most beautiful daughter. Yet, from my early days in school, until the present day, I acknowledged some feelings, a certain sense that separated me from others. But because of my resolve, and also thinking that I was doing the right thing, I forced what I thought was an acceptable reality onto myself, a reality which is layered and layered with all the, quote, good things, and all the, quote, right things of typical adolescent and adult behavior.

Yet, at my most reflective, maybe even spiritual level, there were points in my life when I began to question what an acceptable reality really meant for me. Were there realities from which I was running?

Which master was I trying to serve? I do not believe that God tortures any person simply for its own sake. I believe that God enables all things to work for the greater good. And this, the forty-seventh year of my life, is arguably too late to have this discussion. But it is here, and it is now. At a point in every person’s life, one has to look deeply into the mirror of one’s soul and decide one’s unique truth in the world, not as we may want to see it or hope to see it, but as it is. And so my truth is that I am a gay American. And I am blessed to live in the greatest nation, with the tradition of civil liberties, the greatest tradition of civil liberties in the world, in a country which provides so much to its people.

Yet because of the pain and suffering and anguish that I have caused to my beloved family, my parents, my wife, my friends, I would almost rather have this moment pass. For this is an intensely personal decision, and not one typically for the public domain.

Yet, it cannot and should not pass. I am also here today because, shamefully, I engaged in an adult consensual affair with another man, which violates my bonds of matrimony. It was wrong. It was foolish. It was inexcusable. And for this, I ask the forgiveness and the grace of my wife. She has been extraordinary throughout this ordeal, and I am blessed by virtue of her love and strength.

I realize the fact of this affair and my own sexuality, if kept secret, leaves me, and most importantly the governor’s office, vulnerable to rumors, false allegations, and threats of disclosure. So I am removing these threats by telling you directly about my sexuality. Let me be clear, I accept total and full responsibility for my actions.

However, I’m required to do now, to do what is right to correct the consequences of my actions and to be truthful to my loved ones, to my friends and my family and also to myself. It makes little difference that as governor I am gay. In fact, having the ability to truthfully set forth my identity might have enabled me to be more forthright in fulfilling and discharging my constitutional obligations.

Given the circumstances surrounding the affair and its likely impact upon my family and my ability to govern, I have decided the right course of action is to resign. To facilitate a responsible transition, my resignation will be effective on November fifteenth of this year. I’m very proud of the things we have accomplished during my administration. And I want to thank humbly the citizens of the state of New Jersey for the privilege to govern.

Each word, fewer than seven hundred of them, was a knife piercing through my heart. He had told me about the affair, and I had read the statement before we left Drumthwacket, but hearing it now in public gave it finality. I glanced around the room, not focusing on anyone, and saw stunned expressions, sadness and tears. It was all out in the open now. The lives we’d known were over. There was no turning back.

As soon as Jim completed his statement, we walked back into his office. I was relieved I’d been able to keep from breaking down on camera, but now I dissolved in tears, and Ronnie and Jack did too. We were all in disbelief. Jim walked into an adjacent office, that of Jamie Fox, his chief of staff, where others were gathered. He appeared relieved. His charade was over. He didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Shortly thereafter, I could hear the laughter and applause as I sat in Jim’s office in anguish, saddened, stunned, and lost. I grew angrier and angrier with the sound of the laughter. It felt like the end of my life, and these people were laughing and applauding. This was no laughing matter. I wanted to walk in there and yell, “Just shut up! All of you just shut up!” I thought of what would happen to my precious Jacqueline. What would this do to her? I thought about how my parents and friends would handle this. I didn’t know how I would survive it. A parade of people came through to ask how I was doing—Jim’s assistant, Cathy; Kevin McCabe, Jim’s good friend who had been his chief of staff in Woodbridge, and his best man at our wedding, and was now his assistant commissioner of labor; Kevin Hagan, Jim’s deputy chief of staff; and half a dozen others. Another staff member handed me a note from my friend Celia saying that she and her sister Maria were outside and wanted me to know that they were there for me if I wanted to talk. I said, “No, I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

Soon Ronnie and Jack left, while Sharon stayed behind with me. We just sat there, not saying much. Jim was still in Jamie’s office, waiting to hear if his announcement had succeeded in derailing Golan’s lawsuit. Golan’s threat of disclosure was now no threat, since Jim had exposed the relationship himself.

Meanwhile Jim walked into his office a couple of times to check on me. I told him I was going home. “No,” he said, “don’t go without me. We have to wait a little longer to see if this lawsuit is filed.” The laughter continued in the other room. I just wanted to get out of there. I couldn’t stand to hear those voices anymore. After about an hour and a half (what felt like five or six hours), Jim said, “We still don’t know about the lawsuit, but let’s get out of here.” We walked out to the car with the state troopers, who were quiet. I was numb on the ride home. I don’t remember saying anything. I didn’t know how to deal with the situation. As we entered the gates, there were photographers outside snapping photos. I looked away.

WHEN WE ARRIVED AT
home that evening, Jim went into the library on the first floor to wait for word about the lawsuit, to assess the situation, and to discuss the political implications of the announcement with the consultants. I went upstairs to Elvie, Lori, and the girls. I tried not to cry, because I didn’t want any of them to see me that way. Your child is your child, but your very young child is also the most vulnerable and exposed flank of yourself. When I looked at Jacqueline—she was chortling about something—I felt such despair, sadness, and loss for her. . . . I knew that what I was feeling for her at that moment, I was also feeling for myself. She didn’t deserve this. We didn’t deserve this.

The girls were playing, and I walked into the kitchen because I couldn’t bear to hear the sound of their voices or laughter.
How will I go on?
I wondered. My sister-in-law Sharon also came back to Drumthwacket. Freddie came upstairs with pizza for everyone. I had no appetite.