The Governor's Wife (48 page)

"He is. He gets what he goes for."

Bode fought not to look at the photos again, but he lost the fight. He now stared long and hard at the images of his wife with another man, but his mind conjured up images of his wife
with
another man, and he felt a hurt so deep that the images threatened to do what no opposing football player, political opponent, disappointing poll, nasty reporter, or scathing letter to the editor could do: make him cry. But Bode Bonner had become such a consummate politician that he never considered that his own affair might have hurt his wife just as deeply. And made her cry herself to sleep many lonely nights.

"So she's … ? He's …? They're … ?"

Jim Bob turned his palms up. "He didn't catch them in the act, but you can see for yourself, they've got more than a doctor-nurse relationship. She's living with him … in his guesthouse on his land outside Laredo."

"Jesus. Another man screwing my wife."

"She's a good looking gal, someone ought to be."

"Never figured my wife for that."

"No man does."

Bode again looked at his wife's image in the photos. His smiling wife. He hadn't seen that smile since early in his first term. It was a real smile, not the smile of a politician's spouse. She hadn't been happy as the governor's wife in Austin, but she had found happiness as a nurse in the
colonias
on the border. With Jesse Rincón. The man who had his wife and now wanted his job. The Professor spoke in a solemn voice.

"So let me sum up the situation for you, Bode: You and Jesse Rincón are now rivals for both the Governor's Mansion and the governor's wife. You're the top Republican contender for the White House, you're being hunted by hit men working for a Mexican drug lord, and your wife is working in a
colonia
with the man who wants your job and just across the Rio Grande from the man who wants you dead. And if that's not enough, your fucking twenty-seven-year-old mistress is pregnant."

Bode looked up from the photos of his wife to his ace political strategist.

"Jesus, Jim Bob—you can't make this shit up."

"Bode's Babe" … "Bawdy Bode" … "Bonner's Blonde Bombshell." All three network evening news shows led off with the press conference—what, you don't have real news to report? And then the cable talk shows had a field day. They splashed photos of Mandy … Mandy and Bode … Mandy and the Mexican kids … more Mandy. They reported rumors—
they had no proof!—
about sex in the Governor's Mansion when the governor's wife was out of town. About a possible love child. And where was the governor's wife? Had she left the governor? Is the happily-married-man image just an image? Is Bode Bonner just another two-timing politician not worthy of his wife's trust? Or the American people's trust? How could Bode Bonner be president, a man who had hidden a twenty-seven-year-old mistress from his wife and a twenty-seven-billion-dollar deficit from the voters? On and on they went for hours and hours, until Bode couldn't bear to watch anymore, like watching a train wreck or Romney at a tea party rally. He forced himself to change the channel, but it was even worse. Leno and Letterman both made him the butt of their monologue jokes. He was no longer an American hero. He was the biggest punch line in America.

And his wife was having an affair.

Jesse Rincón put on the coffee then dressed in his running shorts and shoes. He and Pancho were almost outside for their morning run along the river when the phone rang. He debated whether to answer, then relented.

"Hello."

"Jesse, this is Jorge Gutiérrez again, from San Antonio. I am sorry to call at this time of the morning, but I wanted to catch you before you left for the
colonia
."

"Mayor, you have been busy with your Mexican Mafia."

"Have you received more checks for the
colonias?
"

"Many more."

"Excellent. Did you see the news last night? The governor is now embroiled in scandal and the worst kind—a sex scandal."

"What does that mean to me?"

"That means he is vulnerable. He can be beaten. By you."

"I am not a candidate."

"Not yet. Jesse, you have gotten very favorable press—"

"Thanks to you."

"I do what I can. And you are rising fast in the polls. Jesse, you are now a household name in Texas and in most of the nation. You have gotten for free what most politicians can only dream of: name recognition."

"But I am not a politician. I am a doctor."

"You will be the governor, if you will only run."

"I do not want to be governor."

"All the better. People hate ambitious politicians, I know this for a fact. It is best to be begged, and we are begging you, Jesse."

"Mayor, I—"

"Jesse, will you at least meet with us? Allow us to make our case?"

"Us who?"

"Me, the chairman of the national Democratic Party, donors, Democratic senators, the entire Hispanic caucus in Congress, many of my mafia, perhaps even the vice-president … Jesse, they care about our people."

"They are all going to come down to Laredo just to meet me?"

"Uh … well, no. They are coming to San Antonio."

"Why not Laredo?"

"I am too old and too tired to travel to the border—the sun, the heat … and the Anglos, they are too afraid of the drug violence. You know how they are."

Jesse laughed. "No, I do not. They are too afraid to come to the border? Here is where our people are, Jorge. Here is where help is needed. If they want to help our people, they need to come see our people. Where they live. How they live."

"Jesse … I am seventy-six years old. I have lived in Texas my entire life. I have suffered as a Hispanic, and I have seen the suffering of other Hispanics. Texas once belonged to us, but it was stolen from us. We can reclaim Texas for ourselves. This is our chance to take back what is ours. We can win. You can win. You can bring respect to our people. To us."

The Governor's Mansion felt like a morgue the next morning, and with good reason: the governor's political career had died. Bode Bonner was a dead politician walking. The staff averted their eyes when he walked down the hall. Even Lupe could not make eye contact at breakfast. He was now slumped in his chair in his office.

" 'Bode's Babe.' It's not even a good photo of her. You'd think if they're gonna blame me for having an affair with a woman half my age, they'd at least use a photo that shows how gorgeous she is. I mean, it's not like I'm cheating with trailer trash."

"That's what you're worried about? Whether you're getting enough credit for the quality of your mistress? You'd better worry about the fucking poll numbers."

"How bad?"

"You're going down faster than a drunk college coed at a frat party. The overnight flash polls—your numbers took a dive, nationally and in Texas, and your Twitter followers are dumping you in droves. You're below Eminem."

"The candy?"

"The rapper. And Rincón's numbers shot up."

"Great—he wants my job
and
my wife."

"Which one do you want?"

He didn't answer because he didn't have an answer. Now that his wife had someone else, he found himself wanting her more than ever. But … he was so close to the Oval Office. So close. Why did he have to choose between his wife and his adventure?

"It's not fair. One illegitimate baby, and I can't be president."

"Fair is where you go to see farm animals. Politics is winning and losing. And there's only one way you're gonna win now."

"Which is?"

"You gotta get her back. Lindsay."

"She won't want me back."

"Not back like that—back here. In the Mansion. Being the governor's wife. Standing by her man. At least until the election. People love her. If she stands by you, they'll stand by you. Beg her if you have to, Bode, but get her back to Austin."

At least his daughter loved him. Bode found Becca standing in her room staring out the window. He went over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hi, honey."

She turned and slapped him across the face. Hard.

"That's for hurting Mom."

"Becca—"

"Are you fucking around on her? With Mandy?"

"Becca—"

"You are, aren't you? Goddamnit, Daddy, you're just like all those other politicians—a fucking asshole. Like all men."

Disappointing your wife is a tough thing for a man. But disappointing your child—that's a worse thing. The worst thing. To see that look of utter disgust in his daughter's eyes cut Bode Bonner to his core.

Jim Bob knocked on Mandy's closed office door in the Mansion then entered. She was crying. He was carrying that morning's newspapers.

"You okay, kiddo?"

She nodded like a little girl. Jim Bob sat down as if weary then tossed the newspapers on the desk.

"You see all this?"

She glanced at the headlines—BODE BONNER A CHEATER … BONNER A GONER? … ANOTHER MARRIED REPUBLICAN WITH A MISTRESS … JOHN EDWARDS REDUX … SCHWARZENEGGER SEQUEL—and nodded.

"And TV last night?"

Another weak nod.

"What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"The baby."

She shrugged innocently.

"Have it."

"You're not considering an abortion?"

"An abortion? Bode's pro-life."

"He might make an exception for you."

"He would be disappointed with me."

"Maybe not."

"I could never have an abortion." She smiled as if she were looking at baby clothes. "Do you know that right now he—or she—is five inches long and weighs five ounces and has little hands and fingers and toes. I even felt a little kick."

Jim Bob sighed. She had it bad.

"Donations to the reelection committee dried up, like someone turned off the money faucet," Jim Bob said. "The donors are pulling their pledges to the Super PAC. And John Ed called, wants to know if this will derail his special legislation."

"I can't worry about his condemnation bill right now. I got Mandy to worry about."

"She wants to have the baby."

"
Why?
"

"Because you're pro-life."

"But this is
my
life."

It took four bourbons for Bode to work up the courage to call his wife.

"Is she pregnant?"

He couldn't tell his wife the truth.

"No."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"No."

He was lying about lying.

"Are you drinking?"

"Are you talking in an Irish accent?"

"So you had to drink to find the courage to call me?"

"I'm drinking 'cause my life just went into the crapper."

"What did you tell Becca?"

"She slapped me before I could say much of anything."

"Good for her. Ask her to slap you once for me. Maybe twice."

"I'll make a note."

She was silent.

"Lindsay, please come home."

"Are you going to cut the school budget?"

"If I don't, will you come home?"

"I'm not negotiating, Bode."

"I am. I'll do anything you want. To get you back."

"Except love me."

"Lindsay, I've always loved you."

"Do you love Mandy?"

"No."

"You're having an affair with a twenty-seven-year-old girl, but you want me to come home and stand by your side? Be the good wife?"

"I ended it. With Mandy."

"You did? Why?"

"The Professor said—"

"Oh. For politics. Not for me."

"What about you? Are you having an affair? With your doctor?"

"No."

"If the press finds out you're having an affair with my only political rival, I'll never be president."

"That's why you care?"

"Lindsay, I can be president."

"Why do you want to be president?"

"Because I can."

"That's it?"

"It's an adventure."

"It's a game. Just another game to win."

"Lindsay, life's just a game to men. Sports, business, politics … winning football games, making money, winning elections … you do it to prove you can."

"Prove to whom?"

"Yourself."

He heard her sigh, and then she was silent for a moment. Bode asked the question he had to ask.

"Do you love him?"

"I don't know."

"But you might?"

"I might."

"Your doctor wants my job and my wife."

"He doesn't want your job."