Underneath It All (6 page)

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Authors: Margo Candela

BOOK: Underneath It All
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15
Bina
I
pull out my cell phone and speed dial the one person who will be brutally honest and tell me when I’m being a selfish pig wallowing in my not so wallow-worthy past.
“Bina?” I check my watch. Less than half an hour to go until liftoff. “It’s me.”
“Jacqs? Is that you?” I can hear hospital noises in the background. “It couldn’t be my long-lost friend Jacquelyn, could it? Twice in one day. It’s a miracle.”
“Funny, Bina. You should talk. Who is it that flaked on me last weekend to make kissy faces with ... with that man you say you’re going to marry.”
“Sanjay, that jerk.”
“What’s his problem?” I ask smoothly, no accusations, no name-calling, just a subtle reinforcement of what she’s already thinking.
“The wedding this, the wedding that. I’m ready to tear my hair out. Where are you? And don’t say work.”
“I’m getting ready to go to a swanky fund-raiser for the Mexican Art Museum, as a matter of fact,” I say smartly.
“With a real-live date? Is he marriage material?” Bina has only marriage on the brain. It’s a sickness, really.
“¿Mamá?
Is that you? Going with the Mayors.” I smear some lotion on my legs one-handed, careful to avoid the hem of my dress. A put-together woman, like Mrs. Mayor, would put lotion on
before
getting dressed. I’m still learning.
“I thought so.”
Bina hates my job, aside from the perks she seems only too happy to partake in. I think she’s jealous of all the time I spend with Mrs. Mayor. Maybe that’s why she’s marrying Sanjay—a convoluted form of girlfriend revenge. I’ll have to ask Dr. N.
“You should let me set you up, Jacqs. I know a very handsome, brilliant surgeon. He just divorced.”
“That’s always a plus.” The George thing and keeping up with Nate’s Internet activities just don’t leave me with the time or energy for an actual, real date that may or may not lead to a lifelong fulfilling relationship. Just thinking about it makes me want to take a nap. “I don’t know if I want to be set up. Too awkward.”
“So is dying alone in your flat and not being discovered for weeks or months,” Bina says sensibly. As a doctor, she sees all sorts of stuff. Like the single mother who had to drive herself to the hospital to give birth and the many unattached people who go unvisited during their stays in the hospital. “Jacqs, life is all about little decisions, and if you never decide to do anything, nothing will ever happen.”
“God, Bina, I’m going to rush off and embroider that on a pillow right this second.”
“He was married to another doctor. She’s also very brilliant. She used to model,” Bina continues, as if I hadn’t said anything.
“A brilliant doctor divorced from another brilliant doctor who used to be a model. Gee, that sort of raises the bar a bit.” I flick on another coat of lip gloss, hoping I don’t overdo Natasha’s handiwork.
“I think he wants to meet someone normal. So you would just have to pretend that you’re normal.”
“I’d have to up my medication. So are we on tomorrow?” I ask. We’ve had a standing Saturday afternoon matinee date for years now, and I’m not letting her fiancé get in the way of that. Mrs. Mayor is a whole other story.
“I should ask you.” Definitely some sort of best-friend abandonment issues.
“Don’t be that way, Bina. Anyway, the Mayors are going out of town this weekend, and even if they don’t, I’ll turn off my cell phone.” Or at least put it on vibrate. It’s one sure way to have a cheap tickle once an hour or so.
“You promise? Because if you don’t ...”
“I swear. I promise. See you tomorrow.” Perfect. We’ll watch a cotton-candy movie, stuff ourselves full of popcorn, and then wander around window-shopping while we talk about nothing and everything. Just like before that Sanjay Gupta or this job came along.
Now all I have to do is get through tonight and I’m free for two whole days.
16
Mrs. Mayor
I
join Danny in the foyer to wait for the Mayors to make their entrances. He from the library, she down the staircase from their bedroom.
“I see you’re wearing a shirt, Danny, how nice of you.” I smirk at him. It’s kind of like teasing a male cousin who’s big on hugs but you know he’s really just trying to cop a feel and deep down in the reptilian part of your brain you like it.
“What’s keeping your boobies from popping out?” Danny leans in, too close. I back away. Just because I tease him doesn’t mean he’s allowed to react.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s actually toupee tape, courtesy of Natasha, but he doesn’t need to know. It would probably give him fodder for hours of masturbation fun and lead to a nasty duct tape incident and emergency room visit like the one Bina recounted to me last week. “As a matter of fact ...”
Just then Mr. Mayor authoritatively throws open the huge walnut doors of his office and strides in, adjusting his cuff links, putting an end to my smack talk with Danny.
“Danny. Jac—Jacquelyn. Is my wife ready?”
“Any second now, Mr. Mayor.” My heart beats junior-high fast. I must commit this to memory so tomorrow I can share it in excruciating detail with Bina.
We all check our watches and wait. And wait and wait.
“I’ll go check on her status. Excuse me, Mr. Mayor.” I climb the stairs, knowing I have two sets of eyes on my ass.
I press my ear to the door and listen for any suspicious sounds like purging, or other bathroom noises I don’t want to know about. Silence. I knock softly and push open the door. Mrs. Mayor, alone now, sits on the edge of her bed looking very unhappy. The straps of her gown droop on her shoulders, all of her droops—except her boobs, which are incapable of it.
“Katherine? The Mayor is downstairs ...” I’ve seen her looking glum but not this theatrically sad. Mrs. Mayor heaves an enormous sigh and continues to sit. I furtively check myself out in the huge antique mirror that is propped against one wall. Its angle makes you look taller and thinner. I could stand here for hours ... “Is everything OK?”
“No, Jacquelyn, everything is decidedly not OK.” She sounds annoyed that it took me so long to ask. Well,
pardon me,
am I supposed to go blind just because she’s having some sort of issue?
“Um, anything I can do?” I guess it is, after all, my job to make her life easier.
“Yes, can you tell me who my husband is screwing? Because it’s certainly not me!” No quiver in her voice, just a firm and dramatic declaration of fact. This is where the harpy music would swell up and we’d fade into a commercial for toilet cleaner.
“Pardon me, Katherine?” I take a few stiff steps forward and sit on the bed next to her, but not too close. Mr. Mayor is screwing around? And not with me? That’s so unfair!
“My husband is having an affair,” she declares, straightening up and dabbing gently at the corner of her eyes. She turns to face me. I have no choice but to look at her. “He’s cheating on me. On
me!
”
I sit there and feel a lame smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge her announcement we can pretend she didn’t say it and then my life won’t be any more complicated than it is. I would never before admit it, but, yeah, I was harboring more than fantasies about me and Mr. Mayor. It’s one thing for him to be unfaithful to his wife, people cheat all the time, but to cheat on me!
Mrs. Mayor looks at me hard, indicating it’s my turn to speak.
“Really? I mean, are you sure?” I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to this, but details would help me work through it.
“A woman knows.” Mrs. Mayor admires herself in the mirror. Tragic and beautiful and, as always, camera ready.
“Sorry, Katherine, but that’s a little ... vague.” I need more than a gut feeling to go on, especially after Bina pulled that same “a woman knows” crap on me. Although usually I put a lot of stock into a woman’s intuition, you can’t just weird someone out like that and then not have pictures or video to back it up. Especially when we are talking about a well-known public figure I’ve dreamed of having a meaningful affair, if not a full-fledged relationship, with.
“You’ve been married before, Jacquelyn.” She says this as if it should explain everything.
She’s got nothing,
nothing!
My heart skips a beat and I start to relax. This is just another Mrs. Mayor freak-out, like the time she was positive his mother had bugged the entire Mansion. She had me flipping over pictures and unscrewing lamp finials for days before she moved on to the next conspiracy plot.
“Yes. Yes, I was.” The story of my marriage and why we divorced is exactly not what Mrs. Mayor needs to hear right now. It didn’t have anything to do with infidelity and I don’t want to have to make something up. When Nate and I were on the rocks my mom suggested that I should cook for him more to make him feel wanted. Cook? For my husband? I told her I was too busy watching him get fat to cook anything.
“Do you think Mr. Mayor still finds me attractive?” she asks the mirror.
It’s a good thing Mrs. Mayor is conceited and self-centered or else I’d have to commiserate with her on the trials and tribulations of my marriage and instead of on her obvious stunning good looks.
“How could he possibly not!” How could I possibly be having this conversation? Should I fake a seizure so she’ll stop talking? Little chance of that, when Mrs. Mayor is on a roll she can go for hours. I cut right to the heart of the matter and tell Mrs. Mayor what she wants to know. “You’re a very attractive and intelligent woman. He’d be crazy to see someone else. Insane, beyond insane.”
“So why
is
he seeing someone else? Maybe I should leave the bastard? Oh, that would throw a kink into his plans to run for governor.” Mrs. Mayor reaches inside her dress and adjusts her cleavage to make sure her nipples line up with each other.
“I’m sure he’s not. Having an affair, I mean. Wow. Governor. How exciting,” I ramble. I had no idea Mr. Mayor was even interested in running for governor this soon. If you ask me, he needs to at least finish this term as mayor. His advisors are jumping the gun big time. Mrs. Mayor gives me an annoyed look. Guess it’s time to talk about what
she
wants to talk about. “What makes you think he’s, uh, you know, having an affair?”
“He’s ... He just hasn’t been here for me lately.” She dabs at her eyes again even though they look dry to me.
“He has been a bit busy with all this, you know, mayor stuff, but I’m sure once the city council—”
“By here I don’t mean here. I mean here,
here.
”
“Oh. Oh!” Yuck. I reach over and awkwardly pat her bare shoulder a couple of times and then fold my hands tightly in my lap. There. All done. Let’s go!
“When we first got married he couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Now ...” She manages to make her eyes all bright and shiny, but not too much to ruin her eye makeup.
“It’s just the stress and soon things will calm down and he’ll, uh, be all over you again.” We have less than ten minutes to get to Fort Mason and since the Mayors are hosting the gala, I’m thinking Mrs. Mayor should get up and haul ass.
“Why does he hate me so much?” She’s perfected the act of sobbing without the tears.
“He doesn’t hate you, Katherine.” Maybe he does, but what does she want me to do about it?
“Yes, he does. See!” She reaches in the beside table and hands me Emilio Cortez’s column. Crap. Someone screwed up and let her see an intact edition of the paper.
“Oh, him ... He’s just trying to sell papers, Katherine. He does say something nice ... Here. ‘Katherine Baxter may have left Hollywood behind but she’s doing her part to make San Francisco phony friendly.’ See, he says you’re like an ambassador or something.” Even I don’t believe the bullshit I’m shoveling.
“Will you talk to him? Ask him why he hates me. Please.”
She clutches at my hands, crumpling the piece of newspaper. Now we’ll both have to wash our hands.
“I’ll talk to him.” Emilio Cortez is going to write what he’s going to write. “What should I tell the Mayor?”
“Tell him I’ll be down shortly. And thank you for ... for being such a good friend, Jacquelyn,” Mrs. Mayor says to the mirror, her eyes getting round and bright with tears again.
I get out of there as quickly as I can. It is one thing for your boss to tell you she thinks her husband is having an affair, but quite another for her to refer to you as her friend.
That’s just wrong.
17
Mr. Mayor
“
S
he’ll be right down,” I say to Mr. Mayor. I resume my place next to Danny and smile lamely down at the polished marble floor, unable to meet their eyes.
“I’ll be in my office.” Mr. Mayor strides toward the huge double doors.
We watch him go. Danny wiggles his eyebrows at me and nudges me toward Mr. Mayor. He handled the last “incident,” as we call them, and he’s making sure I take my turn at bat. There goes my weekend. As far as I know, Danny’s life revolves around 24/7 peep shows and cable sports so his antisocial calendar is a bit more flexible than mine is.
“Darling, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Mrs. Mayor stands at the head of the stairs, ready to make her frothy descent.
“No, of course not, sweetheart, but we really must rush. We’re late.” This is about as blunt as Mr. Mayor gets with Mrs. Mayor. He’s pissed, but not so pissed that he will hold it against her longer than it takes him to pass gas.
“Yes, I understand.” Mrs. Mayor is pissed and I know she’ll hold it against him forever and then some.
In my bag I can feel my cell phone vibrate, making a tinny sound as it hits the box of mints Mrs. Mayor makes me carry around for her. That would be Vivian wondering where the hell we are.
Danny clears his throat. I freeze. Now is not the time you want to draw attention to yourself. I try to fade into the background.
“Well, let’s go, then.” Mrs. Mayor stalks down the rest of the stairs and yanks open the front door.
Danny follows at a quick trot so she doesn’t have to open the car door herself.
“Jacquelyn, is there something the matter with my wife that I should know about?”
“I, uh, really couldn’t say, Mr. Mayor.” I surreptitiously reach for my cell phone to stop its constant vibrating. For a second my bag is filled with the sound of Vivian’s pissed-off voice.
“We’re supposed to go away this weekend, but I don’t know if it’s such a good idea now.” He rubs his hand across his chin.
That’s his signature move. Most TV spots and many a photo have captured him in it. I never get tired of watching him do it.
“Yes, you should! I mean, yeah, she’s been, you know ... It’s not easy for her to ... not that she can’t handle her duties, you know, but I know she’s really been looking forward to your weekend. You should really go. Really.”
Yesterday, I spent three hours supervising Six as she packed Mrs. Mayor’s faux jodhpurs, coordinating cashmere sweater sets in between sheets of tissue paper and multiple pairs of loafers in individual silk bags, only to have Mrs. Mayor tell me to repack the suitcases with a “romantic theme, but not slutty.”
Four hours later, her case was stuffed with gauzy dresses, lacy lingerie and more high heels than she could possibly wear in two days. Now her request makes perfect sense to me. She’s hoping to win back Mr. Mayor with frilly and romantic, as opposed to reinforcing her shaky image as a younger version of his own mother.
She’s off to a rocky start if her own husband is afraid to go away with her. She should have gone for slutty. If she thinks that her man is bailing someone else’s hay, a little Frederick’s of Hollywood might keep his pitchfork at home. But Mrs. Mayor is too studiously refined for that now, maybe in her soap days she would have thrown on a pair of crotchless panties, but not now. Instead she has a drawer full of La Perla lingerie: beautiful, expensive and somehow off-putting. La Perla and body fluids just don’t mix.
“She hasn’t mentioned anything to you?” Mr. Mayor nervously twists his cuff link.
“No.” I can feel my eyes widen like they do whenever I am lying. “Not a thing. Except ...”
“Except what?”
Mr. Mayor smells so good. I can’t help but enjoy his undivided attention even though we are talking about his wife who suspects he’s cheating on her and, therefore, me.
“Except she’s really looking forward to leaving. I mean, going away. This weekend. With you.”
“I guess you’re right, Jacqs. Some time away would do us both some good.” He runs his hand through his hair, making it look even better. He walks to the door and holds it open for me. “We should get to the car before people start talking.”
I desperately want him to tell me what these people would start talking about, even though I know exactly what he means.
I slide into the front passenger seat before Danny can make a big show of helping me in, and fold my hands in my lap. I can feel the tension radiating from the backseat. Mr. Mayor clears his throat and Mrs. Mayor shifts around.
Danny gets in and pulls into the street. Behind us an unmarked police car follows at a discreet distance. The protection is mostly for Mrs. Mayor due to some overenthusiastic fan, or “fucking nut case,” as she calls him. The press has been hounding the Mayors to pay for the detail themselves since it’s not strictly a city responsibility to protect a former soap opera actress, even if she is the mayor’s wife.
“What is that noise?” Mrs. Mayor’s voice cuts through the silence.
I see Danny flinch out of the corner of my eye.
“It’s my phone.” I hate my phone. I hate Vivian for dialing my phone.
“Answer it then, Jacquelyn,” Mrs. Mayor snaps.
“Yes, sorry.” I dig it out of my bag and press it to my ear, wishing I could disappear inside of it. “Hello?”
“Where the hell are you! I have a dozen reporters here waiting!” Vivian screams into my ear.
“Oh, hi. Everything is great. We are on our way, see you in ...” I glance over at Danny and he throws up his hands. “In a little bit. Bye!”
“Was that Vivian?” Mr. Mayor leans forward and I can feel his breath near my neck.
I turn around and am face-to-face with him. Mrs. Mayor stares stonily out her window. Neither he nor Mrs. Mayor carries a cell phone. That’s what their employees are for.
“Do you want to talk to her?” I hand Mr. Mayor my phone, my finger already pressing speed dial. I don’t feel like a Judas because I’m convinced Mr. Mayor could never have an affair with his press secretary. Too cliché. His mother may have given him a pass on marrying an actress, but an affair with an employee, a city employee, would be too gauche for her to stomach.
Mr. Mayor doesn’t notice that his wife has exiled him to marital Siberia and speaks into my phone as if this was just another day at the office.
“Vivian. Yes, we are on our way. Please double-check about that ... OK. You’re a lifesaver, Vivvy. See you in about ten minutes.”
“Oh, is
Vivvy
getting impatient? We wouldn’t want to keep
Viv
waiting.”
“Thanks, Jacqs.” Mr. Mayor leans forward and hands me back my phone. “I’m not in the mood for this, Katherine. Not tonight.”
Danny speeds up.

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