What If... All the Rumors Were True (6 page)

FIRST LADIES

Politicians are always surrounded by throngs of obsequious supporters. It doesn't necessarily mean they're well liked.

A
finely tuned engine roared as Haley shielded her eyes from the sun to peer into the parking lot of the Bergen County Country Club. Not surprisingly, Spencer Eton was at the wheel. He raced up the drive in his brand-spanking-new, bright blue precision Italian sports car—a gift for his recently turning seventeen, legal driving age in New Jersey, and for his efforts in service of his mother's campaign.

“The early bird has landed,” Coco De Clerq said with a sigh. “He certainly doesn't inherit his sense of punctuality from his mother.” Mrs. Eton, in fact, had been inside for a full forty-five minutes, entertaining guests at her latest fund-raiser on her race to become the state's next governor.

Spencer hopped out of his ride and breezed up the steps of the country club and onto the veranda, where members and donors were having drinks and enjoying the Indian summer. The youngest member of the Eton clan was dressed with his usual preppy bravado, in a half-untucked pale blue button-down, tie flung over his shoulder, not-too-faded fine-wale corduroys and suede desert boots. He topped it all off with a crisp navy blazer and sandy blond hair freshly windblown from the open sunroof on the ride over.

Haley didn't trust Spencer as far as she could hit him with a polo mallet, but she had to admit, the sparkle in his emerald green eyes was pretty tough to resist. She could understand why even the ice queen Coco De Clerq had been thawed by that gaze.

“Girls, girls, girls,” Spencer said, kissing Coco passionately on the cheek as he nearly swept her off her stilettos. He bent down to give Haley a peck hello too, but she dodged him.

“Hello, Spencer,” she said, giving him a friendly wave instead. The last thing she wanted to do was provoke Coco's notorious jealous streak.

“How can Mother lose with such beautiful campaign workers flogging her noble cause?” Spencer asked, grabbing a plump grape from a passing fruit tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I am not here to flog your mother's cause,” Haley said emphatically. She wanted to make sure Coco understood this too. Haley's Berkeley-minded parents would never vote for a rich conservative like Mrs. Eton, and they'd have an absolute fit if they thought Haley had become a cadet in her army of supporters. Haley was here only because Coco had invited her to the club for a much-needed study break post–SAT prep class, not mentioning of course that a campaign stop was part of the deal. It was such a beautiful Saturday, and after a morning spent cramming vocabulary words into her head, it was heaven to be outside in the fresh air.

“Of course she's going to help,” Coco said, glaring pointedly at Haley. “You're late, darling,” she added to Spencer, but fondly, not in her usual snippy way, much to Haley's surprise. “The election is only a month away, and Mother Eton has been losing steam in the polls.” Coco was the picture of Waspy elegance in her yellow cashmere sweater and triple strand of creamy white pearls, her chestnut hair pinned up to make her look older and more responsible and trustworthy. In her arms was a basket of
Vote Eleanor
campaign buttons in a buttery yellow that nearly matched her sweater, and a stack of leaflets promoting Mrs. Eton's run for governor of New Jersey.

“Are you kidding? Mother's got it sewn up,” Spencer replied in his usual cocky manner. He spotted Whitney, in a tweed pencil skirt of her own design and a tight ruffled blouse, standing by the bar. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Haley? Cocomo?”

“We'll have two Arnold Palmers,” Coco ordered. Spencer brushed his hand through hers as he left for the bar, letting their fingers linger together a second longer than they needed to. Haley saw a warm gleam in Coco's usually chilly eyes.
Has Spencer finally been tamed?
Haley wondered, marveling at the change that had recently come over Hillsdale High's resident bad boy.

“He's whipped!” Haley announced to Coco, risking incurring her friend's wrath. She braced herself for the reaction. However, no wrath seemed to be coming.

“He's an old family friend, as you know,” Coco said, mustering all her Grace Kelly restraint. “But yes, things have heated up a bit since my…sister finally left for Yale.” Coco was the type of girl who wanted every boy to want her, but she'd always had a soft spot for Spencer. They seemed to be made for each other. Unfortunately, Alison De Clerq had maintained a long-standing and avid flirtation with her sister's beau. Even though the relationship had never been consummated, Coco felt that Ali—among others—stood in the way. Now, it seemed as if Coco might have been right.

The queen bee, finally restored to her throne, smoothed her hair and stood at attention as Mrs. Eton fluttered over to greet the girls. “Thank goodness, another pair of hands,” Spencer's mother said, plopping a load of buttons and flyers into Haley's arms. “Here you are, dear. Well, what are you waiting for? Get to work.” Mrs. Eton then hurried over to the bar for a photo op with her handsome offspring. She had a beaming maternal grin plastered all over her nipped-and-tucked face.

“I'll take those off your hands,” Whitney offered, setting down her Arnold Palmer. “It'll be easier for me to pass them around, since I know everybody here and you probably…don't.”

Haley had to admit Whitney was right. “Thanks,” she said, relieved to be rid of the offending Republican propaganda. Haley nevertheless felt the need to follow Whitney around on this hearts-and-minds-winning mission. Mostly, it was to get out of cozying up to the elderly gentlemen in attendance, a task Coco had just been tapped for. Haley cringed as she watched Coco lean down and speak into the good ear of a former club president, revealing all too much of her meager décolletage.

Haley and Whitney strode up to the first table, where a silver-haired couple was sitting beneath an umbrella. She wore frosty pink lipstick and a chunky beaded necklace that covered up her wattle, and a stiff tobacco-colored skirt suit. He had on his old college fraternity pin, an official-issue green country club blazer and a green and white repp tie. They both were sipping gin and tonics. “Vote for Mrs. Eton!” Whitney said brightly, placing a flyer and a button on their table.

“You're preaching to the choir,” the woman said, picking up the yellow
Vote Eleanor
button and dropping it disdainfully back into the basket. “You can keep your button. I never wear political slogans on my person.”

“I'll wear it,” the old man said, snatching it back up and giving Whitney a wink. He heartily pinned it to his lapel, next to his Sigma Nu insignia. “If we support the woman, why not tell the world?”

“William, you look positively vulgar,” the woman said.

This from a woman in plastic jewelry,
Haley thought critically. She instantly felt guilty for her snobbish sentiments.
Must be contagious,
she realized, looking around at the setting.

“We have to keep moving, Dr. and Mrs. Burnham,” Whitney said politely. “Give my best to your poodle Peaches, and have a lovely afternoon.”

“As long as the gin is flowing, we will, dear,” Mrs. Burnham said. “We will.”

As Whitney and Haley made their way from table to table, Haley watched Spencer, who was now obediently following Coco's every move around the party, just as if he were the poodle.

“Coco can't wait to be the First Girlfriend,” Whitney observed from a distance. “I bet she'd marry Spencer the day after the election if he'd have her, just so she could live in the governor's mansion and be part of New Jersey's ruling family.”

“Come on,” Haley said, scoffing. “You really think she'd consent to be a child bride?”

“All I know is, Coco loves the word
first,
especially when it's attached to her name,” Whitney said. “Besides, it is Spencer we're talking about here.” Spencer, who at that moment was leaning down to kiss an adorable towheaded baby. “Wouldn't you marry that?”

Haley glanced over at Spencer's mother, who seemed especially plastic as she leaned down to pose with a crippled World War II veteran. “And become the next Mrs. Eton? No way.”

“Harsh,” said Whitney, who couldn't help but giggle. “So I guess you heard Sebastian's back in town.”

“Yeah, with Mia Delgado nipping at his heels,” Haley said, annoyed that there would now be a full-fledged model roaming the halls at Hillsdale High.

“Can you believe it? I thought we got rid of her last spring, but apparently they spent the summer together in Miami, and now Mia's in our class, which seems to make the football team pretty happy. I was sort of thinking of asking her to be in the look book for my spring line. Do you think she would give a classmate a discount? Oh, what do I care. Daddy's back, and now he's footing all the bills. He doesn't seem to care if I'm in the red or the black, whatever that means.” Whitney carelessly dumped a pile of buttons onto someone's table, having tired of her chore. Now that they were in gossip mode, Mrs. Eton's tax-reform plan was quickly forgotten. “Did you know Mia shot all sorts of ads and commercials in Miami this summer? They're a lot more liberal about nudity down there. I'm just saying.”

Haley felt slightly sick to her stomach. There was a time when she'd thought she and Sebastian might have some potential as a couple. But Mia's arrival last year had put an end to those plans, and now here she was again, complicating everything, and posing a threat to every student at Hillsdale High who possessed two X chromosomes.

“I just can't stand the way guys look at her, you know?” Whitney said. “I mean, does she have to take, like, all of them? Couldn't she just flirt with the dweebs and leave the football team for me?”

Haley, in need of a palate cleanser, reached for a glass of water on a passing tray. “Can we change the subject?” She had a feeling Mia Delgado would be dominating conversation around Hillsdale for many months to come, and she wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Sure,” Whitney said. “I'd rather gossip about Zoe Jones anyway. What happened to her, do you think? I could sculpt a pot out of all the plaster makeup she's got caked on these days. If you ask me, she was prettier before she started running around with Motormouth. Oh, you want to hear something really gross? Do you know what Sasha and Johnny did while camping in Virginia this summer?”

“Uh, since you prefaced it like that, no thanks,” Haley replied. Whitney wasn't known as the most reliable source in town.

“How can Sasha like that greaseball?” Whitney continued, undeterred. “All I know is, they went down there with nothing but a tiny little pup tent. What do you think happens in a tiny little pup tent? Everything, obviously!”

“Obviously,” Haley teased.

“And don't tell Cecily, but I heard from someone who heard from someone who said they saw Drew making out with a freshman at the cineplex over the summer. And I'm talking about a girl who's just a freshman now, not from Zoe's class. Why would he be such a dog to Cecily?”

“Are you sure that's true?” Haley said. “Drew and Cecily seem so…serious.”

“That's why it's shocking,” Whitney said.

“Of course,” Haley added sarcastically.

“So what's the dirt on Reese?” Whitney asked. “He's been in such a grind ever since school started. Have you seen much of him?”

“I, uh,” Haley began, not knowing exactly what to say. “We sort of fell out of touch over the summer. I don't really know what he's up to lately. I think he's really concerned about the whole college thing.” Haley nodded her head as if to convince herself this was the only reason for Reese's disappearance.

“Yawn,” Whitney said. “I can't wait until all this college crap is over and we can get on with our real lives. I mean, the SATs? Come on! Could they be a bigger bore? How am I supposed to know a synonym for
prattle
? What does that word even mean anyway?”

Haley certainly knew.