A/N: Hello lovies! I am so sorry that this took so long to post. I had a major case of writer's block coupled with a friend of mine staying with me for the last month while leaving her shitbag husband, so I couldn't write as much as I'd have liked. But I'm back now, baby, and we're going to go on this little adventure together on a more regular basis now. Thanks to my beautiful beta reader and all of you fans who are sticking with me - sometimes it feels like no one reads this, but then I get a message or a comment that just makes my day. Thank you so much for being so patient. ENJOY!
Song: "Happy Ending" by MIKA
"You are in way too good a mood for a politician," Marissa said as Rafael strolled past her on Monday morning, smiling a ridiculous smile as he said hello. "You need to be way more pissed off." She stood up and followed him into his office, carrying the latest stack of intake files with her.
"Bill De Blasio doesn't seem angry," he said, taking the files from her. "What do we have?"
"Bill De Blasio eats his pizza with a fork," she replied. "Nothing special. Flasher in the park, a couple muggings, stalking."
"Eli should be happy. I can plead these out," he said.
"Speaking of which, he should be coming by later today," she said, checking her watch. "Around noon, I think."
"Oh, Marissa, can you stall him? I really don't have time til tomorrow, and-"
"No, you can't stall him," Eli said as he plowed into the room. Marissa spun around.
"Excuse me, you said noon," she said.
"Well, I lied," he replied. "Rafael, we need to discuss the gay thing."
"The gay thing?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," Eli said, handing Rafael a newspaper. It was the Post, a tabloid known more for its attention-grabbing headlines than for fact-checking. The article was splashed across the third page. It was entitled "Closet Case."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Rafael said dismissively. "This is the Post. No one takes them seriously."
"Unfortunately, it has a large readership," Eli said, "and despite its reputation, interesting gossip is more memorable to people than boring truths."
Rafael glanced through the article. It was much of the same stuff he'd heard for years. There were insinuations based on his wardrobe, of course, but now they were questioning the charities he gave to (as Eli said they would), along with the number of cases that had LGBT victims. That, particularly, pissed him off. It was one thing to attack him; there was no need to go after the victims.
"I'm the A.D.A. for the Special Victims Unit. Do they not understand the definition of SPECIAL VICTIMS?" Over by the coffee maker, Marissa snorted.
"It gets worse," Eli said, "but I don't want you to panic over this, okay?" He whipped out his phone and typed something. Then, he handed it to Rafael. John Buchanan appeared on the screen, talking to a group of reporters.
"I have no problem with my opponent's sexual orientation. If he's gay, he's gay, and that's all there is to it," he said. "But if he is ashamed of it, if he is hiding it, then what else may he be hiding?"
Rafael rolled his eyes. It wasn't surprising. Eli didn't even have to tell him that Buchanan's campaign had been behind the Post article.
"He was asked at a police union luncheon if he had any comment on the article," Eli said. "It's transparent, really."
"As you said, we saw this coming. So just say I'm not," Rafael replied. This seemed like a relatively easy fix. He sat back down at the desk and started to work.
"No, Mr. Barba, you don't get it. You can't just say you're not gay." Both Rafael and Eli looked at Marissa, each for their own reasons. "What? This happened with Frank Prady - remember, Dad?"
"Who's Frank Prady?" Rafael asked.
"He ran against Alicia in her campaign for State's Attorney," Eli said, still staring at Marissa. "And yes, I remember, which is why I know we can't just say he isn't gay."
"Well, what's your plan, then?" Marissa asked. "Prady didn't respond, and he lost. But you know if we say he's not gay, we'll lose the gay vote."
"You two DO realize I am actually in the room, right?" Rafael's eyes darted between his campaign manager and his assistant. It was like watching a tennis match.
"First, I'm going to have some 'plants' tweet insinuations about your heterosexual dating life," Eli said, typing away at his phone. "Are there any women we can link you with in the past? Preferably someone who does charity work."
"There's a woman NOW who you could link me with," Rafael said. Eli's head snapped up.
"We need to discuss that, too," he said. "How serious is it? It's been a week and I haven't gotten my background check back, MARISSA…"
"Hey, you asked Nora to do that," she said, holding up her hands. "I just fix the copier, remember?"
"Look, we've been dating for a couple weeks now," Rafael interrupted, "and no one's noticed. We've been discreet. Mostly movie nights and takeout at my place or hers," Rafael said. "So just use her. It's going to come out sooner or later. I'll talk to her about it when I see her on Friday."
"Uh, not until I get my background check back," Eli said. "And even then, they could just say she's a cover. I need past girlfriends to corroborate any current hint of your heterosexuality."
"Oh, come on, Dad," Marissa said. "What do you think you're going to find in her background? She's a LAWYER."
"I'll consider it, but ONLY once we get all the pertinent information. And please," Eli said, "continue to keep this relationship discreet until we can decide how and if we want to reveal it to the public."
"Excuse me, 'if' we want to reveal it?"
"Well, I'm just saying, maybe you two will end up deciding that you're going in different directions, and then this is a non-issue-"
Marissa rolled her eyes. "Way to be subtle, Dad."
"Look, all I'm saying is that we need a way to say you aren't gay without offending your gay base."
"Let me ask you something," Rafael said. "Why CAN'T we just not respond and let people think what they want?" he looked at the files on his desk. He had to get the stalker arraigned in three days and this meeting was about the state of his sexuality. Ridiculous, he thought.
"The problem is, Buchanan isn't saying that being gay is the problem. He's saying that YOU think being gay is the problem. He's saying that you're lying about your sexuality - and, by implication, that you would lie about your politics - and he's saying you're ashamed of your homosexuality, which will alienate the gay community, and we need their votes. So, you have to address it without making it seem like being called gay is an insult."
Rafael squeezed the bridge of his nose. "So, besides the tweets, what do you suggest?"
"Well, first off, you are going to the PFLAG Straight for Equality Gala on the 18th," he said. "I've pulled some strings and you'll be introducing Caitlyn Jenner."
"Oh, cool, I want to go!" Marissa said. Eli ignored her.
"The Mayor will also be there, as will several LGBT celebrities, as you might expect. But it is explicitly billed as a PFLAG event, so the idea is that you're a FRIEND of the gay community without actually being PART of the gay community."
"And am I bringing a date to this event?"
"I said I want to go!" Marissa repeated.
"Oh, that's what we need. 'District Attorney candidate Rafael Barba takes 25-year-old assistant to gala.' I want to prove he's not gay, not that he's having an affair with a child."
"Hey!" She glared at him.
"We'll get you an appropriate date. One who's been vetted properly," Eli said.
"That'll go over well with Lauren," Rafael replied.
"She's just going to have to understand. This is how this goes," Eli snapped. "You don't always get to do the easy thing anymore, okay?"
"What about Nora?" Marissa asked.
"What?" Eli spun around. "What about Nora?"
"She could be his date. She's pre-vetted. She's harmless. She's closer to his age than I am, so there's no chance of a scandal there. And," Marissa added, "you can just tell Lauren that she's Dad's assistant and she's helping you at the event."
"No, that won't work," Eli said quickly.
"Why not? Sounds perfect to me," Rafael said.
"Because…" Eli racked his brain for a reason. He didn't want Nora exposed to the press, but he couldn't just say THAT. Meanwhile, Rafael and Marissa looked at him expectantly.
"Well, Dad?" Marissa seemed to be withholding a smirk. Suddenly, it came to him.
"Because I'll need her to assist ME at the event," he said triumphantly.
"Oh, don't be silly, Dad," Marissa said. "I'll play your assistant for that night."
"That's ridiculous," he replied. "What if Rafael needs something?"
"Does that mean I'm going?"
"Fine," Eli said, "you can go, but you'll be on your best behavior and you won't chase down Matt Bomer. And you're not going as anyone's date. I need Nora with me, and Rafael will need someone they can write about without digging too much into."
"Come on, I've been doing this for other people long enough. I think I can do it for my own father for one night. It'll give us some nice bonding time!" She raised an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, there's some OTHER reason you don't want Nora to do it?" This time, she was DEFINITELY smirking.
"Okay, it's settled then," Rafael said. "I'll take Nora, you bring Marissa. Now, if you don't mind, Eli, I have work to do."
"Fine," Eli said, defeated, "but please, make sure you clear some time to go over the prepared introduction - which should be in your inbox this afternoon - and also, be at least three hours early for the event for press time and photos-"
"Marissa, can you please take this file down to Charlie on twelve, and take your father with you while you're at it?" Eli sucked in his cheeks and followed his daughter out of Rafael's office.
Once the door was closed, Rafael took the flasher file to his couch and sank down onto it. The guy was your typical Central Park weirdo - opening his fly and taking out his penis in front of several women, a few teenagers, and, unfortunately for him, Amanda Rollins, who happened to be walking her dog at the time. While he was reviewing the evidence, it occurred to Rafael that Rollins had been the one to initially arrest William Lewis for, of all things, flashing in Central Park. Even weirder to him now was that it hadn't been far from Wollman Rink.
She was crying. She never cried. But after twenty-four hours of vodka, beatings, burns, and sleeping pills combined with sleep deprivation, she had finally, finally broken. William Lewis paced between where Rafael sat and Olivia lay. The gun was still in his hand.
"So, the question is, what to do with the two of you?" That calm, maniacal grin was plastered on his face. Rafael's head hurt from where Lewis had hit him with the gun, and his wrists burned from the cuffs around them. Lewis had removed the tape from his mouth, but all the usually-mouthy counselor could do was look helplessly at Olivia.
"What do you think, Olivia?" Lewis looked back and forth between them. "How can we make this more interesting?" He paused, considering his options. Then, he pulled the handcuff key from his pocket and put the gun on the table next to the window. He crouched down and stared Rafael directly in the eyes. Rafael did his best not to show any fear, but he was sure Lewis could see right through him.
"You don't have to-"
"Stop talking. You listen to me now, Mr. Barba," Lewis said, so quietly it was menacing. He put the key into the cuffs, but before he turned it, he leaned into Rafael's ear and whispered, "If you move? She dies."
Rafael glanced up at the gun on the table. Could he make it there before Lewis?
"I'm not joking, Mr. Barba," Lewis said, apparently sensing Rafael's thoughts. "You're going to sit here quietly, like a good little boy, or Olivia over there is going to eat her gun."
Rafael looked past him toward Olivia. She was giving him that same, pleading look, tears running down her cheeks. He could see what she wanted to say: please. Lewis clicked open the cuffs and, instinctively, Rafael brought his hands forward, rubbing the sore spots on his wrists, and then immediately felt guilty: Olivia was still cuffed to the headboard. Lewis smiled again. He stood back up, grabbed the gun, and walked back toward Olivia. Then, he climbed on top of her. He had disposed of all but her underwear hours ago. With his free hand, he unzipped his own pants, and yanked her last remaining piece of clothing away, along with her dignity… all while Rafael watched helplessly.
"Mr. Barba, are you okay?" Marissa was standing over him, shaking him by the shoulder. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes narrowed on his face.
"Damn," he said, sitting up and blinking a few times. "That's how boring that file was." Though he tried to play it off with humor, Marissa had spent too much time in the company of men who lied for a living to be fooled.
"Then why were you saying you were sorry you didn't get him the first time?" She sat down next to him. "Come on, Mr. Barba. I've worked for you for over a year, and by the time this campaign is done, I'm going to learn all your dirty secrets. You might as well tell me."
He wasn't really accustomed to talking about things like this. The only people he ever shared them with were his mother and Olivia, and he couldn't bring himself to talk about this particular thing even with them. He felt that no one should have to bear this burden with him. He sighed and rubbed his face.
"No, it's all right," he said. "It was just a bad dream. You have bad dreams, right?"
"Yeah, but mine usually involve Hannibal Lecter or something," she said, standing up to leave. "I can take a hint, but at least let me get you some milk."
He smiled. "Do you remember the first time you offered me milk?"
"Yeah, you were yelling at Sonny and I thought you were going to have an aneurysm."
"Marissa?"
"Yeah?" She hung onto the doorframe, lingering.
"Remember when you said you were afraid you were becoming too much like your Dad?"
"Yeah," she said again, avoiding eye contact.
"I wouldn't worry about that," he said, half-grinning. "I can't imagine Eli ever takes hints."
She smiled at him, a genuinely happy smile that she rarely showed. "He doesn't get people milk either."
Once she left the room, he sat back against the sofa. He really thought sometimes that he should see someone about these dreams, but right now was not the time to do it. He could see the newspaper headlines already. So, he got up and sat back at his desk, trying to focus instead on the stalking case. After a few minutes, he noticed the light on his Blackberry was flashing. He picked it up and saw a new text from Lauren.
How are you?
He furrowed his brow. It wasn't like her to be so generic, at least not in the last two weeks. Most of their texts had been at the very least flirtatious, if not bordering on obscene.
Long day, and it's only 11:00. So, not a total loss yet. How are you?
The dreaded three words came a few minutes later, words that even he, with precious little dating experience, knew to be the sign of a sinking ship: Can we talk?
"Oh, this is good," Eli said, reviewing the contents of the folder the redheaded intern had handed him a few moments earlier. "This is too good. We're sure this is reliable?"
"Completely, sir," the intern said. "We have a contact in the NYPD who fed it to us."
"Who's the contact?"
"Anonymous, of course," he replied. "He - I mean, THEY - insisted on it."
"You really need to get a better handle on what 'anonymous' means," Eli said. "Still, this is good. What's your name?"
"Shawn," he said. "Shawn Seagram."
"Sounds like a West Wing character," Eli said. "Okay, keep this up. You might be the one useful intern we have." Shawn scurried out of the room, just as Nora walked in.
"You rang?"
"I did," Eli said, standing up. "Where is the background research on Rafael's girlfriend?"
"Still out," Nora said. "You wanted it to be thorough, didn't you?"
"This isn't helping calm my nerves about that situation, Nora." He was barking. She hated when he barked.
"Do you want it done fast or do you want it done right, Eli?" She leaned on one hip, crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow. He barely noticed.
"I want my candidate to be safe," he said. "So call and find out what the investigators are doing."
"And the magic word is…"
"Excuse me?"
"Nope, that's not it," she said. "Try again."
"Damnit, Nora! I'm not kidding!"
"Neither am I," she replied. "I told you when I came out here that you weren't going to treat me the way you used to, Eli." Her dark eyes flashed with cool defiance.
"Is this about me volunteering you for the PFLAG gala? Because, really, that was Marissa's idea, and-"
"Oh, yeah, I'm really upset about getting to wear a new dress and meet Billy Porter," she said. "No, Eli, this is about the fact that when you want me to do something - when you want ANYONE to do something - you need to use the words 'please' and 'thank you.' You can use other words, so use those, too."
Eli stared at her as if she had grown a second head. He stiffened and raised his chin up a bit. "I'm still your boss. I still give you a paycheck."
"No, Eli, I EARN a paycheck, and I'm still a human," she said. "Honestly, what is so hard about those words for you?"
"Nothing," he said. Then, grimacing, he continued, "PLEASE find out what the hell is taking those investigators so long."
She smiled, satisfied. "Of course. I'm happy to, Eli."
He gritted his teeth and nodded. "So, next order of business. I need you to somehow let this-" He handed her the file of paperwork from the intern - "information leak to the PAC without it getting back to us, but only when I give you the go-ahead." She held the file as though he had just coughed on it.
"Do I even want to know what's in here?"
"Probably not," he said. "But that's why I'm telling you to hold it until I tell you otherwise."
She eyed him suspiciously, but started out of the room. "Okay. I'll handle it."
"Not until I say so!" He called after her. "NORA!"
"I said I'll handle it, Eli," she called back. Then, as she walked down the hallway, she mumbled under her breath. "You taught me well."
"I refuse to believe you don't cook every night." Lauren leaned on her kitchen counter looking into the kitchen and sipped her glass of Chianti. "It smells too amazing in here for that to be true."
"I assure you, my trash is full of takeout containers," Rafael replied, tossing the sliced plantains into the simmering oil. "This is basically one of the only things I know how to cook. Thankfully I'm pretty good at it."
"Are you sure I can't do anything to help?" She walked around the counter, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her chin on his shoulder. He didn't even flinch. The plantains were beginning to brown and there was only a short time left on the pork.
"You can stop trying to distract me," he said with a smile. "I'm just glad one of us has a kitchen conducive to cooking."
"I have very few requirements in housing, but a decent sized kitchen is non-negotiable," she said, unwrapping him from her embrace. She refilled her glass and said, "I was really lucky to get this place, too. The last tenant left on no notice, and they gave me - or should I say, I negotiated - a great deal on it."
"I would love to have a place like this, but as you may have noticed, most of my government salary is spent on suits."
"And suspenders. And ties."
"Don't forget the socks," he said, tossing the pan a few times. "I should really have an entire closet for accessories."
She laughed. "I know women with shoe closets. So why not?"
The timer on the oven started beeping, so Rafael turned the oil on the plantains off and grabbed the potholders. He pulled the roast from the oven and carefully lifted a corner of the foil to check the temperature. Lauren watched him intently from the corner of the kitchen. He was concentrating as hard as he might when reviewing a new case. Once he was satisfied that the roast was done, he re-covered it and put it back in the oven, just to keep it warm. Then, he checked the rice and beans which were simmering on the back burner. When he lifted the lid, the scent of garlic and onions wafted out, and she realized just how hungry she was.
It was a lovely and strange sight to see - this handsome man in her kitchen, sleeves on his (probably expensive) dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tending to dinner as if he might never cook another meal in his life. She wasn't at all accustomed to relinquishing control of her domain. She hadn't even had a man in her apartment, much less cook an intimate dinner there. But somehow, with Rafael, it felt okay. More than okay, really - it felt right. That's what made it hurt so much.
Suddenly, Rafael interrupted her train of thought. "Would you mind setting the table? If I walk away from this rice right now, it WILL burn. I've learned the hard way." She smiled and began pulling dishes and silverware out, carefully arranging them on the table and hoping she remembered the correct placements. Usually, she used the dining table as a desk; she was more an "eat on the sofa while watching Say Yes to the Dress" type of person. And it wasn't as though she had very many family dinners as a kid.
"Okay, I've managed to complete a dinner without setting the building on fire." He walked each serving platter to the counter, setting up a little buffet. The pork smelled amazing on its own, but the addition of the rice-and-bean mixture and the sweet plantains covered in brown sugar was irresistible. He refilled his own wine glass and, while she served herself, lowered the track lighting just a bit.
"Mood lighting," he explained. When she'd set her plate down, she half-jogged to the living room, flipping the television on. She scrolled through a few settings and found what she was looking for. Suddenly, the soft sounds of Frank Sinatra floated through the apartment. Just a few more minutes of perfection, she thought.
"Mood music," she replied, and he grinned. He grinned a lot these days. It was unlike him, and his coworkers were beginning to notice, though he tried to hide it. They sat down at the table. Rafael picked his wine glass up.
"What should we toast?" He asked. She thought for a moment, and then got a devilish look in her eye.
"To not burning down my apartment," she said. He shook his head in amusement, but clinked his glass against hers.
"So, how was your day?" The pork fell into shreds as she cut into it, so she scooped some up onto her fork. "Oh my God, this is orgasmic," she said, before he could answer her question. He merely shrugged.
"This is basically the one thing I can cook, like I said. My Mom taught me years ago. It's mostly garlic and onions, really. The trick is marinating it overnight."
"You'll have to teach me your ways, Obi-Wan," she said.
"Ah, but if I showed you how to make this, what use would you have for me?"
She didn't reply, but smiled softly. They ate in silence for a few minutes. It had been almost a week since they'd gone to Central Park, and since she'd sent that text on Monday, he'd worried about seeing her again. But when she opened the door to her apartment and he'd kissed her, all the worry fell away. He felt like a teenager again; nervous, but hopeful.
"Oh, since you asked about my day," he said, "Eli - my campaign manager - told me I need a date for an event coming up next weekend. He thinks I'm going to take his assistant, but I'd rather take, well, someone I know."
Lauren shifted in her seat. The moment had presented itself, and there was no turning away from it now. "Oh," she said, not looking up, "I'd have to look at my schedule. I've got a couple big contracts in negotiation, and I don't know when they might be closing."
Rafael's smile faltered just slightly. "I understand," he said. "I know it's sort of short notice. For what it's worth, it could be fun. It's the PFLAG Gala."
"So, it begins," she said.
"What begins?"
"Your campaign, I guess. The first official photo op."
"Well, actually, that was that law school awards ceremony last week," he said, "but I see your point." He kept his head down but his eyes drew upward toward her face. Her brow was furrowed. "Something wrong?"
"Raf," she began, "this is what I wanted to talk to you about." He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He'd hoped she'd forgotten that she wanted to talk between Monday and today. But she continued, "Why didn't you tell me about the election after we went on that first date?"
He took a sip of wine. "I figured this was coming," he said. "You haven't asked much about the campaign."
"I figured if you wanted me to know anything, you'd have shared it," she replied, a slight twinge in her voice.
"I'm sharing it now," he said. "Eli's handling most of it at this point. My job is just to do what he says. Which, of course, is… new for me. But honestly, there hasn't been much to share." He finally made eye contact. She was giving him a totally blank stare. Then, he set his fork down. "I didn't tell you because I honestly didn't think we would go past that first date."
"Why not?"
"Because," he said, "it seemed too good to be true. No one gets to date the girl they had a crush on in high school."
Suddenly, her face changed from annoyed to pained. She spoke very quietly then. "I'm not the same girl you had a crush on in high school, Raf. I'm not."
"Well, I don't expect you would be, but all the same, I just wasn't expecting… you. Us. This." He gestured to the meal in front of them.
"It's not like I was expecting this either, you know," she said, suddenly rising from her chair. She walked into the living room, where Frank was still serenading them. "I don't know how to do relationships, Raf. I never have."
"Well, I'm no expert, either," he said, and then turned toward her. She had her back to him. He could see that she'd wrapped her arms around herself. He rose from his chair and approached her slowly.
"I know you say you don't think I'm the same girl you used to know," she said, "but I don't believe it. I'm worried that you're going to imagine me into the girlfriend you thought I would be. And I promise you, I can't live up to that image."
He squinted at her slightly and tilted his head. "What does this have to do with the campaign?"
She turned to face him then, but kept her head lowered. "This is a bad idea," she whispered. Her hair fell in her face, and she didn't bother to push it back. She didn't want to look at him.
"How could this be a bad idea?" He asked. "What are you talking about?"
"A campaign means scrutiny, and you know that," she said. "And not just for you. For everyone in your life. Your mom. Your friends. Me."
"Lauren, look at me. Please." He stepped closer, and she looked at him, into the foamy green of his eyes. They were soft and kind, reassuring. Sometimes she couldn't believe that these were the same eyes that could pierce a lying witness through their core. "I won't let this campaign affect you. It doesn't affect you."
She shook her head. "It's not just about me."
"Then you're going to have to help me out, Lauren," he said. Now he was getting frustrated. He crossed his arms and stared at her the way he would a witness who was holding something back from him. "Because I don't know how we went from having a wonderful dinner, which, by the way, is getting cold, to… this."
That pissed her off. "Well, I'm sorry your dinner is getting cold," she snapped. "Go eat, then, since that's clearly what's important to you."
"You know that's not what I meant," he said. The temperature in the room was becoming icy. "I just don't know what's caused this sudden turnaround in your feelings for me."
"I didn't say I didn't have feelings for you!" She ran a hand through her hair, which was falling in her face. "This is a bad idea for everyone, like I said. And I'm sure your campaign manager isn't thrilled about it, either."
"Do you really think I care what Eli thinks about all this?" Rafael asked. "He gets to run the campaign, not my entire life."
"Now you're just being ridiculous," she said sarcastically.
"Oh, I'm ridiculous now!" He smiled in faux-amusement.
"You aren't telling me that you don't realize that the campaign IS your life, are you? And by extension, it'll be my life too." She turned away again. "YOU might not be afraid of revealing your entire life to the world, but-"
"You think that doesn't scare me?" He was agitated enough now that he was talking with his hands. "You know damn well that my past is not something I'm especially comfortable with. And I know that eventually, there are going to be rumors and stories and drama. I know it's going to involve you. It's going to involve everyone in my life! But I won't let it affect US."
"What if I don't want there to BE an us, Rafael?"
"What the hell?"
"You're acting like I don't get a say in this," she said, rounding on him. "Your opinion, despite what you may think, is not the only one that matters. I need time to think. I need to figure out if I can handle a political campaign on top of my own job and our relationship."
"This is insane. We've been fine, more than fine, since we started dating, and now all of a sudden, you don't know how you feel?" He threw up his hands. "You know, maybe this is why you're almost forty years old and still single," he spat. As soon as he said it, he winced. If ever he wished for an undo function for actual conversations, this was it.
He expected her to explode; if it were him, he probably would have. But instead, she calmly walked toward the door. "I think you should go."
"Lauren, I-"
"No, it's fine. But you'd better go."
"I really didn't mean-"
"I heard what you said, and I know what you meant. I need to think about this, about all of this. Please leave," she said, refusing to make eye contact.
He made it as far as the elevator before sending a text. I'm sorry.
He didn't get a reply.
It was 5:30 when she finally knocked. Eli threw open the door so hard it shuddered on its hinges.
"Damnit, Marissa, I told you 5:00," he said. "Where were you?" It was then that he realized it was not Marissa standing at the entrance to his apartment.
"She's on her way," Nora replied as he stared at her in surprise. "She went into the office today and time got away from her."
For a minute, he didn't say anything. Instead, he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. Her dress was short, a deep burgundy with long sleeves. It looked comfortable and would certainly keep her warm in the frigid November evening, but it also made her lanky body look even longer. She had capped it off with dark brown riding boots.
"Nice boots," he finally said. She looked him over.
"Nice tie." It was a muted orange that almost looked bronze in the right light. Seasonal. Appropriate. They stared at each other for a second until Eli raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Anyway, Marissa should be here soon. Do you want me to call the car?"
"It can wait a few. Do you want something to drink?"
"Isn't it usually my job to ask you that?"
"Technically, right now, you're a guest in my house, so it'd be my job."
"Well, then, fine, I'll have a glass of wine."
Eli walked to the liquor cabinet, which Marissa had finished setting up just a few weeks prior (apparently she'd found a bottle of vodka in a box of spare towels and had gotten fed up), and poured two glasses of Shiraz.
"Cheers," he said.
"What are we toasting?" She caught him off guard. Even though he'd raised his glass, it was just something he did out of habit. He didn't actually toast anything.
"Uh…" He tried to look deep in thought while he attempted to come up with something that didn't sound ridiculous. Before he could, though, Nora smiled.
"To looking good," she said. He returned her smile, and clinked his glass against hers. They sipped in silence, but Eli's brain was working overtime. He knew he needed to focus on the event, but his mind kept going back to one question: what was different about Nora tonight? Suddenly, she interrupted his train of thought. "How're your parents?"
"What?" His head snapped up.
"I asked how your parents are," she said. "Is your Dad still teaching?"
"I think he'll probably be at that piano til the day he keels over," he replied. "How's your sister?"
Nora stiffened. Mariah was not a subject she often discussed, save for a few close friends (including Marissa). Eli knew about the situation, but had never actually inquired about her.
"She's okay. Still at her job, surprisingly. Usually, she's back in rehab by this point in her sobriety. So I'm cautiously optimistic."
Eli nodded, but didn't know what else to say. He had never met Nora's sister, and knew only the details he'd heard Nora discuss on the phone with her mother. It wasn't exactly a proper topic of conversation between boss and employee. It occurred to him that he was starting to blur a line. So, he switched back to being all business.
"So… are you prepared to feed Rafael names all evening?" He tried to rein it back in.
"Do you think I learned nothing during my time in the Governor's office?" She asked. "Are we trying to impress anyone in particular tonight?"
"Well, it wouldn't hurt to talk to the director of the New York branch. And the mayor, of course, but since Rafael already has a relationship with him, that probably won't matter as much. A photo op wouldn't hurt, though."
"What about the organizers of Pride? I thought I saw they'd be there."
Eli checked the guest list. "Right," he said. "If you see them, pull Rafael over there."
"Got it," she said. "Hey, listen… thanks for bringing me to this."
"I'm not bringing you," he said, a little too harshly. "I mean, you're Rafael's 'date' tonight. Thanks for agreeing to help him."
She let out a soft laugh. "Did you just thank me for something, unprompted?"
"It's not that I MEAN to be rude," he said. "I just forget to be human sometimes."
Nora looked at him curiously, as though she hadn't seen him before. Her eyes looked darker against the gold eyeshadow that lined them. The air suddenly got thicker.
Just then, Marissa burst through the door, out of breath and pink-cheeked. Her hair, usually flying wildly in her face, was pulled up into a loose bun on top of her head.
"Sorry I'm late, the damn Uber took forever to get here," she said, throwing her coat on the counter. Eli turned around and for a second time that evening, he couldn't breathe, but for an entirely different reason. Just for a moment, he recalled the memory of Marissa dressed up for her senior prom. Then, he remembered he'd only seen her in a photo; he had been tied up with Peter's campaign for State's Attorney and his ex-wife had texted him one. He cleared his throat.
"Well, you look… presentable."
"Girl, don't listen to him, you look fantastic," Nora exclaimed, admiring the asymmetrical side draping on Marissa's black and white, knee-length dress. "Where'd you get it?"
"Rent the Runway," Marissa replied. "Netflix for clothes. Can I get some wine?"
"Absolutely not," Eli said, taking Nora's glass and draining it into the sink along with his own.
"Hey!" Nora said.
"We need to go," he continued, ignoring her. "Rafael will be meeting us at the venue. I tried to make him meet us here so we could go through the guest list, but he insisted he had to get some work done at the office. So Nora's going to-"
"Uh, no he didn't," Marissa said, a confused look on her face.
Eli swung back around. "What? What didn't he do?"
"He didn't come in today," she said.
"How do you know that? Were you there all day?"
"From nine to five," she replied. "He wasn't there. I went in to catch up on some filing that I've been ignoring. I had a hair appointment down there anyway."
"Great," Eli said, throwing up his hands. "Where the hell is he!?"
It felt odd taking a walk in a tuxedo.
Rafael meandered through the groups of tourists packed into Times Square. Although most native New Yorkers hated going near the place, tonight, it was just what he needed. He knew that eventually, he wouldn't be able to take a walk without a reporter following him. But right now, he was grateful for the anonymity the crowds provided.
He checked his watch. He knew he should have been on the carpet already. The hotel was only a few blocks away. He knew Eli was going to be pissed. He'd already lied about his whereabouts for the day, the only way to avoid going through the guest list and discussing strategy. He couldn't very well lie again about why he was late. It wasn't even that he didn't want to deal with Eli specifically. He didn't want to deal with ANYONE.
Winter had come early. The lights from the jumbotrons and hotels bounced off the thin layer of snow on the sidewalks. People were bundled in layers, only taking their gloves off to snap photos on their phones. He liked the cold, the early darkness. It drained some people. But he liked the feeling of everything slowing down. He checked his watch; he should have been at the venue five minutes ago. He was about to be surprised that Eli wasn't calling, when suddenly, his phone rang.
"Yeah, Eli, I'm on my way," he said, without even bothering to check the caller ID.
"You should have been here half an hour ago! Where are you?" There was a dull roar in the background, probably from backstage on the carpet.
"I told you, I had to work-"
"No, you didn't. Marissa ratted you out-"
"I didn't mean to!" She called from the background.
"I'm two blocks away," Rafael replied. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Good," Eli said. "We don't have time to prep on the guest list, but Nora will be able to feed you names."
"Alright, where should I find you?"
"Come around to the kitchen entrance on 46th. I'll come get you."
Eli hung up without so much as a goodbye. If nothing else, Rafael appreciated his relative brevity in phone conversations.
For a split second, he had expected it to be Lauren and had gotten shaky with hope. But he'd texted her several times and hadn't heard back; there was no reason she would suddenly call him. He sighed. There was really no reason for him to be so upset, especially not a week later. They had only been dating for a little over two weeks. It wasn't as if they were in a serious relationship. But he had gotten used to their daily texts, the banter. He missed it. Compounding the hurt was the confusion. He'd announced his campaign before their date at the skating rink. She'd kissed him then. Then, a week later, she threw him out of her apartment. This was exactly why he hated interpersonal relationships. He could figure his way out of almost any legal conundrum. The law provided clear answers. But there were no statutes that governed emotions.
Sighing again, he turned up the collar on his overcoat and headed toward the hotel. As he approached the hotel, he realized he had to turn on the same act he put on in front of juries - confident, focused, and up to the job. The difference was, this time he had to convince himself, too.