Three Years Ago...
LOCATION: Martha's Vineyard, The Inkwell.
Summer...
It was odd. The phrase of getting away from it all. Especially when it came to the denizens of Washington D.C's elite. With other major metropolitan areas, the notion of summering (yes, summer used as a verb) was a diverse experience.
Maybe you took your kids to the park, went down south to visit long distance relatives or if your financial situation permitted, you took a cruise and went abroad. If one were to stay in the parameters of the United States, resort towns were an option.
The problem with the political class in D.C was the resort towns were the same. Getting away from it all seems oxymoronic.
Nantucket...
Cape Cod...
And of course, Martha's Vineyard.
This Senator had a guest house, so caucus members kissed ass if they could not afford a rental, let alone a house. That staffer was taking his girlfriend for a romantic weekend on the off chance of running into a Presidential candidate (and a new job). Even more illustrious were the family compounds, sprawling across acres of preened emerald lawns, cutting through miles of the clearest of skies. Hyannis Port was the gold standard. The ol' Kennedy compound...
For another side of the island, the darker, browner side where the cream of the crop gathered for more than a century. Booker's elite 10 with all their splendor had settled roots.
Once upon a time, a brown little girl with long thick pigtails used to spend her summers in the Inkwell. On a compound with fresh orchids and lavender. Everything was bright and sweet. The luxurious heat leaving everything with a dewy glow.
Little Liv, as everyone knew her. Big eyes, pretty sundresses and as cute a button.
"Liv, you better get in here! The cobbler is ready." Maya would holler from the crisp, white porch to her daughter who was playing out in the yard.
Maya Pope was the kind of woman made for the movies.
The kind with a Lena Horne smile, sugary brown legs and long onyx hair that fell past her shoulders. Her cat-like eyes blinked slowly when the old prissy ladies would take their walks by her compound.
"Hello, ." Mrs. Agnew, the prolific author and Spelman professor would greet, nosy to see if 's shiny Volvo was parked in the driveway.
Not yet...
It seemed like just Little Liv and Maya. That poor Mrs. Pope. He always seemed to be working. Important and always busy. Even Dr. Mitchell got a break every now and then. Maybe that's why the rumors were all a-float about Maya and that white man...
Years later, Little Liv would become -Grant. The house that was once covered in old wallpaper and stale memories of the Popes' failed marriage was now a vibrant, colorful array of family, laughter, and love.
The colors of the gardens seems deeper. The sky, bloody with impending sundown.
The Pope-Grants had spent the whole day on the beach, swimming and playing. There was a bit of tension brewing between the couple. The same tensions that had ripped through the happy veneer of the Pope family all those years ago; the tempting call of political ambition. Luckily, Avery and Blythe had crashed after lunch, leaving the parents to argue in the confines of their bedroom.
Rule #1 of the Grant household: Don't argue in front of the children.
"I thought you were fine with me running!"
"Of course I am but you never seem to want to face the reality of how hard this will be on us."
"That's not fair! Don't ever think I am not thinking of our family!
Luckily, other distractions would give them the opportunity to get out of each others hair.
Olivia hated fighting with Fitz. He was so bad at it. He became a pleading puppy, his eyes wide with concern everytime they brushed against each other in passing. It made the silent treatment painful to implement.
She was in the master bedroom, checking herself out in the mirror for her night out. She was through with the cocktail parties and barbeques courtesy of Fitz's Senate colleagues. The conversations all seemed to revolve around when and where he was announcing a run for the Presidency. She was through. A night out with Shanae, Abby and Alicia would help her relax. The men and kids were staying in to watch the NBA Finals. The girls were going out.
It was bad enough work was tempting her off the island. She was constantly inundated with emails via laptop and her IPhone. Thanks to Stephen and the IT guys for linking her email accounts. It was endless.
She was tired and being Superwoman was sapping her out of her energy. Vacations were supposed to be relaxing family affairs. What was the goddamn point of spending her time in the Vineyard if she was constantly scheduled? Tonight was a change.
She wore her hair natural in the summer. No heat, no irons and no press. No ma'am.
The glossy coils went down her shoulders which created the most glorious mane. Her petite frame was poured into a simple but figure-hugging, brilliant white dress. She wore no makeup but a rich wine colored lipstick. She slipped her feet in the worn flip flops by the long mirror and made her way to the antique vanity across the room.
Perfect. To finish the look, she grabbed her vintage clutch and her slipped on a pair of Gucci aviators. The sun was going down in a bit she did not want to be bothered when they went out around ass kissers and thirsty social climbers eager to get in good with Maya and Eli's girl.
In D.C, she was the fixer, the Senator's wife.
In the Inkwell, she was still Little Liv. Even after all these years.
She rushed out the bedroom and down the maple staircase. The antique sepia photographs of her ancestors staring at her, passing silent judgment.
As she made it into the kitchen, the savory smells of Fitz's chilli greeted her nose. Peppers and spices lined the marble countertops as he stirred a big bronze pot.
She stood in the doorway. The kitchen was dimly lit, casting a glow on the shiny appliances. She watched his muscular back that was clothed in a plaid shirt tempt her. She salivated over his veiny forearms as she longed for his touch. His calves were golden with a tan, making her mouth water as much as his chilli. And then there was his butt in those shorts.
Damn...did she hate fighting with her husband. The splashing and squeals from outside signaled that the kids were up and in the pool. He had heard her. She could sense it in the pinched movements and the tension in his jaw. He was waiting for the first move.
So she complied.
She sauntered across the room, his woodsy cologne overtaking her senses. She slammed her clutch a little too hard on the counter, making sure he really knew she was in the room.
"Hey." She said quietly, wrapping her arms around his torso.
He breathed in deeply.
"You know better to come downstairs in that dress if you want to make it out of this house."
Olivia giggled as he turned around, a smirk dancing across his face. His hands slide down to her rear, giving it a good squeeze. He moved her sunglasses into her hair.
She looked in his eyes. "Behave. The guests will be here soon and we have a lot to talk about." Her hands took its favorite journey up and down his chest.
He nodded, biting his bottom lip. It drove her crazy when he did that.
"I know. How about we talk about it when you get back?"
"Of course. You know I hate going to bed angry."
The men were all situated in the den back at the compound, stuffing their face while the kids played in the yard under the watchful eye of James, who had little patience for basketball. Now, Ladies Night was underway.
"Girl, the next time I get to your house, you and Fitz better keep it PG. Y'all know no one is trying to see all that."
The Marshalls had arrived early, their sons in tow to a rather romantic kiss between the Grants. Shanae was having a blast taking the piss out of Olivia for it.
The two women were in the Marshalls' rented Audi on their way to Derek's, a lovely seafood restaurant with fantastic views of the island and the surrounding water. Shanae and Olivia were carpooling to the restaurant. Abby had just arrive to the Vineyard, so she was taking a cab. Alicia...well she was being rather discreet about who she was staying with. Normally she would stay at the Pope compound. Olivia had her suspicions.
"Seriously, Shanae can you not bring this up at dinner. I will be hearing about this for months." Olivia laughed nudging her friend as they pulled into the crowded parking lot.
"Ha! Please, you know the rules. Are you going to explain to me why the two of you were sucking the living air out of one another?" She parked by the neon valet sign as Olivia got out of the car.
She rolled her eyes, placing her aviators back on her face as Shanae parked and handed the keys to the scrawny valet attendant. Waiting for Shanae to come around the car and toward the busy entrance, Olivia caught two elderly black women staring at her. She avoided eye contact.
Of course, its nosy Mrs. Agnew and her gossip hen of a friend. She figured they would be dead by now.
She was not the only one. A few others, waiting for their cars from the valet had begun staring.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses at this hour?" Shanae asked as they walked their way into the restaurant. Her refined features were scrunched up in confusion.
"For the same reason I was making out with my husband like a sixteen year old girl. I need a drink."
"Oh, don't worry. Since Alicia is picking up the tab this time, you can get two drinks. Lord knows handling that suit for 20th Century got her some good-ass billable hours."
The four women were seated at the best table in the house, overlooking the velvety Nantucket Sound. Abby had arrived peppy and more excited than usual. She regaled them with tales of her new initiative with W.U.C to combat financial abuse in relationships. All of them agreed to pledge 10,000 dollars for the cause.
Alicia had arrived late, as usual. Her dark curls were blown straight and she was wearing a tight halter number that seemed more apropos for a date. Between Abby's khaki shirt dress, Shanae's polka dot maxi and Olivia's white dress and flip-flops, Alicia was way over dressed. The strappy Giuseppe heels underscored the point. Clue two.
"What?" Alicia grinned, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight as she poured herself a glass of wine.
"Mmmhmm." Olivia intoned popping a seared shrimp in her mouth.
They all were shooting her pointed looks, bursting with mirth.
"Who is he?" Abby asked bluntly.
"And is he married?" Olivia asked. She wanted to hear the tale of whoever the mystery guy in Alicia's life was. If there was one thing Olivia knew after nearly two decades of friendship, it was Alicia was allergic to relationships but loved affairs.
Alicia tilted her head, looking at Olivia as if to say "Really?"
"If you must know, I am seeing someone." She finished cryptically, taking another sip from her glass. A hand running through her hair revealed a very nice (and new) Cartier watch. Alicia was more of a Harry Winston kind of gal, but whatever.
So he was rich. Nice.
A nice evening breeze had settled in, the scenic scene providing the perfect backdrop for a night of gossip.
"He's a married someone." Shanae snarked. Olivia and Abby laughed soundly as Alicia sniggered, trying to keep it together.
"Touché, bitch. But no. If you nosy heifers must know he's not married."
The night carried on in the same spirit; acerbic jokes, too much wine and much of their food untouched.
Half a bottle of Pinot Noir and Alicia eventually spilled the beans. He was a agent, Hollywood. Twice divorce, ten years older with a fabulous house on the other side of the Vineyard.
She gushed, her high cheek bones flushed with new love (though she would not admit it) and wine.
Their conversations were that of most powerful women on their 30s and 40s; men, sex and their careers. For Shanae and Olivia, kids were conversation pieces.
"Honestly, when I get home, its on." Olivia said confidently. She was a little buzzed yet the most sober of all her friends. Flashes of Fitz's tanned body played in her mind.
"Oh, you mean like it was when I got to your house today?" Shanae whipped her dreadlocks over her shoulder, giving Olivia the side eye.
"Seriously guys, I really don't want to hear about Liv and Fitz going at it."
"Speak for yourself, what were they doing?"
"I agree with Alicia, don't put my business-"
"Girl bye, the two of you were..."
Shanae did not finish her sentence. Her dark eyes were wide, her thin fingers went to her lips like a child fighting to hold in a secret.
Olivia looked between her good friend and Shanae's line of vision,trying to figure out what had caught her attention.
"I'm going to need y'all to turn very slowly and observe the nonsense I'm looking at."
Abby and Alicia, sitting across from Olivia and Shanae, looked perplexed. Abby heeded Shanae's plea, yet Alicia lack subtlety and whipped around to the scene of the crime.
The restaurant had cleared significantly as the night aged, the waiters putting out the candles which made it hard to see. Olivia moved the candle toward the crystal centerpiece which reflected on a rather dubious pair. It was Governor Andrew Nichols with a dimpled brunette who was very much not Mellie Nichols.
"Ho-ly shit." Olivia whispered in a absentminded voice.
"Maybe they are friends?" Abby offered, her blue eyes shimmering with confusion. None of them were exactly fans of Mellie but this...
Olivia was conflicted, her stomach felt uneasy in a way that had nothing to do with the shrimp or the Pinot.
🍴 Sally Hemings...
She could still see the golden embroidery on the place setting. She could still hear the faint whispers behind her back from years ago...
Subtle. He brings her to a restaurant late in the night.
A restaurant in the Inkwell, no less.
Alicia squinted, observing the pastel outfitted pair. The girl was young. Intern young. Shapely. There was a fidget about her demeanor, a sort of pedestrian lack of poise. The checkered dress, Sperry top-siders and huge pearl set were a childish idea of how people were "supposed" to dress in the Vineyard.
"Trust me." Alicia said flippantly, turning back in her seat as she reached for one of Abby's lobster rolls. "If Abs and Shae brought their narrow rears to California, you would know there is nothing 'friendly' about Ol' Andy and Quinn Perkins."
"What?" Fitz exclaimed when they got back to the compound. Jared, Fitz, Cyrus, James, Abby, Olivia, Shanae and Alicia were all gathered in the kitchen. The women were hardly, save Olivia, what anyone would call sober. The kids, unknown to the adults were eavesdropping on a very adult conversation.
"That's what I said." Shanae slurred slightly, leaning on Jared.
"On the plus side, he might not run for president. He'd have to have some balls." Cyrus chimed in, walking the elephant firmly in the room.
"Can we not discuss the election. Please." Olivia spat annoyed, putting her head in her hands and leaning on the kitchen counter. Fitz rubbed his wife's back, shooting his mentor a weathered eye. Not now.
"I don't know why you are all surprised. There have been rumors that Andy has been stepping out on Mellie for years." Alicia giggled, checking her Cartier watch.
"Doesn't make it any less shocking." Jared said sardonically.
"You're talking to a woman raised by Big Jerry." Olivia said, her hands muffling her voice.
"Touché." Fitz snarked.
Olivia could not sleep well that night. The vindictive priss in her should be thrilled. What she would not give to make a scene, embarrass the adulterous pair and spread the rumor like wildfire. Mellie, perfect Mellie with her cornflower blue eyes and Mae West drawl could rot in hell.
As she laid snuggled against her husband's firm chest, Olivia knew why she had held her tongue. The voice in her mind, the one that was getting louder with each passing day knew why.
It will be a valuable secret to hold onto when Fitz runs for President.
Little Liv ain't so little anymore.