Domestic Affairs (16 page)

Yanni's sprawling mansion was exactly what you would expect from a billionaire in the Hamptons. The latest TV series about the chic community had actually filmed most of its episodes in his backyard. A long gravel driveway led back through perfectly manicured lawns to a fifteen-bedroom estate. The outside was covered in gray shingles accented by bright white window frames. The ceilings inside were twenty feet high, at least, and windows covered the entire back of the house, giving every room a view of the two pools and the ocean beyond them. As they walked into the expansive white marble foyer, Olivia let her eyes dart off to the right, where the hall opened into a massive kitchen. A familiar-looking man stood spraying Windex on the counter.
Is it?

As the man turned, she confirmed that yes, it was rock star Jon Bon Jovi, nonchalantly cleaning off Yanni's countertop.
Wow.
Jon Bon Jovi with a paper towel and a Windex bottle? Then the inevitable greeting panic attack whirled through her head.
I wonder what he goes by. “Jon”? “Mr. Bon Jovi”? “Mr. Jovi”? Is “Bon Jovi” one word or two? Is that his real name? Is it really “Jonathan”?

“Jon!” Jacob strolled over. “Album sales this bad, man?”

“Album sales are this good!” Mr. Jon Bon Jovi stuck out his wrist to reveal an A. Lange & Söhne Tourbograph. As Jacob leaned in to get a closer look at the watch, which cost two times as much as the house he grew up in, his face was met with a playful spray of Windex.

“Even a manservant lives large in Yanni-land,” Jacob said, wiping his cheek. “This flustered new member of our team is Olivia.”

Olivia shot Jacob a squint-eye glance of fake annoyance and held out her hand.

“Hi,” she said, opting for no name at all.

She heard Jacob behind her as she took in Bon Jovi's sultry eyes and his famed hair. “Jon, you remember Governor Taylor; Governor Taylor, you know Jon.”

That kind of ease was what made Jacob the perfect staffer, she noted. It was a basic rule and first duty to enunciate the names of your candidate and whomever he or she was meeting immediately. In all cases. Great politicians had nearly flawless recall and some, like Governor Taylor, were known for it. So missing a name or a face because it was an off day or because they had just humanly forgotten was even worse than a regular person's lapse.

Olivia had learned this, Campaign Lesson #14, the hard way. In the last campaign, the presidential candidate hadn't recognized Ted Foyer, one of the bigger campaign supporters, and Ted subsequently withdrew all his support. “I raised you people four hundred thousand dollars, and the man doesn't even know my name! Why the hell would I raise you another dime?” he had screamed.

Olivia still thought of a new response every time she retold the story, but really it was ultimately symbolic of a simple truth: People in politics wanted to be recognized. They paid to be. The name rule was one that was particularly important when it came to celebrities, because if someone had 99 percent name recognition, like Jon Bon Jovi, political candidates usually made up the 1 percent that didn't recognize them. As Taylor reminded his top staffers on a regular basis, he had to know these celebrities' names. He couldn't be seen as someone who thought himself too high-minded for pop culture.

“High-minded pop culture” seemed to describe the rest of the evening perfectly. The party had been planned when Yanni had won, or actually, bid seventy-five thousand dollars for, the services of a catering company in a silent auction. Seventy-five thousand dollars to serve fifty or so people appetizers and drinks, Olivia figured. Add on the table of Nobu sushi and miso cod and it worked out to at least two thousand dollars per person.

In a rather unconstructive manner, Olivia sometimes liked to calculate the cost of a party or dinner she was at and think of what could be done with the money spent per person. At first it horrified her; thousands of dollars for a plate of sushi that she didn't even like definitely
could have bought lunches for way too many homeless kids. After a few years in fundraising she had come to accept the cost for the most part, rationalizing the trickle-down effect of campaign spending. But she still found herself often weighing the alternatives. In this case it was bought at an auction for the local hospital, so it was a somewhat easier pill to swallow.

Low-income rent for half a year
, she thought as she grabbed a mini egg roll and leaned against the wall.

She looked around the room and saw the man from
Hamptons
magazine taking pictures. She wished she had worn a more fun dress. Everyone seemed to be in cool, flowy satin numbers—most of which she recognized from the most recent issue of
Vogue
. She had stuck with the skirt and sequined top. It was fine, but clearly not as cool as she had imagined it being. Untucked, the white sequined shirt flowed over the black pencil skirt just enough to make the low scoop neck acceptable. Over it, she had thrown her favorite silver-locket necklace, which hung down perfectly on baggy shirts, giving them a little shape.

Okay, it's more
Teen People
than
Vogue
but Rachel Zoe would definitely approve
, she thought, trying to reassure herself.

“Olivia!” Yanni yelled out as he entered the room, the governor trailing behind him. “Landon got the tour. Come drink with us.”

Olivia walked over obligingly and smiled knowingly at the governor. She had been on Yanni's “tour of the house” a few times before and knew it included every nook and cranny. As Yanni ordered drinks, Olivia leaned in to the governor. “I forgot to mention Campaign Lesson # 23—always set a time limit before going on Yanni's house tour.”

“That would have been really helpful
an hour and a half ago
!”

Olivia chuckled and pulled her head back, surprised by the impact of the scent of his soap. Freshly showered, he had a clean smell that reminded her of a fall day in Georgetown.

Yanni turned back to them and asked, “Patrón silver with three limes, right, Liv?” He smiled broadly, remembering her drink.

“Oh no, just a Diet Coke is fine for me.” Not drinking around the boss was definitely Campaign Lesson #3. Or 2. Yes, Campaign Lesson #2.

“Oh, please!” Yanni flipped his hand at her and continued ordering.

“We're all off-duty here,” the governor said, leaning his shoulder against hers. “Have a drink.”

That's true. It isn't actually a fundraiser. But he is actually your boss. Well, not yet. Officially.
Yanni passed her a drink as she debated the idea in her head. Needless to say, she drank obligingly, glad halfway through the first glass for its help in abating her nervousness.

Before she knew it, she was deep in a conversation on the sofa with Alberto, a brain surgeon turned best-selling novelist who liked to shock politicians by showing up to events in T-shirts like the one he had on tonight—a worn-out gray scoop-neck with a big marijuana leaf across the front. He had a subtle dark humor mixed with quiet sincerity. His beautiful wife, Sarah, a brilliant art historian, smiled adoringly in her husband's direction every time he spoke.

Far into a conversation about the media's take on Islamic extremism, Olivia leaned back, drinking her tequila and thoroughly enjoying the idea of an intellectual conversation at a party. It had become commonplace in bars for guys trying to pick her up to rattle on about a political event or issue they undoubtedly knew nothing about. Or for them to feel the need to explain why they hated her candidate or the Democratic party. Regardless of the multitude of clichés (no politics, no religion in polite conversation) people seemed to have no problem going off on baseless tangents about what she did for a living and what she believed in. It drove her crazy.

“What if I told you I wanted the stock market to fail?” she would retort to a stockbroker in an always unsuccessful attempt to explain the offensiveness of his latest antipolitical commentary. More often, lately, she would just tell people she was a kindergarten teacher, ensuring a subject change.

But here, sitting with Alberto, his wife inches away, which eliminated any pressure of trying to be picked up, Olivia relished having a real conversation just for conversation's sake. Midsentence, Olivia heard her name called and turned. Todd was standing around a table of sushi in the kitchen with Yanni, Matt, and the governor.

“Hey, Olivia,” Todd called out, “come settle something for us.”

“Sure.” She started to politely excuse herself from the conversation with Alberto and Sarah.

“Go, go.” Alberto pointed to the governor. “The boss beckons!”

Olivia nodded and walked over obligingly.

Todd continued talking. “First, what's your favorite charity?”

“Ummm”—Olivia turned and looked around, confused—“that would have to be Taylor 2012!”

“Love that!” Taylor said with a wink. “But we need something I don't profit from on this one.”

“Okay, I'd have to say the Innocence Project.”

“Okay.” Todd clearly didn't care about the specifics of her answer. He gestured toward her. “Can PACs give to the Democratic National Committee? And if so, how much? LT here says you are the final word on this.”

LT?
she thought, giggling. They were like a bunch of college kids. “Is this a competition to see if I'm up on my campaign finance rules?”

“No, no, no,” Matt interjected. “We just need the answer here, and your candidate is no help!”

Olivia smiled with confidence, glad that she had spent so much time looking up the limits before the last day of meetings. “They can give five thousand dollars annually.”

“Yes!” Matt shot up his fist. “Todd here owes you ten thousand dollars for that Innocence Project thing.”

“Huh?”

Todd shook his head and started scribbling on a pad of paper.

“This is how we bet. Loser gives to a charity.” He ripped at the piece of paper with his credit card information on it and handed it to her. He had written “10k to Innocence Project” on the top and signed his name across the bottom. “Just call Miranda on Monday if you need other info. And see if I can get invited to some dinner or something for it!”

“And if he can just send the tickets to me!” Matt yelled about three times louder than need be.

Olivia looked down at the paper in amazement. “Really? Are you sure?”

“A bet's a bet. Besides, the Innocence Project is a good pick—I like that place. Last time Tina picked some weird animal shit organization, and now I get calls from them all the time.”

Olivia laughed. She folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket
of her skirt. She liked that despite their brazenness, they were all constantly giving generously to important causes. They cared. As she shook her head in astonishment at the latest part of a night that had already seemed like a movie, Yanni grabbed her arm and led the group of them outside.

“Jonny's going to play us a little something.”

Sure enough, Jon Bon Jovi sat outside by the first pool with a guitar, taking requests. Olivia sank back on one of the white cushioned chairs waiting for someone to pinch her. The fact that she was completely out of place in this alternate universe seemed to be lost on everyone else. But she also had never felt like she fit in more. She looked over to Yanni and the governor standing by the pool. The governor's light brown hair flopped forward as he leaned in to talk to Yanni, who stood five or so inches shorter. The governor's hair looked so soft. She wondered if it was one of the things Aubrey fell in love with first.
I'm sure it was. It must have been so fantastic to fall in love with him. He probably courted her at perfect parties like this.

She remembered reading an article in
Vogue
about their being homecoming king and queen of their college. It said they went to IHOP once a week.
I bet he was the coolest guy in the room, even before he was governor.
Suddenly all the facts she had learned about him—and she had learned them all—seemed insignificant. His grades in school, his organizing skills, the bills he passed—they all paled in comparison to his charisma.
His magic.
He reached up and put his hand through his hair, pushing it back and to the side. She felt like she was in a 3-D movie, desperate to reach out and touch the image.

“Awesome, huh?”

“Totally.” She spoke, her eyes glued to his hair, before looking up to see Alberto and Sarah standing next to her chair. “Oh, yes, amazing.” She quickly followed up, agreeing with what Alberto was talking about—Bon Jovi, of course.
Not the governor's hair.

“Okay, well, we're going to take off.”

She stood to bid them farewell and noticed the thinning crowd. She looked back over to the governor and Yanni, who had moved over to Bon Jovi. She could tell Yanni was telling jokes by the way his arms flapped around, while the governor laughed.

I wonder if I could marry Yanni. We could have one of those marriages they all have. He could go out, I could go out. I could stay in. Here. I wouldn't have to work. I could be Taylor's helpful donor. Who needs love anyway? Hmmm.
She picked up one of the truffle fries on the table beside her.
I could be that shallow. I really think I could.
She gobbled down a few more fries, knowing she couldn't.

“Okay, it's Palm time.” Yanni stood over her, waving her up with his hands.

Olivia knew the Palm well. It was a local, expensive restaurant where anyone from Billy Joel to Diddy and a half a dozen of their peers could be found on any given summer Saturday night. She looked at the heels lying by her feet. The thought of getting back up onto them seemed offensive at best.

“I think I'm going to let this be a boys' night out,” she said, demurring.

“Oh, it will not be a boys' night.” Yanni smiled mischievously.

“Right.” Olivia laughed. She was clearly too tired to participate in any of this. “I'm out. The thought of putting heels back on is too much. Thank you so much for everything, Yanni.” She added in the last part feeling grateful, more than anything, for being included. Yanni, of course, was out the door before the “you” escaped her mouth.