So Close (29 page)

I was coming out of my skin.  I wanted to drive to the Gulf coast and start going door to door with Delilah’s picture, but instead I had to somehow shake off the last few hours so I could convincingly kiss Cheyenne’s ass whenever she deigned to return.  Desperate for clarity, I left Delilah a succinct get-your-shit-together message, threw shorts over my suit, tied on my sneakers and took off running down the road that circled the island. 

The sun was high in the cloudless sky as I pushed past whirring sprinklers and shaded verandas, thinking of the times Tom had gone to run out his frustrations and returned refreshed.  I stopped still—almost felling myself with my own momentum.  Was
that
how he’d done it?  Had he stashed Cheyenne down the road?  No, it was a crazy thought.  Cheyenne was delusional. 

I picked up my pace again and, with burning lungs, I repeated Michael’s recognition of my work.  Tom Davis was leading strongly in the polls.  I was so close to working for the President of the United States, for fuck’s sake.  I just needed to get through this and get back to the campaign.  And before that, I’d get them settled with mom wherever she was and someday, when Billy was free to leave her, he’d understand that I did the best I could as a sibling without parental rights.  Darting between the mansions, I tugged off my sneakers and ran into the waves, willing the salt water to baptize me in the beliefs that were required to get us off this island. 

Back at the suite, I dropped my wet shorts and went directly to Cheyenne’s doorway to find her flipping through a Vogue on her bed.  Housekeeping had come in the interim to contain her chaos.  Focusing on the orderly splendor, I channeled Carson addressing Lord Grantham.  “I’m sorry about earlier,” I said with downcast eyes.  “I shouldn’t have made assumptions.  It’s really none of my business.  We want you to be comfortable, I hope you know that.”

She continued to turn her pages.  “I’m sure.”

              “Mandy, your phone keeps buzzing.”  Billy came into the entryway. 

              “Who?  Michael?”  I turned to him.  “That’s good.”

              The suite’s phones rang.  Cheyenne didn’t so much as look up.  My feet slapped against the stone as I ran to the living room to answer it.

              “Amanda?”

              “Michael, sorry about that.”  I leaned to move Ray Lynne’s water glass from the edge of the coffee table where she was making a lanyard.

              “Where the hell have you been?”

              “I went for a—”

“Look at your email.”  I waved at Billy to pass me my cell and clicked the link Michael sent me. 
News of the World’s
home page with the headline, “New MILFS.”  A paparazzi shot . . . caramel skin, copper Lycra, the forest green beach chair—“Former stylist to Presidential candidate Tom Davis.”   

              “Shit,” Billy breathed as he peered over my shoulder.

              “Is she there right now?” Michael asked.

              There was a distinct click on the line.  She’d been listening. 

              He hung up and seconds later his text came through.  “GET HER TO THE HANGER.  NOW.”

The times we’d changed suites were just fire drills.  “Who have you been talking to, Cheyenne?”  I asked as I threw our clothes into suitcases.  “Your facialist?  Someone at the spa?  Who did you tell that you knew Tom?”

              She just shrugged while Billy and I ran in manic zig zags.  “Why are you so panicked?”

“Someone at the hotel must have taken that picture and who knows what kind of access he or she has to the room.”  Cheyenne was in the habit of scrawling lipstick notes on mirrors and tearing “inspiration” from magazines, which she doodled on like a cheerleader in math class.  Her rambling notes about what she’d wear with Tom or use to decorate their nursery were scribbled on scraps by the bathtub, on the balcony, and slipped under her bed.  I viscerally appreciated the efficiency of a fire bomb as we wheeled our belongings to the elevators, each dragging ice-bucket bags bulging with her notes.  The whole thing happened so fast that my hair was still damp from the ocean as we raced away. 

Pax’s flight was due into Charleston any minute, so I texted that we would find him at the main terminal as soon as we had passed off Cheyenne.  She was glassy-eyed with excitement.  “I wonder where he’ll be meeting up with me,” she pondered as she did her makeup in the rearview mirror.  “I bet it’s in Europe.”

              Yes, that’s exactly where a presidential candidate goes before the election.  I gave her an encouraging smile. I could give her anything now.  Someone else was shipping her off and Jeanine would leverage her media contacts to nip this in the bud.  “Who do you think it was?” I couldn’t help but ask as I pulled up to the guard booth.  “Who took the picture of you?”

              “Does it matter?”  She pressed her lips together to spread her gloss.  “We’re out of that hotel, aren’t we?”  She was right.

              We were directed into the private hanger, where the gate slid back across silently behind us as I parked.  To my surprise Pax was waiting near the jet with his raincoat over one arm and his suitcase beside him.  “Hey,” I called as I got out of the car.  “I’m so happy to see you!”

              “There was a guy with a sign waiting for me when I got off my flight from DC—he drove me here.”  Pax followed me to the back of the car as Cheyenne emerged to fluff herself.  “What’s going on?”

              “It’s over.”  I opened the trunk to heave out her luggage.  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

              “Sorry, the donor we pitched was on the flight.”  He helped me with her largest bag.  “So the meeting rolled into lunch and then right onto the plane.”  He dropped his voice.  “So, the baby’s not Tom’s?”

              “Which is apparently irrelevant at this point.”  I slammed the trunk.

              Billy passed his phone out the opened backseat window to show Pax the News of the World homepage.

“Jesus.  What are they going to do?”

              Before I could answer we were interrupted by a squeal and looked to see Cheyenne clattering up the steps of the plane—into Tom’s open arms.

“I just don’t understand why
they’re
here,” Cheyenne pouted, her bare feet in Tom’s lap.  That made five of us.  He’d been so insistent, inviting us all up like it was the next thing on the agenda and all at once the cabin door closed and we were barreling down the runway.

              “Because I want my queen to be taken care off,” Tom said with steady warmth as we were jostled through the clouds.  He was massaging her toes.  She closed her eyes and dropped her head back languorously.  I didn’t know what to make of the obvious heat between them.  I’d seen it once before, years ago, that first night on the Westerbrooks’ veranda.  Was this real?  Was that?

              “I missed your hands,” Cheyenne murmured.

              “Well.”  Tom took the moment unobserved by her to look at Pax and I intently, his expression disconnecting from the deep circles his thumbs were making on her swollen instep.  “I appreciate your patience.”

              “Where are we going, Tom?” Pax asked from the seat beside me.  Sitting straight up, he was the tensest I’d ever seen him. 

              “Oh, a friend’s place.  He’s lending me his house while we get this sorted.  Pax, I know we need to get y’all covered for everything you’ve put out.”

              “Yes, thank you,” I said, daring to look at Pax for the first time since we boarded the plain.  “Michael said—”

              Tom’s eyes went round.  Cheyenne’s drifted open.  Tom resumed the look of delighting in her. 

              I proceeded carefully.  “That someone else was coming to . . . care for Cheyenne. Will they be meeting us when we land?”

              “I only want you, Tommy.”  Cheyenne cupped the knot of his tie and slid her fingers down the silk.  He tilted his head down to hers.  “You’re all I need.”

              “But I have work to do—”

              “And where is this friend’s house?” Pax interrupted.  “I’m assuming we can fly straight home after we make the drop.  Correct?”

              “Atlanta. This one’s a puddle jump and then I have to meet up with the team.”

              Cheyenne swung abruptly away from him, pulling her feet back and yanking off her seatbelt.  I’m not sure where she intended to huff off to, although at eighteen thousand feet, I was hoping for the emergency exit.  A look we knew all too well darkened Cheyenne’s features.  Dangling from cloud nine, she was about to start swinging with her free arm.

              Tom stood up and reached for her, but she pulled away.  He grabbed her again.  This time her mouth stretched into a sly smile.  Their eyes locked and she let him lead her to the bathroom at the back of the plane. 

              “What the fuck is happening?” Pax whispered as soon as the door clicked closed. 

              “Really?” Billy asked him before pulling on his headphones and lifting his sweatshirt hood atop them.

              “He’s keeping her quiet.  I’m sure they’re just talking,” I said.  At least the whir of the engines made it impossible to know for certain.

              “Amanda, the express checkout charge came through from Kiawah while I was waiting for you.  It’s over
forty thousand dollars
.  And it’s due in full on Amex at the end of the month.  That’s this Friday.  What’s the endgame here?”

              “You heard him, someone is meeting us!  Boom.  Endgame.  Let’s just keep it together, get her dropped off and we’ll find Michael.  They obviously don’t want to risk talking business in front of her.  Please, Pax. This is the home stretch.  Just trust me, okay?”  As the words came out of my mouth I saw Delilah slipping a packet of bologna under her shirt.  Winking at my scowling face. 
Trust me. 

              By this point we were getting jostled so badly by the turbulence that Billy grabbed my hand.  We all grabbed hands.  The bathroom door opened a few minutes before landing and the two emerged flushed.  Tom had his hand on her right up until we parted at the door when he sternly took her chin in his fingers.  “If I couldn’t rely on you it would make me question everything.  Everything.”

              “But you can,” she said fervently.  “I promise.  I love you, Tommy.”

              “Keep the connection strong.”  He dropped her chin.  “I’m counting on you, Coco.”

                She reached up and kissed him fully on the lips, right there in front of us, and then trotted down the steps after Billy. 

“Tom.”  Pax stepped forward.

“No,” I found my voice.  “Pax, just give us a minute—”

“But you won’t—”

“I will.  Please, Pax.”

Clenching his jaw, Pax ducked to go outside.  We were finally alone.  “What’s going on here?”  I turned on Tom as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Lindsay’s dying, Amanda.”

              My mouth formed the word but I don’t know if it came out.  “What?”

              “She’s dying.  It’s back and it’s not going away.  She has too much fucking pride to let anyone know and I will do whatever it takes to spare her this mess.”

“I’m sorry but from where we’re sitting you’re—”  I grimaced.  “Making this mess.”

“I’m doing what I have to.  Do you want her exposed to
that
?” he tossed his hand at the door.

              “Of course not—”

              “Because you can do it with one call.”  He shoved his hand in his pocket and thrust his phone at me.  “If you’re going to be this weak then do it.  Break her heart. I’m running for President of the United States.  I’m this close. 
This close
.  Straight ahead of us are wars and terrorists and impossible decisions that make a rock and a hard place look like nirvana.  I know I have the guts to do what needs to be done.  Do you?”

              I stepped back from him, pushing his hand down. “Yes.”

                “Then get in the car.  Drive that girl to the house and do the job that sitting in your shit trailer park you thought you had no right to do.  It’s time, Amanda.  Grow a pair.”

The McMansion was an hour outside the reach of the city lights, tucked deep into a dense wood that separated it from a stretch of undeveloped highway.  We keyed in the number Jeanine texted me and the looming gates swung open to a dark drive that ended on the top of a clearing.  We all froze in a flood light that flipped on as we stepped off the travel onto the slate front walk.  Pushing past us, Cheyenne demanded the code for the front door.  We followed her inside a double height atrium. 

The floodlight flicked back out.

“Hello?” Pax called into the darkness.

“For fuck’s sake,” Cheyenne muttered as she palmed the wall for a panel of switches.  An absurdly huge chandelier came on overhead, leaving us blinking to get our bearings.  Other than an unopened wardrobe-sized box from some nautilus company, the space and what was illuminated of the Great room beyond was barren, save a Persian rug. 

“They must be meeting us inside.”  I walked in.

“We are inside,” Ray Lynne corrected me.  “And I’m hungry.”

I took her hand.  “We’ll get you food.  Let’s just find whoever we’re supposed to meet and we’ll get dinner on the way back to the airport.”  I walked her over to the staircase.  “We’ll check upstairs.  Cheyenne, you look down here and Pax and Billy you check out by the gym or poolhouse or whatever is out back.”

“Amanda.”  Pax was hitting his limit.

“The sooner we do this, the sooner we get out of here.  I’m sure they didn’t want lights on that you could see from the front.  In case we were followed or whatever.  Come on!”  Putting on a brave face I got us up the grand steps to the long hall of bedrooms.  But flipped-on-light after flipped-on-light revealed nothing more than faint dust outlines on miles of beige carpet, raw wires jutting from walls where light fixtures should have been.  We arrived in the master suite to find a flat screen as big as a garage door and a king-sized mattress that had yet to be unwrapped.