The Candidate (30 page)

CELESTE LEAPS UP IN HER seat. “Stop it! Stop it right now! Leave my husband alone!”

Lily grabs Celeste's wrist and yanks her down to her seat. People are staring at them, staring in shock. But they all recede to the periphery. All Celeste cares about is Lily.

“
What's going on, Lily? What's happening to us? What's happening here?
”

Lily sits there, preternaturally calm. “Erica Sparks outsmarted us. She won.”

“But, Lily, we still have each other. I still love you. Do you still love me?”

“
Still
love you? I
never
loved you.”

Celeste's face starts to spasm and crumble.
“Don't say that; please don't say that. You told me you loved me . . .”
Tears gush from her eyes as she slips into hysteria.

Lily opens her bag and takes out a pill vial. “And you believed me, you stupid cow.”

“
Please don't call me that, Lily. I love you. I love you so much!”

All around them people are buzzing and standing and moving but
it all blurs for Celeste, who is lost in her own world, her own collapsing world, falling, falling into a black bottomless pit . . .

Lily opens the vial and shakes out a pill. She puts it in her mouth and bites down. Within seconds she turns sheet-white and grasps her chest and gasps for air, then slumps down in her chair, motionless.

“Nooooo!”
Celeste wails, and now people are racing toward them, and someone lifts Lily's body up and places it on the floor in the aisle. A man puts two fingers on her neck, on her pulse, and then shakes his head.

And Celeste wants to die. She wants to die with Lily, to be with Lily, always and forever, and the vial is on the floor and she lurches for it and grabs it and there's another pill in it and she takes the pill in her hand. And a woman grabs her wrist and shakes it and the pill drops to the floor and rolls away and Celeste falls to the floor and crawls for it under the seat—
she needs to be with Lily!
—and now she's being lifted up, restrained, but she's screaming, screaming and flailing, screaming from the bottom of her soul and then . . . Mike is there, looking at her with concern and fear.

“Celeste, what's happening? Please tell me what's happening?”

She looks at his face, his sincere, handsome, stupid face, and says, “It's over.”

ERICA SITS AT THE MODERATOR'S desk as the mayhem swirls around her and she feels strangely . . . calm, detached, almost as if she's disassociating again. Across the stage, Lucy Winters is surrounded by aides trying to contain their stunned jubilation. She has just been handed the keys to the White House.

Erica is also surrounded by colleagues, journalists, bloggers, political operatives, all shouting questions at her. It all blurs together into a meaningless cacophony. She doesn't even try and answer. She's not sure if she's in a state of shock or a state of grace, or some combination of the two. But it is over. She was right. There was a Chinese-led conspiracy to take control of the presidency. She brought the truth to light.

It was all worth it.
Wasn't it?
Only Jenny can answer that question.
Please forgive me, dear baby girl. Please try and understand your poor old mom.

Erica stands up, still ignoring the pleas and shouts and questions. She walks across the stage, glancing down at the audience to see Celeste and Mike Ortiz surrounded by police, FBI agents, and freaking-out aides. Lily's dead body is being loaded onto a stretcher by two EMTs.

On some level Erica understands that this is a fateful moment.
That she has written herself a place in the history books. But all she wants to do is see Greg.

And there he and Moira are. And they each take one of Erica's arms and lead her through the pack of people and back to the holding room. Greg closes the door. Suddenly they're enveloped in a silence that feels like pure luxury.

Moira hugs Erica so tightly that their hearts are beating as one. And Erica inhales Moy's fresh, sweet smell and knows that it's what love smells like.

They come apart and Moy takes Erica's face in her hands. “You did it.” And now tears are streaming down Moy's face, but Erica isn't going to cry. She hears Jenny's voice:
We Sparks girls don't cry.

Then there's a moment of silence as Greg and Erica look at each other and thoughtful Moy says, “I'm going to go make a fool of myself in private. I'm also going to make a reservation at the best restaurant in town. We need to get some meat back on your bones, young lady.”

And now Erica and Greg are alone.

“You were there for me, Greg.”

“That's where I always want to be. I quit my job. I'm coming home.”

Erica goes to him and lays her head on his chest and his arms enfold her, and Erica thinks,
I'm already home
.

IT'S A TUESDAY EVENING THE following May, and it's a lovely evening: the cerulean sky is flecked with wispy, fast-moving clouds, and a breeze ripples through the blooming apple, cherry, and dogwood trees that dot the park. The sky and clouds and blooms are reflected in the waters of the lake outside the boathouse as lovers in rowboats glide across its surface.
It's like a Monet,
Erica thinks—
or is it Manet?
Either way, it's almost
too
romantic. Erica has learned to never take anything at its face value. Even love.

Jenny looks lovely in her blue maid-of-honor dress. And Erica feels radiant and chic in the striking silk cream dress with metallic silver threads running through it. Nancy, dear Nancy, made both of their dresses.

It's all very low-key, which is what both Erica and Greg insisted on. A few dozen guests, Reverend-for-a-day Moira Connelly performing the ceremony, some great food, a good DJ. Simple. They've tried to keep the wedding under wraps, but of course someone leaked it to the press, and there are paparazzi and a few film crews outside. Greg and Erica are going to slip out early and catch their flight to Nairobi for
their honeymoon safari. And from there, Erica is heading straight to Davos for a summit on climate change. There's no rest for those who have no desire to rest.

Erica doesn't believe in superstition—or even tradition, for that matter—but Jenny wants to walk her down the aisle, and so they're waiting in a private dining room until the music starts.

“Moy and I are going to see
Hamilton
tonight,” Jenny says.

“I want a full report.”

“And then I'm heading back to my boring life in Framingham, Massachusetts,” Jenny says with a smile.

“Now you're venturing into dangerous territory. But I guess it's working out.”

“It kind of is. I get the best of both worlds.”

“I do miss you.”

“I'm sorry if I went a little crazy last fall, Mom. I was just so worried about you.”

“I know you were, honey. And I love you for it.”

“I hope you don't put me through it again.”

“I hope I don't put either of us through it again. But you never know.”

“Oh, you're impossible!” Jenny cries, throwing her arms around Erica's neck and giving her a big kiss.

There's a rap on the door and Moy enters.

“I'm going to go see how my future stepdad is holding up,” Jenny says, heading out.

“Hey there, my friend,” Erica says.

“Well, here we are.”

“Another adventure together.”

“Do you want your big day to be unsullied by news updates?”

“I'm a junkie. Sully away.”

“Celeste Pierce Ortiz tried to hang herself in her prison cell this morning.”

“Jeez.”

“I guess when you're the most reviled woman in American, doing
six life terms for treason and accomplice to murder, oblivion looks pretty attractive.”

“Ironically, I heard through back channels yesterday that Mike Ortiz is in much better shape. The deprogramming seems to be working. But he's still a broken man,” Erica says.

“That man was in
way
over his head. So the saga is winding down. You must be so relieved.”

“I'm relieved that Chen Lau was expelled from the Chinese government and that the MSS was forced to take responsibility for the Buchanan bombing and all the murders that followed. President Winters brought Beijing to heel. She's tough.”

“Just imagine if Ortiz had won,” Moira says. “The MSS would have been running the country.”

“Through Lily Lau.”

“I still can't believe she got to take the shortcut to hell.”

“Look at it this way—she saved the taxpayers millions of dollars,” Erica says.

“It's true. Her trial would have made the Simpson case look like Judge Judy on a slow day. She was a fascinating psychopath.”

“Power is such an intriguing thing. I'm never sure if
having it
or
getting it
is what turns people into monsters.”

“Which came first, the chicken or the evil? Say, listen, my station agreed to send me to Davos to cover the climate summit.”

“Such great news. We'll get to hang. Between reporting on the planet's slow death,” Erica says.

“Let's hope it
is
slow. There are going to be a lot of heavyweights there. A lot of power.”

“By the way, have you met George Yuan yet?”

“I have. He introduced himself.”

“And . . . ?”

“Some definite chemistry there.”

“
Yes!
I sat you next to him at dinner.”

“Thank you, Dolly Levi.”

The two old pals smile at each other, and Erica half wishes she could blow off this Popsicle stand and spend the afternoon walking around the park with Moira, talking and laughing.

And then the music starts and Erica's heart leaps into her throat and it hits her—
This is really happening. I'm marrying Greg.

Jenny races in and grabs Erica's hand. “Come on!”

“Wait a minute, you can't start without the minister!” Moy cries, rushing out ahead of them.

Now Erica and Jenny are walking down the aisle, past Nancy Huffman, Eileen McDermott, George Yuan, Mark Benton, Josh Walters and Lisa, and Josh's lucky new girlfriend, Greg's family—everyone is beaming at Erica, and she realizes she's beaming back and there's Greg, standing, waiting, looking impossibly handsome with his smile that holds so much love and promise . . . love and promise.

She reaches him and they look into each other's eyes, and Erica's happiness is leavened with just a touch of trepidation. Is happiness, lasting happiness, even possible in the age and world they live in? In any age, in any world?

Then she looks out at the gathering and over at Jenny, who is beaming like a searchlight, and she realizes that fleeting happiness may have to be enough.

Moy begins the service. “Friends, we are gathered here today—”

Then, from the back of the room, there's a small commotion. Moy pauses and heads turn—a woman has just arrived. She's blowsy and overly made-up, squeezed into a too-tight red satin dress, tottering on high heels. As she makes her way to a seat in the back row, she starts to cry.

Moy continues, “—for a joyous reason. Two wonderful people met, fell in love, and are sealing their commitment to each other with this ceremony.”

The crying from the back row grows louder. People shift in their seats and take quick looks backward. Erica shuts her eyes for a moment, squeezes them tight, hoping that when she opens them the ghost will
be gone. But she's still there. She gives Moy a tiny but firm nod:
Keep things moving.

“If anyone thinks this couple should not be joined in marriage, keep your mouth shut.”

The laughter drowns out the crying and Erica feels a moment of relief.

Greg takes out a small piece of paper and starts to read, “Erica, today I truly feel like the luckiest man alive. You are a life force who brings out the best in me. I just plain adore you and want to spend the rest of my life by your side.”

Erica takes a small piece of paper out of her bodice and then—

“I'm just so proud of her, so darn proud,” the woman says in a weepy stage whisper to the man sitting next to her, a cousin of Greg's. He squirms, and people glance backward. She addresses the group. “I'm sorry. Pay me no mind; keep going. I'm just here because I love my baby. This is
your
day.”

Jenny tugs on Erica's hand and whispers, “Mom, is that—?”

Erica leans down to Jenny's ear and says, “Yes, honey, that's your grandmother.”

1. What are the similarities between the presidential campaign in
The Candidate
and a real campaign for the White House?

2. It's been said that power is the greatest aphrodisiac. How does that play out in
The Candidate
?

3. How far would you go to get something you wanted? What is the furthest you've gone?

4. Celeste Ortiz is heiress to a great fortune. How has that privilege molded her character?

5. Erica isn't sure if Greg, her fiancé, is having an affair with a colleague in Australia. Would you forgive your betrothed an affair? If you suspected he or she was having an affair, would you confront them or seek confirmation without telling them?

6. No matter how much success she achieves, Erica is haunted by the demons of her past. What are those demons and why are they so hard for her to overcome?

7. Erica, a recovering alcoholic, has a slip and drinks in
The Candidate
. How do you feel about this? Is it a sign of character
weakness? Is it understandable considering the stress she's under? Do you forgive her?

8. Erica's relationship with her daughter Jenny remains volatile at times. Why is Erica so insecure in her mothering skills? Do you think she is a good mother? Does our culture put too much pressure on mothers to be “perfect”? What do you think is the most important attribute of a good mother?