Compromising Positions (7 page)

Like a goof, my mouth dropped open, and I hoped Larry didn’t notice. Encircled by about twenty kids, Michael Grath sat on a folding chair playing guitar. He appeared to be teaching them as he strummed along.

Not realizing I was thinking aloud, I whispered, “That’s right. He’s a musician.”

Larry looked at me and then back at Michael. “You know that guy?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah,” I said, flustered at being caught speaking my thoughts. “He’s in Congress. His name is Michael Grath.”

“Huh. Grath? Why do I know that name?”

“Because his family has been in politics for forever.”

“But you know I hate politics.” He chuckled.

“And that’s how well-known his family name is. Even you’ve heard of it.”

“Well, you know him. Go over and say hi.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.”
God, no.

My reply was too quick and I think I even blushed. Even Larry could tell something was up. He’d only ever known me as an elected official who had no problem walking up to anyone, anywhere and saying whatever I liked. A wide grin spread across his face. “You can’t? What do you mean you
can’t
talk to him? You talk to everyone.”

Ignoring Larry, I grabbed a plastic cup of punch from a wandering waiter. As I said, “Thank you,” Larry said, “You must like him, huh, Clark?”

“No.” I shook my head, but my mouth twitched with a nervous smile. “I don’t. I barely know him.”

“Who says you have to know somebody in order to like them?”

“You and Trish are special.” I rolled my eyes. “Not everyone has a one night stand turn into their partner for life.”

“Forgive me because I know it’s not my place, but you could
use
a one night stand.”

Was he insane or just politically naive? “Are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t say you
should
have one,” he said. Then he gave me the same “you’re crazy” look as I’d just given him. “I’m just saying you could use a little male companionship.”

“
That
is true.” My smile gave me away.

“So I’m just saying that an initial attraction doesn’t require a lot of background, if you know what I mean…”

“Whatever. He’s good looking. That’s obvious. Can we talk about something else?”

“No way,” he said. “This is great. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“You’re kinda nervous. Like a high school girl. It’s pretty cute.”

Realizing that the more I said, the worse it got, I simply pursed my lips and remained silent. I ignored Larry, but I took one last look at Michael. He was showing a little boy how to position his fingers between the guitar frets. Inside I smiled.
Well, Michael doesn’t look like he hates kids—so much for that part of the article.

It didn’t take long for people in the room to recognize Larry, and fans began approaching us. I hung back while he patiently talked with them, especially the kids. I chatted with a few people, but mainly tried to remain stealth and observe Michael. He was joking around with the kids, playing an “all request” game where he would play whatever song they asked for. Some of their requests didn’t work well on guitar, like the Kanye West ones, but he still played it by ear. When he performed a convincing version of “Johnny B. Goode,” Larry turned to me and asked, “He’s pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” Michael took a battered trumpet from the hands of a little girl. He seemed to make a few apologies before playing it. As the clear, strong sound of the horn filled the room, I had to revise my opinion. “Actually, he’s very talented.”

Larry sniggered at me, and I pretended to ignore him again. I stole one more glimpse at Michael, but this time I got caught. We made eye contact, where I had no choice but to smile at him before I quickly turned away. Not even remembering what I was wearing, I glanced down. I only knew I’d decided to go casual, so I could fade into the woodwork. This was Larry’s night not mine. I saw my dark jeans and low heeled riding boots with and a short green blazer. My fake glasses were gone, and my hair was in a loose braid down. Well, I certainly didn’t look like the normal me he was used to.

When I sneaked another peek around the room, Larry was pointing to another NFL player. “Before I make my speech, I need to go talk to Jim. He plays for the Redskins. I’ll be back.”

“Sure. Go right ahead.”

Before he walked away, he whispered, “And, by the way, your boyfriend is headed this way.”

I whipped my head around to the corner where Michael had been and was surprised to see him only a few feet from me. He was dressed appropriately for the occasion—not in a stiff suit, but casual khakis with a V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt. His blue eyes were bright again, and I returned a shy smile. “Hi Michael.”

“Hello Jessie.”

“I’d never expect to see you here.” The words were out, and how I desperately wanted them back. I was a politician, yet every time I was with him I was incredibly impolitic. It was awful.

His response wasn’t immediate. Instead, he stared me down, and I was sure a snide remark was coming my way. When he did speak, though, his voice was a bit. “You must not think very much of me.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, hoping I sounded innocent. Most of the times we’d talked I had come across like a bitch. The whole situation was laughable.
Jeez. If you only knew how hard I have to work
not
to think about you.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “A mean, nasty Republican wouldn’t be at a place like this.”

“I don’t think that at all. My father has been known to vote Republican.” Geez, that sounded lame. I looked around the room, searching for a distraction. “I just thought of this as an NFL thing. They’re big supporters of Boys and Girls Clubs.”

“Well, my family is involved in Catholic Charities, which helped build this facility. My mother sits on the national board and I’ve been on the board in Chicago.” He then nodded to his right. “That’s my mother over there, in the red suit.”

Following the direction of his glance, I spotted an elegant, gray haired woman in a chic, if prim, St. John suit. She was talking with what had to be a mucky-muck from the NFL, and she looked formidable—like a combination of Nancy Reagan and Ann Richards. “What’s her name again?”

“Evelyn Grath.”

“Did she fly out just for this event?”

“No, she had a board meeting. Both my parents are in D.C. pretty frequently for one thing, or another.”

How different we were. My parents rarely had a reason to leave Arizona. Silence ensued, so I thought it best to dig myself out of the hole I’d made. I pointed to his guitar now leaning against the wall. “I got to hear you play. You’re very good.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, the warm one I liked so much. “Do you like music?”

“Sure.” I looked him straight in the eyes again, lingering long enough to get lost in the baby blues. “You were great with those kids.”

“
They
were great.”

“They usually are.” I smiled as he continued to hold my gaze.

“So you’re here with Larry Wingren?” He smirked. “I don’t see his wife, your vicious chief of staff.”

I wondered if I should tell him the truth. If I did, there was a chance he’d have a different opinion of Trish, so I said, “Well, Larry wanted some company and to be honest, it’s hard for Trish to be around kids right now.”

“Why is that?”

“They’ve been trying to get pregnant for a while now, and nothing has worked.” I frowned. “She’s sort of in mourning… letting go of a dream.”

“Have they thought about adopting?” His brow was so furrowed that a line had formed between his eyes. He looked genuinely concerned.

“Yeah. I think that’s next. She’s adopted herself, though, so she had her heart set on a biological child. It’s just going to take some time.” I winced. “I can understand it. I’ve thought of it myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m thirty-five. There’s a door that’s starting to close.”

“You’ve got plenty of time.” He said it as if having kids were as easy as buying bread.

It was a nice sentiment, but really, men couldn’t understand. They could produce kids into old age, and because they could always date younger women, they had more options for partners. Women were limited on both counts—not that I wanted to continue the conversation. There was no greater turn off to a guy than talk of female biological clocks or the dearth of good single men who weren’t gay or players. Hoping to shut the topic down, I simply said, “Sure.”

Peeking up at him through my lashes, I noticed a curious expression as though he really didn’t know what I was talking about. Then it hit me, and I snapped my head in the other direction, frightened by my own feelings.
Oh, my God. Larry is right. I like this guy. What am I doing?
I threw a Hail Mary pass to get out of it. Apropos to nothing, I announced, “I’ll admit that I can’t see Cathy Mathers being at a place like this.”

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in confusion. “Cathy?”

“Yes, Cathy Mathers.” I should’ve left it at that to see how he would respond. Instead, I went too far and tipped my hand when I added, “Your friend, Cathy. I see you with her a lot.”

That was all it took to show how pea green I was with jealousy. His blue eyes brightened as he recognized it, and he covered his mouth to hide the smile I’d caused. His words were muffled with soft laughter when he replied, “I can’t really say we’re friends. We’re just colleagues.” A smirk grew. “You think she’s that bad?”

“Of course.” My face had to be the color of the Hawaiian Punch in my glass. Since I’d made a fool of myself, I thought I might as well go all in. After a sip of punch for courage, I rattled off my points, “I think she’s stupid and crazy. Like when she said that the founding fathers worked tirelessly to end slavery. Did she miss an entire semester of American history? Half of the founding fathers owned slaves and didn’t want to let them go. The Civil War was about slavery. Or what about her belief that homosexuals have a psychological disorder and can be changed? It is solid science at this point that homosexuality is a biological fact. Or that global warming is a hoax by the liberal media? The earth’s temperature is rising. It’s a fact. Does she live in an alternate universe? And then there are her policy positions like ending Social Security and Medicare. Like
that’s
going to happen.”

He coughed to hide a chuckle. “Now tell me what you really think.”

“I’m sure she thinks I’m crazy too.”

“I actually never talked with her about you.” He grinned, but he was trying to conceal outright laughter. “Though I’d bet good money she thinks you’re nuts.”

The twinkle, the smile, the deep voice—all of it was too much. He was toying with me, so I decided to call the question. “You seem like a smart guy. How can you even carry on a conversation with her?”

“I admit. It’s difficult at times.”

His expression was so warm my whole body responded, and I wondered if the punch was spiked. When I didn’t say anything in response, he lowered his head to mine and in a smooth voice said, “And it’s something I try to avoid. Cathy and are not friends. She just starts walking with me sometimes, and it’s hard to shake her off. Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does.” My nervous laugh caused his eyes to sparkle again. “And it’s a relief.”

“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

My hand went to my chest in surprise.
Out of the way for what? What was coming next?
Lucky for me, I could be lost in my thoughts because Larry was lining up at the podium, as the emcee was about to introduce him. I pointed to the front of the room. “Look. Larry is about to speak.”

After the introduction about his NFL accomplishments and accolades, Larry cleared his throat and apologized for being a lousy public speaker before launching into his standard speech for times such as this. It started with his appreciation about places for kids without a lot of money because he’d never had the opportunity when he was growing up dirt poor in Appalachia. His coal miner father had died of black lung disease when he was young, leaving his mom alone to fend for their large family. There wasn’t a time he didn’t remember his mother paying for food with anything other than food stamps. He said he only got into sports so he could learn to beat up the other kids when they teased him about his clothes. Then he joked, “I got pretty good at it. That’s why I’m in the NFL.”

As Larry spoke, I was self-conscious about Michael being was only inches away from me. A little jostle and I’d be right against him. With his attention on Larry, though, I felt relief for a moment from the teenage awkwardness I had around the guy. Having heard Larry speak before, I let my eyes wander around the room, drifting to Evelyn Grath. The relative safety I felt vanished when I noticed her staring at me.
Oh crap.
I returned a quick, bland smile, before snapping my head back toward the podium.

I hoped I appeared to be focused on Larry because my mind was still on Michael’s mom. I wondered if she knew who I was. Did she care? She had to care—or at least she was wondering who her golden boy son was talking to.

As Larry’s speech wound down, I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. Evelyn Grath had joined us and was now standing on Michael’s other side. I was trapped.

Right after the final round of applause, I offered her another little smile, and she extended her hand. “Good evening, I’m Evelyn Grath. I see that you’re a friend of my son, Michael. What’s your name, dear?”

Before I could reply, Michael muttered sardonically, “Well, hello, Mother. Maybe you could ask me to introduce you two.”

The woman had just spoken to me as if I were a suspicious skank after her precious son, but even I thought Michael’s reaction was a little harsh. I jumped in before she answered him. Shaking Evelyn’s hand, I spoke with her just as I would in any professional introduction. “Hello Mrs. Grath. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jessica Clark. I’m a colleague of Michael’s. You can call me Jessie.”

It was only the slightest movement, but Evelyn leaned back, wary. I stopped myself from laughing at what I’d done. She wasn’t used to a younger woman speaking to her with such authority and telling her she could or could not do something. Her eyes darted between Michael and me looking for answers. “Colleague? You mean former colleague, correct? Do you work at Michael’s old firm?”