Party Lines (10 page)

Was
she OK? He didn’t know. He only knew he had to get to the bottom of what
happened, to try to mitigate it somehow. He needed to convince his boss not to
gloat, to downplay it. He’d tell Hopkins it was for his own
good,
that
looking mean-spirited would not help his campaign, that the voters
would respect him more if he appeared magnanimous. And that was true. After he’d
done that, he’d find Lindsay – no matter where she was – and let
her know that he’d had nothing to do with what had happened, that she’d had
every cause to trust him, that she still could.

Ron
slammed on brakes in the circular drive of Hopkins’ home. He’d not bothered to
speak to the butler as he rushed inside and had only grunted a ‘hello’ to
Hopkins’ heavily made-up wife, whose bleach-blonde hair was pulled back in its
usual severe bun.

“He’s
in the study,” she said, her voice pouty at being ignored by her husband’s
handsome campaign manager.

Ron
walked in without knocking to find Hopkins on the phone.

“Hey,
gotta go,” he was saying. “And thanks for everything. Yeah, this is going to be
the turning point. No doubt. We’ll talk later. Bye.”

He
snapped his cell phone shut and tucked it in his pocket. “Ron!” he said
jovially. “Damn glad to see you. Damn glad. It’s going to be a good day, compadre,
a
good day. But I guess you already know that if you’ve
seen the paper or watched the news.”

Ron
had not seen the papers, but now he stood holding the one sitting on the arm of
the couch and stared down at the front, the sick feeling in his stomach
deepening. He turned it towards Hopkins.

“Your
work?” he asked icily.

“My
idea,” he said. “But the credit goes to a good friend who also happens to be a
private investigator.”

Ron
felt a renewed surge of anger. “I thought finding out information on Lindsay
Martin was a task you were assigning to me.”

Hopkins
smirked. “Initially,” he said. “But nothing was forthcoming and I was impatient
for results, especially after that little bitch got all high and mighty on me
at the last debate.” He laughed. “Bet she’s not so high and mighty now.”

“Well
neither are we,” Ron said angrily. “It’s hard to be high and mighty when you’re
fighting in the gutter.” He flung the paper across the room and Hopkins stood
there, looking shocked.

“I
can’t believe this,” he said. “I really can’t. I go out and find someone who
can turn this campaign – my campaign – around, and you stand there
daring to lecture me on how to win? In case you haven’t noticed, Ron, our
numbers are up in the latest tracking poll. There’s not a radio host or
editorial writer in this state who’s not questioning the judgment of Clara
Faircloth right now. And as for that little arsonist cunt…”

“Enough.”
Ron waved him off, shaking his head. Words came back to him – Lindsay’s
words about how she wouldn’t have committed herself to Clara Faircloth’s
campaign had she not truly believed in who the candidate was and what she stood
for. Ron remembered how he’d called her noble. And she was. And at the moment,
he felt less than noble running the campaign of some reptile in a three
thousand dollar suit. Ron had promised Lindsay she could trust him, promised
himself that he’d be someone she could respect and obey. But serving Bradford
Hopkins negated those promises.

The
words “I quit” were sitting on his lips, ready to tip from his mouth. His feet
itched to head towards the door. But something stopped him. There was a better
way to handle this, a way that would redeem the woman he loved and punish
Bradford Hopkins for hurting her.

“No
wait,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m just too
territorial about these things. What you did was brilliant, Bradford. I guess I’m
just pissed that this P.I. got the information before I did. The point is that
now we’ve got to ride this wave, right it straight to Washington, D.C. How
would you feel about going on Newstalk Today to discuss your outrage tomorrow
morning?

“Newstalk?”
Hopkins licked his lips. Every politician relished an audience with moderator
Harper Williams, but only if they were already in the catbird seat. Williams
offered momentum for advancing politicos, and a death stroke to those already
behind the eight ball.

“If
I pull a few strings…” Ron said, forcing a smile.

“Pull
away, my boy,” Hopkins said, stepping over to pound his campaign manager on the
back. “Pull away! I smell victory.”

Ron
accepted his touch, all the while hating the man more and more. He smelled
something, too. A rat. And by the time Hopkins appearance with Williams had
ended he’d make sure the voters knew it.

***

She
let herself in the townhouse with the key he’d given her. In the kitchen
Lindsay found two wine glasses, one still marked with the shade of lipstick she’d
worn the night before. She remembered how she and Ron had curled up in front of
the fire, how he’d put his arm around her shoulder, how protected it made her
feel.

It
had been stupid to come here, she thought. What had she been thinking? That he
was going to show up? She laughed out loud at her own stupidity. Ron Sharp was
probably sharing a celebratory drink with Bradford Hopkins, crowing about how
she’d played into his hands.

Lindsay
sat down on the couch and rubbed her temples. She felt strung tight, like an
over-winded guitar string that would snap if it were touched. Breathing deeply
she attempted to calm down and decide what to do next. She knew she couldn’t
avoid the media forever. Today she would face them and take full responsibility
for what she’d done in her activist past. Then she would go to Clara Faircloth
and tender her resignation so the taint of her past wouldn’t be an issue in the
campaign.

Ron
Sharp had been right in his initial assessment of her. She didn’t have what it
took for this kind of game. She’d let herself believe all the things people had
been saying about her – that she was sophisticated and savvy and astute.
But in the end
she’d been brought down by a man who would do
anything to win
, including a wholesale exploitation of her weaknesses
and desires.

Her
submissive tendencies had been her downfall, her willingness to believe Ron
Sharp’s assertion that taking that path somehow made her stronger. All it did
was open the door to her heart wide enough for him to thrust his knife into the
core of her. She felt used and stupid and filthy. A lump swelled in her throat
and she swallowed it, knowing if she started crying she’d never stop.

Lindsay
stood and walked over to the little wooden desk in the corner of the living
room. Opening one of the drawers, she fished out an envelope and a piece of
paper.

“You
won,” she wrote on he paper. “Congratulations.” Folding the paper, she slipped
it inside the envelope along with the townhouse key. After sealing the envelope
she wrote “Ron” on the front and laid it on the kitchen counter beside the two
wine glasses.

Taking
one last look around she sighed sadly. It all seemed like a dream now, a fairy
tale that she never should have believed. Picking up her handbag from the couch
she walked to the door and opened it.

He
was rushing in so fast he almost ran into him and for a moment they both looked
at each other, her face a mask of shock and
his a
mask
of pain and regret.

“I
was just leaving,” she said, and went to push past him. But he grabbed her
shoulder and gently pushed her back in.

“No,”
he said firmly. “Not until we talk.”

Lindsay
turned around to face him as she locked the door. “Why, Ron? Are you hoping to
get one more secret out of me to run to your boss with? Was ruining Clara’s
campaign and my professional life not enough for you?” She was crying now. “I
have just enough dignity – just enough – to walk away from this
without falling to pieces. Leave me with that, please, because if I have to
stand here and let your presence remind me of how incredibly stupid I was to
trust you I may just crumble.”

He
stretched out his arms to her. “Lindsay. No. Let me explain…”

“Explain
what, Ron? How you cultivated this relationship with the intention of duping
me? How you likely laughed at how easily I was taken down a peg? Don’t bother.”

She
moved to push past him again, only to find herself stopped a second time.

“Lindsay,
stop. You have to hear me out.” His voice was full of frustration. “Listen to
me.”

She
jerked her arm in an effort to get away but he held her fast, ignoring the hurt
fury in her eyes.

“Lindsay,
I didn’t do it!”

“Bullshit.”

“I
didn’t! I promise! I promise on my life. I promise on my career…”

Lindsay
laughed. “I think they’re one in the same. It’s hard to separate the man from
the mission, Ron. Save your lies.”

“I’m
not lying!” He was raising his voice now, his face bearing the same look of
warning he’d gotten every time he spanked her. Lindsay felt her stomach twist a
little in apprehension.

She
sought to calm herself in an effort to diffuse the situation long enough to
escape. “It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “It really doesn’t. I’m done with
this – this job, this life, you.”

He
shoved her back a little, but still stood between her and the door.

“That’s
it then?” he asked. “You’re quitting. Just like that?”

“I’m
not cut out for this,” she said. “I can’t possibly stay in this kind of
environment and risk becoming like the kind of people who did this to me. I can’t
risk becoming like you, Ron.”

“I
told you. I didn’t do it,” he reiterated. “It was Hopkins. He was pissed over
what you said to him at the debate. He even asked me to dig up dirt on you but
I didn’t, Lindsay. So he hired a private investigator.”

“Who?”

Ron
Sharp shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Convenient,”
she smirked and walked towards the door. “Now move. I’m leaving.”

“You’re
not,” he said. “Not until I can get you to understand that I would never do
something like this. Believe me. I know how it looks. And I understand why you
suspect I had something to do with it. But I’ve shown my true character to you –
or at least I thought I had – in a manner sufficient enough to at least
warrant more consideration than this.”

“You’re
preaching to me about consideration?” Her voice was incredulous. “What right
..?
”

“I
have every right given that I did nothing wrong,” Ron stressed.

“Fuck
you!” she said, shaking her head and went to move past him a third
time
. But Ron grabbed her again and this time Lindsay did
something she knew was completely out of character for herself. Drawing back
her hand, she hit him – hard – across the face.

For
a moment they were both silent, eyes fixed on one another’s. Lindsay’s were
furious and Ron’s were cool and stern.

“I
don’t care what you think,” he said. “You are not going to get by with that.”

“I
have nothing more to say to you,” she said.

“Well,
I’ve got plenty to say to you,” he said. “But first you’re going to learn that
there’s a price to pay for striking me across the face, young lady.”

He
began to drag her towards the bedroom.

“What…what
the hell are you doing?” she asked in disbelief. She frantically tried to pull
away, but was no match against his superior size and strength.

“Exactly
what I promised to do,” he growled. “Punish you for defying me. Lindsay Martin,
you’re going to get the worst spanking of your young life.”

Chapter
Eight

Lindsay
couldn’t believe he was going to do this. She couldn’t believe Ron had the
nerve to even threaten to spank her, not after what he’d done to her. Did he
really think she was so stupid, so submissively needy that a sore bottom would
take her mind off of this terrible betrayal?

“You
bastard!” she fumed. “You let me go. NOW!” Ron had hauled her into the bedroom
now and sat down on the still-unmade bed, pulling her over his lap.

“You
are going to listen to me, Lindsay,” Ron said. His voice was infuriatingly calm
and collected.

“I’m
not listening to anything you ever have to say ever again you blood-sucking,
back-stabbing manipulative, self-serving OW!”

His
hand had landed across her bottom, hard. He roughly jerked up the skirt she was
wearing, his face grim, and continued spanking her, the blows hard and steady.
Lindsay’s tirade dissolved in sobs.

“Are
you ready to listen?” Ron asked.

She
did not answer. She hated him. Hated him so completely. She had nothing to say
to him, so how could she let him know that her tears were as much from the
shame of having ever believed him than they were from the pain of what he was
doing.