Party Lines (6 page)

“Are
you saying I’m a…”

“Submissive?
Yes.”

Her
hands had begun to shake again. How could he do this to her? How could he just
say this to her outright, as if he were making an observation about her eye
color.

“I’m
not…”

“Would
it be so bad to admit you are?” He smiled at her and pulled a handkerchief out
of his pocket. “I’m a dominant.”

She
took the handkerchief and blew into it but did not look at him. “It’s easier
for a man to admit he’s a dominant than it is for a woman to admit she’s
submissive. We
live in a politically correct world
,
remember
? Women are supposed to be way past that. Especially
women in high profile positions.”

“Not
everyone gets past
their
nature,” Ron said, relieved
that she had not launched into a denial. “I don’t think most people really do,
actually. They just live contrary to it. For years I did. When I finally
admitted what I was – a dominant man – I realized that ironically
that women who could complement me were virtually nonexistent in society.”

Lindsay
shook her head, puzzled. “But you said you could tell if a woman is submissive,
and that conservative women were moreso.”

“They’re
more submissive than the feminist types, but even they draw the line at putting
total trust in a man – in letting him guide and correct her,” Ron said.

“Is
that what you want? To find someone you can correct?” Lindsay felt her face
flush as she asked the question.

“Yes,”
he said. “If she’d have me.”

 She’d
never thought she’d meet a man like this. How like her luck that it would be
the one man she’d been at national odds with. For Ron’s part, he’d begun to
relax. He wasn’t sure why he was able to tell Lindsay all this. He just somehow
knew he could.

“But
what about your wife?” Lindsay asked. “Was she
..?
”

“
..submissive
?” Ron finished for her. “It’s not a bad word.
You shouldn’t be so hesitant to say it.

“Submissive,”
she said.

“She
was,” Ron said. “In the start. But she grew to hate being that way, to feel
guilty about it. When she was a homemaker it was easy for her, but once she got
out in the working world it didn’t take long before she adopted a whole new
image of herself that was contrary to who she was. It destroyed our marriage
and handed me a life I never wanted. I have a little son – Brian –
but because of what happened I’m only in his life every other weekend, on
Wednesday nights, holidays…two weeks in the summer…” His voice trailed off.

Lindsay
shook her head. “Nothing is ever really that simple,” she said softly. “When
marriages end there is usually fault on both sides. Is it rude of me to detect
something in you that refuses to acknowledge when you’re wrong?”

He
sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s true. I can be that way.”

Now
Lindsay’s hand went to his shoulder, gently.

“You’ve
been very honest with me,” she said. “I think I can be honest with you. The
kind of woman you describe
..
I’m that kind of woman. I’ve
never thought of myself as submissive, but I guess that’s what I am. I guess
that’s why when you - you spanked me my first reaction wasn’t anger but hurt
that it was unjust. In spite of my accomplishments I’ve always wanted a man who
could take charge, who would lead and guide me. And yes, maybe even correct me.
But I have to say that the one fear I had was the first impression you gave me.
I could never trust a man who always thought he was right. A strong man admits
he was wrong. What you did put me off because you were wrong. I’m thinking
maybe that attitude might have alienated your wife?”

She
hazarded the notion tentatively, gently and then held her breath, expecting him
to explode. But he didn’t. Instead he nodded his head sadly.

“You’re
right,” he said. “I know in retrospect that my attitude had a lot to do with
it. I wasn’t home much and when I was I felt compelled to show that I was
always in control, always right. I was the Enforcer and at times I could be
unreasonable. For years I’ve told myself I wasn’t really all that bad, but when
I look back…”

He
looked at her. “But I can change. I have been trying. That’s why I showed up
here, Lindsay. I was wrong. Do you hear me? I was wrong. And I want to tell you
I’m sorry. To beg your forgiveness.”

She
was about to tell him she’d forgive him, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“You’re
beautiful and intelligent and savvy,” he said. “And you’re inspirational
because you’ve been completely honest with me about who you are. And I…”

The
kiss took them both by surprise, but neither pulled away once it started. His
arms went around her, and hers around him, easily and naturally. Lindsay felt
her head tilt back under the pressure of his kiss, felt her mouth fall open to
receive his tongue. As the kiss deepened, his hand went to her hair and winded
itself through her locks.

The
kiss seemed to go on forever and afterwards they just sat there, looking into
one another’s eyes.

“What
just happened?” Lindsay asked.

“I
think two complementary people have just found each other under the most
unlikely circumstances,” he replied.

***

It
was still raining when he left two hours later. As she watched him walk down
the sidewalk he peeked up at her window from under his umbrella and smiled,
making her heart flutter.

But
in his absence, Lindsay was forced to look at the reality of the situation.
They’d agreed to see each other. It was crazy, they both knew, but the
connection she and Ron shared could not be denied. No one she’d ever kissed had
made her feel the way he did, and he’d admitted that she’d had he same effect.
Lindsay felt dwarfed by him, not so much due to their differences in height,
but by his presence. She perceived in him a Shining Knight to her Lovely
Maiden, a Tarzan to her Jane. Ron Sharp was everything society told
her a
successful woman should not want, but she knew as she
watched him disappear down the sidewalk that his absence would leave her with a
longing to see him again.

As
he rounded the corner, Ron was experiencing the same feelings and he had to
force himself to keep walking, force
himself
to keep
from turning and running back to her apartment. The taste of her soft mouth was
still on
his,
the smell of her hair still clung to his
shoulder. Her sweetness, her yielding…was a genuine act. Lindsay Martin was not
some woman playing the submissive in hopes some man would sweep her off her
feet and take care of her. Lindsay Martin was the real deal.

But
one big thing stood between them – one very big thing: the campaign. In
the heady glow of finding one another, neither had mentioned the one obvious
thing they should have talked about. Neither wanted to break the spell by
examining the problems posed by two warring campaign managers entering a
romantic relationship. It would be a scandal, and likely one that would destroy
both their careers.

For
Lindsay’s part, she’d never considered herself a good liar and was already
wondering how she and Ron could be discreet enough to keep their relationship
from becoming public. She’d already been featured in articles in various
magazines eager to tout her as the Promising Unknown that took the political
world by storm. But fortunately she wasn’t the object of the paparazzi. A few
articles with an intellectually curious bent were all she’d warranted.

The
media buzz on Ron was similar, although it usually focused on his cutthroat,
take-no-prisoners reputation. One headline she remembered had blared “Win Any
Cost.” It had been plastered atop a picture of him sitting on the side of his
desk. His arms were crossed in the photo, his expression intense and
challenging.

“Win
at Any Cost.” Lindsay felt a chill. What if that was what he was doing? What if
this had all been a set up to get her to let her guard down. But would he do
that? He seemed so sincere, and what she’d felt was real. She couldn’t, wouldn’t
entertain the idea that this was all part of the game. Not now, anyway.

***

“Feeling
better?” Clara Fairmont walked across the room, a smile on her face. She was
dressed in an ivory pantsuit with a black blouse underneath. A string of pearls
ringed her neck and her white hair was pulled back in a bun.

“Much,”
said Lindsay, and gave her boss a quick peck on the cheek. “And you look just
beautiful.”

“Thank
you,” Clara said. “It’s a wonder I’m even functional today. I was
worried
sick about you, Lindsay. I called several times and
came quite close to sending someone over to check on you.”

Lindsay
swallowed hard, realizing how close she had come to being discovered with Ron.

“No
need to do that,” Lindsay said. “Believe me, if I’d gotten worse I would have
hot-footed it to the doctor. As it was, I just had a bit of a bug.” She looked
down as she made the statement. It was the first time she’d ever lied to Clara,
and it didn’t feel good at all.

“Well
I’m glad you’re here,” Clara said. “The Tri-City Women’s Forum debate is today.”

“Today?”
Lindsay’s mind screamed the word, and she felt a flood of shock wash over her.
Somehow she’d lost a day. The debate wasn’t supposed to be until Tuesday, or so
she’d thought. Fortunately, she’d already done the advance work on the issues
and had the packet in her briefcase. But still she felt like she was letting
Clara down.

“10:15,
right?” she asked.

“If
you say so,” Clara said almost dismissively, reminding Lindsay again that the
older woman expected her to know everything. Lindsay quickly popped open her
case and thumbed through the file. Yes, they were to be at the studio at 10:15
for the
debate which
began at eleven sharp.

“This
should be a good one,” said Clara, checking her hair in the mirror. “Hopkins
will probably ask the moderator to fetch him coffee.”

Lindsay
had a sudden flashback of the night before, of her delivering coffee to Ron
Sharp. Her face reddened.

“Are
you alright?” Clara was looking at her with a curious expression.

“I’m
fine,” said Lindsay, forcing a smile. “I’m just fine. Now let’s get ready for
that debate.”

Chapter
Five

The
lights of the Fifth Street studio were bright and hot, just as Lindsay had remembered.

“Now
I’m glad I wore white linen,” Clara said out of the side of her mouth. “I’d
have burned up in something darker.” It was just moments before the debate and
the two of them were standing at the podium, going over a few last minute
talking points.

They
turned when they heard voices to see Ron Sharp and Bradford Hopkins walk up to
his podium. Hopkins wore his traditional dark suit complete with flag lapel
pin. Lindsay turned away and smirked.
Poor wardrobe choice,
given the temperature in front of the lights.

She
concentrated on reclaiming her edge, and separating the feelings he was
experiencing for Ron Sharp with the job she’d been hired to do as rival
campaign manager.

“Ms.
Faircloth.” Hopkins had walked over now and was extending his hand to Clara,
one smiling towards the cameras as he did so.

“They
aren’t on yet,”
Lindsay
said, and the conservative
politician looked at her with a frown.

“I
know that,” he said irritably, but there was an edge of embarrassment to his
voice that everyone detected.

Ron
Sharp looked at Lindsay, obviously surprised that she’d directed such a snide
comment to his candidate. Lindsay glanced back, briefly, as she took in his
puzzled expression.

“Good,”
she thought. “Let him know that no matter what happens between us I’m still
going to do my job.”

“We
start in five, people. Everyone but the candidates needs to be off the stage.”
The faceless voice came from the control booth, and Lindsay squeezed Clara’s
hand for luck before turning away.

Once
off to the side and out of sight of the candidates, Ron Sharp discreetly
clutched her sleeve, pulling Lindsay towards him.

“What
in the hell was that?” he asked.

“What
in the hell was what?” Lindsay asked innocently.

“That
little jibe at my candidate,” he said. “Don’t play stupid.”

“I’m
not playing stupid,” Lindsay said. “As usual, Hopkins was doing one of his
ham-handed plays for the camera. I just thought I’d help him by pointing out
how obvious he was being.”

“He
just went to shake her hand,” Ron said.