Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage (25 page)

After Washington, Jim and I went back to Princeton, and that was the last I would see of Kari and Morag. The next morning Jim left for a meeting. I was to meet him in South Jersey later in the day, at a funeral for a firefighter, one of four who had been killed in a Fourth of July fire. Jim flew down in a helicopter, and I drove down with a trooper. It was a very somber ceremony. It was so sad to see a young woman who by all accounts had a great marriage lose the man described as her best friend. I couldn’t imagine myself as a young widow, without Jim.

Despite the recent crisis, I was determined to make the best of my marriage. I had felt closer to him since our tearful walk on the beach, so I resolved to put aside my suspicions about him and Kari. Even when there was not conflict, I mused, he seemed, reflexively, to keep elements of his life separate. Any elements. All elements. He had always dealt with his relationship with me and his relationship with Kari separately. He just didn’t know how to merge the two.

Back in Princeton, we were to attend the annual Governor’s Tennis Tournament—participants were members of the business community who had played annually for the last twenty years. Traditionally the tournament was played at Princeton University, followed by a luncheon and the final round at Drumthwacket. I had learned recently that it was customary for the First Lady to be photographed with the players at the beginning of the tournament. So I took Jacqueline with me, and we spent about an hour with the players. One of them was Warren Wilentz, Jim’s good friend and supporter. The Wilentz family was well known in New Jersey’s political circles. In fact, Warren’s brother, Robert, had served as chief justice of the New Jersey Supreme Court, and Jim’s campaign headquarters were housed in the Wilentz building in Woodbridge.

“I don’t know how you put up with all this stuff,” Warren said, greeting me with a hug. I didn’t know what “stuff” he was referring to. I thought that he might be talking about being at the tournament. But I wasn’t sure. I just shrugged it off and said, “I do what I have to do.”

“Are you going to the party?” he asked. I thought he was referring to the luncheon and said, “Yes, I am. I’ll see you there.” He also introduced me to one of his associates, David Wildstein, and said, “If you ever need a divorce lawyer, he’s the best.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I said. Ironically, David Wildstein’s path and mine would eventually cross again only two years later, when Jim retained him as
his
attorney in our divorce proceedings.

Later that day, Lori Kennedy asked me if I was going to the party the next day.

“What party?” I asked.

“You don’t know about the party?” she said.

“No, what are you talking about?”

“The party Jim is throwing for Kari at the Sheraton in Woodbridge before she leaves for Canada.”

I just looked at her. I didn’t know what to say. I knew they were leaving that day, though he hadn’t told me the exact time. I just assumed that if he were out in the evening, it was because he was now resuming his regular work schedule.

Lori was stunned.

“He didn’t invite you?” She shook her head. “He didn’t even tell you?”

I still couldn’t say a word. In fact, I could barely catch my breath. This must have been the party Warren Wilentz had been alluding to.

“If you’re not going, we’re not going,” Lori declared.

Later that day, Jim’s sister Sharon called. She too said she’d see me at the party.

Obviously, Jim hadn’t told anyone
not
to mention the party to me.
So just how was he going to explain my absence?
I wondered. Would he tell people that I was tired or that I had a headache? Or would he come up with a more pathological excuse? Whatever his intentions, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

“No, you won’t,” I said. “I wasn’t invited. In fact, I just learned of the party.”

Sharon, with her strong streak of integrity, had the same response as Lori. “If you’re not going,” she said, “I’m not going.” And neither of them did.

The following day, I went into work at my hospital in Newark but left to head back to Drumthwacket much earlier than usual. When I was just six or seven miles from home, Jim’s car and security detail passed us heading in the other direction. He had waited until I was gone to give Kari, Morag, and the others a tour of Drumthwacket and made sure to leave before I returned.

That was the last straw.

Jim’s trip to Drumthwacket with Kari—behind my back—made me angry, and it came on top of my anger that Jim had planned a party for Kari and Morag in Woodbridge that night without telling me. And both of
those
came on top of his original failure to tell me about the traveling plans he’d made for Kari and Morag to go to New York, Philadelphia, and D.C. It wasn’t that I wanted to go to the party in Woodbridge. I didn’t. But I was Jim’s wife, and he should have let me know what he was doing, especially when it came to making plans with his ex-wife.

I didn’t think of myself as a particularly jealous person. In fact, I prided myself on my independence. I’d had other boyfriends over the years; most had had girlfriends before me, and some had stayed friendly with those girlfriends. It never really bothered me, as long as I felt I wasn’t being toyed with or deceived. I wasn’t clingy, nor was I insecure. I knew that Jim found me attractive, and while Kari was a lovely woman—thick curly hair, dark brown eyes—it wasn’t his ex-wife’s physical appeal that threatened me. It was her ex-husband’s lack of candor and his secrets. Besides, what woman wouldn’t feel troubled if she overheard her husband call his ex-wife “sweetheart,” especially an ex-wife who still wore an engagement ring and wedding ring from a defunct marriage? Maybe that marriage wasn’t so defunct, after all?

Unhappy because of what I knew and uneasy because of what I didn’t, I had watched them with particular attentiveness whenever I could. They seemed at ease together—certainly more at ease than Jim and I were with each other that week. At the same time, they seemed reserved with one another, a reserve I didn’t quite believe. After my heart-to-heart with Jim, however, I’d tried to put aside my suspicions about their relationship.

The secrets of the last few days had left me drained, but at least I had thought we’d arrived at an understanding. And now here we were, back in the same dreadful place.

As the trooper drove the last couple of miles to Drumthwacket, I called Lori on my cell phone and told her I’d just seen Jim’s car heading away from Drumthwacket, and I was upset.

“You know what I’m going to do?” I continued. “I have a plan. I’m going to the Sheraton with Jacqueline tonight, but I’m not going to Jim’s party, I’m going to have dinner in the hotel’s dining room.”

“Dina, why do you want to do that?” said Lori.

“I don’t know. I just don’t want Jim to think I don’t know what he’s doing. I want him to
know
I know. I’m sick of all his secrets. And I can’t believe he’s doing this to me
again.
”

“I’m not so sure this is a great idea,” said Lori, slowly but sympathetically. “You’re really making me nervous. I feel like I should go with you.”

“You don’t have to,” I told her. “I’m going to call Paul and Elvie and ask them to bring Meagan and Nicole. It won’t be a big deal. They live right there in Woodbridge.”

“Dina, I feel so caught!”

Knowing how much Jim cared about appearances and propriety, I confess I also wanted to make him uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as he’d made me.
More
uncomfortable than he’d made me. I wanted all his guests to see me at the Sheraton. I wanted them to be aware that no, I wasn’t coming to Jim’s party, and I wanted them, one after the other, to express their confusion over this to Jim.

“I’m really nervous about what you’re doing,” Lori said again. “I want to go with you, but I feel I can’t, because Jim will be furious.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Back at home, I called Paul and Elvie, who said they could meet me for dinner. Then I changed and told the troopers that I was going out alone. They were concerned about my driving myself and wanted to drive me. I refused. I told them that I would drive myself and would be OK. They asked how long I’d be, and I told them just a couple of hours. But none of them asked where I was going. I’m sure they knew that if I didn’t want them along, it was because I wanted my privacy and didn’t want them to know my whereabouts. The trooper assigned to me said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be OK,” I said.

“Please call if you need anything, ma’am.”

I promised I would. Anyhow, they had my phone number. I took off, with Jacqueline in her car seat, and headed to the Sheraton in Woodbridge, on the phone the entire time with Lori Kennedy, who continued to be both concerned and sympathetic. When I arrived, I described the scene to her. I hurried out of the car and into the hotel, worried that Jim’s security detail would see me. As I entered the lobby, I ran into a few people from Woodbridge who were on their way to the party. They greeted me and said, “We’ll see you inside.”

“Oh, I’m not here for Jim’s party,” I said. “I’m just here to have dinner with some other people.” I could see the confusion in their expressions, but they didn’t ask anything.

I was successful in avoiding the troopers and waited for Paul and Elvie and the girls. When Paul arrived he said, “Do you know Jim is here?”

“Yes,” I said dismissively. “It’s just another Woodbridge event.”

I’m not proud of lying to Paul, but I didn’t want to tell him that I hadn’t been invited.

Just as we were finishing dinner, my cell phone rang. It was Jim. Obviously, someone had mentioned seeing me.

“If you were in the hotel, why didn’t you come to the party?” He said it in his no-big-deal voice, but clearly he knew he was in trouble, and this call was his effort at damage control.

“Why didn’t I come?” I repeated. “If you recall, I wasn’t invited.”

“You could have come to say hello.”

“I don’t go anywhere I’m not invited,” I said.

“I’m going to an event in Jersey City,” he said. “Do you want to come with me?”

“No. I’m going home when I’m done.”

“Come on, why don’t you come with me?”

“No,” I repeated. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I won’t be late,” he said. He knew I was furious. He also knew, and I knew, that whatever story he’d cooked up to explain my absence had been exposed as a lie once the first guest who had seen me appeared in the room. Even those who didn’t know either truth or lie in any detail had to know that something was off.

Jim arrived back at Drumthwacket just as I was preparing to go to bed. When I asked how the party went, he said, “It went well. You should have stopped by.”

“If you wanted me to stop by, you would have invited me,” I shot back.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he insisted. “Kari hasn’t been here in ten years and probably won’t be back for another ten, and I wanted to give people an opportunity to say hello.”

“Oh, that was nice,” I said sarcastically, and went to bed.

16. THE BEGINNING OF THE END

IT WAS JIM’S THIRD
year in office and I was feeling that I had hit my stride as First Lady and also as a working mother. I was one of millions of women juggling the responsibilities of career and family, but in my case I felt as if I had two careers, as well as two families—my immediate family and my extended family, the residents of the state of New Jersey. I was never as proud as the time I heard myself described as “the mother of all New Jersey.”

Some days I might attend a function or play First Lady in the morning and go to work afterward, or perhaps I’d go to the office in the morning and attend a function in the afternoon or evening. As is the case with many working mothers, I often felt guilty at leaving my daughter behind, so I’d take Jacqueline with me whenever possible. If I was going to cut a ribbon, visit a school, or attend a breakfast or some another function where her presence would not be a problem, my little girl would accompany me. If I was expected to make a speech, Nina, my assistant, would keep an eye on her. And of course, there was always a trooper present, which eased my concerns about her getting lost in a crowd. Usually, the guests were all too happy to get a glimpse of Jacqueline and even play with her. She was a sociable child, accustomed to having people around her all the time. She was more than comfortable with Nina and the troopers—
my
troopers, she called them—and felt at ease with strangers, too.

Of course, it wasn’t always smooth sailing. More than once she’d interrupt me during a speech or when I was reading aloud to a group of children, which I did frequently to promote the governor’s literacy initiative and the “Book of the Month Club.” I remember one embarrassing occasion when she asked me for money just as I was preparing to give a speech. All I wanted to do was to keep her quiet, so I gave her my wallet. What a mistake that was. She ran down the aisle of the room, credit card in hand, shouting, “Yay! I have Mommy’s credit card!” I needn’t have worried about her causing a scene. Who could do anything but laugh? What I still don’t get, though, is how my little munchkin, then just two years old, understood what a credit card was. (I shudder to think what’s in store for me!)

Sometimes having Jacqueline around while I assumed the responsibilities of First Lady in addition to working mother served to remind me of the importance of having a platform. I had gotten involved in the March of Dimes to promote awareness of the dangers of premature birth, its impact on families and health care costs, and the need for funding for education to prevent the increase in premature births. On this particular occasion I was speaking about my experience at a press conference in a hospital in South Jersey—the goal was to promote a new program for parents of premature children—and as I mentioned Jacqueline’s name, she ran up to the podium as if to say “I’m here!!” Watching her run around as a normal and spirited child gave parents of premature babies hope that their child might also thrive in spite of the current challenges facing them. It was during that same event that Jacqueline accompanied me to the NICU. She never forgot that visit, and for a while talked endlessly about the tiny babies she saw at the hospital, and the nice doctors who cared for them. More than once, however, she has reminded me that while she may have been one of those tiny babies, that was once upon a time ago. She’s a
big girl
! I guess that’s why it’s been ages since she’s let me call her
my baby.