The Dirty Secret (3 page)

Tabatha’s laughter rose out of her belly in billowing waves before slowly fading away. “You should have thought about that before you fucked me, Governor.” Caressing the side of his face with her right palm, she stared at him, seemingly amused. Then she stood up on her tiptoes and gently kissed his cheek before walking into the bathroom. Chuckling again with her back to him, she called over her shoulder, “Yeah, you should have thought about that
before
you fucked me.” Then she pulled the bathroom door shut.

Vincent retrieved his black boxers from the foot of the bed and clumsily slid them up his legs. Collapsing on the bed, he silently cursed his weakness – his abject
stupidity
– for getting involved with the dangerous succubus named Tabatha McCallen.

CHAPTER 5

ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 6:00 P.M.

Sitting at her mother’s dining room table, Rikki stared at the aging framed pictures that adorned the room’s walls. The familiar aromas of ginger and garlic wafted from the kitchen, reminding Rikki of her childhood and contributing to the strong sense of nostalgia that the old family pictures evoked.

The largest framed photo in the room was an 11x17 studio portrait taken when she was seven years old. Her father had just moved the family from Chicago and opened his pediatrics practice in St. Marys that summer, prior to the start of her third-grade year. An only child, Rikki wore a white sundress with her long black hair hanging over her mocha shoulders. Smiling broadly with a mischievous glint in her pale green eyes, she was flanked by her obviously adoring parents clad in their now dated Sunday best.

Positioned slightly above and to the right of that portrait was an informal 8x10 photo taken the night of her high school graduation ceremony. Wearing the distinctive purple robe and mortarboard donned by generations of Pleasants County High School students, Rikki was blossoming into womanhood. One of her classmates – a slightly taller young man with white skin, brown hair and green eyes – stood to her left with his right arm draped around her neck. Her mother stood smiling in a dark blue silk dress to the boy’s left while her irrepressible father, Dr. G, was positioned to Rikki’s right in a black three-piece suit.

Like so many times in the past, Rikki felt a pang in her stomach as she stared at that graduation snapshot. She had asked her mother to take it down, suggesting other photos that could be hung in its place. She had argued with her mother, passionately insisting that its prominent position was inappropriate, and she eventually
demanded
that the picture be removed from the dining room wall. Her efforts were to no avail. Madhani Gudivada insisted that she liked the graduation photo and steadfastly refused to put it away. Knowing that her own stubbornness was but a poor reflection of her mother’s pigheadedness, Rikki finally gave up and just tried to ignore the picture whenever she visited.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Rikki tore her thoughts from the past and glanced over to see her mother carrying a white Corning dish filled with
khorma
into the dining room. The distinctive smell of garlic, ginger and paprika filled the room, and the sight of steaming cubes of lamb mixed with fresh whole potatoes and baby carrots made Rikki smile.

“Could you bring the
roti
out of the kitchen, honey?” Madhani asked in strongly accented words that reflected her Gujarati upbringing. Rikki nodded and walked into the kitchen, returning quickly with a plate of warm
roti
shells in her hands.

Placing the
roti
on the table, Rikki watched her mother scoop a small helping of
khorma
onto her plate without taking a seat. Rikki stared at her quizzically, as her mother habitually insisted they eat at the dining room table even though it was only the two of them now. “Aren’t we going to eat in here?”

Her mother seemed surprised by the question. “Oh, no,” she responded, donning a shy grin as she slid past Rikki. “I saw the Channel Five van at the courthouse and thought they might show you on the news.” Pride and a touch of excitement were evident in her voice, as she turned and walked into the living room carrying the plate. Two small black folding tables were already situated in front of the burgundy couch, facing the television.

Rikki chuckled softly.
God, Mom is cute
, she thought. It reminded Rikki of her grade school trip to the regional spelling bee when her mother had planted herself in front of the TV just hoping to catch a glimpse of her little girl on the local newscast.

After helping herself to some
khorma
and
roti
, Rikki carried her plate and a glass of ice water into the living room and sat down on the right side of the couch. Her mother nibbled at her food while gazing at the television, seemingly enthralled by coverage of a tractor-trailer accident on I-77. Rikki swirled a torn piece of
roti
in the
khorma
and took a bite. As always, her mother had used the precise combination of spices that Rikki felt perfectly accentuated the tender lamb meat.

After an excruciating segment about two women who dressed their dogs up for a make-believe wedding, the coverage turned to the election. “County courthouses all over West Virginia are struggling to cope with a deluge of reporters from around the world as post-election canvasses kicked off today,” said the smiling blonde anchorwoman. “Melissa Dotson was in Pleasants County this morning, as the county commission tackled this important task.”

The screen flashed to a shot of the courthouse’s front portico and the four white Doric columns that were its most prominent features. An attractive brunette in her late twenties held a microphone emblazoned with WTAP’s logo in her left hand. “Although the stakes are high, the atmosphere here in Saint Marys was low key as county commissioners conducted the official canvass of last Tuesday’s election returns.”

The video switched to a prerecorded scene inside the commission’s hearing room. Alice Snyder’s mouth moved silently while the reporter’s voiceover continued. “With only eighteen challenged ballots up for grabs here, the results from all of the county and legislative races remained unchanged. But the presidential campaign of Senator Melanie Wilson garnered a net increase of three votes, raising her supporters’ hopes that similar results elsewhere might swing West Virginia’s five electoral votes into the Senator’s camp and ensure her election.”

Rikki smiled and softly clapped her hands. Her mother’s attention remained fixed on the television.

“What do you have to say about these results, Senator?” the reporter asked, directing her microphone toward Jack McCallen’s face.

“Well, it really wasn’t surprising, Melissa. Senator Wilson carried Pleasants County on Tuesday night and she picked up a few more votes here today. But historically, canvasses don’t change an election’s results because challenged ballots tend to break along the same percentages as the initial returns. So we expect Governor Royal to pick up additional votes in the counties where he ran strongest – like Kanawha, Putnam, Berkeley and Jefferson – with the final result being the same as it was on Tuesday night.”

As Jack finished his statement, Rikki’s face briefly appeared onscreen as she walked across the room behind him. “There you are!” her mother exclaimed, reaching over to pat her left forearm. “You look so beautiful and …
professional
, honey. Your father would have been so proud of you.”

Rikki looked at her mom and grinned, but said nothing. Even though he had been gone almost fifteen years, she still missed her dad immensely. Nothing in the world had bucked up her spirits like hearing Dr. G tell one of his engaging stories or let out a heartfelt laugh, and his death from cancer at the age of fifty-two continued to strike Rikki as exceedingly unfair.

Lost in her own thoughts, Rikki missed the end of the report from Pleasants County. “Meanwhile,” the anchor continued. “Another area native is continuing to make headlines around the world through his work on Governor Royal’s presidential campaign. For more on this story, we go to Brad Billingsley down in Madison. Brad…”

An immaculately dressed black man appeared on-screen with a microphone in his hand. “That’s right, Emily. The proceedings here in Boone County were far more contentious than those Melissa covered. There are 112 challenged ballots at stake here, and it looks like every one of them will be intensely scrutinized and hotly debated by the lawyers representing the two presidential candidates. And coordinating the efforts of Governor Royal’s team on the ground here in Madison was none other than Saint Marys’ own Dave Anderson.”

Rikki’s stomach dropped as she heard his name. Her mother’s smile vanished, and she glanced over at Rikki, gauging her reaction.

The station began broadcasting images from inside Boone County’s impressive, cavernous old courtroom. Standing behind three lawyers with his arms crossed, Dave closely followed the arguments unfolding before him as the reporter continued speaking over the video feed. “The salutatorian of his class at Pleasants County High School, Anderson has been a prominent advisor to Governor Royal for years, and he’s leading the campaign’s post-election efforts in West Virginia. Today, he was here in Madison monitoring the canvass in this crucial county with a colorful history of creative electioneering.”

Rikki bit her lip and stared at the screen, studying Dave’s face. Part of her wished he had grown prematurely old and grotesquely fat.
Maybe balding with a bad comb over, too.
But he looked fit and trim in his dark blue pinstriped suit, his broad shoulders filling it out nicely. His dark brown hair was streaked with gray, but his eyes still burned with an intensity she knew she would never forget.

“So how are things looking, Mr. Anderson?” the reporter asked in a prerecorded interview. The open-domed, golden belvedere of Boone County’s courthouse hovered over Dave’s left shoulder.

Dave smiled and arched his left eyebrow. “Well, we’ve been tradin’ punches pretty good in there,” he said in his mountain twang. “Governor Royal is still standin’ tall right now, but it’s only about the third round. Ask me again in a few weeks.”

Rikki briefly cracked a grin despite herself. Noting her reaction, Madhani smiled, too.

“So how does it feel to be back in West Virginia?” the reporter asked.

Dave paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, and then his smile widened slightly. “You know, I grew up in Pleasants County and some of the most important people in my life still live there. I’m deeply honored to have the privilege of workin’ for a man like Governor Royal, but West Virginia will always be home to me, and it feels good to be home again.” Then Dave emitted a quick, loud chuckle. “The next time I come home, though, I hope it’s under less stressful circumstances.”

The interview ended, and a live shot of the reporter standing in front of the dingy white limestone courthouse returned to the screen. “The canvass will continue here in Boone County tomorrow morning at nine. From Madison, this is Brad Billingsley reporting.”

The newscast kept rolling, but Rikki remained silent. After a few awkward moments, her mother broke the silence. “I saw David’s mother at the store on Wednesday. She said he had asked how your election went and told her to congratulate you for him.”

Rikki’s eyes flamed but her voice was cold. “Tell Ellen I said, ‘Hi,’ the next time you see her.”

Madhani Gudivada sighed deeply. “It’s been a long time, daughter,” she said softly, placing her hand on Rikki’s left thigh. “I think you would be happier if you could find a way to forgive him. You two were so close for so long, and it breaks my heart that you cannot at least be
friends
again.”

Rikki breathed in, gathering her thoughts. Throughout her life, she had tried to think before she spoke, heeding her father’s admonition that words cannot be taken back once they are spoken. Seconds later, her voice sounded calm, though distant. “It broke
my
heart that when Daddy got sick, Dave decided to stay in school in Charlottesville. He
knew
I had to come home to help you take care of him. I
begged
him just to take a semester off to come home and support me and he told me, ‘No.’”

Sadness filled Madhani’s eyes, and she shook her head lightly. Rikki knew her mother probably could not count the times she had heard similar sentiments. But the passing of 15 years had not changed her feelings. Asked to choose between his high school sweetheart – and best friend – on one hand, and finishing his last three months of law school on the other, Dave had opted to graduate on time. He gambled that Dr. G would be fine until summer.

But the cancer ravaging the doctor’s body had spread faster than predicted, and Dave lost that wager. Dr. G passed away the last day of Dave’s final exams. Rikki never forgave him for leaving her alone during those difficult days, as she watched life slowly ebb from her father and as her mother watched the love of her life inexorably slip away.

“Yet you refuse to acknowledge that your own
father
told David to stay in school,” Madhani stated. “He would have forfeited his full scholarship if he did not graduate on time, and he listened to your father’s advice. After all these years, Sarika, hasn’t he been punished enough?”

Rikki looked into her mother’s pleading dark eyes and felt the foundation underlying her pain and rage soften just a little. It
had
been a long time. But she remained silent as she grabbed her half-finished plate and walked to the kitchen, privately contemplating her response.

CHAPTER 6

GOVERNOR’S MANSION
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 12:15 P.M.

Luke Vincent stood in the living quarters of the Governor’s Mansion, staring blankly at the Kanawha River. The television was tuned to CNN where self-important talking heads blathered about the myriad ways the ongoing election drama might play out. The governor paid them no attention. Standing silently with his back to the TV, his gaze remained fixed on the broad expanse of water flowing north toward its confluence with the Ohio River.