Reed clicked around and pulled up a window that contained a story from a political gossip site. “The story’s from three years ago, the middle of Park’s term in the Assembly.”
The vague headline and the opening paragraph didn’t say much. The first part of the article described a California congressman who’d been caught leaving a gay bar, but as Reed scrolled down, Jackson saw a very fuzzy photo of some guy talking to Park, and their body language was so unambiguously flirty that Jackson didn’t need to read the story to know what it implied. “CliffsNotes version.”
“The story is trying to out a bunch of Republicans, including one Jimmy O’Dowd. You remember him?”
“No. Should I?”
“He was an Assemblyman from upstate somewhere. This photo is not super conclusive. The article makes a joke about how handsome Parker Livingston is and no wonder O’Dowd wanted to get in his pants, but it doesn’t actually out Park. It does out O’Dowd. Two weeks after this articlewas posted, O’Dowd got busted paying for a male escort to accompany him on a trip to Europe. Paid the kid with taxpayer money.”
“Oh, sure, I do remember that.” Jackson peered at the screen, trying to discern if he could read anything into the photo. He felt a spike of jealousy, wondering if Park had slept with this sleaze. He was surprised to find himself worried on Park’s behalf; no matterhow much resentment Jackson felt, outing was a shitty thing to do to a person. Even if Jackson would prefer Park be out, that didn’t mean he wanted the media to do that for him.
“Park’s tremendously discreet, if not a goddamn monk. Gay politicians always at least have some rumors, but there’s almost nothing about Park.”
“Almostnothing.”
Reed shrugged. “Internet conjecture. Park hasexpensive tastes and tends to dress well, which is natural given his net worth—do you know his net worth?”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
“You don’t, no. More money than we’ll ever see in our lifetimes. Must be nice to be a member of the one percent.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “More Internet conjecture?”
Reed grinned and turned back toward the computer. He clicked around some moreand brought up a photo of what looked like Park at a state fair. “That’s Mr. Livingston at the Dutchess County Fair last year, schmoozing with potential voters and donors. You’ll note his outfit.”
Jackson recognized Park’s plaid pants as being from the Thom Browne collection from a couple of years back; they were just the sort of thing Park used to get excited about, but wearing somethingso colorful and fashion-forward to a county fair seemed like an especially silly thing to do. Not that Jackson didn’t enjoy Park’s more eccentric taste in clothing, but fashion-forward outfits were a way to draw attention to himself that Park probably didn’t want. Unless he just gave up the pretense. “Right, because being fashionable makes one gay.”
“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I’llpoint out again that wanting to fuck men makes you gay. Although those pants are kind of an eyesore.”
“They’re a lot, yeah. I think Park’s pulling them off, though.”
“You’re biased. Anyway, the Internet collectively conjectured that no straight man would wear pink and yellow plaid pants out in public, but fancy clothes aren’t a lot to go on when you’re trying to sniff out someone’s sexuality.Park said in an interview later that the pants were just a thing he wanted to try, and then he self-deprecatingly called himself a fashion victim.”
“Lies. I bet he loves those pants. And can’t wear them in public anymore.” Jackson shook his head. It was a shame, really. Park loved bright colors and patterns; he’d modeled a lot of crazy clothing for Jackson when they’d been together, and hepulled a lot of it off. Jackson felt a pang of fondness that he tried to push aside. “Is this all you have? Vague, unconfirmed gay rumors, ugly pants, and a less-than-desirable voting record?”
“He voted against that bank regulation bill you were super gung ho about.”
Jackson rubbed his forehead. “So, fine, you’ll be voting for Thompson for Senate. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually.” Reedpicked up his phone and flipped through some screens. “I didn’t have time to make a nice presentation with this information, mostly because I prioritized photos of your ex-boyfriend wearing clown pants, because, well, reasons.”
“Thanks. Glad you entertained yourself.”
“But I looked into the victim. Zoe Haufman?”
“I already know her parents donated some substantial sum of money to Park’scampaign.”
“Here’s the deal. Zoe was one of those women who are famous among certain circles in New York City primarily because her parents are important and she goes to a lot of parties. Her father ran for mayor in the seventies, though he didn’t win, obviously, and then he worked for Ed Koch for a while. He also owned some kind of retail outlet, a coat store downtown somewhere that he soldto one of the big chains for an undisclosed sum that was enough to keep his wife in designer dresses and an Upper West Side apartment for a few decades. And this was all before Goldman Sachs hired him to manage a couple of their high-profile accounts.”
“Lord.”
“The gossip columnists like Zoe because she’s pretty, but also spoiled and bratty with a tendency to cause scenes at parties. Afew months ago, she got rip-roaring drunk at a new restaurant opening and barfed in the lap of a mayoral aide, which did not go over so well.”
“I can imagine.”
“There’s a lot of Internet conjecture about Ms. Haufman, too, most of it hinting at a cocaine or alcohol problem, but there isn’t a lot of documented evidence, probably because her parents cover it up.”
“Of course.”
