Right. There was Sarah, and Ben’s promise to himself that he’d never get too close to me again. “You have nothing to regret,” I said. “Trust me. Sleeping next to you was the definition of meaningless.”
Ben’s expression flipped to the same one he’d worn the day we met in the governor’s office—coolly neutral. Then he turned his gaze away. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Hey,” I said brightly. “The good news is, we’ve got two out of three yeses under our belt. That’s huge. Only one more to go. Whoever wins McBuck’s vote wins the competition.”
He took a deep breath and nodded, seeming to center himself. “You’re right. One more leg, and the campaign is over. We’ll keep it professional, pass the bill and go our separate ways. Back to normal.”
He nodded at me, satisfied, and gave me a clipped goodbye, then jogged down the last few steps and out the governor’s wrought iron gate.
One more yes, then some silly peacocking overwinnerandassistant, and then there would be no more reason to see Ben. I’d go back to life BBRI—Before Ben Rudely Interrupted. I’d either win and get the bill over the line, then make my case for vice president of public affairs, or I’d lose, and settle for communications. But—and this was an important but—either way, I’d get to walk away with the personal victory of knowing I’d kept my thoughts and feelings about Ben under control this time. I’d walk away as smoothly and professionally and indifferently as he would. I could revise that Fourth and Final Major Heartbreak from a Level 5 Catastrophic Life Event to a Level 2 Minor Blip with Eventual Resolution.
On the one hand, there would be no more bill to chase, so there’d be no more goal to give my life purpose. But on the other, without Ben, I could go back to being carefree Stoner, messaging maven by day, practitioner of the debauched arts by night. There’d be no one around to throw a wrench in my life by asking invasive questions like,What’s wrong with you?or making me think about my flaws or grinning at me with a wide, sexy, smart-ass charm that made me want to chuck the meager amount of self-restraint I possessed.
I would go back to regular life, except with the added twist that Ben was no longer thousands of miles away in California, but right here in Austin, potentially around every corner. And yet, in every way that mattered, just as untouchable.
It was what I’d wanted from the beginning. So. Obviously, I could not wait.
15
No Comment
It was 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night, and—stop the presses—Ben Laderman wasdrunk. Not regular drunk—goofy, overblown facial expressions drunk. Too invested in unimportant things drunk. No filter drunk. And at aworkevent, no less. Credit where credit was due: it was all thanks to Mrs. Alice Graham, sexagenarian wife of Mendax Oil’s VP of international sales. Avid lover of yoga, oysters, virile young men and long walks on the beach. That was, verbatim, the way she’d introduced herself to Ben, emphasis onsexagenarian.
Alice was the grand dame of the Hudson County Wine Festival, the premier wine-tasting event in Senator McBuck’s district. As such, she had unlimited access to every single vintage on display tonight. All of which she’d poured, together with increasingly suggestive eyebrow arches and forearm strokes, into Ben’s tasting glass.
For all of his defensiveness and whip-smart verbal acuity when it came to taking down snotty law students, Ben was rendered helpless when it came to certain demographics. Kids. Single parents. Anyone in need of financial, emotional or physical aid. And, apparently, lonely, thirsty older women. In the beginning, he’d tried to protest each new glass of wine Alice handed him, but—outmatched by her persistence—he’d finally given up, resigning himself to tasting each new glass with a murmuredHmm, oakyorYou’re right, the tannins are quite voluptuous.
From the moment Alice zeroed in on Ben and beelined to our table, right after we’d set up the Green Machine signage and fanned out the pamphlets, I had ceased to exist, allowed to simply stand back, watch Ben grow increasingly red-faced and awkward, and take scrupulous notes on Alice’s highly advanced flirting techniques.
Needless to say, it was possibly the best night of my life.
“I don’t think that was a full pour,” I pointed out, helpfully tapping the high-water mark on Ben’s glass. “He won’t be able to reallytasteit unless he’s got enough in there.”
Alice blinked behind horn-rimmed glasses for a second, taking note of me for the first time in an hour. Her white hair was curled uniformly into a bob under her chin, and she wore a cotton-candy pink dress that hugged every curve of her body, screaminglook at me. It was a look I was, in all honesty, extremely into. I would have asked her where she bought the dress, but something told me Alice Graham and I weren’t in the same economic bracket. Maybe it was the rope of fist-sized diamonds around her neck.
While I was cataloging every article of her clothing, Alice, for her part, seemed surprised to find someone else was standing behind the Green Machine booth besides Ben. But, with practiced composure, she quickly hid her shock and nodded.
“Quite, quite. Not enough in the glass to taste.” She tipped the bottle over Ben’s glass and more red wine glugged out. “You know, New Zealand pinots are all the rage right now. Eugene—” here she slid Ben a sly look to see if he’d taken notice she’d referenced her husband “—bought me a case the moment the bottle prices started skyrocketing.”
Unfortunately for Alice, Ben was too busy shooting me a look that said,What the hell are you doing, you enabling fiend—all sky-high eyebrows, panicked eyes and indignant twist of mouth—to be piqued into jealousy by the mention of her husband. Fortunately for me, he’d drunk enough wine that I was sure he’d forget my transgression in a minute or two.
“Al,” I said, taking the liberty of giving Alice a nickname and a gentle pat on the arm. “Speaking of Eugene, I think I saw him looking for you.”
Alice jerked away, scanning the grounds.
I pointed. “Over there, by the Barbaresco tables. He seemed worried, judging by the look on his face.”
She straightened, clutched her bottle and glanced at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I should probably get back to the gals.”
“Thanks for the generous pours,” I said, because even though she hadn’t poured a single ounce of wine into my glass, I’d had fun drinking what Ben couldn’t finish.
“You,” Alice said, directing her full attention to Ben, who gulped. “You have the face of... It’s so familiar...”
“James Dean?” he suggested, pulling his shoulders back and sticking his thumbs in his belt loops like he was posing in a leather jacket.
“Clark Kent,” I supplied. Ben was wearing contacts tonight, which was why she was thrown.
Alice’s eyes lit up. “Clark Kent.That’s exactly it.” She slipped a hand up her sleeve and, right in front of my eyes, turned out a business card. “This is me. Cell’s on the back.”
