His face brightens when I walk in. “Good morning, Albert,” he says, and then sees what’s in my hand. “Is that a coffee in my favorite mug?”
“Yes it is.” A Le Creuset mug, identical to the ones next to the Nespresso machine downstairs in his office, which cost an astounding $34 apiece. (I’m loath to say it, but it’s exactly these kind of exorbitant purchases that explain why Sam’s photo was on the front page of the paper yesterday next to a story about his “financial troubles,” but I certainly don’t have the heart to tell him that.) I push the cart closer to his bed and step on the brake. “Guess who slept with a call girl?”
Sam struggles to swallow a mouthful of coffee. “Wait, what?”
Seeing the look on his face, I burst into laughter. “No, not me,” I say. “Sam Seaborne, deputy White House communications director in the Bartlet White House. Rob Lowe’s character.” I empty the pitcher of warm water into the basin and reach for a washcloth. “I’m watching West Wing.”
“Is that right?” Sam says. “That’s my favorite show.”
“No kidding?” I feign shock. “Mine too.” (This is not a lie. I finished the series last night, and I’m so hooked that as soon as the last episode ended, I went back to the beginning to watch it all again.) “In fact, I’m kind of a West Wing fanatic,” Sam says, animated. “The woman’s name is Laurie, and she’s played by the actress Lisa Edelstein. She’s a law student, trying to pay her way through law school. Sam Seaborne didn’t know she was a prostitute when he slept with her.”
“At least not on a conscious level,” I say under my breath as I dunk the washcloth into the water.
“Sorry?” Sam says. “What did you say?”
“Sam Seaborne hasn’t had a stable relationship in his life. And okay, fine, while he says he wasn’t aware of her profession, it’s clear that deep down, on some level, he knew she was unavailable. That’s why he was attracted to her.”
“Huh,” Sam says. “Interesting.”
“And you want to know why he’s like this?” I continue, wringing out the washcloth. “Because of his father’s affair. When Sam Seaborne found out that his father had been having an affair, for twenty-eight years, while married to his mother, it deeply shook his idea of what he can and cannot depend on. And don’t even get me started on Josh Lyman.” I approach Sam’s bed. “What?” I say, noticing the look on his face.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I can relate to what you’re saying.”
“You can?” I ask, tilting his chin toward the ceiling. “How?”
“My dad left my mother for another woman,” he says. “Moved out on my fourteenth birthday, to be exact.” I gently clean around his stitches. “Learning that your dad is unfaithful can mess with your mind, and like Sam Seaborne, I used girls to make that pain go away.” Sam grimaces. “It's shameful how good I was at manipulating girls.”
I step back. “I never understood guys like you,” I say. “No offense, but it always seemed like the bigger the jerk a boy was, the more girls who wanted to date him. How on earth did you do it?”
Sam looks me in the eye. “You want in on the secret to seducing a girl?”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Sit down,” Sam says, nodding at his chair.
I slowly make my way across the room.
“Taking advantage of a girl is a delicate dance,” Sam says when I’m seated. “But it comes down to one thing in particular.” He pauses.
“What?”
“Finding their weakness and exploiting it. You have to make them think you care about them. Convince them you’ve never felt this way before. But the quickest way to get her?” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Tears.”
“Tears?”
“Yeah, a past regret. A dead dog. A dad who walks out on your fourteenth birthday. Throw some fake tears into that mix, and you’re going to have a naked girl underneath you in ten minutes flat.”
“That’s repulsive,” I say.
“I know it is. Now, I mean. I didn’t see it that way when I was younger.”
I hesitate. “Can I offer a theory?”
Sam nods.
“You used girls to feel validated,” I suggest. “A series of standins for what you ultimately wanted: your father’s love.”
He holds my gaze. “Huh,” he says. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I blamed myself for my father leaving, and sleeping with a new girl was the only thing that made me feel worthwhile. I was always on the hunt for the next.” He closes his eyes, wincing. “I hurt quite a few people.”
“In some ways, you were doing what was expected of you,” I say. “Being a boy.”
He nods. “It hasn’t always been easy, being a guy.” He laughs. “I can imagine my wife’s face, if she could hear us. Two white guys bellyaching about our lot in life. That would not go over well.”
“I hope you still don’t believe it’s your fault your father left,” I say.
“I don’t, actually. Not anymore. All thanks to Clarissa Boyne.”