“That makes sense though,” Lola says.
“And that she’s pregnant with his baby,” I mutter.
“What the ever-loving fuck?”
“He told me she was making a claim. He says it’s not true.”
“Oh, it better not be true!”
I nod, closing my eyes. As soon as I do, vivid memories of being surrounded by cameras in New Mexico, accusations being shouted, slam into me and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Lola takes my arm and helps me to the sofa where I sit and try not to hyperventilate.
“You’re having a panic attack, I think,” she says, handing me a cool washcloth. “Here. Put this on your head or something.”
“Did you guys seriously just quit for me?” I ask, fighting the rise in panic. Guilt starts to take over, adding to the panic and I struggle to sit up, but Lola puts a hand on my shoulder.
“We did. But that’s nothing for you to worry about. Odds are he’ll be calling us to come back to work by next week and we’ll just demand a raise,” she winks.
I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but I choose to go with it. I need the reprieve from one of the burdens on me right now.
“I do think maybe you need to call the police,” she says. “Just to be sure.”
“But do I want to even bring them into it? I mean, that puts it on record.” I lean my head back and place the washcloth on my face. “If I ignore it, maybe she will too.”
Lola thinks about it, popping a piece of gum in her mouth. “I think you should try to get ahold of Barrett.”
“He’s at that event. With Daphne.” The thought rolls my stomach, makes bile rise quickly. “I probably can’t get him anyway.”
“Try it. I really think you should. Someone in his campaign needs to know what happened in case he’s asked about it. You know how fast word travels, Ali. Be smart. Use your head, not your heart.”
I sit up, knowing she’s right and feeling stupid not thinking about it sooner. I grab my phone and dial Barrett. It rings three times before it’s answered. My heart leaps in my chest as I wait for him to speak.
“Hello?” a voice asks, but it’s not Barrett. I pull the phone away from my face to make sure I’ve dialed the right number.
“I’m trying to find Barrett Landry. This is Alison Baker.”
“He’s occupied right now, Ms. Baker,” a man says.
“There’s no way I can speak with him?”
“No, there isn’t. He’s in the Garalent Gala with Ms. Monroe right now. I believe they’re eating dinner as we speak.”
“I . . .” I’m thrown for a loop, not expecting that. “Who am I talking to?”
“I’m sorry. This is Nolan, Mr. Landry’s Chief-of-Staff. I apologize for my lack of manners this evening.”
“Can you tell Barrett I called?” I squeak. I don’t feel comfortable with this guy, not comfortable enough to tell him about my night or clue him into anything. Something’s wrong, I feel it.
“I wanted to talk to you anyway, Ms. Baker, and thank you for doing your part in this campaign. You’ve done a splendid job, more than I ever expected.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not many women would’ve been up for the challenge of playing the part of the Mayor’s girlfriend like you have. It’s benefitted his campaign immensely to look like a benefactor to you and your kid. You’ve helped us fortify his reputation, and I can’t thank you enough. You can be assured we’ll cut you a check for your services once the campaign is over.”
Tears hit my eyes again, his words echoing Daphne’s. I feel so used, that everything has been dual-purpose because I do believe Barrett likes me. But was this angle factored into it?
The tears fall harder after I look up at the television screen that Lola has just turned on. Barrett is on the screen, looking devilishly handsome in a navy suit and deep red and white tie. And beside him, looking as regal as the mayor himself, is Daphne Monroe.
She tilts her head to the side, her arm around his waist, and flashes him a wide smile. I can’t see his face from that angle, but the display is enough to make me sick.
I don’t respond to Nolan. I can’t. I just end the call and run to the bathroom hoping to make it before I vomit on the floor.
Barrett
My face hurts from the pseudo-smile plastered across my cheeks. I don’t let it slip despite the discomfort because if I allow a crack in the veneer, I know I won’t be able to get it back. Although I’ve had to fake it a million times before, I’ve never had to put it on like this.
A man that’s been waiting to talk to me for over an hour finally makes his way to my table. My food is untouched, my wine still full, as I gather my wits to entertain another possible voter.