Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [35]
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know. What I do know is that you and Bob have forged a remarkable life together. You’re about to become the first family of this country, Deb. First Lady of the land.”
“At what price?” She sighed deeply and drank.
Connie didn’t respond, and Deborah continued. “Connie, I’ve made a decision.”
Her friend’s laugh was forced. “Any decision is better than no decision,” she said, lightly, a smile on her face. “Isn’t that what the shrinks say?” Her expression now turned serious. “You aren’t saying… ?”
“I’m afraid I am. I can’t do this anymore, Connie. I can’t keep putting on this campaign face, pretending as though everything is wonderful between Bob and me, asking people for money to fund what is, in reality, one great big sham. I’m dropping out of the marriage and the campaign.”
Connie’s glass slipped from her hand as she suddenly got up and stood over her friend. “Don’t say that, Deb,” she said. She picked up the glass from the floor and ran her foot over the cognac that had stained the beige carpet. “Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t worry about the carpet,” Deborah said.
Connie used a small napkin the housekeeper had provided with the snacks.
“I said, don’t worry about it!” Deborah said sharply, causing Connie to look up, surprised at her friend’s icy tone.
“I intend to tell Bob of my decision when he gets back from his Midwest swing,” Deborah said. “Frankly, I don’t care what his reaction is. Oh, I can certainly anticipate it. He’ll talk about how the pressures of campaigning have me on edge, and how once the campaign is over, we’ll be able to settle back into the life we once had, how we can’t do this to the kids—kids? they’re all grown—and how the country needs us to undo the damage Pyle has done to the nation. It’s all bullshit, Connie. I’ve had it.”
“I need a refill,” Connie said, going to a leather-fronted freestanding bar and refreshing her drink. “Deb?”
“What? No, nothing more for me.”
Connie resumed her chair opposite her friend. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” she said, “or that you mean it. You’ll absolutely destroy Bob’s run for the White House, and no matter how angry you are about what’s going on inside your marriage, there’s a nation to think about.”
Deborah guffawed. “You sound like one of his speechwriters or strategists, Connie. The hell with the good of the country. What I’ve come to care about is what’s good for me, and staying married and continuing to campaign isn’t. You haven’t had to live it, the rumors about Bob’s affairs, the pitiful looks at me as a woman who stands by her man either because she’s too weak to leave, or because she’s power-hungry and sticks with him to get to the White House.” She energetically shook her head, sending her blond hair in motion. “I can’t do it anymore, Connie. I just can’t.”
The tears flowed. Connie wrapped her arms around Deborah as though to provide a shield against the hurt her friend was suffering. “You’re exhausted,” she said softly. “You need some time off.” She pulled back and her voice stiffened. “But don’t jump ship now, Deb. Please, go away for a day or two, a spa, New York and a few Broadway musicals, anything to change the dynamic. If you want to go through with it after that, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But please, Deb, sleep on it.”
“All right,” Deborah said.
“Have you discussed this with anyone else?” Connie asked. “Anyone in the campaign?”
“No.” Deborah managed a smile. “You’re stuck with being my only sounding board.”
“And proud to be,” Connie said. “I have to run.”
“And so do I. I’m having dinner with a couple of senators who’re backing Bob. The show must go on, huh?”
“And so it must. Remember what I said. Find a break of a day or two and get away. It’ll do you wonders.”
Deborah walked Connie to the front door and watched her cross the street to her car. She returned their glasses and plates to the kitchen, went back to the library, pulled her cell phone from her purse, and dialed.
Jerry Rollins answered.