Fourteen
As we make our way to Denver, which will be the setting for both my next campaign event and the next debate between General Bennett and my father, I’m completely on edge. I’m terrified that any day now, someone—be it my mom, my dad or, worst of all, Suzette—is going to confront me about my relationship with Chris. I’ve been avoiding him resolutely since our close call in the bathroom. I’m slightly paranoid that my avoidance of him will just further raise suspicions, but I’ve rationalized that I can always chalk it up to my rigorous study schedule. The truth is, I’m so distracted by anxiety, I couldn’t concentrate on studying if you paid me.
When my incessant paranoia remains unfounded for about a week, I finally start to relax. Maybe it’s possible that my mom in fact doesn’t know about Chris and me. When I think about it, I realize that I’ve been basing all of my fear on one slightly suspicious look, and it hits me just how incredibly foolish I’ve been. Of course my mom doesn’t know anything! But I’m still steering clear of Chris just in case—at least when we’re on the campaign bus.
By the time the day of my rally at the University of Colorado rolls around, I’ve pretty much managed to put my worries out of my mind. Well, the ones about Chris, at least. I’ve got bigger things to worry about, namely not screwing up this campaign appearance and angering Suzette even further, which I’m sure this time would result in even more dire consequences. Normally I wouldn’t be nervous about a rally alone, but this one will be followed by a brief question-and-answer period. I’ve got all my pre-packaged answers memorized, but what if someone asks a question Suzette never thought to drill me on? I realize, of course, how unlikely this is, given the breadth of Suzette’s preparation, but you never know.
These thoughts are circling through my mind as I wait backstage in the auditorium as the chancellor introduces me. When I hear my cue, I take a deep breath and step out onstage to the sound of thunderous applause. It’s almost like being back at the convention, only this time, my skirt is exactly where it should be (believe me, I checked).
I run through my speech effortlessly, and before I know it, it’s time for questions. The first few are ones that I’ve gone over with Suzette before, and I answer them all perfectly. Just when I’m starting to allow myself to feel happy about the way things are going, I notice a tall guy in a blue button-down shirt walking down the aisle to the microphone to ask the next question. Hmm, I think. That guy looks an awful lot like Jake. As he approaches the mic stand, I suddenly realize with horror that it is Jake.
I start to panic, and I feel my hands get sweaty. I swallow hard. What is Jake doing here? Why does he keep turning up at my campaign appearances? And more importantly, who allowed him a turn to ask a question? It’s obvious that he’s going to try to sabotage me, I think, my heart pounding. I mean, he already did it to my father at the debate by leaking my mistake at the SLU event to the moderator. And since that backfired, now he’s going to try and undermine me as well. I can’t believe it! I knew he was a jerk, but this is just really dirty.
Then again, I remind myself, he can’t do anything to sabotage me if I don’t let him. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, preparing for battle, as Jake clears his throat and begins to speak.
“Julia,” he says, his voice echoing through the auditorium, “my question for you today is this: Will you accept my sincerest apologies for the way I’ve behaved during this campaign?”
I let out a shocked little laugh and look around in amazement. Did I really just hear that? It seems so, as the audience has clearly figured out who Jake is by now and is humming with the buzz of excited whispers.
Before I can think of anything to say, Jake continues.
“Throughout the campaign, I’ve been unforgivably rude to you. And while I could brush that off as a natural part of the competition, the fact is, that’s not the truth. There’s no justification for the way I’ve acted, and I’m ashamed of it. So I’ve come here today to ask you publicly for your forgiveness. You have every reason not to grant it, but I hope you’ll have mercy on me.”
I can still barely believe what’s going on here. This must be a dream, right? It has to be a dream. I’m so stunned that it takes me a while to realize that the auditorium has been sitting in dead silence for about ten seconds, as Jake and the rest of the audience all hold their breath, waiting expectantly for an answer.
“Yes, Jake,” I say, “I accept your apology. I forgive you.” Everyone in the room seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Everyone except me, that is. I can’t help but feel that what I’ve just said is a lie. If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to forgive him for everything he’s done just because he’s chosen to own up to it in a spectacular fashion right now. But I know that if I refuse his apology, I’ll just look like a bitch, and that won’t be good for me or for my father’s campaign.
“Thank you,” Jake says, leaning into the microphone and flashing me his trademark grin.
As he walks away, the audience starts buzzing again, even louder this time. “Oh my God, can you believe that?” I hear a girl in the first row swoon to her friend. “That was so sweet!”
She might have been taken in by Jake’s charms, but I remain skeptical. That apology was so contrary to his character as I’ve known it so far that I can’t help but wonder if it was actually sincere. If it really had been heartfelt, would he have felt the need to do it so publicly? To me, the whole thing seems suspiciously like part of his campaign strategy, a ploy designed to make him appear even more charming to the legions of young, impressionable female voters out there. If that’s the case, I think bitterly, then I hate him even more now than I did before his grand gesture.
I turn these thoughts over in my head as I breeze through the rest of the Q-&-A session. After the event, I linger backstage for awhile, hoping Jake might show up so I can confront him in private about his true intentions. But as the minutes tick by, it becomes increasingly clear that he’s already left. Resignedly, I gather up my things and head back to the hotel.
This time, there are no frantic pre-debate make-out sessions with Chris, which kind of makes me sad. I’ve been missing him lately, and I consider hotels to be a relatively safe location for illicit trysts. However, the entire press corps is covering the series of rallies my dad is holding in Denver today, after which they will all head straight to the debate. Which also means that I’m completely on my own for the rest of the day until Suzette comes to pick me up to take me back to CU for the debate.
Just a few weeks ago, I would have relished the chance to be on my own for a few hours, but after having grown accustomed to being surrounded by campaign staffers and journalists and cheering college students, I feel sort of lonely and don’t really know what to do with myself. What would I be doing if I were at school? I wonder. I look at the clock. It’s 2:30. I’d probably be in class or getting coffee or lounging around my dorm room, talking to Ilse.
I suddenly feel a pang of regret when I think of my roommate. Thrown together through a random room assignment by student life, she and I became instant best friends our very first day at Brown, and by the end of the year, we were almost like sisters (complete with the requisite fights about who borrowed whose sweater and never returned it). We’d kept in touch over the summer (I’d even gone out to visit her at her parents’ summer home on the Vineyard), but ever since the campaign started I’ve been too busy with events and studying (and, okay, Chris) to even call her.
I race over to the phone and punch in her number. She answers on the third ring with a sleepy, “Hello?”
“It’s me!” I exclaim. “Were you asleep?”
“Julia!” she cries, her voice brightening instantly. “I was just taking a little nap between classes. I can’t believe you’re actually calling! I was beginning to think that the only way I was going to find out what’s going on with you is by watching the news.”
“I know, I know,” I say guiltily. “I’m a horrible friend. But I’ve just been so busy.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “I caught your appearance on MTV a few weeks ago, and you looked completely stressed.”
“I was stressed,” I tell her, “and for a very good reason. His name is Jake Bennett.”
“Seriously!” she agrees. “I couldn’t believe what he did to you!”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” I say, and I spend the next half hour or so filling her in on all of my unpleasant interactions with Jake thus far. She wholeheartedly agrees that he’s a complete jerk, but when I tell her the story of his apology at the rally this morning, she starts to weaken.
“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty sweet thing to do,” she concedes.
“But was it?” I ask. “Or was it just strategy?” I explain my theories about Jake’s possible ulterior motives.
“I don’t know, Julia,” she says when I finish. “It sounds pretty sincere to me. I think this campaign is making you cynical. Besides, Jake Bennett is so cute. I hate to think of him being such a bastard.”
“Ilse!” I admonish her. “This has nothing to do with the way he looks. He is a bastard; I’m convinced of it. And I’m going to find out tonight what was really behind that apology.”
“Well, whatever,” she says, sweeping the subject aside. “Any other cute guys on the campaign trail who aren’t bastards?”
I hesitate. I always tell Ilse everything, and I’m dying to tell her about Chris, too, but for some reason I can’t. After everything that’s happened over the past week or so, it somehow seems too risky.
“Not really,” I say lightly. I hate lying to her, but I rationalize it by telling myself that I’ll fill her in on the whole story once the election is over and I don’t have to worry constantly about getting caught.
“That’s too bad,” she says. “There are many, many cute boys at Brown this year. In fact, I just met this totally gorgeous guy the other night at the Hot Club.” As she fills me in on all the details of her budding romance, I feel a stab of envy. What must it be like to have a relationship that you don’t have to hide from everyone you know? It hasn’t been that long ago since I was in the same situation as Ilse, and yet I can barely even remember.
After about an hour of chatting, Ilse tells me sadly that she has to go to class. “You’d better call me again soon,” she says before hanging up. “I want to find out what happens with Jake. Before November!”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You’ll be the first one to know.”
As I get dressed for the debate, I think some more about Jake’s public display of contrition and my conversation with Ilse. Is she right? Has this campaign made me cynical? Maybe, I think, but perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was my naïvete that led Jake to think he could walk all over me in the first place. I don’t know if I like being thought of as jaded, but the fact is, in a political campaign, you can never be sure whom you can trust.
Suzette arrives back at the hotel right on schedule to pick me up, and we get to the University of Colorado just a few minutes before the debate is scheduled to begin. After my interminable wait last time, I should be thankful that I don’t have to sit around bored for an hour, but I was secretly hoping to be able to talk to Jake before things got started, in case we were too busy afterward.
Instead, I bide my time anxiously as my dad and General Bennett trade barbs onstage. I’m relieved to find that this debate is free of questions (particularly those about illegal drug usage) that could potentially get me into more trouble with Suzette. As soon as the debate is over and a crowd begins to form on the stage, I immediately seek out Jake and pull him aside.
“Would you care to tell me what that was all about?” I ask hotly.
“Well, it was a debate,” he begins slowly, “so—“
I cut him off. “Not that,” I say exasperatedly. “I’m talking about your little ‘apology’ at my rally this morning.”
“Oh, that,” he says, as if just now catching on. “Well, that was about apologizing.”
“Come on, now, Jake,” I say bitterly. “You can tell me. What was it really about? Some brilliant campaign strategy to try and convince people you’re not actually a jerk? Or were you just trying to make me look foolish yet again?”
“I’m being serious, Julia,” he says quietly, in the most sincere tone I’ve ever heard him use. “My only intention was to apologize to you for my actions.”
“If that’s the case,” I say, “then why did you feel the need to do it in such a showy fashion? Why couldn’t you have just told me privately?”
“I tried to,” he insists.
“When?”
“At the last debate,” he says. “I was about to tell you when your mom pulled you away for photos. I looked for you afterward, but I couldn’t find you.”
I stand there, unable to speak, trying to figure out whether he’s telling the truth or just feeding me another lie. His explanation sounds genuine, but for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to trust him.
After a few seconds of silence, Jake shakes his head and moves to leave. As soon as he strides past me, he stops and turns around.
“Just for the record, Julia,” he says, regarding me sadly, “it was never my intention to make you look foolish.”
“No, I suppose I took care of that on my own, didn’t I?” I return, my voice still tinged with bitterness.
Jake just shrugs before slipping into the crowd.
When my incessant paranoia remains unfounded for about a week, I finally start to relax. Maybe it’s possible that my mom in fact doesn’t know about Chris and me. When I think about it, I realize that I’ve been basing all of my fear on one slightly suspicious look, and it hits me just how incredibly foolish I’ve been. Of course my mom doesn’t know anything! But I’m still steering clear of Chris just in case—at least when we’re on the campaign bus.
By the time the day of my rally at the University of Colorado rolls around, I’ve pretty much managed to put my worries out of my mind. Well, the ones about Chris, at least. I’ve got bigger things to worry about, namely not screwing up this campaign appearance and angering Suzette even further, which I’m sure this time would result in even more dire consequences. Normally I wouldn’t be nervous about a rally alone, but this one will be followed by a brief question-and-answer period. I’ve got all my pre-packaged answers memorized, but what if someone asks a question Suzette never thought to drill me on? I realize, of course, how unlikely this is, given the breadth of Suzette’s preparation, but you never know.
These thoughts are circling through my mind as I wait backstage in the auditorium as the chancellor introduces me. When I hear my cue, I take a deep breath and step out onstage to the sound of thunderous applause. It’s almost like being back at the convention, only this time, my skirt is exactly where it should be (believe me, I checked).
I run through my speech effortlessly, and before I know it, it’s time for questions. The first few are ones that I’ve gone over with Suzette before, and I answer them all perfectly. Just when I’m starting to allow myself to feel happy about the way things are going, I notice a tall guy in a blue button-down shirt walking down the aisle to the microphone to ask the next question. Hmm, I think. That guy looks an awful lot like Jake. As he approaches the mic stand, I suddenly realize with horror that it is Jake.
I start to panic, and I feel my hands get sweaty. I swallow hard. What is Jake doing here? Why does he keep turning up at my campaign appearances? And more importantly, who allowed him a turn to ask a question? It’s obvious that he’s going to try to sabotage me, I think, my heart pounding. I mean, he already did it to my father at the debate by leaking my mistake at the SLU event to the moderator. And since that backfired, now he’s going to try and undermine me as well. I can’t believe it! I knew he was a jerk, but this is just really dirty.
Then again, I remind myself, he can’t do anything to sabotage me if I don’t let him. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, preparing for battle, as Jake clears his throat and begins to speak.
“Julia,” he says, his voice echoing through the auditorium, “my question for you today is this: Will you accept my sincerest apologies for the way I’ve behaved during this campaign?”
I let out a shocked little laugh and look around in amazement. Did I really just hear that? It seems so, as the audience has clearly figured out who Jake is by now and is humming with the buzz of excited whispers.
Before I can think of anything to say, Jake continues.
“Throughout the campaign, I’ve been unforgivably rude to you. And while I could brush that off as a natural part of the competition, the fact is, that’s not the truth. There’s no justification for the way I’ve acted, and I’m ashamed of it. So I’ve come here today to ask you publicly for your forgiveness. You have every reason not to grant it, but I hope you’ll have mercy on me.”
I can still barely believe what’s going on here. This must be a dream, right? It has to be a dream. I’m so stunned that it takes me a while to realize that the auditorium has been sitting in dead silence for about ten seconds, as Jake and the rest of the audience all hold their breath, waiting expectantly for an answer.
“Yes, Jake,” I say, “I accept your apology. I forgive you.” Everyone in the room seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Everyone except me, that is. I can’t help but feel that what I’ve just said is a lie. If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to forgive him for everything he’s done just because he’s chosen to own up to it in a spectacular fashion right now. But I know that if I refuse his apology, I’ll just look like a bitch, and that won’t be good for me or for my father’s campaign.
“Thank you,” Jake says, leaning into the microphone and flashing me his trademark grin.
As he walks away, the audience starts buzzing again, even louder this time. “Oh my God, can you believe that?” I hear a girl in the first row swoon to her friend. “That was so sweet!”
She might have been taken in by Jake’s charms, but I remain skeptical. That apology was so contrary to his character as I’ve known it so far that I can’t help but wonder if it was actually sincere. If it really had been heartfelt, would he have felt the need to do it so publicly? To me, the whole thing seems suspiciously like part of his campaign strategy, a ploy designed to make him appear even more charming to the legions of young, impressionable female voters out there. If that’s the case, I think bitterly, then I hate him even more now than I did before his grand gesture.
I turn these thoughts over in my head as I breeze through the rest of the Q-&-A session. After the event, I linger backstage for awhile, hoping Jake might show up so I can confront him in private about his true intentions. But as the minutes tick by, it becomes increasingly clear that he’s already left. Resignedly, I gather up my things and head back to the hotel.
This time, there are no frantic pre-debate make-out sessions with Chris, which kind of makes me sad. I’ve been missing him lately, and I consider hotels to be a relatively safe location for illicit trysts. However, the entire press corps is covering the series of rallies my dad is holding in Denver today, after which they will all head straight to the debate. Which also means that I’m completely on my own for the rest of the day until Suzette comes to pick me up to take me back to CU for the debate.
Just a few weeks ago, I would have relished the chance to be on my own for a few hours, but after having grown accustomed to being surrounded by campaign staffers and journalists and cheering college students, I feel sort of lonely and don’t really know what to do with myself. What would I be doing if I were at school? I wonder. I look at the clock. It’s 2:30. I’d probably be in class or getting coffee or lounging around my dorm room, talking to Ilse.
I suddenly feel a pang of regret when I think of my roommate. Thrown together through a random room assignment by student life, she and I became instant best friends our very first day at Brown, and by the end of the year, we were almost like sisters (complete with the requisite fights about who borrowed whose sweater and never returned it). We’d kept in touch over the summer (I’d even gone out to visit her at her parents’ summer home on the Vineyard), but ever since the campaign started I’ve been too busy with events and studying (and, okay, Chris) to even call her.
I race over to the phone and punch in her number. She answers on the third ring with a sleepy, “Hello?”
“It’s me!” I exclaim. “Were you asleep?”
“Julia!” she cries, her voice brightening instantly. “I was just taking a little nap between classes. I can’t believe you’re actually calling! I was beginning to think that the only way I was going to find out what’s going on with you is by watching the news.”
“I know, I know,” I say guiltily. “I’m a horrible friend. But I’ve just been so busy.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she says. “I caught your appearance on MTV a few weeks ago, and you looked completely stressed.”
“I was stressed,” I tell her, “and for a very good reason. His name is Jake Bennett.”
“Seriously!” she agrees. “I couldn’t believe what he did to you!”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” I say, and I spend the next half hour or so filling her in on all of my unpleasant interactions with Jake thus far. She wholeheartedly agrees that he’s a complete jerk, but when I tell her the story of his apology at the rally this morning, she starts to weaken.
“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty sweet thing to do,” she concedes.
“But was it?” I ask. “Or was it just strategy?” I explain my theories about Jake’s possible ulterior motives.
“I don’t know, Julia,” she says when I finish. “It sounds pretty sincere to me. I think this campaign is making you cynical. Besides, Jake Bennett is so cute. I hate to think of him being such a bastard.”
“Ilse!” I admonish her. “This has nothing to do with the way he looks. He is a bastard; I’m convinced of it. And I’m going to find out tonight what was really behind that apology.”
“Well, whatever,” she says, sweeping the subject aside. “Any other cute guys on the campaign trail who aren’t bastards?”
I hesitate. I always tell Ilse everything, and I’m dying to tell her about Chris, too, but for some reason I can’t. After everything that’s happened over the past week or so, it somehow seems too risky.
“Not really,” I say lightly. I hate lying to her, but I rationalize it by telling myself that I’ll fill her in on the whole story once the election is over and I don’t have to worry constantly about getting caught.
“That’s too bad,” she says. “There are many, many cute boys at Brown this year. In fact, I just met this totally gorgeous guy the other night at the Hot Club.” As she fills me in on all the details of her budding romance, I feel a stab of envy. What must it be like to have a relationship that you don’t have to hide from everyone you know? It hasn’t been that long ago since I was in the same situation as Ilse, and yet I can barely even remember.
After about an hour of chatting, Ilse tells me sadly that she has to go to class. “You’d better call me again soon,” she says before hanging up. “I want to find out what happens with Jake. Before November!”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You’ll be the first one to know.”
As I get dressed for the debate, I think some more about Jake’s public display of contrition and my conversation with Ilse. Is she right? Has this campaign made me cynical? Maybe, I think, but perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was my naïvete that led Jake to think he could walk all over me in the first place. I don’t know if I like being thought of as jaded, but the fact is, in a political campaign, you can never be sure whom you can trust.
Suzette arrives back at the hotel right on schedule to pick me up, and we get to the University of Colorado just a few minutes before the debate is scheduled to begin. After my interminable wait last time, I should be thankful that I don’t have to sit around bored for an hour, but I was secretly hoping to be able to talk to Jake before things got started, in case we were too busy afterward.
Instead, I bide my time anxiously as my dad and General Bennett trade barbs onstage. I’m relieved to find that this debate is free of questions (particularly those about illegal drug usage) that could potentially get me into more trouble with Suzette. As soon as the debate is over and a crowd begins to form on the stage, I immediately seek out Jake and pull him aside.
“Would you care to tell me what that was all about?” I ask hotly.
“Well, it was a debate,” he begins slowly, “so—“
I cut him off. “Not that,” I say exasperatedly. “I’m talking about your little ‘apology’ at my rally this morning.”
“Oh, that,” he says, as if just now catching on. “Well, that was about apologizing.”
“Come on, now, Jake,” I say bitterly. “You can tell me. What was it really about? Some brilliant campaign strategy to try and convince people you’re not actually a jerk? Or were you just trying to make me look foolish yet again?”
“I’m being serious, Julia,” he says quietly, in the most sincere tone I’ve ever heard him use. “My only intention was to apologize to you for my actions.”
“If that’s the case,” I say, “then why did you feel the need to do it in such a showy fashion? Why couldn’t you have just told me privately?”
“I tried to,” he insists.
“When?”
“At the last debate,” he says. “I was about to tell you when your mom pulled you away for photos. I looked for you afterward, but I couldn’t find you.”
I stand there, unable to speak, trying to figure out whether he’s telling the truth or just feeding me another lie. His explanation sounds genuine, but for some reason, I just can’t bring myself to trust him.
After a few seconds of silence, Jake shakes his head and moves to leave. As soon as he strides past me, he stops and turns around.
“Just for the record, Julia,” he says, regarding me sadly, “it was never my intention to make you look foolish.”
“No, I suppose I took care of that on my own, didn’t I?” I return, my voice still tinged with bitterness.
Jake just shrugs before slipping into the crowd.
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