“Governor Guy wouldn’t be that careless during . . .” I put my hand over my mouth. Guy wouldn’t be that careless during a campaign, but what about before her campaign? What about a decade ago, before she cut her hair, before she was even governor and before the stress of politics started to show on her face?
“I know!” Nix says, laughing and totally missing my shock. “I’m totally joking. But it’s hilarious to think about, isn’t it?”
“Pretty sure I’d lose my job if I was caught laughing at any such joke.” I’m trying to sound light, but now that my mind has latched on to this crazy idea, I can’t think of anything else. It’s ridiculous. Wishful thinking.
But didn’t Sam tell me he’d lost his virginity with an older woman? A family friend whom he’d watch when he spent summers at her pool?
“Nix, may I use your computer?”
“Sure, go for it. It’s on the desk in the office. I have to head to bed. Early morning rounds await. Make yourself at home and wake me if you need anything.”
I nod, mentally willing her to bed so I can use her computer without her looking over my shoulder.
I nibble my toast until she finally leaves. As soon as she closes her bedroom door, I’m practically running to the computer to pull up the pictures of him and “Sabrina.”
It’s really hard to tell much from the images that have been published on the news sites. There’s no good shot of her face. I need to see the whole video, but none of the networks have it readily available.
After a little web searching and some poking around on the kind of sites that may or may not infect Nix’s computer with crippling viruses, I’m able to find the footage from the sex tape itself, rather than just the stills.
As much as I don’t want to watch Sam have sex with another woman, I can’t let this go, so I push play on the video and I watch. Ten minutes later, I’m convinced the footage isn’t new.
Sam is muscular in the video, but I’ve spent enough time with him naked to know he’s smaller in this video than he is now. And though there’s not a clear enough shot of the woman to prove she isn’t Sabrina, Sam doesn’t move with the confidence of the experienced lover he is now. One thing is clear to me: the video is old.
I clear the browser’s history and close the computer.
The world has its hands on a sex tape of Sam and a major presidential candidate from when Sam was close but not quite legal. His engagement has to be a cover-up. Is that why he wanted to talk to me tonight? Was he going to tell me the truth?
I want to believe—maybe too badly—that Sam wouldn’t have had sex with me if his engagement to Sabrina were real. He’s better than that.
As someone who works for the Guy campaign, the truth is irrelevant. All that matters is the script we create, and it’ll be my job to do everything I can to perpetuate the “Sambrina love story,” even if I believe it to be a lie.
As the woman who he had up against the wall in his hotel room last week, the truth is everything. I have to know.
* * *
You deserve to know the truth. And if you’re wrong, Sabrina deserves to know the truth. This isn’t about getting Sam back.
I lift my hand to knock on Sam’s door, then drop it again. My stomach twists and flips. I walked here from Nix’s. Using a small flashlight and a lot of questionable judgment, I walked here in the middle of the night because I have to know.
So, here I am. At Sam’s house to ask him to tell me what could possibly be the biggest secret he has.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter. Stupid to come, stupid to think this might go any way but badly, stupid to hope.
Finally, I make myself knock. Sam opens the door in nothing but a towel and a scowl.
He does a double take when he sees me. I don’t know whom he expected to see at his door in the middle of the night, but the way his expression changes makes it clear I wasn’t it.
For a minute we just stare at each other. I don’t know what it’s like for him, but I’m just standing here trying to remember how to breathe, trying not to wrap my arms around him and take in his smell.
“Liz,” he says. “You came.”
I swallow hard. I want to say, You said you loved me. I want to say, Love should be enough. But I’m not here to make some dopey attempt at a reunion that could never work. I’m here for the truth.
Sam turns around without waiting for my response and heads into the house, leaving the door open behind him. I’m not sure whether he’s too disgusted at the sight of me to bother with closing the door, or if he expects me to follow him inside. I take a chance and follow, shutting the door behind me.
The living room is tidy, save for a basket of unfolded laundry sitting on the couch and a few empty beer bottles on the kitchen island.
Sam heads straight to his bedroom. “I have to get dressed.” But two steps before he reaches the door, he stops and turns to me. “You were probably right. It’s a bad idea for us to be alone together.”
“Probably.”
“What changed your mind?”
My mouth has gone dry, my breathing ragged. Will I ever meet another man whose proximity can make me feel so much? “I came for Sabrina. And for me.”
He smiles then. But it’s not the nice smile that I remember. This is the cruel, sardonic smile of a man who has no faith in the world. “For Sabrina? So you’re her little errand girl? How’d that happen?”
“I know!” Nix says, laughing and totally missing my shock. “I’m totally joking. But it’s hilarious to think about, isn’t it?”
“Pretty sure I’d lose my job if I was caught laughing at any such joke.” I’m trying to sound light, but now that my mind has latched on to this crazy idea, I can’t think of anything else. It’s ridiculous. Wishful thinking.
But didn’t Sam tell me he’d lost his virginity with an older woman? A family friend whom he’d watch when he spent summers at her pool?
“Nix, may I use your computer?”
“Sure, go for it. It’s on the desk in the office. I have to head to bed. Early morning rounds await. Make yourself at home and wake me if you need anything.”
I nod, mentally willing her to bed so I can use her computer without her looking over my shoulder.
I nibble my toast until she finally leaves. As soon as she closes her bedroom door, I’m practically running to the computer to pull up the pictures of him and “Sabrina.”
It’s really hard to tell much from the images that have been published on the news sites. There’s no good shot of her face. I need to see the whole video, but none of the networks have it readily available.
After a little web searching and some poking around on the kind of sites that may or may not infect Nix’s computer with crippling viruses, I’m able to find the footage from the sex tape itself, rather than just the stills.
As much as I don’t want to watch Sam have sex with another woman, I can’t let this go, so I push play on the video and I watch. Ten minutes later, I’m convinced the footage isn’t new.
Sam is muscular in the video, but I’ve spent enough time with him naked to know he’s smaller in this video than he is now. And though there’s not a clear enough shot of the woman to prove she isn’t Sabrina, Sam doesn’t move with the confidence of the experienced lover he is now. One thing is clear to me: the video is old.
I clear the browser’s history and close the computer.
The world has its hands on a sex tape of Sam and a major presidential candidate from when Sam was close but not quite legal. His engagement has to be a cover-up. Is that why he wanted to talk to me tonight? Was he going to tell me the truth?
I want to believe—maybe too badly—that Sam wouldn’t have had sex with me if his engagement to Sabrina were real. He’s better than that.
As someone who works for the Guy campaign, the truth is irrelevant. All that matters is the script we create, and it’ll be my job to do everything I can to perpetuate the “Sambrina love story,” even if I believe it to be a lie.
As the woman who he had up against the wall in his hotel room last week, the truth is everything. I have to know.
* * *
You deserve to know the truth. And if you’re wrong, Sabrina deserves to know the truth. This isn’t about getting Sam back.
I lift my hand to knock on Sam’s door, then drop it again. My stomach twists and flips. I walked here from Nix’s. Using a small flashlight and a lot of questionable judgment, I walked here in the middle of the night because I have to know.
So, here I am. At Sam’s house to ask him to tell me what could possibly be the biggest secret he has.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter. Stupid to come, stupid to think this might go any way but badly, stupid to hope.
Finally, I make myself knock. Sam opens the door in nothing but a towel and a scowl.
He does a double take when he sees me. I don’t know whom he expected to see at his door in the middle of the night, but the way his expression changes makes it clear I wasn’t it.
For a minute we just stare at each other. I don’t know what it’s like for him, but I’m just standing here trying to remember how to breathe, trying not to wrap my arms around him and take in his smell.
“Liz,” he says. “You came.”
I swallow hard. I want to say, You said you loved me. I want to say, Love should be enough. But I’m not here to make some dopey attempt at a reunion that could never work. I’m here for the truth.
Sam turns around without waiting for my response and heads into the house, leaving the door open behind him. I’m not sure whether he’s too disgusted at the sight of me to bother with closing the door, or if he expects me to follow him inside. I take a chance and follow, shutting the door behind me.
The living room is tidy, save for a basket of unfolded laundry sitting on the couch and a few empty beer bottles on the kitchen island.
Sam heads straight to his bedroom. “I have to get dressed.” But two steps before he reaches the door, he stops and turns to me. “You were probably right. It’s a bad idea for us to be alone together.”
“Probably.”
“What changed your mind?”
My mouth has gone dry, my breathing ragged. Will I ever meet another man whose proximity can make me feel so much? “I came for Sabrina. And for me.”
He smiles then. But it’s not the nice smile that I remember. This is the cruel, sardonic smile of a man who has no faith in the world. “For Sabrina? So you’re her little errand girl? How’d that happen?”
