The mayor, p.11
THE MAYOR, page 11
It’s then that I realize that Holly and Sam are starting to jog closer towards us. What great timing this is, I think to myself, sarcastically. “So, how is your dad doing?” I redirect, forcing my eyes to Sophia.
“He’s fine. I’m sure he won’t mind that I spent $5,000 to sit here and have you ignore me. Can we talk about me, maybe?” Sophia grumbles, the last part under her breath. I can tell she’s getting more and more irritated by the second. She turns around towards where Holly is standing some feet away and snaps. “Can you back the hell off or something?” she practically shrieks, her diva mentality suddenly jumping out. “Like, get out! You’re bothering us!” She flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder.
I stare, dumbfounded as Sophia reaches under the table and puts her hand on my knee possessively. “He’s on a date with me, not you.”
Holly’s mouth drops open in shock. She looks over at me expectantly. I can see her hands ball into fists. This is a disaster. Holly takes a step toward us, and Sophia’s eyes light up, enraged, as she begins to get up from her seat and approach Holly. Am I going to have to break this up? How can this possibly get any worse?
Suddenly, Sam grabs Holly by the arm and starts pulling her away.
“It isn’t worth it, Holly.” She narrows her eyes at Sophia, angry on behalf of her friend. I can feel all three women glaring at me at this point. I lower my face into my hands for a moment, rubbing my eyes frustratedly.
“Oh, man,” I mumble to myself. Sam appears to whisper something in Holly’s ear as the two of them finally walk away after what feels like an eternity. I want to go after her, I rise from the chair and a firm hand grasps my forearm.
“Oh, no you don’t. We have a date,” Sophia growls. I sit back down and face her, trying to compose myself.
This is going to be a long day, indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
Holly
This is ridiculous. How the hell am I supposed to be able to concentrate when I’d rather be with Samson. After our awkward encounter at the park with him and Sophia yesterday, he caught up to me after I finished my run and apologized for her behavior. I wasn’t mad at him, he didn’t ask for that snotty rich girl to bid on him and make a scene at the park, he was just doing his job, and looked miserable too. Maybe it is small of me but seeing how badly he’d rather be with me made me happy. Which is why I have been able to put the whole thing out of my mind now. However, now I am stuck at the library with Sam while he is in his office looking sexy while pouring over whatever form my mom gave him this time.
And I am here, starting Anna Karenina— Sam’s suggestion for a light summer read— for the fifth time in the last hour. I set it down on the table in front of me. This time, instead of admiring the way the peach cover compliments the warm tones in the mahogany table, I rest my head down on top of it. I let my arms reach limply for the floor as I gaze out over the lifted edge of the paperback’s cover, over the wooden workspace and its abandoned tools, and into an expanse of dust particles backlit by fractured sunbeams. The dust darts back and forth across these lighted strips of air, entering and leaving them at seemingly random intervals. I smile as they become microscopic astronauts in my eyes, drifting through their pre-determined courses.
But I grow tired of watching them float in and out of existence and let my eyes focus on the dark lines beyond them instead. The skinny pieces of iron mostly border panes of clear glass, but every so often, I notice that one of the panes has a slight rose-colored hint to it. As I admire one of these sunset-infused panes, I catch a glimpse of a man and woman walking hand-in-hand on the tree-lined sidewalk. They pass behind the pine trees as they laugh together, completely unaware of the alternating panes of clear and rose-colored glass that they strolled through. I lose them behind the wall as they continue on their own trajectory. I’m bitterly reminded of the stillness of the library.
Without urgency, I turn to Sam and sigh. She ignores me, but the corner of her mouth twitches up, and I know she heard me. I lean back in my chair, challenged by her persistence.
“Sam,” I call to her. I watch with a furrowed brow as she continues reading from her textbook; she barely lifts her head. It’s as if some part of her can sense that I only intend to distract her from her own reading. I try again. “Sam.”
This time, she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and, with the same delegated finger, tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She’s precise enough in her action not to bump her frames. She flips to the next page and is careful not to lift her gaze too far— she can’t risk meeting my eyes now, but I know it doesn’t matter. I place my feet on the edge of the table with the vindication of a junior chess-player outsmarting an expert. My flats let out a unified squeak against the dark wood and this faint noise garners Sam’s attention for a moment. Her eyes flicker to the bottoms of my shoes and I see it— a flash of unmistakable abhorrence at my act of injustice in the face of literature— but she swallows it with a pursed mouth and continues to read.
“Huh,” I say, leaning my head back into my interwoven fingers as I adjust my foot on the edge of the table. My flat squeaks. Sam makes a short noise somewhere in between a grunt and a hum, but she doesn’t look up from the book. “If I put my shoe just like this on the table, I can’t see you.”
Sam continues to stare at the book in front of her, but her finger stops sliding across the page’s surface. She takes a measured breath in. As she lifts her head, she releases her breath through flared nostrils and eases her chin down onto her free hand. She never pulls her reading finger away from her place in the book— she’s confident she’ll continue. “You don’t have to read that, you know.”
Envious of Sam’s endless ambition, I look down at her discarded paperback with a pang of guilt echoing through me. “I know, I will.”
Sam laughs, and I join her.
“No, you won’t.” She shakes her head, returning to her line without needing to reread the previous one. Besides the textbook in front of her, Sam’s side of the desk is buzzing with activity. As her reading finger moves down the page in long strokes like an artist’s brush, her other hand copies down portions of the text onto lined pages.
Inspired by Sam’s dedication— even in the event of beautiful weather— I pick up Anna Karenina and start again. Just as I finish the first page, my phone lets out a soft chirp, and I welcome the distraction with open arms. I set the paperback down on the table again.
Sam chuckles.
Displayed on the front of my phone in blocky text, there’s a new message from Sophia. I can almost hear her scratchy voice in my head as I read out the letters: We need to talk. Trying my best to imitate Sam’s resilience, I set my phone down on the table. I pick up the paperback with newfound determination, gritting my teeth when my phone buzzes with a second message. I don’t last through the fourth sentence until my hands reach for it.
The previous message rests on top of a new, grey bubble that reads: You need to leave right now.
Irritated and in complete disbelief, I scoff at Sophia’s lame attempt to frighten me. With my thumbs poised, I contemplate my answer just as another message comes through that makes my blood run ice cold.
Leave now, or I’ll tell everyone your secret.
I keep my eyes on my phone as I roll my tongue over my dry lips. It does little to dampen them. My mouth feels dry, and I reach for my water bottle. My hands begin packing away my notebook, shoving each of the items into my tote bag without much care. My mind is far away now— floating, distended, in between the sandy memories of the lake Samson had taken me to, and the suffocating clutches of Sophia’s greedy, perfectly-manicured hands.
Sam looks up from her book when she sees me packing my things up. Her eyes are lined with concern and before her lips begin to form the question, I assure her I’m not upset. “Sorry, something came up, I gotta go,” I shoot her an apologetic smile. I hand her Anna from the other side of the table, and as her fingers grab it, I stand up from my chair.
“I knew you weren’t going to finish it!” Sam calls to me, laughing. I’m retreating down the aisle when her laughter catches up with me, and I wince. Under normal circumstances—circumstances so far from blackmail and life-ruining scandal— I would’ve laughed at Sam’s jest.
I try to laugh, but the sound comes out hoarse and ghastly. “I’ll call you!” I wheeze nervously, hobbling into the main hallway and then, secretly, ducking into a new row of books. The smell of mothballs doesn’t vary much between the different rows of books, but I notice the freshness of lemon and, for a brief moment, I feel calm enough to respond to Sophia.
Me: What do you want?
Sophia: To talk.
I groan with irritation at the vague text, but another pops up quickly.
Sophia: Library. Local History Section.
Pinpricks of dread and confusion move up the backs of my arms and over the tops of my shoulders. Does Sophia know I am here? I look up from the screen to look around me, leaning out into the center walkway to see if I could spot her doing the same.
The walkways are empty— but that isn’t a real surprise considering the sunbeams trickling through the windows like droplets of honey. If I focus beyond the scribbling of pens and the occasional, muffled cough, I can hear the screams of playing children and the gentle hum of residential traffic. Beyond the dim glow of the library, there isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
My eyes lift to the tops of the dark bookcases, to the white signs that hang as guides for exhausted, caffeine-driven academics and ostracized teenagers. As I flick through them, I see the sign for the Local History section hanging at the far end of the hallway, pinned to the side of the very last bookcase.
I walk down the hallway as I begin to feel small droplets of sweat forming along my spine. Each of my steps sends new waves of torment through my body that shake my beating heart and uneasy stomach. In my dizzy haze, I think of Samson, and not knowing exactly where he is, I imagine him at his office, sitting behind the desk that he had taken me upon. I imagine him working over a speech with a peer, but secretly thinking of me. I decide to send him a message even though the chances of him responding before I reach the Local History section are slim. I send a heart anyway and tuck my phone into my back pocket.
As I reach the final bookshelf, I slow down. I peek my head around the corner as I did before and pray to whoever will listen that she isn’t just around the corner. Amazingly, she isn’t.
She’s standing halfway down the aisle of books with her finger bouncing in the air, flittering over the book spines as her features pinch and contort in between amusement and disgust. She continues walking sideways along the mahogany bookshelf, gracefully weaving her long, panty-hose-wrapped legs over themselves in elegant strides. Even in her downtime, Sophia finds places to make other people feel incredibly ordinary and although she’s alone in this library section, a rage fills my chest at her performative nature. Her dark leather boots make soft clicks against the black-and-white linoleum diamonds beneath her. Her hand pauses in the air. Her finger recoils from the book’s spine.
Slowly, I step in front of the Local History aisle.
Sophia raises her head, pushing an indigo cover back onto the shelf before turning to me with narrowed eyes. She’s dressed in a well-tailored, pearl-colored blouse that shines in the warm lighting of the candle-shaped sconces on the walls. Her lips are painted in a red so vibrant that I can tell, even in the dim lighting, that it’s expensive. Her eyelids open and shut with elegant flaps of her long lashes, golden and glittering. It takes me a moment to realize her dark eyes are looking me up and down— sizing me up.
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, feeling hopelessly on display while her eyes linger on my face.
“I have to say, I can’t believe it,” she laughs.
My face burns red hot, and I’m thankful for the dim lighting, hoping that it obscures my embarrassment. The tingling spreads throughout my cheeks as I speak, “What?”
“You’re his girlfriend. You,” Sophia says dramatically, using her hands to broadcast it like the title of a new Broadway show. I feel a tugging sensation in my chest when she crosses her arms and gives me another look. “I have to say— for the future governor, Samson makes a lot of questionable decisions…” She steps closer and lifts her chin, the sconce highlights the golden glitter on her eyelids and the depth of the ruby stain on her plump lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking ab—” I begin, but my lie dies in my mouth as Sophia rolls her eyes.
“Oh, please,” Sophia waves my words away like a bad stink in the air. “We can skip that whole part where you try to deny it.” Sophia’s lips curl up into a vicious grin. “I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not a liar,” I say, trying to keep my voice as even as I can.
Sophia steps closer, closing most of the distance between the two of us. In her boots, she’s much taller than I am. “I could text Diana right now, you know?” She arches an eyebrow as she holds up her phone. The phone screen is too far away to make out the exact characters.
An icy wave rolls through the bottom of my stomach. My skin runs cold, and I know, beyond any reason, that Sophia would do what I fear most. She can see it in my eyes. “I can tell her all about how her daughter and the mayor have been together behind closed doors because he doesn’t respect her enough to do it in front of the public.”
Her acidic words pour from her mouth and burn my skin. I look from Sophia’s phone screen to her face, feeling hollow inside. “What’s stopping you?”
“From breaking Mommy’s heart?” She cocks her head to the side. Strands of her flowing dark hair fall across the front of her delicate blouse and create a web-like pattern against the sheen of the fabric. “So that I can show you just how much power I have over you now.” Sophia holds up her phone once more, displaying a picture she’d taken. I recognize the colors of my running clothes in it instantly.
“You followed us…?” I recall the memory of him catching up to me, pulling me close, and kissing me in the shadow of the trees where we thought no one would see.
Her wicked smile returns, creating the illusion of dark webbing on her face as she turns in the light of the sconces. She chuckles, spinning through the many photos of Samson and me embracing. The last image shows us pressed together; our lips permanently locked in a tender kiss on her phone. “And it was so easy.”
“What do you want, Sophia?” I ask, my tone dark as I imagine reaching out for the phone. I can see it glowing in my hands now, but I dismiss it— Sophia is too clever to approach me without saving it in another place. “You obviously want something, so just tell me.”
Sophia’s resolve softens, and she tucks her phone into her jacket pocket. As soon as it’s tucked away, the hallway feels much darker. Sophia’s face looks evil as her scarlet lips spread into her staple, straight-toothed grin. “An internship.”
“An internship?” I ask, almost amused at the simplicity of her request.
“Not just any internship,” she spits, sneering at me. “There’s a specific opening at City Hall this fall. I could be working directly with campaign experts— people who’ve worked in D.C.” Her eyes are fueled with greed when she meets my eyes. “And you and your boyfriend are going to give it to me.”
“Oh, please,” I say. “Can’t you just get your daddy to buy you one?”
Sophia flinches. It happens so quickly that I’m not certain it actually happened, but Sophia pushes her long hair over her shoulder and straightens herself proudly. “He’d have to give a damn about me first… I’m running out of options, not that it’s any of your business— he won’t support me forever, unlike your mother who seems to be content with supporting her slacker of a daughter for the rest of her life,” she huffs, her chest rising and falling quickly.
My brow furrows as I contemplate her request. “How am I supposed to get that done? Samson wouldn’t—” I start again, but she places her manicured finger over my lips as I speak.
Her lips are tight. “I don’t care how you get it done. But if you don’t, everyone will know about you and Samson.” She stomps around me and disappears. I need to call him; she could ruin everything.
Chapter Seventeen
Holly
The lake is the only thing managing to calm my nerves as I looked around the beautiful waters. I told him to meet me here, and though he says he’s coming, it feels like time is dragging on, and all I can do is take in the scenery while I wait.
It’s sunny and the warm glow of the waters emanate with the sun sitting high up in the sky so peacefully. I’ve always loved the way the trees manage to surround the large body of water and encompass it as if it were a bowl of liquid that could spill if a single tree were removed.
As a kid, I’d always come here on my worst days, which is why I chose this place. It feels like the right location for such a hideous discussion.
As I take a seat on the bench, I nervously check my phone.
It’s almost noon. I hope he gets here soon.
Footsteps behind me draw my attention from the lake, and my heart flutters as I watch him get out of his vehicle and wave to me. His gorgeous smile lights up my darkness, and his hair flies up with the warm breeze and gets stuck at a cute angle that makes me smile. He is wearing one of his casual business suits, and I remember that I had to pull him out of the middle of a workday to talk to him. His presence helps relax me.
“Hey, Holly,” he calls to me, as he walks over. With his arms spread open, he pulls me in to kiss me. It lands on my cheek as I move out of the way, and I squirm out of his arms. He gives me a confused look, but before he asks any questions, he stops when he sees the sadness in my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Sophia,” I tell him, as I sigh and take a seat back on my bench. “She knows, Samson.”
