Midnight by Anna Dove (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

and he said he agreed. The man who owns most of Wall Street said he would back me. We talked until two in the morning—and he’s agreed to help me fund the campaign. He’s contributing three million.” He sipped his drink.

             Adela blinked, and paused.

            “I thought we said that you were not going to run.”

             “Well, sure, but that’s before I got Franklin’s backing.”

              “I suppose he’ll benefit, you know, since of course you’re very pro-business.”

               “From the diamonds at your throat and the sapphires in your earlobes, I would venture to say that you are pro-business as well.”

               “I am pro-diamond, and I am anti-politics.”

                Gilman frowned.

                “Don’t be ridiculous. If I’m governor, you will be the governor’s wife! It will be such a good thing for you. You can pursue all of your philanthropic dreams, and all of New York will love you.”

                “You will be the one that they love,” she replied angrily.  “I will be the woman on your arm. You know me—how I hate to be seen as any sort of puppet. Look at the First Ladies—poor women—trapped inside pastel pantsuits, kissing babies and planting trees. There is nothing in that. If that is the greatest that I can aspire to, I would rather die.” She motioned passionately, her eyes burning. “I hate politics. The Americans simply elect whoever they think makes the best speeches and looks prettiest on television. They don’t even care that much. Politicians fight and play theatre just to cater to the crowds. It’s empty, it’s a charade. Better if a king were in power, if we could get rid of the theatre. Close the curtain already. Make laws, make them quickly, don’t let the people decide which laws they want. The people have no idea. They are uneducated, entitled, materialistic, selfishly pursuing their own interests, oblivious to that of their neighbors. They are godless, the Americans—lacking unity and moral code. And you want the people to rule? Such theatre. And now you want to be an actor, and you want me to support this ridiculous charade?”

              Her husband looked at her coldly.

        “You know, the twentieth century was ruined by dictators who made those same arguments. Yes—our country is not perfect—but democracy is a hell of a lot better than anything else. I can’t believe you would say this. I really can’t believe it. I can’t believe you actually think that. But then again, you do have a strain of the crazy in your blood.” He took a sip, watching her.

              Adela’s eyes narrowed.

              “My mother is not to be brought into the conversation.”

              “Democracy is the fairest system, everyone knows it,” replied Gilman. “I hope that you will know enough to hold your tongue on the campaign trail. Otherwise there might be a leak to the media about how your mother died in a mental institution.” He turned to ascend the steps.

         “I’ll accuse you of domestic abuse,” shot back Adela, her cheeks flushed.

         She stood there, beautiful, angry, and her husband turned back to her, but did not notice the flashing of her eyes or the way her lips were pressed together, because he never really paid great attention to details, especially when he had something else on his mind, which was often.

         Adela threw back her shoulders.

         “I’ll accuse you of domestic abuse. Tell me, Mr. Gilman, just how you expect to win when I do that.”

         “In the game of poker,” said Gilman, descending the stairs and stopping at the bottom, “there is one goal. To not reveal your tell. You do everything possible to keep your cards a secret, and not only that, but to conceal your reaction to those cards.”

         “I hate poker.”

         “Well that’s excellent, because you’re no good at it. You’ve just revealed your hand. You see, Adela,” continued Gilman, smiling. “You know nothing. Go ahead, leave me,” he mocked, fluttering his hand dismissively. “The minute you file those divorce papers, the minute you open your mouth to utter domestic abuse, I’ll paint you as the psychopath you really are, weak, childish, evil, unable to cope with the pressure of public life. Your mother--that story you buried about her death—that story may suddenly be found again--by accident, of course--oh, the journalists are foaming at the bit to capture stories like these. They’ll eat you up, chew you in the molars, and spit you out like an unsavory bite. Your little story about domestic abuse? Discredited, and on top of that, they will skewer you as the insane person you are. You stupid woman, I’ll tell you one last time--believe me when I say it--you will support me, and you will wear the dresses that your aides give you, and will put on your mascara and your lipstick and your diamonds, and you will talk about me and say what a great governor I will be, and then, when I win, you will smile by my side.”

              There was a moment of silence.

              “Actually,” Adela continued in a cool tone, “it doesn’t surprise me that you want to insert yourself into political theater. You’ve always cared far too much about what people think of you, anyway. This is just the next popularity contest for you. You’ll never be happy enough, nothing is ever enough for you. And so you strive for power and you try to make everyone else miserable so you can feel better about yourself.”

              “You are always so obsessed with your interpretation of my feelings. You embarrass yourself with such an idiotic statement.”

              “You embarrass yourself by being an idiot,” she returned.

              He smiled condescendingly and took a deep breath as if about to speak to a pestering child.

              “Get it all out now, because once we hit the campaign trail, I will expect you to behave.”

              “And if I don’t?”

              She stood on the floor, her