“This is the documentary,” Wayne declared. Farah could almost hear him salivating from New York. “It’s all about this now. You know that, right?”
Farah put her phone on speaker mode and opened her laptop. She was sitting on the bed in her private room above the lake house garage, trying to catch up with what Wayne was telling her. Her stomach growled and she wished for dinner. “Hang on, it’s loading.”
A pause.
And then there it was. On a local politics blog of the Boston Herald site: “Is Former Senator John Bright Hiding a Sex Scandal?” The story itself was thin: an unnamed woman claimed to have had an affair with John Senior years before, and she suggested that there had been others. The rumor wasn’t verified by other sources, and it wasn’t the work of staff reporting. It could be nothing at all.
But it didn’t seem like nothing at all to Farah. When the Brights finally returned from the dog shelter, she’d watched John Senior come out to the car and whisper something to JJ. Then the two of them walked quickly to the study and shut the door. Everyone else had gone directly to their rooms. Something was up.
“Wayne, this could go either way, I think. Could just be a smear campaign.”
“Could be... But it could be real, too. And if it’s real, it’s a big fucking deal. This guy is always held up as the moral conscience of his party, a God-fearing family man. His image has been squeaky-clean. If he’s having affairs, that’s a big deal.”
“I need to get back in there with the family. I should be recording them.”
“Yes, you should. Farah, they’re going to try to keep this quiet. Your job just got harder.”
“I know. I’m ready for that.”
“If they close doors and ask for privacy, you gotta remind them of the deal we made. Full access—that was the agreement.”
“Right, full access.”
“I know you can do this. Just...resist the urge to be nice. That’s not your job.”
“I’m not actually that nice, anyway. But Wayne?”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s no affair, then this is probably going to be just another documentary about a political race. It seems like that’s where the drama is going now. Is that what you want?”
He exhaled. “Just follow the family dynamics. Whatever happens from here on out is about all of them—John Bright’s marriage, his sons, his blind ambition. It doesn’t matter what’s true and what isn’t anymore because the accusations will open something up with these people.”
“I agree.”
“Good. Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye.”
Farah hung up and leaned back against a pillow. She agreed with Wayne on the strategy, but she also felt a little sick about the Brights now, too. Ever since Charlie had tried to kiss her earlier that morning, she was terrified of being approached by Chelsea, or Philip or anyone who may have seen them. She was angry with him for crossing that line; it was professionally compromising. Worst of all, she just wished it had been Philip. If she was compromised, she wanted it to be with him. And that made her feel like a fool, too.
Farah went to the line of cameras laid out on the carpet and selected a midweight device, with a good lens for evening light. She changed the memory card and put extra batteries in her pocket. It would be dinnertime soon, the first time they would all be in the same room since word of John Senior’s affair went public.
Downstairs, Farah switched out the new camera on the mount and adjusted the curtains in the dining room for glare. As she looked through the lens at the empty farmhouse table, Charlie walked in. He stopped dead in his tracks when he realized she was there.
“Oh, sorry,” he muttered and turned around.
“Charlie, wait.”
He looked up.
“It’s fine, okay?”
It wasn’t fine, but she needed to move on from the attempted kiss if she were to do her job. There couldn’t be weirdness.
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“It’s really fine.”
“Okay.”
He was annoyed. And his annoyance bothered her. This was a problem of his own making.
“What I’m saying is I accept your apology.”
Charlie stepped toward her. “Are we done?”
“Almost. But I want to know why you did that.”
“I don’t know why. I just did it. But clearly, I misread things. You just seemed sort of...open to something.”
“Well, I’m not. And you have a girlfriend here.”
“It’s not like that with Chelsea and me.” He looked around, nervous and uncomfortable. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. Are you going to torture me over this?”
She didn’t want to feel bad for him, but it was true that there was a lot going on in his family at that moment. “No. I’m over it.”
“Thank you. And I really am sorry. Things are kind of blowing up right now...but you probably already know that.” Charlie looked up, toward the second floor, where his parents and siblings were hiding out in bedrooms.
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Charlie walked out.
Farah stood in silence for a moment, then headed to the back porch to wait for them all. As she opened the screen door, Chelsea appeared before her.
“Hey!”
Chelsea grinned. “Hey, I’ve been trying to find you.” She didn’t seem like she knew anything about Charlie’s advances, but Farah was still wary. “Wanna go for a walk later? After you’re done with your work.”
“Ah, sure, maybe. So you’re staying, then?”
“At least for another week. I can’t go to my aunt’s place yet, so I kind of let Charlie think I decided to stay for his sake. No point in hurting his feelings.”
“Right. Well, good!” Farah didn’t think Charlie would try anything again, but she liked the idea of having Chelsea there as a deterrent just in case.
“So are you going to this dinner?”
“What dinner?”
Chelsea leaned in and whispered. “The guys are apparently going to some bar tonight, to discuss the rumors about their dad. I wasn’t invited—thank God—but I thought maybe you’d be there.”
“No one said anything to me, but I’m not surprised they’d prefer not to be recorded.”
“That would be a first.”
Farah turned back toward the screen door. “Okay, I’m sorry to run off, but I need to make sure they take me with them. I’ll find you later.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
Farah ran back up to her room above the garage, tucked her camera into a backpack and changed into a clean shirt. As she freshened up, she considered if and how to tell Chelsea about the kiss—the attempted kiss. She owed her that much. She’d expect another woman to do it for her. On the other hand, Chelsea was leaving soon. And the kiss never really landed. Maybe, in the interest of their immediate sanity, she should wait and tell Chelsea after she’d gone. Yes, that’s what she would do. It was a selfish choice—because Farah couldn’t risk becoming part of a story that she was supposed to be observing—but it was mostly harmless. She wouldn’t let Charlie ruin this for her.
And so Farah tucked the kiss into a sealed box in her brain and chose to forge ahead. She laced her sneakers, lifted her backpack and left the bedroom.
In the driveway, JJ, Spencer, Charlie and Philip were talking quietly around JJ’s SUV. They noticed her presence and began quickly loading into the car.
“May I come?” Farah immediately regretted having framed it as a question.
Charlie looked away. Philip looked at his feet. JJ and Spencer exchanged glances.
“That was the deal,” she reminded them.
“Fine,” Spencer said. He turned to his brothers. “There’s nothing to these rumors, and we have nothing to hide. Better to get this all on camera.”
No one objected, though the other three seemed less sure.
So Farah got in her little car and followed the SUV down the driveway, through the gate and into town behind the Bright boys.
“This is just par for the course,” Spencer assured his brothers as they waited for their drinks.
A sign above the bar said The Wagon Wheel in burned wood on thick cedar. It was a surprisingly interesting bar, the kind of place Farah would have chosen. Dark and a little dirty. It had, inexplicably, Western paraphernalia mounted on the walls and autographed pictures of B-list celebrities hanging. Actual drunks sat at the bar, and the only wines listed on the menu were “red,” “white” and “pink.” Farah liked them all just a little more for picking the spot, though she suspected it might have been chosen as an unlikely hideout for their famous family. If anyone knew who they were at The Wagon Wheel, they definitely didn’t care.
The Bright men were seated around a small table in a quiet corner, with Farah recording them from several feet away. It wouldn’t be quality footage with all the ambient noise, but it would be something different.
“Every campaign deals with this,” Spencer said. “It could have been made up by the opposition. It could have been exaggerated by some scorned ex-employee. This will pass.”
A waitress put beers down in front of the men, and JJ began drinking immediately.
“But do you think he did it?” Philip said.
Spencer looked offended. “Did what?”
“Had an affair. Do you think Dad would cheat on Mom?”
“I don’t think so,” Charlie said. “I mean, you never know, but I don’t really think...”
Spencer shook his head. “He didn’t do it. We would have known. It would have come out in a previous campaign. And c’mon, this is Dad we’re talking about. Do you think he’s capable of that?”
No one said anything, and Farah imagined that they were watching reels of their respective childhoods unspool behind their eyes. Every interaction their father ever had with babysitters, friends’ moms and pretty teachers. Every look and comment was suspect now. They were trying to understand the things they’d witnessed in this new light. Did Senator John Bright’s integrity hold up?
Farah had seen John Senior with several women in her short time with this family. He was vaguely flirtatious in a way that she dismissed as old-fashioned and harmless. He called waitresses “honey,” but he didn’t stare at their breasts. He complimented Charlie on his taste in Chelsea but didn’t insinuate anything lewd. He was like a lot of men his age, which meant that he absolutely could be—or could not be—a cheater.
“But why would somebody say it if it wasn’t true?” Philip asked.
Spencer rolled his eyes. “There are, like, ten good reasons to make something like this up, Phil. This woman could be on the payroll of a primary challenger. She could be looking for a payout. She could be a run-of-the-mill fame whore. This is just what happens.”
The waitress returned and put two large plates on the table: one fries, one chicken wings. “Careful, they’re hot.”
“We need to find out who this bitch is,” Charlie said.
The waitress frowned and walked away.
“We probably will,” Spencer said quietly. “The truth is that Dad’s senatorial campaigns weren’t all that competitive. I’m not sure anyone has ever done any serious opposition research on him.”
“Has Dad said anything to anyone about it?”
They all looked at JJ, who was understood to be the closest to John Senior on all things, campaign related and otherwise.
“Not to me,” JJ said, finishing his beer. “He’s been in his office ever since we got back from the dog shelter.”
Philip leaned in toward his brother. “But JJ, what do you think? Do you think Dad did it?”
JJ looked sick. He looked like the pint of Miller Lite that he’d just inhaled was churning inside him and considering coming back up. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything for sure... But I did see something once.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah. Remember ten years ago at Christmas? I told all of you that I’d seen Dad having a drink with a woman at the Four Seasons.”
Spencer waved him off. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“That’s what you said ten years ago, Spence. And I told you it looked like something. I can’t really explain why...it just did.”
“I remember,” Philip said. “We got mad at you.”
JJ signaled for the waitress and pointed at his empty pint glass. “May I have another?”
“I’ll have one, too,” Charlie added.
JJ looked angry now. “None of you believed me then. Do you think I’d bring it up if I wasn’t fairly certain? Don’t you think I know what a big deal this is?”
No one spoke for a moment. Farah panned her camera around the table, registering the tortured looks on each of their faces. She felt bad for being there and having to memorialize their pain, but she didn’t stop.
Philip turned to her. “Do we have to film this?”
Farah looked at JJ, who looked at Spencer.
“It doesn’t matter because it isn’t true,” Spencer said. “Keep recording.”
Farah wanted to apologize to them all, but instead she focused on the small screen in front of her and plowed ahead.
“I believe JJ,” Charlie said softly.
“What?”
“I heard something once. It was years ago. I was just a kid. I picked up the phone at the same time as Dad and he was talking to a woman. I don’t even remember what they said, but I remember thinking it didn’t seem right. I just tried to forget it.”
“So it’s true,” Philip said quietly.
Spencer shook his head. “Unbelievable. You’re all just going to throw Dad under the bus like this? There’s no proof of anything yet!”
JJ turned to him. “Look, you haven’t been around Dad as much as I have. We work in the same city. We run in the same circles. I have more to lose from this, but I also can’t pretend he’s someone other than who he is. It seems possible. And it fucking kills me to say that, but it does.”
“Do you think it’s still going on?” Charlie asked.
“No. I haven’t seen or heard anything in years. I doubt it. But who knows...”
Spencer began eating fries, one after another. He was livid. Farah watched him as he struggled to weave this new information into the things he already knew and the things he wanted to believe.
“I think it’s true,” Philip said again.
“Okay,” Spencer started. “So maybe it happened in the past, but it probably isn’t happening now... We can work with this... Infidelity doesn’t derail political campaigns anymore. You just do a public apology... Make it a redemption story. Yeah, we can work with this.”
JJ nodded. “I think we can, too. And there’s still the possibility that we can discredit this woman, whoever she is.”
Spencer ate more fries.
“Guys, this isn’t about the campaign,” Philip said. “Who cares about the campaign! This is about our father. Doesn’t this matter to you?”
He looked back and forth at his older brothers, who were blank at that moment. His expression changed from appalled to comprehending. Farah watched as Philip began to understand the desperation of his brothers. In his attempt to see the best in everyone, Philip had missed a lot about his family.
“Oh,” he said finally. “You guys need this campaign, don’t you? Is that it?”
JJ nodded. “I need it. Fuck it! I’ll say it. I need this campaign. You happy, Phil? Our firm is merging with a bigger one, and I haven’t had any wins in over a year. I need something else right now to make the case for myself. People are going to lose their jobs. Plus, we’re a little underwater financially.”
A pause.
Then it was Spencer’s turn. “I don’t have a publisher for my next book. The reviews were brutal for the last one, and now I don’t even have a chance to redeem myself with a new one.”
“But you’re still tenured, right?” Charlie asked.
Spencer laughed bitterly. “And yet I still feel like shit. Go fucking figure.”
“You need a shrink,” Charlie said. “I’d be thrilled to be a tenured professor.”
“It’s not enough for me. It’s not enough for Dad, either. You know it. JJ knows it.”
JJ nodded.
Charlie slumped. “Well, Jesus, then I can’t imagine how much of a disappointment I must be to him.”
No one said anything.
Charlie looked around the table. “You think I’m a disappointment? You think Dad thinks that?”
Spencer leaned in toward his little brother. “It’s not right. It’s just how he is. You’ve been gone so long, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have him watching. He doesn’t say anything directly, but he lets you know whether you’re meeting expectations.”
“You need this campaign, too, Charlie.” JJ said it regretfully. No one was enjoying this.
Philip leaned back and put a hand on Farah’s knee. “Can you turn it off...just for a few minutes?”
Farah held her breath for a moment, and then she stopped the camera. She put it down in her lap. This isn’t about them, she told herself. I don’t need to humiliate everyone in the family to do an honest profile of one man. Wayne would want the footage, but Wayne couldn’t know what it was like to be there with them. Watching these paragons of confidence and success confess all their failings, one after another, was like watching towers fall. All of them sitting around those soggy fries in that sad, weird bar as they exposed the humiliations endured at the hand of their father. Farah was shocked by how much it gutted her. These men weren’t victims. These men were the lucky winners in a rigged world. Their failures were illusions, minor setbacks in otherwise blessed lives. They deserved no one’s pity.
And yet the shame on their faces was real. The Bright men weren’t archetypes in some abstract class war. (She missed thinking that they were.) The Bright men were small, soft humans.
The waitress returned with a second beer for Spencer, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he got up and brought it to Farah. It was a thank-you. She drank.
“Well, what about me?” Philip said. “What does he think of me, then?”
There was a pause.
“It has always been a little different with you, Phil.” JJ searched for the most delicate possible phrasing. “Dad expects different things from you.”
“He lets you be you,” Spencer added.
They suffered another twenty seconds of silence. A group of men playing darts at the other end of the bar erupted in cheers. Pool balls clanked against one another. A soda gun sprayed.
Finally, Philip said, “It’s true. Dad has always been different with me. I don’t know why he has, but I try to think of it as a lucky break. Hearing you guys talk about Dad... I never knew it was like that for you.”
Everyone nodded. Some drank. Suddenly, the power imbalance between all the beautiful, natural, cool Brights and quirky Philip was teetering back to the center. Something equalizing was happening. All the petty, demeaning humor was gone as JJ, Spencer and Charlie looked at Philip, wondering why things had been different for him. And how he maintained the courage not to care.
“I think you should do the campaign,” Philip said.
Charlie looked up. “You do?”
“Definitely. If you guys need this, then I think you should do it. Even if he doesn’t win, it will be a professional win for each of you. Dad’s the only person with something big to lose. What I’m saying is...use him. That seems fair to me.”
“What about the women?” Charlie said.
Philip shrugged. “If it’s true, and it comes out, it’s his past to reckon with.”
This wasn’t a happy answer. They wanted to win, as Brights do. But it seemed that in receiving Philip’s approval for this plan, they were somehow absolved of their impure motivations for doing it. If Philip could bless their selfishness, then maybe it wasn’t so selfish after all. That’s what Farah heard, anyway. And who else could grant that absolution but Philip?
“We have to talk to him about the women,” JJ said. “First thing when we get back. We need to get out ahead of this.”
“If it’s true,” Spencer added, weakly.
“Right, if it’s true.”
“Poor Mom,” Philip said.
JJ drained his third glass. “What an animal.”
Spencer stood up and wiped his eyes. He looked down at each of his brothers and shook his head. Then he walked through the bar and out the door.
Farah and the rest of them could see him leaning against the car in the dark. They looked around at one another with sullen expressions. Nothing left to do at The Wagon Wheel now. JJ dropped two twenties at the center of the table and everyone stood up.
They went home to face their father, as he really was.