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“UGH.” I’M PAWING MY WAY through my closet. It’s the night before Halloween; Tim’s fundraiser is tonight. What the hell do I wear to this one? It’s being held at a funky club in downtown Providence. He’s going to have bands playing, a tequila tasting, and a few other fun activities, like cigar rolling. He’s trying to appeal to younger voters with the bands, but older ones, too, with the cigar rolling. I think it’ll be a great night, if only I can get dressed and get there. I don’t want to look like a dowdy candidate’s wife, but I also don’t want to dress in slutty club clothes, either.
I pull out my standby club outfit: a black tank top and the dark skinny jeans that I know Tim won’t be able to keep his eyes off of. I pull on my black knee-high stiletto boots and snake on a few chunky silver bangle bracelets. After I throw on a bit of eyeliner and maroon lipstick, I’m ready to rock. Of course, I have to take off the boots once I get into my car, because I’ve never mastered the art of driving a stick shift in high heels.
The valet waits while I pull on my boots and hand him the keys. When I walk in, I see Portia standing with two other women I don’t recall having seen at any of her endless Chanel-suit fundraiser brunches. She looks me up and down, and I do the same to her. I’ve never seen her wear jeans. She’s still wearing a suit jacket and her three strands of pearls, but the dark-wash jeans are surprisingly up to date, belted just below her waist with a silver chain belt. I approach her, and she air kisses both of my cheeks. Also a first. I peer into her glass and wonder how many tequilas she’s tasted.
“Brenda, I want to introduce you to my new friends, Marianne and Paula.” I turn to shake their hands. “I met them at the Newport chapter of Widows with Style.”
What? She’s going to a widow support group? Now I’m starting to wonder if she’s taken to tequila-tasting at home, as well.
Aria ushers us in. “Tim’s speech is about to start. Brenda, you need to get backstage so you can make an entrance with Tim.” As she leads me through the club, I notice that Tim has an excellent turnout. The front of the stage is thick with people dancing to a Pearl Jam cover band. We go through a door just to the right of the stage, and I see Tim poring over his index cards. He looks up and smiles at me, then glances at his watch. Is he—ever the cool cucumber—actually nervous?
“You ready?” I ask him and squeeze his arm. Just as I turn my attention away from him for a second, I see a familiar face duck into a doorway down the hall. “If I didn’t know better,” I say, “I’d swear I just saw Ben Taylor.” Tim shrugs and smiles. His eyes shine bright in an “I just got you the single best Christmas present ever” expression. “Are you serious? They’re here? Why? Are you okay?”
“Bren, we have to go on soon. I’ll explain everything tonight after the show, okay?”
It’s not okay. I want to know what the hell Hydra is doing here. How on earth are they in the same room as Tim? I’ve thought for sure that Tim would never, ever want to associate with them again. And why is he so calm about it?
We’re ushered onto the stage, and the roar of applause is deafening. I stand beside Tim as he thanks everyone for coming, and then I step off to the side a bit while the spotlight focuses on him. He talks about his bid for state Senate and why he’s the right man for the job.
As he’s speaking about job creation and incentives for small businesses, I scan the crowd while trying to keep my eyes mostly on Tim. I spot Portia and her friends; she waves to me and flashes a thumbs up. I nod back. Now I am starting to wonder whether someone slipped a roofie into her drink.
The crowd cheers at something Tim said. Shit, I really need to be paying more attention. Is it obvious that I am not completely listening? I flick my eyes back to the crowd again and spot Annie off to the left, near the edge of the stage. Tim must have invited her, too. I can’t help but beam when she jumps up and down and waves at me.
Tim finishes speaking, and he turns to me and kisses me as the cameras flash. We raise our clasped hands and wave at the crowd, exiting the stage just as the crew is setting up for another band. I spot Toni in the wings with a headset on and her clipboard in her arms.
“Always the rock-and-roll cruise director, eh?” I ask, laughing.
“Brenda!” She throws her arms around me for a hug. “I’d love to chat, but the boys are about to go on.”
“I understand.” I smile back at her. “Congrats on the promotion! You so deserve it!”
She smiles back at me and listens to her headset. She shrugs apologetically, and I wave her off. “Go! You have rock stars to control.”
I decide to get out of the way of all the frantic pre-show stage setting, so I make my way back out to the crowd at the front of the stage. Annie throws her arms around me when I get over to where she’s standing. It’s so noisy in the club that it’s hard to talk.
At last, I can hear Jeff’s bass drum begin to pound over the noise of the crowd, and I know they’re opening with “Battleground Zero.” The crowd goes wild with applause and cheers.
Portia and her friends materialize to the left of me, and she hands me a drink. “It’s a tequila spritzer, darling,” she gushes. “It’s divine.”
I take a sip. She’s not kidding—it’s delicious. I need to pace myself with these, or I’ll end up bombed at Tim’s big fundraiser. Portia clinks her glass to mine and smiles at me. She and her friends bob their heads to the music. Who the hell is this woman, and what has she done with my mother-in-law?