Chapter 2

A week had gone by, and after an afternoon of making phone calls to key supporters, Simon caught a cab from the office and waited in the apartment for Caitlin to arrive. The Long Island Expressway could be unforgiving during rush hour. He wanted to be in by dinner time, and the way the news stations sounded, they probably wouldn’t get there until late in the night. Every now and then Simon had a need to discuss things with his father. They never had time anymore. While his father developed the all-too-limited lots of land in, Simon had been too busy raking in the money for Briarwood. Their paths hardly crossed any more. While he couldn’t tell his father everything that went on, he could always bear his weaker sides to him. Simon worried a lot about his future, not that it was in jeopardy. He was, after all, blessed with his father’s prosperity. He worried, because he wanted to accomplish great things in a short amount of time, and the process took too long. He often got impatient with it.

Most people don’t ever see a view from the top let alone have the privilege of working with the machinery at such an early age. Sure he felt lucky to have things that most people didn’t have, but he still wanted more – to be somebody, for instance, and not to be just another suit who stands on the coattails of someone else. Granted he was a realist as far as politics go, and he was fiercely loyal to the folks he associated with, but it was high time he got a little taste of the higher, more meaningful importance reserved for the select few. Talking with his father often put things in perspective. His father wanted him to enjoy himself a little more, and not be such a responsible tight-ass before his time. Charlie always used Stewart as an example. The guy partook in every pleasure imaginable, and he always came out on top. How a man got away with that Simon couldn’t say. Simon undoubtedly wanted the reward of political office for being so noble and responsible. He felt he deserved it.

Caitlin came in with a bunch of shopping bags. She bought a weekend wardrobe for the occasion.

“What do you think of this?” she asked while superimposing each outfit over her body.

“It looks fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine, Caitlin. All of the dresses are equally good.”

“How about this one?”

“That looks great. You look fabulous in anything you wear.”

“So which one should I wear?”

“Any one of them.”

“God, you’re such a man. I think you’ve been hanging around the club a little too much.”

By ‘club,’ she meant the august, members-only social group the Briarwoods and the Samples were a part of in Midtown Manhattan.

She then put on a sundress that made his heart melt. How easily Caitlin moved from one extreme to the other, always finding a dress that fit the situation. Her ease of moving from one environment to the next reminded him of a subtle talent that hid at the center of her. She molded to the cultural jug like expensive mineral water.

The car ride out to wasn’t too bad. They drove in a Mercedes SUV with the air conditioning on full blast. Caitlin set the stereo to a classical station, the top side of the coin as far as her personality went. Simon wondered if she had a spine she guarded, a part of her that didn’t shift from one extreme to the other, just stayed there tucked away within her. He hadn’t found the honest part of her yet but went on assuming that her mind was much like a little girl’s: always at play, always finding solace in leisure. He got a little nervous, because women who were chameleons were often hard to keep. Their colors change without regard for the colors they had on before. He put his hand on top of hers, messaging her butter-cream skin. Touching her was like talking in another language or trying to get to the honest parts without verbalizing it. Sometimes her touch was far off and distant, a little unresponsive, as though she thought about something else. Her silence lasted the three hours out to. Simon asked a couple of times:

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“You must be thinking about something. You have to give me credit for knowing you a little better than you think I do.”

“If you must know, I’m thinking about Vail this winter. I’m wondering if Jules and Marcia will show up this year.”

“Every year it gets tougher to go, Caitlin. They may want me in this winter.”

“I wonder what our lives will be like. We’ll have to live by, which is not so bad. Those fundraisers will make me obese.”

“Honey, it won’t be that bad. Besides, we can always visit, and Vail too. I know all of our friends are here, but we’ll have to make the move regardless.”

That’s how far the conversation went. The rest of the time they listened to the mellow classical stuff. It relaxed their minds so they could ponder the complicated questions without blowing a blood vessel at the same time.

The town center stirred with tourists having cocktails and dinner. He always got the butterflies when he entered the center of town. It reminded him of long summers spent on the beach at his father’s estate. When they were kids, Stewart would come over from, and they’d watch the foamy waves drag back into themselves. They built bonfires at night and invited a couple of Spence girls who summered nearby. They drank the liquor out of his father’s study, the bright stars hovering over them like space dust. Then Caitlin walked onto the scene, and since her he never had a reason to be that young again. Ambition took over, almost like a fight to keep her. Maybe she got a little bored of him now and then, as the political life wasn’t for everyone. He always watched his back, and sometimes he drove Caitlin nuts.

They drove up to an estate that had been kept in the family for generations. The family originated in. Simon’s ancestors fought in the Revolutionary War as loyalists. How they escaped death, he wasn’t sure, but land was dirt cheap back then, and the Samples bought a lot of it. They exported goods to the monarchy across the pond. Somewhere down the line the family moved into real estate, since someone had to manage all their property. And as the wheels spun round, they developed land in future urban areas. The Samples were legacies at, and they always graduated from the university with business degrees – economics, usually. Simon became the first Sample to choose political science as a major. His father wanted him to be a little more than the family’s status quo. Combine his ambition, social skills, and classic good looks, and Simon was a man ready to negotiate and make deals in the political arena. But first he had to pay his dues as a staff member for Bill Briarwood.