The limo ride to the studio had been, by far, the most cringe-worthy twenty minutes of M.J.’s life. Unfortunately, she had been privy to everything the Wahlmans had said to each other. How could she avoid it? Was she supposed to open the sliding window, crawl headfirst through the divider, and sit up front with the driver? She needed a hot shower and a tequila slammer after the experience.
“This is utterly ridiculous, Dick.” That’s how it had started. Tamara had said that as she finished off what was left of her second early-morning scotch, leaving a shiny pink lipstick stamp along the rim of the glass. “This is a debacle. At this point in your career? Really, Richard? Couldn’t you have found some other way to help look for this pitiful urchin of yours? Perhaps walk through fields with neighbors and their tracking hounds or something? Anything that didn’t involve dragging the Derrick family name through the muck?”
“I told you—this isn’t about the Derricks.”
“Oh, darling, you are my very favorite pathological narcissist.”
“Stop it, Tamara.”
“You truly don’t give a rat’s ass about the impact this may have on Derrick Brand Restaurants, which I find ironic, since you would be nothing without us.”
“That’s enough.”
“I despise you for this, Dick.”
“You’ve despised me for twenty-five years.”
“True.” She had thrown a few ice cubes into the glass and freshened her drink. “Well, at least now you have the baby I could never give you.”
“I won’t even respond to that.”
“But why this way, Dick? Why can’t you deal with this problem quietly? Why are you making a spectacle of yourself ten weeks before the election? Why are you throwing away your shot at the vice presidency? Do you want to ruin your life? Is that what’s going on? Are you just so insecure about yourself that you want the world to know your penis works?”
M.J. had contemplated hurling herself out the window at that point.
Richard had kept his fury bottled in, however. No wonder he’d had a heart attack. “I simply want to find Christina.”
“How noble of you.”
“It’s the right goddamn thing to do!”
Tamara had blinked in surprise at her husband’s sudden outburst, then turned her claws on M.J. “This is your idea, I take it?”
It was a good thing M.J. had long ago perfected the art of saying “fuck off” without using the word “fuck” or the word “off.” She had smiled pleasantly at Tamara. “As much as I appreciate your confidence in my skills, I assure you, you couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve advised Richard to keep the matter as private as possible. I think what he’s doing is a horrible mistake. There is a chance some of his base would admire how he’s stepped up to his responsibility here, but that is a gigantic risk.” M.J. had then pretended to be checking her text messages.
Tamara had laughed again. “Oh, I find that hard to believe, Mary Jane. I’ve known you for a long time, and I’ve seen you use anything and anyone for political gain.” She had looked toward her husband and cocked her head to the side. “So let me take a wild stab at it, darling—you think voters will see that behind that nasty old scar of yours is a heart of gold. Is that it? Just weeks out of the hospital and Congressman Richard Wahlman is willing to sacrifice his health and his reputation to find his long-lost bastard child? Or maybe you’re proving to the world that you’re still healthy and vibrant enough to be the parent of a toddler!” She raised her glass. “Fabulous.”