But there on the floor of my kitchen, in front of my armoire, I felt that I needed a friend more than anything else in the world. I swallowed and reached toward my phone. I’d kept every contact in the thing since the dawn of my political career, of course. I couldn’t afford not to. People continually cropped back up, their smiles sure and their arms outstretched, needing something from you. You had to pretend you knew them; you needed them. They did the same for you.
I tapped her number into the phone and I held it against my ear, sighing. I couldn’t believe I was dipping so low.
Finally, on the last ring, I heard her voice: “Hello?” It still held that efficiency that I knew so well from those years before, but it was also a bit softer, a bit friendlier. Like she’d been waiting for me.
“Rachel?” I murmured into the phone. I heard my voice—so clumsy. Like it needed her. I hated that I needed her.
“Amanda. Is that you?” The voice was hesitant, unsure, and a bit confused. She didn’t know what to think of this call; I didn’t, either.
“Yes,” I said, laughing a bit too loudly into the phone.
“How do you still have my number?” she asked, laughing.
I was confused by this. Of course I had her number. “You know I keep all the numbers, Rachel. Just in case.”
“Ah, yes,” she murmured, chortling a bit. “I didn’t quite realize that you were still in the business. I stepped away all those years ago and I forget how things are.”
So she’d actually quit, just like she’d said she would. I felt befuddled. I cleared my throat. “What a thing.” This was something my mother used to say. I had hated it, always thinking she sounded like a plain woman. I supposed she was, truly.
“Why are you calling?” Rachel asked.
A pause hung between us. I let it go on too long, nearly forcing her off the phone. But then I spoke up. “Listen, Rachel. I just…you’re the only person I could call. I have a small emergency at my place. The gas is leaking, and—and they have to do some repairs.”
“That’s terrible!” Rachel lurched, still a bit confused. Why would I call her, I was sure she was thinking. I was sure she had a million people she could have called in this situation. But she had taken herself out of this game so long ago; she didn’t have to play with fire, like I did.
“Right. So I need a place to stay,” I whispered into the phone, cringing at myself. I could hear the desperation.
Rachel “ohhed” into the phone. “Of course you can stay here.” She glided into it easily, as if she hadn’t had an incredible, overexerted though process in the back of her mind. “I have everything for you. A guest bedroom, even. Please. Come.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” I murmured, leaning my head back with such relief. “You’re really saving my life.”
She had no idea just how true this was.
Chapter Nine
After a half-hour taxi ride, I sat at Rachel’s kitchen table. She was across from me, looking a bit tired, if interested. She had poured us both a glass of wine, and I spun my glass round and round, trying to avoid the topic of why I was there.
“I like your place,” I finally sputtered, listening to the soft jazz in the background. The place was a good deal smaller than mine. She still lived alone. “You seeing anyone?” I asked her. This was what women were meant to ask other women. This was what I was sure.
She laughed—that familiar, tinkling laugh. “Actually, my boyfriend and I just broke up. About three weeks ago.”
I placed my hand over my heart then. “I’m so sorry.” It was truly strange that Rachel had even been seeing anyone. She’d been the one who’d stated that no one was meant to fall in love in our political business. “I thought you said no dating in politics?” I said then, taking a sip of my wine.
She shrugged her slim shoulders. I wondered if she was aging better than me. “You know, I did say that. And then I got the fuck out of politics.” She snapped her fingers, not in an unkind way. “I had to get out of there. It was toxic.”
I nodded, thinking about Jason. There was so much I could tell my friend, then. She could smell it on me.
“It’s been a long time,” Rachel finally said. “I haven’t seen you since—after the campaign? Is that right? Your career’s really taken off since then.” Her voice sounded impressed, but I didn’t know if it was a fake kind of impressed. I couldn’t tell if she hated my guts or felt jealous of my success.
“I guess it has. I’m with this new campaign. One of the leaders,” I stated, nodding.
“Well. You always had a thing for Xavier, right? So this must be nice for you.” Rachel smiled at me. Did she know?
I laughed, shaking my head. “That man is a trip. If he didn’t run the nation, I’d probably kill him.” I knew this wasn’t true; I knew that Xavier was an incredible man—a man I truly was falling in love with. But I had to put on a face for Rachel. Rachel laughed good-naturedly, but there was definitely something different about her—something resigned. We didn’t have the same relationship anymore.
Rachel set down her glass, and I heard it clink on the wood. “Amanda. Do you remember that I was really pretty good at reading people?” she asked me then.
I nodded, remembering it. I flashed a smile. “I remember you guessed the other candidate was lying. We wrote a speech about it. And he had been lying.”