we were engaged. And we were preparing for an election.
The reason he had had a really great day that night by the elevator was that the state leaders of his party wanted him to run for lieutenant governor. (I have to admit, I didn’t even know that was something you ran for, I just thought the governor chose a running mate, like a vice president. You learn something new every day.) The next two months were a blur, an endless whirl of cocktail parties and handshakes and conversations behind closed doors. When it was over and we’d won, neither of us had the energy to plan a wedding.
“Let’s just do it this weekend,” Robert said, in a giant, empty hotel ballroom, hours after the cheering and the music had faded and the only sound was the industrial brooms sweeping away the confetti. “We’ll do it quietly, at the house. We’ll throw a party in a few weeks if you want but let’s just do it now. I want so badly to be married to you.”
He has an amazing ability to be sensible and romantic in the same conversation. I’d never met a man who could be either one of those, much less both. How could I not marry him?
So I did.
My father insisted on flying out, so he did.
And his girlfriend insisted on serving lunch, so a caterer did.
And Robert’s office sent flowers and the governor sent champagne and two local television stations sent reporters and cameras. I guess it was not the way most girls envision their wedding day, but to tell the truth I never really envisioned mine at all. In fact, this was probably the best way for me to get married. I think if there were three hundred people in a church and I was wearing a colossal white dress with a veil and a train and flowers and attendants and trumpets and all the other things, I would just burst out hysterically laughing. It’s just so not me.
Anyway, that is what Robert meant when he said, “It’s finally just us,” over dinner last night. Then he carried me over the threshold into this sumptuous suite, and he took my clothes off slowly in the pitch blackness with the sound of waves breaking on the beach just outside, and we made love standing up and then again lying down, and when it was done we snuggled in the soft carpeting and I could feel his heart beating against my chest, and as it slowed and his breathing steadied I thought to myself: For the first time in my life, everything seems as though it is the way it is supposed to be.
Then it was eight o’clock this morning and Robert was wide-awake. He wakes up filled with energy; this morning I felt his energy pressing against my thigh, so we made love again, quickly this time, and then he was off to a massage while I lounged for a while before calling room service and asking for coffee and granola and yogurt. I had my own spa appointment to look forward to, and then we were taking our first scuba lesson in the afternoon. I wasn’t even thinking about my little game when I sat down at the desk and opened Robert’s laptop; it was just by force of habit that I typed those three words.
You see, Robert’s laptop has two separate means of entry. The first offers access to only the standard functions: Internet Explorer, Microsoft Outlook, a variety of games. Then there is a portal that requires special clearance, and Robert has told me for as long as I’ve known him that among the documents he signed upon being appointed to his office was one affirming that he will never, under any circumstances, allow unauthorized access to persons without clearance, regardless of his relationship to them. I laughed when he first told me about it, and said, “Reminds me of Al Pacino telling Diane Keaton not to ask about his business.” But Robert didn’t laugh. I left it alone.
So, every morning since I moved to L.A., the first thing I do is take one shot at accessing the portal. I’ve seen him do it, from across a room, and I’m almost certain I’ve counted thirteen keystrokes. It’s hard to be certain because he flies through so quickly, but I’m pretty sure it’s thirteen. So, every morning, before breakfast, I take that one try at cracking the code. (I need to explain that I really,