Party Lines Page 5

  Once off to the side and out of sight of the candidates, Ron Sharp discreetly clutched her sleeve, pulling Lindsay towards him.

  “What in the hell was that?” he asked.

  “What in the hell was what?” Lindsay asked innocently.

  “That little jibe at my candidate,” he said. “Don’t play stupid.”

  “I’m not playing stupid,” Lindsay said. “As usual, Hopkins was doing one of his ham-handed plays for the camera. I just thought I’d help him by pointing out how obvious he was being.”

  “He just went to shake her hand,” Ron said.

  “Yes, without even looking at her,” Lindsay replied. “Really, Ron, are you so partisan that you can’t even see how phony he is?”

  “Bradford Hopkins is a dedicated public servant, a leader..”

  “..and he’s sweating like a pig,” said Lindsay, her eyes now on the podium.

  And she was correct. The questioning had begun without either noticing, but now they grew silent as members of the audience put questions to both Faircloth and Hopkins about issues important to women.

  Clara fielded questions on health care, childcare and equal pay with confidence and candor, but Hopkins seemed uncomfortable and frequently tugged at his collar or mopped his brow.

  “Whose cockamamie decision was it to put him in a dark suit?” Lindsay asked, shaking her head.

  “Whose do you think?” Ron asked.

  “Yours?” She looked over and raised an eyebrow.

  Ron shook his head. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Doing what?” The candidates were discussing their approaches to health care now, and Lindsay answered Ron as one who has better things to pay attention to.

  “Being a bitch.”

  She turned on him, her expression hurt and angry. “Oh, after revealing my feelings to you I guess I’m supposed to be some little demure pushover, and if I’m not then I’m suddenly a bitch?”

  “No,” he said, looking around to make sure no one was listening in. “You’re supposed to be the same astute, assertive manager and not overcompensate for the guilt of your revelations by becoming some underhanded operative.”

  “Like you?” she asked.

  They stared at one another now in silence.

  “You need to see me after the debate,” he said. “Tonight.”

  “Why should I?” she asked, aware now that she was testing him – had been testing him.

  “I think you know,” he said. “I’ll send a car for you at eight.”

  She considered telling him she would do no such thing, he had no right to order her to meet him at a certain time without letting her at first check her schedule. But the words did not come, and even if they did it would not have mattered since he had walked away.

  Lindsay felt her face flush with warmth. Was he correct? Was she overcompensating? Or was she – as she suspected – pushing the limits to see whether he would enforce them. If that was the case, she’d obviously pushed too far.

  ***

  “I should never have agreed to do that damn forum.” Bradford Hopkins could not get his tie off fast enough once he and Ron had gotten in the cab. “That whole audience was in her pocket the entire time. And it didn’t help that I was sweating like a pig. And what was up with that mouthy little bitch managing Clara’s campaign, taking a dig at me like that. Little brat. The first thing I’m going to do when we win is laugh right in her face.”

  Ron looked out the window so his candidate wouldn’t see his irritated expression. Hopkins was right; Lindsay had indeed been bratty. But he felt a surge of defensiveness at Hopkins’ words for the woman he’d spend so much time with the night before. It was one thing for him to suggest she was being bitchy; it was quite another to have Hopkins call her a bitch. It suddenly occurred to him that Lindsay had been right. His candidate was a phony, and for the first time he was wondering if the voters weren’t seeing through him.

  “She was just trying to unnerve you,” Sharp said dismissively.

  “Well pardon me if that assessment doesn’t make me feel better,” Hopkins said. “Especially since it had the desired effect. I don’t like her, Ron. I don’t like her at all. In fact, I’m beginning to think that she’s too effective a weapon for Clara to have gotten her hands on. I don’t know where this Lindsay Martin came from or what her game is, but something’s going to have to be done about her.”

  “What do you mean?” Sharp felt a wave of apprehension.

  “I mean I want you to put some time into finding some dirt on that little bitch,” Hopkins said, ignoring his campaign manager’s frown. “I don’t care what it is - past affairs, embarrassing photographs, traffic tickets – anything.”

  Ron shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Clara vetted her before she hired her,” he said. “Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I have a campaign to run.”

  Hopkins scoffed. “Instead of looking at this as a campaign to run you need to be looking at this as an election to win. Now, Clara’s got an ace in the hole with that girl and I’m sick and tired of her.”

  Now it was Sharp’s turn to feel indignant. “Now listen, Bradford. You need to get a grip. Lindsay Martin may have gotten under your skin, but she was just doing her job. If I’d done the same thing to Clara you’d be patting me on the back for it and you know it.”

  “Don’t you dare take that tone with me.” Hopkins was red-faced and Ron Sharp found himself taken aback by the man’s demeanor. “You’re forgetting who the boss is here. What the hell, Ron? You like this girl or something?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ron said. “I just think you need to calm down.”

  “Driver, pull over. I’ll get out here.” Hopkins sat forward in his seat as the car slowed in front of the exclusive social club to which he belonged. “Now I’m going to take your advice and go have a drink. I’ll see you in the morning, and when I do I expect you to have some dirt Clara’s manager. It’ll get her out of the way and take some of the steam out of her the Faircloth campaign.”

  He hefted himself out of the car and Ron Sharp sat there, stunned, as he watched him go. Things were getting more complicated by the moment, and for the first time in his life the man who usually had all the answers didn’t know quite what to do.

  ***

  The car arrived promptly at eight. Lindsay had no idea where Ron intended to take her or what she should wear, so she chose a simple black dress and low heels. She wore her hair pulled back in a mother-of-pearl clasp and finished the outfit off with a light wrap and small clutch handbag.

  The driver said nothing to her beyond a basic greeting, and she watched the city lights go by as he car winded its way through the city streets before finally ending up at the waterfront Marriot Hotel.

  Lindsay wasn’t sure what to make of his taking her to a hotel, but decided that given their high profiles he was simply being discreet.

  At the desk was a key to a room registered under her name.

  “Excuse me,” said the clerk. “Are you Lindsay Martin?”

  Lindsay’s first instinct was to say ‘no’ but she realized she couldn’t do that.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Ohmigosh. I thought so.” The girl beamed at her. “I always watch the debates; the elections are so exciting this year what with old Ironsides finally leaving office.”

  Lindsay grinned. Ironsides was the nickname of the incumbent center Russell Tucker, who strongly resembled the fictional attorney in the show by the same name.

  “Well be sure to get out and vote,” Lindsay said.

  “What are you doing here?” the girl asked.

  “Claire, we don’t ask our guests personal questions.” A portly night manager walked over.

  “Sorry, Ms. Martin,” she said. “She’s new.”

  “No problem,” said Lindsay, taking the key and walking away. But the incident bothered her because it reminded her of the risk she was taking by even coming to the hotel on Sharp’s orders. It would be easy to wal
k away now, but her feet kept taking her closer to the elevator and she knew her desire to see him was stronger than her own willpower.

  The room was large and overlooked the twinkling lights of the historic riverfront. Lindsay didn’t have much time to take them in before Ron showed up at the door. The fell into one another’s arms immediately, and Ron held her after they kissed, wondering how he could tell her what Hopkins had asked of him without scaring her away. There seemed to be no good way to do it, and he was worried that she might see it as his efforts to get her to back off.

  But first things first.

  “You know why we’re here,” he said.

  Lindsay looked down, unsure of how to answer.

  “You didn’t have to overcompensate today,” he said. “Even if you thought Hopkins deserved that barb today, it was really out of character for you to do that.”

  Lindsay nodded.

  “So you want to tell me why you did it?”

  Lindsay worried her lip with her teeth as she struggled to find an answer. “Because I wanted you to still see me as a worthy opponent,” she said.

  “I saw you as a worthy opponent before,” he said. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Perhaps also because I was…” She stopped, unable to find the words.

  “Because…” he urged. You can say it. I want you to say it.

  “Because I was testing you,” she said. “Because I wanted to know if you were really the way you said you are.”

  He tipped his face up to her. “Let me show you,” he said.

  Lindsay’s legs were shaky as he led her to the sofa for what she knew would be her first real disciplinary spanking. They both knew she had earned it. The performance she’d given today was just the type of game-playing neither of them wanted to deal with.

  He pulled her over his lap and ran his hand across her dress-covered bottom before delivering two hard slaps, one to each cheek. Lindsay responded to each with a little cry, and Ron watched her reaction as he gave her two more, even harder. He wanted to gauge just what Lindsay was able to take.

  He found one of her limits when he pulled up the hem of her dress.

  “No!” she cried, but he ignored her and clutched the hand she put back to cover herself. She was wearing little polka-dot bikini panties with tiny bows at the sides. The triangle of fabric in the back afforded little protection, leaving more than half her shapely bottom exposed. The skin was already pink from the blows he’d previously landed, and he knew she already thought she’d been spanked. But she had not. Not yet.

  Raising his hand, he brought it down hard on her bottom, eliciting a real cry of pain.

  “You have nothing to prove to me or to yourself,” he said. SMACK! SMACK!

  “Owww!” she cried out. “Stop. It hurts. I won’t do it again.”

  “No you won’t,” Ron said. “You have no need for self-doubt, no need to overcompensate. Just because you are a submissive woman does not mean you have to balance it out by becoming someone you don’t even like.”

  He began to spank her in earnest now and Lindsay felt herself begin to panic. This hurt. It really, really hurt and she could hear herself begging him to stop, could feel her legs kicking hard.

  She heard a ‘thump’ as one of her pumps flew off her foot and hit a nearby table, but Ron ignored this and continued to spank, now throwing a leg across hers to more effectively restrain her.

  The tears were flowing now and Lindsay let them fall, feeling the guilt and angst draining away from her. She never let herself cry, not really cry as she was crying now. There were times when she wanted to, but the tears would not come. Now she feared they would not stop as she wriggled her bottom from side to side in an effort to escape Ron Sharp’s rapidly descending hand.

  But her struggles were futile and she knew he was sending her the message that the punishment would be over when he decided. She was too exhausted to fight much now and went limp over his lap. But she continued to cry, even as he picked her up in his arms and laid her on the bed.

  Lindsay wondered in the back of her mind if he were going to seduce her now, but he did not. Instead he just laid down beside her and held her, stroking her hair and telling her how everything as going to be OK.

  “Where were you when I was in college?” she asked finally when she’d managed to regulate her breathing.

  “In college?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I could have used a firm hand then.”

  “You were in touch with your feelings that early?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she replied. “I just needed some guidance. I was a student activist and one night we were all out drinking and did something we shouldn’t have done.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Ron said, suddenly feeling a panic of his own. Lindsay was about to offer up some personal information, he knew, that could damage her if it got out.

  “I want to,” she said. “We torched the offices of Tri-County Paper after they were awarded a logging contract. It was stupid and dangerous.”

  Ron was shocked. “You’re kidding,” he said, then paused. “Does Clara know?”

  “I told her,” she said. “But she said hardly anyone remembers it now and it was so long ago. And besides, at the time I was using my dad’s last name – Farmer. After that my mother had me change it to her maiden name so people wouldn’t be able to so easily find out. I wasn’t as directly involved as some of the other activists and plead down to lesser charges, but still it was serious. But I’ve often thought that if I’d just done what I knew was right for myself even then I wouldn’t have the guilt I have now.”

  “Is that part of why you were crying?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, burying her face in his chest. “I’ve lived a life doing what other people expected me to do, even if it mean putting myself at risk. Only in the last few years have I really matured, really started to take ownership of who I am. I kind of feel like what’s happened with you is the last big step I’ve needed to take.”

  “That makes me feel good,” Ron said. “I’d like to think this relationship will have meaning for both of us.”

  “Is that what this is?” Lindsay asked. “A relationship?”

  “Yes,” said Ron decisively. “Yes it is.”

  Lindsay lay there, playing with the buttons on his shirt. “I am sorry for what I did today. I don’t know what got into me. I don’t want it to happen again, though.” She shuddered a little. “That spanking hurt. I mean, it really hurt.”

  “It was supposed to,” Ron said. “Don’t ever worry that I’ll get tired of giving you limits if you want and need them. It’s what I do. And if you ever feel like you need a spanking, you can ask.”

  She laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Who would ask for a spanking?”

  He tilted her chin up. “Good girls who don’t want to be bad to get them.” His mouth found hers then and they kissed, long and deep.

  Tomorrow, Ron knew his boss would ask him what he’d found out about Lindsay. And when he did, he’d tell Bradford Hopkins that he’d found out nothing, that as far as he could tell she was flawless. And it would not be a lie.

  Chapter Six

  “Lindsay, are you OK?” Clara Faircloth took off her glasses as she laid the folder she was looking at on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Hmm?” Lindsay had been staring at the same papers the senatorial candidate had been looking at, but her mind was far away. And her boss had noticed.

  “Oh, sorry. You were saying?”

  Clara shook her head and gave a short, impatient laugh. “I was asking if you are all right,” she said. “Lately it’s like you’re off on some other planet. You know, if something is going on in your personal life it’s none of my business…”

  Lindsay was quick to shake her head, possibly too quick. “No, there’s nothing...”

  Clara put up her hands. “Wait, wait. Let me finish. It’s none of my business unless it’s going to affect your work.”

>   Lindsay felt her face flush a bit and looked down, pretending to busy herself with the papers in the folder. “Don’t be ridiculous, Clara,” she lied. “I don’t have a personal life. I’m just feeling the pressure of the campaign a bit, that’s all. Hopkins seemed so angry after that debate the other day.”

  She put her fingers to her temples and tried to calm herself. Since beginning her relationship with Ron Sharp she’d been completely dishonest about her whereabouts when she wasn’t with Clara. And more often than not – like on this occasion – her mind was on him and not her work.

  But Clara seemed to buy her latest explanation and chuckled as she stood and smoothed her grey pantsuit.

  “I wouldn’t worry about Hopkins,” she said. “He’s been in an ivory tower for so long he’s not used to anyone taking him on, least of all a couple of broads.”

  Lindsay managed a smile. “That’s obvious. But I’m thinking I was out of place to take that jab at him.”

  Clara looked up from where she was pouring herself a soda water at the bar. “Why?” she asked, looking shocked. “It’s not different than the kind of stunts I’ve seen pulled by that shark who manages the Hopkins campaign.”

  “Ron Sharp.” Lindsay closed the folder and put it down on the table, concentrating on patting it flat instead of looking up at Clara.

  “Yes. That’s a piece of work if I’ve ever seen one,” Clara said. “A misogynist through and through.”

  Lindsay looked up now, a bit rattled. “Why do you say that?”

  Clara poured as second drink and then picked both glasses up and walked back over to Lindsay. Sitting down on the couch she handed her campaign manager one while shooting her a knowing look.

  “My interior decorator is good friends with Sharp’s ex-wife,” she said quietly as if fearing someone would overhear. “Apparently he’s steeped in the patriarchal mindset and insisted on this ‘Father Knows Best’ lifestyle.”

  Lindsay stared down at the ice floating in her glass. “Well, you know how people exaggerate,” she said.

  Clara shook her head. “I didn’t get the feeling this was an exaggeration. Apparently Sharp actually demanded obedience from his wife.”