Fae Second Chance

Chapter 1 - Trained Monkey Pt. 1

Chapter 1

My husband is standing at the podium with me by his side giving yet another speech to raise money for his election fund.  He is what you expect a politician to look like; young and handsome with a personality that draws people to him.  He has always wanted to be in politics and is making quite a name for himself.  Sometimes I think he purposely chose a wife that couldn’t have children, so he never has to get tested for the magic DNA.  Once those tests are done that information is out there and can sink a political career.  When I was young, I was in an accident that damaged my insides enough that I was told I would never have children. 

He grabs my hand and raises it up to the cheers of the crowd, cameras start flashing, blinding me for a moment.  The dark handsome candidate with his blond barbie wife.  Yep, we look like a magazine ad and the crowd is eating it up.  I am supposed to be quiet during these events.  The lovely arm candy as he circles the room speaking to people.  I only talk when spoken too and only about mundane subjects like the weather.  The perfect pretty wife.  God these events bore me to the bone.  We circle the room a couple more time before we head to the car.  Once we are in the car I remove my shoes, lean back in the seat, and close my eyes. 

“You did great today.”  John’s words startle me. 

I open my eyes and look towards him. “I did nothing today.”

“Yes, you did, you made me look like the perfect husband and you spoke elegantly to all the wives.”

“Uh-hum,” I muttered.  Just what I always wanted to do.  I did not go to school and get a degree in accounting to just be his perfect little wife.  I wanted to change the world or at least be a part of it.

“You need to stop antagonizing Mr. Clark.”  I tell him as he turns onto the highway leaving the event space.

“That old man can’t do anything to me,” John grumbles.

I look at him shocked.  He can be such a baby sometimes.  “That old man is one of the most powerful people in Congress.  He gets to decide what committees you get to be on if you are elected.”

John waves his hand dismissing my comment, “When I get elected, he will have no choice but to put me where I want to go.”

Yep, big baby, thinking he is more important than he really is.  Sometimes I wonder why I married this man.  Back in college he was so sophisticated and driven.  He would talk about how smart I was and what wonderful things I could accomplish.  We discussed our future; he would become president and I would head up these wonderful foundations and we would turn the world on its ear and make it better.  I believed all that nonsense then.  Little did I know his real ideal partnership was that he would be president and I would be the picture-perfect wife always sitting in the background.  When we first got married, he promised to help me start my foundations once he reaches his first elected office and then it was ‘dear I need you to be focus on my career right now, when I am elected to so and so, then you can start your foundation.’   This has been going on for years, and I have realized he never had any intention on helping me.  I have stopped asking about it and sit quietly in the background as his career moves forward and mine never moves at all.

He pulls into our apartment building and parks the car.  I step out of the car carrying my shoes in my hand. “You are not walking in like that,” he questions.

“Yes, why?’

“What if someone sees you?”

“No one is going to see me and if they do, they will not care.”

He shakes his head and storms off muttering, “unprofessional.” Leaving me at the car.  I have to jog to catch up since I did not bring a purse and he has the key to the apartment.  I do not feel like getting locked out of our apartment.  Yep, big baby and lucky me I married this fool.

The silent treatment lasts the rest of the evening.  I don’t even bother kissing him goodnight.  I know he will just pout and turn his head, punishing me for the horrible transgression of walking into the apartment without my shoes on.  Appearances are everything to him and God forbid I leave the apartment not looking my best.   He once pouted for an entire week when I left the apartment in a pair of ragged jeans and a tee shirt with no make-up on to get a cup of coffee at the local coffee shop.  What if someone saw me and that would reflect badly on him.  So, the next morning I wait until he leaves to go to work, and I put on my oldest pair of sweats and go for a jog around the park. Hoping all the people who ‘matter’ sees me and think badly about him.  I know it is petty, but its feels like the only way I can make a statement in my life anymore.

The weeks march on with more events and endless meaningless chatter to people I could care less about.  Finally, the election is here.  I am wearing my perfectly tailor Jackie-O suit, holding John’s hand and smiling for the cameras as the results start coming in.  Most of his team have either lost the tie and jackets or completely changed into jeans, but no, we must stay perfectly poised and pressed until the end.  I can’t even sit down for more than 2 minutes before he is glaring at me, because what will the pictures later look like if there are wrinkles in my suit.  I escape to a corner where I can at least lose the heels for a few minutes and lean on the table.  It has been such a long night and I am done with all this.  Finally, the race is called for John.  Everyone cheers and I take the moment of commotion to put my shoes back on and plaster the “perfect” fake smile on my face.  I walk back to John, and we start to congratulate and thank his team for all their hard work. 

We move to the reception room of the hotel where the celebration is going strong.  John walks up to the stage dragging me behind him.  Another speech and more cheers.  Then there is the celebratory dance to a ridiculous love song and walking around posing for pictures and shaking hands.  After a few hours we are finally done.  I tell John I am heading back up to our room and he states he wants me to stay down there for a little while longer.  I lean over and kiss him on the cheek poising a few minutes to make sure the pictures come out well.  I am a wonderful, trained monkey.  Then I leave towards the elevator.  Once the door shuts, I pull off my shoes and lean against the elevator wall watching the number raise.  Finally, this is done.  I get a reprieve for a while until it is time to run for senator and then, yippy, president.  I hate my life.