Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage by Dina Matos McGreevey Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dina Matos McGreevey
Tags: Itzy, kickass.to
of the Democratic gubernatorial nomination, had consulted with various high-level politicians, including Lautenberg, and Frank had been very impressed with him. “You have to meet this guy,” he said. “He’s smart. He’s going places.”
Meanwhile Manny, his hand at my back, was piloting me toward Jim.
“Jim,” he said, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He introduced us, and Jim gave me a friendly smile.
“Oh,” I said, returning the smile. “I’ve heard about you through my friend Frank, who works for Senator Lautenberg.”
“Oh, yeah, I know Frank,” Jim said. Then he eyed Manny, with a grin. “And you know this guy too,” he said. “Well, I won’t hold it against you.”
We chatted a bit more, and then we each moved on to speak with others.
Jim had a seat on the dais that night, and I was seated nearby at Manny’s table. After leaving my table for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, I came back to find that someone was sitting in my seat.
“There’s an empty seat next to Jim McGreevey,” Manny said, missing nothing. “C’mon,” he said to me, “go sit with him.”
Manny, it appeared, was intent on filling a number of roles, and the one that was foremost on his mind this evening was matchmaker.
“Manny . . .” I said, a note of mock exasperation in my voice. In truth, I was not interested in taking Manny up on his matchmaking services, because I’d been dating someone for nearly a year and had recently called it quits. He was a nice guy, but he wasn’t comfortable with how independent I was, nor how busy I was with my civic and political involvements, and I wasn’t about to change. Still, despite my self-imposed “break” from dating, I
was
interested in sitting down, so I joined Jim on the dais, where soon we were chatting easily in between the evening’s interminable speeches.
I hated these dinners and went only because my friends were hosting and would have been upset if I didn’t. Thankfully, this event happened only once a year. The previous year’s dinner had been unquestionably odd. The duke, a fastidious-looking man with a prominent mustache, had greeted the guests not only in uniform but wearing a rubber snake around his neck. It had always been hard to take him or his speeches seriously, but now it was impossible. And yet here I was again, listening to him ramble on, first in Portuguese and after that in English, feeling more than anything like a kid stuck in high-school detention. In this mood I was quite ready to strike up a conspiratorial conversation with a fellow detainee. That happened to be Jim.
“I don’t know what this guy is actually saying, but he sounds like he’s certain he’s going to save the world,” Jim whispered.
“Actually, he’s saying the salad was good,” I replied.
“He does this every year?”
“Every. Single. Year.”
“Any references to the snake?” I had already told Jim about the duke’s rubber snake.
“Not yet. Maybe by the time he works his way through the menu and is ready to praise the dessert.”
It was more than easy chatting. I felt a kinship with Jim right away. We were bantering as if we’d known each other a long time.
When the duke’s speech was over, we continued talking.
“How many people are going to speak?” Jim asked me.
“Too many,” I warned him, rolling my eyes. I liked this man. I liked laughing with him and, truth be told, I liked flirting with him too. But there was more to it than that. We connected. We talked about my job doing community outreach, patient relations, and public relations at St. James Hospital and about Jim’s work on the Health Committee of the state senate.
“If there’s anything I can ever do for you, let me know,” he said. If anyone were listening, and I’m not even sure I was, they might have heard the sound of a door opening.
When the evening ended, we went our separate ways—something neither Manny nor his wife was happy with.
“I think Jim’s
Meanwhile Manny, his hand at my back, was piloting me toward Jim.
“Jim,” he said, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”
He introduced us, and Jim gave me a friendly smile.
“Oh,” I said, returning the smile. “I’ve heard about you through my friend Frank, who works for Senator Lautenberg.”
“Oh, yeah, I know Frank,” Jim said. Then he eyed Manny, with a grin. “And you know this guy too,” he said. “Well, I won’t hold it against you.”
We chatted a bit more, and then we each moved on to speak with others.
Jim had a seat on the dais that night, and I was seated nearby at Manny’s table. After leaving my table for a quick trip to the ladies’ room, I came back to find that someone was sitting in my seat.
“There’s an empty seat next to Jim McGreevey,” Manny said, missing nothing. “C’mon,” he said to me, “go sit with him.”
Manny, it appeared, was intent on filling a number of roles, and the one that was foremost on his mind this evening was matchmaker.
“Manny . . .” I said, a note of mock exasperation in my voice. In truth, I was not interested in taking Manny up on his matchmaking services, because I’d been dating someone for nearly a year and had recently called it quits. He was a nice guy, but he wasn’t comfortable with how independent I was, nor how busy I was with my civic and political involvements, and I wasn’t about to change. Still, despite my self-imposed “break” from dating, I
was
interested in sitting down, so I joined Jim on the dais, where soon we were chatting easily in between the evening’s interminable speeches.
I hated these dinners and went only because my friends were hosting and would have been upset if I didn’t. Thankfully, this event happened only once a year. The previous year’s dinner had been unquestionably odd. The duke, a fastidious-looking man with a prominent mustache, had greeted the guests not only in uniform but wearing a rubber snake around his neck. It had always been hard to take him or his speeches seriously, but now it was impossible. And yet here I was again, listening to him ramble on, first in Portuguese and after that in English, feeling more than anything like a kid stuck in high-school detention. In this mood I was quite ready to strike up a conspiratorial conversation with a fellow detainee. That happened to be Jim.
“I don’t know what this guy is actually saying, but he sounds like he’s certain he’s going to save the world,” Jim whispered.
“Actually, he’s saying the salad was good,” I replied.
“He does this every year?”
“Every. Single. Year.”
“Any references to the snake?” I had already told Jim about the duke’s rubber snake.
“Not yet. Maybe by the time he works his way through the menu and is ready to praise the dessert.”
It was more than easy chatting. I felt a kinship with Jim right away. We were bantering as if we’d known each other a long time.
When the duke’s speech was over, we continued talking.
“How many people are going to speak?” Jim asked me.
“Too many,” I warned him, rolling my eyes. I liked this man. I liked laughing with him and, truth be told, I liked flirting with him too. But there was more to it than that. We connected. We talked about my job doing community outreach, patient relations, and public relations at St. James Hospital and about Jim’s work on the Health Committee of the state senate.
“If there’s anything I can ever do for you, let me know,” he said. If anyone were listening, and I’m not even sure I was, they might have heard the sound of a door opening.
When the evening ended, we went our separate ways—something neither Manny nor his wife was happy with.
“I think Jim’s