Teresa
He was amazing during his acceptance speech. Charismatic, persuasive, filled with promise for the people of San Francisco. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gorgeous man on stage and I smiled happily, proudly, as Matt expounded on themes of inequality, fair housing, and access to justice for all.
The lights were bright so I couldn’t see the crowd very well, but who would be in the front row but that bitch Vanessa from the party. The one with the slut attitude, who’d stuck her fingers into Matt’s mouth, rubbing her bare snatch against him. He’d assured me it was nothing and I believed him. After all, he’d picked me at his running mate and not her.
So I watched disinterestedly as the brunette whipped her cell phone out and began typing away. How rude! How disrespectful not to listen to my man in his moment of triumph, especially sitting in the first row. But it was only a few seconds before she hit send, and then the phone disappeared back into her bag with a smug smile.
Unmistakably, I saw something vibrate in Matt’s breast pocket. The movement was subtle, no one would have noticed except I was standing only a few feet from him, playing the role of loyal and supportive girlfriend. Was it a coincidence? Or was Matt getting a text from Vanessa during his shining hour?
Couldn’t be, I shook my head. There’s no way that she just texted him while he was on stage giving a speech to hundreds of people. Even Vanessa wasn’t that shameless.
And afterwards, the party was a whirlwind. The mood was celebratory, more than a little drunk, and I was congratulated as if I’d been the candidate.
“Teresa, awesome job, we’re looking forward to seeing you at City Hall more.”
“Ms. Ramos, you know the diocese needs more backing, make sure to keep in touch alright?”
I wish I could have told these supporters the truth. That I was never going to see them again, that there was nothing I could do for them going forward because my contract was up. But I nodded and smiled graciously, unwilling to spoil the night.
Amidst the revelry, Matt’s personal assistant ran up. Jeremiah was a brilliant nerd, a bright young fellow with horn-rimmed glasses, gangly and skinny, the perfect staffer.
“Hey Teresa,” he said breathlessly. “Great party huh?”
“Yeah Jeremiah,” I said kindly. “It’s been an amazing run and we got what we wanted. Where are you headed next?”
“Don’t tell Matt,” he said in a hushed voice. “But I want to get out of politics, maybe land a real job. You think he could put in a good word for me at Sterling Pharmaceutical?”
I almost laughed. Although Matt had taken leave from his job to campaign, he could certainly do more than put in a good word … he could get Jeremiah a VP position in a snap.
“Sure, I’m sure our mayor would be happy to help out,” I smiled again. “I’ll tell him so myself.”
“Oh thanks Teresa, I really appreciate it. Listen, can you hold onto this stuff for a sec?” he asked breathlessly. “I see the Senator over there and I don’t want to look like a clown juggling a million things as I speak with him about the latest land-use ordinance.”
Laughingly, I took the items from his arms. Clearly, Matt’s PA hadn’t lost his interest in politics given the way he was hotfooting it to the Senator’s side. And dang, but Jeremiah had a heavy load -- a headset, walkie talkie, two notebooks, a PDA handheld, plus a couple pens and highlighters. Being a personal assistant to a powerful man certainly came with a lot of baggage!
The handheld was interesting. If I wasn’t mistaken, the chrome blue steel was the same as Matt’s. Why did Jeremiah have it? I turned it over in my hands. And at that very moment, it buzzed with a push notification, the screen flickering to life. I didn’t recognize the number but the message was explicit:
Hey hot stuff, you got what you wanted.
Time to ditch the maid. Poor people behind you one hundred percent. Spanish voter turn-out high.
When are you home tonight? Meet me there at one?
Kisses, xoxo
And then there was the photo. There was no face, no identifying characteristics to the pussy shot, the woman with her legs spread holding herself open, baring her pink insides to the camera. She was shameless, one finger partially embedded, her cunt wide and engorged, moist and damp as she fingered herself.
My cheeks flamed and I hurriedly slapped the screen against my chest. Oh my god, oh my god. Who was the sender? I felt physically ill, my skin flushing, the bile rising in my throat. Oh god. I bent over, breathing deep, trying to get some oxygen.
As I struggled for air, my mind raced at a million miles an hour. So someone knew, someone knew that I’d been Matt’s cleaning lady, that he’d just hired me for a three month period as a fake girlfriend, there to mobilize the working class vote.
And I forced myself to look at the handheld again. Yep, there was the word “maid” and the photo seemed even more repugnant than before, the woman’s lacy panties down around her ankles, her red stilettos visible, matching that fire engine lace.
Wait a minute. Hadn’t Vanessa been wearing red stilettos today? I couldn’t recall but remembered she’d been wearing a scarlet dress. My eyes began scanning the crowd, my mind running in circles like a lunatic. Maybe Vanessa was in the bathroom at this very second fingering herself while sending dirty texts to Matt. In fact, maybe he was with her in the restroom, enjoying a celebratory fuck.
With a choked sob, I realized that Matt had outed me, that his warmth, his caring attitude, had all been a front for my benefit. He’d probably been fucking Vanessa the whole time, ready to toss me out on the street the minute votes were counted.
I heaved a few more breaths, then made myself straighten, my eyes bright. Thankfully, this had all happened in a matter of seconds and no one had noticed, the partygoers too wrapped up in their revelry. I quietly set down Jeremiah’s things and turned to go. The night breeze bit through my thin dress, making me shiver, but I forced myself to walk to the nearest bus stop. There were no golden gooses, no happy endings, for girls like me. I was just a poor immigrant girl.