32
Laurie and her assistant producer, Jerry, arrived at the Longfellows’ Upper West Side apartment on West End Avenue at 3:30 on the dot, precisely as scheduled.
“These ceilings!” Jerry marveled as the elevators opened on the nineteenth floor. “They must be thirteen feet high. And I love the finishes. So classically art deco.”
“Maybe you should be my Realtor,” Laurie quipped. She had decided that she needed to bring someone else with her in case she learned important information from the Longfellows and needed a witness to back up her version of events. As much as she and Ryan had been getting along lately, she thought that bringing the show’s host and a former prosecutor might set the wrong tone. After all, Alex had asked the senator a personal favor by arranging the meeting. Unlike Ryan, Jerry was impossible not to like.
The chime of the Longfellows’ doorbell was immediately followed by a crescendo of high-pitched dog yips. “Ike! Lincoln!” A woman on the other side of the door was making shushing sounds. The barks decreased in volume and eventually settled into the whining noise Laurie associated with attempts to get treats. “How many times do I have to tell you? Be nice when people come to visit.”
As the door opened, two small dogs greeted them, running in circles around them and smelling their shoes. The woman following them extended her hand and said, “Hello, I’m Leigh Ann Longfellow.” She was wearing a classic navy sheath dress and nude pumps. She wore her dark brown hair in a neat, shoulder-length bob, much like Laurie’s own style. Her alabaster skin was as creamy as milk. “Sorry about these two scoundrels. You’d never know they’re actually quite well trained. Unfortunately, they seem to decide for themselves when to turn it on and off. Right now, I think they’re excited to have Mommy and Daddy home so early in the afternoon.”
“No problem,” Laurie said, returning the introduction. “I love dogs. They’re—Pomeranians?”
“So close. Papillons. They’re eight years old, but they still act like little puppies when they meet someone new.”
Jerry was already crouched on the floor, allowing the dogs to crawl up on him and lick his face. He grinned upward between their kisses. “Hi, I’m Jerry,” he said with a quick wave. “Laurie’s production assistant.”
His official title was assistant producer, but Laurie knew he was trying to keep the tone friendly and informal.
Leigh Ann led them into a spacious living room with tasteful, modern furnishings layered in neutral tones. The only hint at clutter was a large dog bed near the fireplace with an array of stuffed toys around it. From the looks of a decapitated fleece lamb surrounded by white cotton stuffing, Ike and Lincoln had recently finished a fierce round of tug-of-war.
Laurie and Ryan were just about to sit when Senator Longfellow walked into the room. He was as striking as he appeared in his campaign ads and press conferences.
Laurie was familiar with the background that had catapulted Daniel Longfellow to several national short lists of “young politicians to watch.” The only son of a doorman and a housekeeper, he had attended West Point and earned a Bronze Star with Valor for his service in Afghanistan after 9/11. Laurie remembered the campaign video highlighting his personal biography. He said he had returned to New York from the military determined to help the city he loved to be a safe and prosperous place for all.
He was tall, probably around six-foot-three, with dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. When he stood next to Leigh Ann and placed an arm around her, it seemed completely natural.
“I see you met the kids already,” he told Laurie and Jerry, gesturing at the two dogs panting at his feet.
“They made sure of it, Senator Longfellow,” Laurie said, then introduced herself.
“Ike and Lincoln. I call them the Papillon Presidents. And, please, call me Dan. Sorry, but the majority leader pushed back a conference call. Don’t tell anyone, but I just hit mute to come out and say hi. Why don’t you talk to Leigh Ann first and I’ll be right around the corner.”
“Sounds good,” Laurie agreed, watching as he gave his wife a quick kiss on the lips before leaving the room. Laurie tried not to stare, but she could feel the energy between Dan and Leigh Ann. She remembered what Cynthia Bell had said about the two of them: they each think the sun rises and sets on the other.
Laurie hadn’t asked a single question yet, but she was already certain of one thing: this was a couple that loved each other dearly.