One of the advantages of dating the Governor was spending the night in the Governor's Mansion. It made me feel like a princess – sleeping in a luxury bed paid for with the tax dollars of my lowly subjects.
One late June morning, I woke in C.'s bed and rolled over to snuggle him. I found myself embracing a feather pillow instead, so I slipped on one of C.'s old lavender dress shirts and tip-toed downstairs to find him.
“C.? Honey?” I called, but he wasn't anywhere.
Finally, I opened the door to the backyard, and there he was posing for photos with a slender brunette forcing a saccharine smile at his side. She looked at me, her puffy lips pursed. I wasn't sure who she was. She didn't seem trashy enough to be a beard, or bright enough to be
This article appears in Aug 26 – Sep 1, 2010.