Read Online Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage by Dina Matos McGreevey - Free Book Online
Authors: Dina Matos McGreevey
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I stood up to put on my coat, preparing somewhat regretfully to go, Jim stood up too.
“Give me a ride home to Woodbridge?” he asked, smiling.
“No driver tonight?”
“No,” said Jim. “Once I got here, I told him he could go.” He looked pleased and mildly abashed at having revealed his strategy.
“Sure,” I said. “I can give you a lift.”
When we reached his town house, Jim invited me in. I guessed I wasn’t so tired after all. My first impression, as he turned on a table lamp, was that the décor showed a woman’s touch. The two couches were upholstered in peach and off-white stripes, with matching peach curtains. The rest was . . . well, eclectic. The pink porcelain lamp he’d just turned on was one of a pair that had come from his grandmother’s house, I later learned. In the dining room was a black lacquer table and chairs and a tall, narrow, dark wooden bookcase posing as a china closet, which had also been his grandmother’s.
Overall the effect wasn’t exactly warm and cozy, but it was comfortable. In the living room was an inviting corner fireplace, which didn’t seem to have been used in a while. But all the equipment was there, and from what I could tell, someone might well be able to light a fire in it. I took off my coat.
I don’t remember what we talked about, but it felt relaxed, and the conversation came easily. I sensed that something was starting here, a feeling one person can’t have alone. We were sitting close together on a couch that could have held three. We kissed—our first real kiss—and soon Jim asked me to stay the night. I’m not someone who leaps. I tend to inch into things. So I didn’t stay the night. For the second time that evening, though, I put my coat on with some regret.
From that day on, Jim and I were dating. We were exclusive and intimate, but time for just the two of us was rare, right from the start. That was just the way it was. We might have dinner alone. The Armory was one of our favorite spots, for sentimental reasons, but also because it overlooked the water. Frequently after dinner we’d go for a walk along the Raritan River waterfront. Occasionally we’d go to a movie, but more often we preferred quiet time just hanging out at his house. As often as we could, we’d walk along the shore at Spring Lake. Winter, summer, spring, fall—it didn’t matter.
These evenings with me were Jim’s only downtime, and I wanted to help him unwind, though it was hard to get him to talk about anything other than politics. It was his passion. People who knew him affectionately called him “the Energizer Bunny.” When we began to date, he was a full-time mayor of a township of one hundred thousand people; he was a state senator, which meant a round trip of ninety miles from Woodbridge to Trenton and back once or twice a week;
and
he was a would-be candidate for governor. Where was the time for relaxation?
Jim was a tireless campaigner who did what he had to do. If I thought of it at all, and I rarely did, I figured he might be able to structure his days to make more time for his private life, meaning us, when he won the election. Besides, I’m not so sure I was all that temperamentally different myself. Frankly, his frantic pace and unwavering devotion to his work were what attracted me, beyond our initial chemistry. I didn’t want someone who was needy or clingy or who would be put out if I were off doing whatever I needed to do. During the first year we were dating, I was almost as much of a workaholic as he was. I worked full-time at Columbus Hospital in Newark; I traveled with Jim on weekends to local campaign events (where he wouldn’t introduce me publicly as his “date,” although he often did so privately at meet-and-greets); I was involved in Jim’s campaign, behind the scenes, sometimes attending staff meetings, sometimes doing fund-raising; and I continued my own political involvement with issues that affected the Portuguese-American
“Give me a ride home to Woodbridge?” he asked, smiling.
“No driver tonight?”
“No,” said Jim. “Once I got here, I told him he could go.” He looked pleased and mildly abashed at having revealed his strategy.
“Sure,” I said. “I can give you a lift.”
When we reached his town house, Jim invited me in. I guessed I wasn’t so tired after all. My first impression, as he turned on a table lamp, was that the décor showed a woman’s touch. The two couches were upholstered in peach and off-white stripes, with matching peach curtains. The rest was . . . well, eclectic. The pink porcelain lamp he’d just turned on was one of a pair that had come from his grandmother’s house, I later learned. In the dining room was a black lacquer table and chairs and a tall, narrow, dark wooden bookcase posing as a china closet, which had also been his grandmother’s.
Overall the effect wasn’t exactly warm and cozy, but it was comfortable. In the living room was an inviting corner fireplace, which didn’t seem to have been used in a while. But all the equipment was there, and from what I could tell, someone might well be able to light a fire in it. I took off my coat.
I don’t remember what we talked about, but it felt relaxed, and the conversation came easily. I sensed that something was starting here, a feeling one person can’t have alone. We were sitting close together on a couch that could have held three. We kissed—our first real kiss—and soon Jim asked me to stay the night. I’m not someone who leaps. I tend to inch into things. So I didn’t stay the night. For the second time that evening, though, I put my coat on with some regret.
From that day on, Jim and I were dating. We were exclusive and intimate, but time for just the two of us was rare, right from the start. That was just the way it was. We might have dinner alone. The Armory was one of our favorite spots, for sentimental reasons, but also because it overlooked the water. Frequently after dinner we’d go for a walk along the Raritan River waterfront. Occasionally we’d go to a movie, but more often we preferred quiet time just hanging out at his house. As often as we could, we’d walk along the shore at Spring Lake. Winter, summer, spring, fall—it didn’t matter.
These evenings with me were Jim’s only downtime, and I wanted to help him unwind, though it was hard to get him to talk about anything other than politics. It was his passion. People who knew him affectionately called him “the Energizer Bunny.” When we began to date, he was a full-time mayor of a township of one hundred thousand people; he was a state senator, which meant a round trip of ninety miles from Woodbridge to Trenton and back once or twice a week;
and
he was a would-be candidate for governor. Where was the time for relaxation?
Jim was a tireless campaigner who did what he had to do. If I thought of it at all, and I rarely did, I figured he might be able to structure his days to make more time for his private life, meaning us, when he won the election. Besides, I’m not so sure I was all that temperamentally different myself. Frankly, his frantic pace and unwavering devotion to his work were what attracted me, beyond our initial chemistry. I didn’t want someone who was needy or clingy or who would be put out if I were off doing whatever I needed to do. During the first year we were dating, I was almost as much of a workaholic as he was. I worked full-time at Columbus Hospital in Newark; I traveled with Jim on weekends to local campaign events (where he wouldn’t introduce me publicly as his “date,” although he often did so privately at meet-and-greets); I was involved in Jim’s campaign, behind the scenes, sometimes attending staff meetings, sometimes doing fund-raising; and I continued my own political involvement with issues that affected the Portuguese-American
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