Read Online Silent Partner: A Memoir of My Marriage by Dina Matos McGreevey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dina Matos McGreevey
Tags: Itzy, kickass.to
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at the rally, Jim was in the wings somewhere preparing to go onstage, so a member of his staff escorted me down the aisle to where the McGreevey family was already sitting. As I sidled into the row, his father and his sister Sharon gave me a friendly greeting, but all I got from his mother was a quick glance and a chilly hello before she turned her head away. I don’t think she said another word to me that day, and I could tell by her expression that she wasn’t happy I had turned up. Later I learned that she thought my mere presence would renew speculation about the reasons for the breakup of Jim’s marriage, and that in turn would hurt his campaign. But I’ve always thought that deep down she didn’t want him to be with anyone. I guess in a way he wasn’t.
When Jim had begun his campaign, he never really imagined he could win, because the incumbent, Christie Whitman, had been so popular. He thought of his candidacy as an effort to gain name recognition and face recognition so he could make a serious run in 2001. But the previous few years had not been good for Governor Whitman, especially because of high property taxes and state budget deficits, and now it looked as if Jim might really have a shot at winning!
Election Day came, and I voted—flipping the switch next to Jim’s name—and then I stumbled through a distracted day at work before going to the Sheraton in Woodbridge to wait for the election results. Though Jim and I were both in the same hotel, I was in the ballroom with my friends, including Jimmy Kennedy, who had now become my friend as well, while Jim was elsewhere in the hotel, with his advisers and family. Amazingly, we didn’t see each other. We had talked that morning by phone. “It looks like it’s really close,” he said, excitement in his voice. But in the flurry of events, we didn’t make any plans for how we might get together that evening, and we didn’t connect.
I experienced a wild range of emotions that night. When Jim was ahead, I was giddy with excitement—a shrieker and a clapper in a way I almost never am. As the count progressed into the early evening, it really did appear that Jim was going to win, and I was jumping for joy. A reporter in the crowd, who didn’t recognize me but did recognize exuberance when he saw it, walked over.
“Why are you so excited?”
“He’s going to win!” I was so excited that I didn’t bother to point out to him how self-evident the answer to that question was.
During the evening Jimmy Kennedy and I spent some time together. “Wow!” said Jimmy at one point. “He can actually win this thing!” He grew silent for a moment. “But you know what? In a strange way, I hope he doesn’t win,” he confided. Although they’d been friends for nearly twenty years, Jimmy was concerned that if Jim became governor, he would rarely see him—both because of Jim’s new responsibilities and the distance between Rahway and Trenton—and that their friendship would be weakened. That was really the first time I realized that if Jim won, it would affect our relationship profoundly, but not in a way I could predict at all. That scared me and made me uncertain. This, like much else, was something Jim and I had never discussed.
But when all the results were in, Jim did not win. In fact, he lost by less than 1 percent.
A news report appearing the next day announced that an officer had later seen me “necking” in the car with Jim, but that when I was observed, I ran away. Just another instance of the fiction that often passes for journalism. But in fact as much as I yearned to see Jim that night, I did not—except from a distance for a few minutes at about twelve thirty that night when he came onstage in the Sheraton ballroom to make his concession speech and thank his supporters. He was perfectly polished in his delivery, but I couldn’t tell how he was really feeling from so far away. He left the stage almost immediately.
Jimmy Kennedy had gone
When Jim had begun his campaign, he never really imagined he could win, because the incumbent, Christie Whitman, had been so popular. He thought of his candidacy as an effort to gain name recognition and face recognition so he could make a serious run in 2001. But the previous few years had not been good for Governor Whitman, especially because of high property taxes and state budget deficits, and now it looked as if Jim might really have a shot at winning!
Election Day came, and I voted—flipping the switch next to Jim’s name—and then I stumbled through a distracted day at work before going to the Sheraton in Woodbridge to wait for the election results. Though Jim and I were both in the same hotel, I was in the ballroom with my friends, including Jimmy Kennedy, who had now become my friend as well, while Jim was elsewhere in the hotel, with his advisers and family. Amazingly, we didn’t see each other. We had talked that morning by phone. “It looks like it’s really close,” he said, excitement in his voice. But in the flurry of events, we didn’t make any plans for how we might get together that evening, and we didn’t connect.
I experienced a wild range of emotions that night. When Jim was ahead, I was giddy with excitement—a shrieker and a clapper in a way I almost never am. As the count progressed into the early evening, it really did appear that Jim was going to win, and I was jumping for joy. A reporter in the crowd, who didn’t recognize me but did recognize exuberance when he saw it, walked over.
“Why are you so excited?”
“He’s going to win!” I was so excited that I didn’t bother to point out to him how self-evident the answer to that question was.
During the evening Jimmy Kennedy and I spent some time together. “Wow!” said Jimmy at one point. “He can actually win this thing!” He grew silent for a moment. “But you know what? In a strange way, I hope he doesn’t win,” he confided. Although they’d been friends for nearly twenty years, Jimmy was concerned that if Jim became governor, he would rarely see him—both because of Jim’s new responsibilities and the distance between Rahway and Trenton—and that their friendship would be weakened. That was really the first time I realized that if Jim won, it would affect our relationship profoundly, but not in a way I could predict at all. That scared me and made me uncertain. This, like much else, was something Jim and I had never discussed.
But when all the results were in, Jim did not win. In fact, he lost by less than 1 percent.
A news report appearing the next day announced that an officer had later seen me “necking” in the car with Jim, but that when I was observed, I ran away. Just another instance of the fiction that often passes for journalism. But in fact as much as I yearned to see Jim that night, I did not—except from a distance for a few minutes at about twelve thirty that night when he came onstage in the Sheraton ballroom to make his concession speech and thank his supporters. He was perfectly polished in his delivery, but I couldn’t tell how he was really feeling from so far away. He left the stage almost immediately.
Jimmy Kennedy had gone
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