Two Drafts

One told the story people wanted to hear. The other...

TO: Victoria Harper
FROM: Chip Skipson
CC: estelle.matteson@mattesonpublishing.com

SUBJECT: Victoria of Circumstance – working title

Estelle had a thought about the cover and title. VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE, but VICTIM is crossed out and VICTORIA is hand-written above it. Let us know what you think.

Personally I love it! Will give name recognition and tell part of your story at once. BAM! People will love it! Expecially big money DONOR$. This is just what we need to get your campaign off to a strong start!

On that note. We do need that chapter about your husband. No pressure. But the sooner the better.

Stick with the familiar tone! People are going to eat that up! Yum! Yum!

ALSO! Big news!!! Confirmed with The View to announce your candidacy! They love it!!! The whole hour will be yours! THE FEMALE VOTE IS OURS! We just need to set a date and I can line up the press and announcements after.

“Where it’s at!”

Chip Skipson

Skipson Consulting LLC

Victoria refused the help of a co-writer. She was perfectly capable of doing this on her own.

She had two unfinished drafts for the chapter about her husband. This chapter was absolutely vital to her story.

She wouldn’t be where or who she was without him.

It was his death that brought Victoria into the national spotlight.

Victim of Circumstance?

She laughed at the proposed cover idea. If only they knew.

Two drafts.

One told the story people wanted to hear.

The other…

***

John and I met Freshman year.

I hated him immediately.

John arrived at Dartmouth that Fall so full of himself. He thought he was so handsome. He thought he was so charming. He thought he was so smart. To be fair, he was all of those things.

There is a very big difference between being those things and knowing those things. He knew it and that was what made him insufferable.

He was almost the smartest person on campus.

Almost.

It was that almost that made him crazy.

Seriously, he wrote this in his private journal.

“I don’t know how to be any better. I should be impossible, except there is someone here who is and the thought of it drives me mad.”

It was me. I drove him crazy.

Back then I was Victoria Winstead.

My friends called Vicky.

John was not my friend. He used my last name only. Winstead this. Winstead that.

Usually when I referred to him, I called him moron.

Needless to say we did not get along.

This went on for all four years at Dartmouth. John was a nuisance. Oh yeah, I called him that too.

I know, I know. You’re asking yourself how we wound up married and in love if that’s how things started between us.

Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m getting to it.

A year after graduation John and I found ourselves both in D.C. interning in Senator Nathaniel Hilliard’s office. Our first assignment was to conduct research and interviews for the Senator’s Arts in Education Initiative.

At the start, we fought almost constantly. We competed for attention and to have our ideas put forth first. It was Senator Hilliard himself who put an end to it. Nathaniel sat us down in his office then closed the door.

I’ll never forget what he said.

“I need a tuna sandwich on rye. No mayo.”

John and I fell over each other, insisting we knew a better sandwich shop or that we could get it faster or that we would even go so far as to make it ourselves.

Nathaniel slammed his fist on his desk.

“Could you two shut the hell up for just a minute. If you two could just learn to work together you’d take over the goddamned world. Now shut up. Work together. Figure it out.”

From that moment on, John and I worked as a team on everything.

Senator Hilliard’s Arts in Education Bill was approved and funded. We worked tirelessly for his re-election bid, and he won in a landslide.

Oh. And he eventually got that sandwich too.

Working together, John and I became closer. One night, after a very successful rally in Springfield, we locked eyes.

He moved in for a kiss.

I asked what he was doing.

He backed away.

Then I grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in.

I’d be damned if I was going to let him make the first move.

Everyone knows the number one rule of relationships.

Don’t cheat.

Further down the list though, is a rule that warns against dating at work.

Nathaniel warned us about it too. Either we would have to stop seeing each other, or one of us would have to leave the office.

We were in love. The choice was easy.

One of us needed to quit.

John said he would go, but bless his heart, I thought back on all the times I bested him at Dartmouth. He needed that job more than I did.

I snuck into the Senator’s office with a written letter of resignation while John was off fetching coffee for the office.

He was furious.

We made love for hours.

He proposed the next day.

It was the first time he called me Victoria, not Winstead.

We got married two years later inside the Tomasfield Museum of Art. We chose it because it housed the first student exhibit funded by Senator Hilliard’s Arts Initiative. It was a small venue, but beautiful.

We couldn’t have been happier.

A year later we welcomed our first, Tanner Elizabeth. Shortly after came Preston Winstead.

The political rise of John Harper is well documented. If you’re reading this book, you’re not stupid so I won’t bore you with something you already know.

He rose in stature and power, eventually becoming Governor.

I know. Not bad for the second smartest person in the room!

I was proud of him!

I still am.

Which hurts.

A lot.

Fuck it. Ripping the band-aid off. Right? I can’t tell the story without this part.

Sorry. It’s hard, but don’t you go feeling sorry for me, okay? I won’t stand for that.

On February 15 John was stabbed to death in the snow outside of our home at 3:32 AM.

He had a bouquet of red roses. My favorite.

He somehow found an all night florist and bought them on his way home.

There was a note. The roses were an apology for missing Valentine’s Day.

I will never forgive myself for how furious I was with him that day for missing our dinner reservation.

Never.

Victoria read the draft over. Several times.

She clicked REPLY ALL to the email from Chip and attached the chapter.

They might want more, but she could always say she’s too distraught for that.

Keep it simple.

Victoria paused for a moment before clicking SEND.

The chapter was off.

Victoria closed her laptop and walked away, sipping her coffee. It was still warm.

Two drafts.

One told the story people wanted to hear.

The other told the truth.

Victoria pulled out a handwritten journal and skimmed through it.

While John, the moron, went off to work every day she was left home to look after the children.

“You don’t need to work,” he would say. “I can take care of you.”

Victoria never wanted to be taken care of.

Sure, there were parties and social engagements that she attended. Charities. Fundraisers. Foundations.

None of it was real work.

She resented it.

Then came the affairs. Plural

Did he think she wouldn’t find out? Did he think she didn’t know?

Well, he was a moron, so he probably did think that.

The number one rule of relationships. Don’t cheat.

It wasn’t the other girls… definitely not women… who put Victoria over the edge. It wasn’t even missing Valentine’s Day.

Over time John’s politics became twisted, pathetic, power-hungry version of the man she once loved.

She did love him once.

What put her over the edge was that on February 14, he signed legislation to cut all funding to the Tomasfield Museum of Art.

When she saw that on the late-night news, Victoria snapped.

She grabbed a used knife from the kitchen drawer, not one of the fancy ones from the knife block on the counter.

She waited for the headlights.

She met him in the snow, asked who the roses were for.

She didn’t even wait for him to answer before she stabbed him.

Twenty-seven times.

She was never a suspect. The gardener was convicted.

Oh well.

Oh, one more thing. There really was a note with the roses.

It said, “Sorry Vicky.”

Moron.

And only her friends called her that.

Victoria walked to the fireplace and tossed the journal in.

Can’t have a silly thing like the truth stop her from ruling the world, now can we?