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Only let's get one thing straight right from the get go here, folks.
I am not fucking related to Michael Anders. Or to Jocelyn Carter.
That’s right. It’s about time we start using her maiden name because by the time I get done, there won’t be a person in this city who will want her to stay married.
“Did your father know at the time the baby was conceived?” a reporter from the front row asks.
“Are you ashamed of yourself?” another reporter asks over him. I turn to him on that one. It’s the same guy who brought out the whole line of questioning as to whether or not the babe was mine—the one who torpedoed a perfectly good press conference.
This is the guy who I’m gonna destroy first.
“I’ll take that question…sorry, I don’t know your name,” I say into the microphone, looking at him.
“Carson Maddox, from the Downtown Metro,” he says back to me.
I nod. Here I go.
“Well, Carson Maddox, you asked a pretty crazy question. Am I ashamed for what I did?” I start and the reporters quiet down. “Absolutely not.”
The commotion picks up again. Along with the camera flashes and more questions.
But I’m not done yet and I start speaking into the microphone.
“And I’ll tell you why not,” I begin and the hubbub starts to die down. “When I first came back to New York, I was the Lance Anders that the Daily Journal had gotten used to. Hard partying, chasing after anything in a skirt, and ready to fight for anything.”
People start to quiet down and listen to me now that they realize I’m not just talking in a fucking sound bite.
“I have to be honest, that kind of life is great if you want to go through life protecting yourself from getting hurt,” I tell the crowd. “But if you ever want any sort of relationship at all where you care about someone, it’s not going to be possible.”
A few photographers snap pictures. I continue.
“I was a master at protecting myself. Not just from women. But from my own family. Ever since my mom died, I’ve been building walls around myself. So much so that what little family I did have left I was able to effectively sideline. I did that so well I didn’t even know what was going on in my stepfather’s life till I got to his house,” I say talking directly into the cameras in the back. “But when I did finally arrive, I didn’t see a marriage between dad and Jocelyn. I saw two people who were unhappy with each other.”
Now I got their attention. Time to bring it home.
“I’ve always operated according to my own personal code of honor, folks,” I tell the press. I’m fucking serious about this too. “I would never break up a happy home or a solid marriage. But what I saw wasn’t a happy home. And it sure as fuck was not a solid marriage.”
People are starting to soften. I can tell just by looking at their faces.
“Over the course of time I came to realize that not only was there no love in this marriage, but it was an union that would be better off it were dissolved,” I conclude. Let’s see what counterpunch the news has.
“Does your father share that opinion?” a reporter from the back asks me.
“First off, he’s my step-father, as Jocelyn said,” I reply without missing a beat. “And secondly, yes, by his own actions my stepfather had conceded that this marriage was not suitable for him. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a fucking argument when I brought this up, but it was something that we all knew was under the surface.”
“Do you think this will help or hurt Mayor Anders in the campaign?” another reporter from the crowd asks.
“I think without having to be tied down with a marriage that wasn’t working out for either of them—and without going into the specifics let me fucking assure you that it really wasn’t working out for either—I think this can only help my stepfather do his job as the best Mayor in the history of this city,” I say all in one sentence. I have no fucking idea if dad will turn out to be a shitty mayor in his second term or not, but I need to play nice right now. I’m backed against the wall enough as it is without needing to take on someone who makes Machiavelli look like a little kid.
If you’re shaking your head at me, hear me out, okay? Can you really deny the possibility that Michael Anders—who we already know is capable of seducing a man and then blackmailing him about it for the rest of his life, including to force him into giving him his only daughter’s hand in marriage so he can carry on a charade—wouldn’t stoop to the level of setting this whole thing up to blow up in our faces?
I’m sorry to start throwing conspiracy theories out there, but it’s gotta be fuck
ing said. Who’s to say that Michael didn’t just plant a reporter in here to ask Jocelyn the question that got her tripped up? If you’re thinking the election, think about how many pity votes he could come out getting as the husband who’s wife cheated on him. How many women would vote for him based on the fact that they don’t like cheating? And we know he polls not so well with women.
That’s why despite all the planning, I still wanted to be close in case anything like this went down. Because when push comes to shove, I’m going to protect Jocelyn over my stepfather.
“At the end of the day, Michael Ander’s first and true love is public service and holding office,” I say into the microphone. “He’s better suited than his wife. He lives and breathes for something like that. Neither Jocelyn and I are like that.”
