Campbell was the only child of a wayward New Hampshire beauty queen and a philandering Boston blue blood named Lee Bellinger. Their marriage had lasted seven years. Susan was six when her father abandoned her mother. A series of boyfriends had followed, along with a desperate search for money that led ‘Dede’ Bellinger into brief forays into television, radio, advertising, and public relations, until her taste for alcohol and her notoriously poor driving ability got her killed in a one-car accident on the New Jersey Turnpike.
Susan was brought up by two straitlaced Bellinger aunts who sent her to the best private schools and offered her the combined wisdom of the Bible, the Farmer’s Almanac, and Ralph Waldo Emerson as a guide for living. At fourteen she entered Rosemary Hall as a thoroughly confused young girl with braces, skinny legs, and a worried look.
Four years of private school in the company of privileged girls from the best families in the nation did little for her confidence. She was a shy freshman at Wellesley when a friend introduced her to Michael Campbell, a Harvard junior who was about to undergo a second serious spinal operation after his first one had failed. Michael was frightened; Susan took it upon herself to encourage him. It was in that gesture of giving that she became a woman.
By the time Susan caught her breath Michael had won two Olympic gold medals and was a national celebrity. He finished law school two years after the Olympics, and two years after that ran successfully for the Maryland state legislature. By now Susan was his wife, and she helped him campaign for the US Senate. Her extraordinary blond beauty made her an attractive partner for him on the campaign trail. She had worked her way through college as a catalog model specializing in sportswear and lingerie, and for several years her scantily clad image was on every package of silk panties sold under the exclusive S/Z brand name. That image still haunted her, for the feature articles on her in women’s magazines often included it.
Susan was too beautiful for a political wife, and too shy. Michael’s campaign advisors did not quite know what to do with her.
Then something happened that changed Susan from a minor asset to a crucial weapon in Michael’s political arsenal. She was invited to be a guest on The Oprah Winfrey Show. At Oprah Winfrey’s request Susan brought along the photo album that documented her early years with Michael.
A small comedy of errors took place as Oprah’s camera was zooming in on the photo album.
‘Now, what does this show?’ Oprah was asking.
‘That’s Michael holding the flowers he brought me after our first fight,’ Susan said.
‘Fight?’ Oprah looked at the camera. ‘What were you fighting about?’
‘Sex.’ Susan blurted out the word before she could stop herself.
‘Sex?’ Oprah scented an opportunity.
‘Yes. He thought I was too straitlaced about it.’ Susan stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Uh-oh. I guess I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Not at all,’ Oprah pursued. ‘Straitlaced in what way?’
‘Making out in public. Things like that,’ Susan said.
‘Oh, you mean you’re more reserved than he is?’ Oprah asked.
‘Yes. I’m rather shy,’ Susan said. ‘It comes from my New England background, I guess.’
‘And Michael isn’t?’ Oprah asked.
Susan laughed. ‘No. Michael isn’t shy.’
‘What sort of venue are we talking about?’ Oprah asked.
‘You mean for making out?’
‘Making out. Yes.’ Oprah glanced at the audience.
‘On the beach in the moonlight,’ Susan said. ‘That sort of thing.’
‘So he likes to take risks,’ Oprah prodded.
‘Risks? Well, he’s very romantic in general, but, yes, I suppose you could say he likes to take risks.’
‘How far do you think he would go?’
‘You mean if he thought no one was watching?’ Susan asked.
‘Mmm – yes,’ Oprah agreed.
‘Oh, the fifty-yard line at the Astrodome, maybe,’ Susan said. Her hand went to her mouth instantly, but it was too late. The audience was in hysterics.
‘Oh, shit,’ Susan said, blushing.
And that was the final note, her embarrassed use of profanity. The audience’s laughter was mingled with applause. Viewers had never seen a politician’s wife speak with such spontaneous candor before.
The clip became famous. Not only did it show off Susan’s unpredictable personality and her charm, but it also referred to her sex life with one of America’s most desirable men, a man whose handsome body was known to women all over the world.
At first Michael’s public relations men were horrified. The sight of Susan on the Oprah show with her profane comment bleeped out seemed a disaster of limitless proportions. But Michael’s tracking polls went up instead of down in the weeks after the broadcast. As for Susan, she was now famous in her own right. She had become a major positive overnight.
At age thirty-two Susan found herself not only the wife of a US senator and the darling of the press, but also a member of a complex and difficult family. Judd Campbell, whose willfulness had done permanent damage to his relationships with Michael’s siblings, loved Susan and had co-opted her as a surrogate daughter. In more ways than one Susan felt exposed and off balance. But she had no choice. She had cast her lot with Michael, and she could not look back.
Susan and Michael had both been busy in recent weeks, too busy to find time for lovemaking. Their first chance came the weekend after the onset of Dan Everhardt’s sudden illness.
They met in the bedroom an hour after dinner. Both were eager. Their clothes came off quickly. Michael gasped when he felt his wife’s naked body against his own.
‘God, I want you,’ he said.
In no time, it seemed, the preliminary caresses were over and he was inside her. His embrace was gentle, though the heat rising in his loins made him groan. Her hands were on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around him.
Susan’s eyes were closed. Michael’s eyes were open. He was looking at her face, whose expression might have denoted pain as much as pleasure. She was very beautiful, he thought. Her breasts, still firm as those of a young girl, pressed against his chest. Her hips moved under him, her sex gripping him in its subtle feminine way, exciting him all the more.
Her hair covered the pillow like a splash of golden liquid. He moved faster. She slipped her hands down his rib cage and held him around his back. Her fingers touched the scar that ran down his spine.
He was very hard inside her, and very long. His strokes became slower, more deliberate. She felt him probing for the core of her, seeking to inflame her. The crisp, earthy smell of him grew more intense. Little moans sounded in her throat.
He kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his hands pulled her harder onto the straining shaft. She arched her back.
‘Oh, Michael …’
His last thought was for her closed eyes, her fresh young cheeks. She was so beautiful, so innocent …
The paroxysm came so suddenly that he gasped. The flow was long and rhythmic. His loins trembled. His breath came haltingly. It was as though he were drowning.
He stayed inside her for a long time. His pleasure ebbed slowly, and when at last he had returned to himself he kissed her cheeks and her forehead. The complicated eyes were looking at him now, and she was smiling.
She drew him to her breast and held him there. He listened to the beating of her heart.
After a while he ran a finger