Page 20 of Kiss Me Now
And no one knew more about political gossip than Brandon, the bartender who ran a blog called “Spilled Tea” under the alias Earl Grey. I was one of the only people who knew it was Brandon behind the blog, but it made perfect sense. Brandon worked for one of the most expensive caterers in the city. His laidback vibe made it possible for him to sidle up to house staff at residences all over the DC area. His MO was pouring free drinks for the client’s personal staff after events and asking questions until he found someone who talked. Then he loosened them up with even more liquor. He got truths that would make their employers’ hair curl if they knew how easily Brandon sweet-talked their staff.
“Spilled Tea” didn’t care about the politics of the moment, but Brandon was very interested in the politicians—especially their indiscretions. If Brooke Spencer had ever featured in capital gossip, Brandon would know.
At noon, I spotted Brandon waiting for me outside of Hal’s, the priciest steakhouse in the District.
“Let’s eat,” Brandon said as I walked up.
“And then we’ll talk,” I said.
Brandon smiled. “You know this lunch is going to cost you more than a ribeye, right?”
“It always does,” I said. “And it’s always worth it.”
When we were settled and our orders had been taken, Brandon eyed me over the rim of his glass as he took a drink of his beer. “Well?” he asked, setting down the drink.
“Brooke Spencer.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes like he was thinking, then shook his head. “Don’t recognize the name.”
“Former policy advisor to Senator Rink. Left his office somewhere eighteen months to two years ago.”
The lines in Brandon’s forehead smoothed out. “Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Ah.”
I shook my head. “What do you need besides the best ribeye in the city?”
“You know what I like about you? Your clients have some of the deepest pockets around. If this Brooke Spencer is who I think she is, the info should be worth an easy thousand.”
I reached for my wallet. I’d come prepared. “The client is me. But I’m trying to protect my grandmother, so yes, a thousand is worth it.”
But when I peeled off ten hundred-dollar bills, Brandon waved it off. “I like grandmothers. I’ll spill for a single Franklin. I’ll drink on you tonight and call it good. That, plus you’ll finally have to tell me how you figured out I’m behind ‘Spilled Tea.’”
“Not going to happen,” I said. “Can’t reveal my investigator secrets. But I’ll give you two Franklins to ease the pain.”
Brandon laughed and accepted the bills, tucking them into his shirt pocket. “One day I’ll get it out of you.”
He wouldn’t, but Brandon would be disappointed if he ever did figure it out. It had been total luck. Brandon had tended bar at the firm’s holiday party two years before, and while waiting for my whiskey, I’d been idly eavesdropping on Brandon’s conversation with the junior associate in front of him. Brandon had said, “That’s some high-class baloney” to describe a load of bull the associate was feeding him. A week later, the same phrase had appeared in “Spilled Tea.” I hadn’t heard anyone else use the phrase before or since. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that Brandon held an ideal job for collecting secrets.
“So Brooke Spencer,” I prompted.
“About a year ago, I was tending bar at a fundraising gala when Rink’s chief of staff sits himself down and starts tossing back vodka. One of his staffers came over, and I think was trying to suck up to him, telling him, ‘Oh, don’t worry, Rink can afford it. She’ll take the settlement and walk.’ So I got curious, naturally.” He paused to take another drink.
He couldn’t have been half as curious then as I was now, but I waited. Brandon liked the pleasure of spinning out his story.
“Anytime there’s talk of settlements, there’s always something juicy involved. So when the chief of staff leaves because he doesn’t like the suck-up, I start chatting up the staffer. ‘Boss seems like he’s in a bad mood,’ that kind of thing. I tell him it sounds like some court thing went wrong, and he just snorts. ‘More like went right if you’re a money-hungry—” Brandon coughs and takes a sip. “Anyway, I got the sense that a mistress got paid off, when all was said and done.”
I felt something inside that I shouldn’t have, not after eight years of wading into these kinds of investigations: disappointment. I’d thought my low opinion of humanity in general couldn’t get any lower. Apparently, I still had some capacity to be surprised. Brooke Spencer, the wholesome girl-next-door with her braids and freckles and baskets of squash, had carried on an affair with an old, married senator. And then she’d blackmailed him into silence.
It made me angry that it surprised me, but I kept my expression neutral, waiting to see if Brandon had any further info. “Did you have any sense of who the mistress was? Or if this was a recurring thing with Rink?”
Brandon shook his head. “I think Rink was a player twenty years ago when he first got to DC, but word was he’d straightened up and learned to fly right because his wife had threatened to clean him out financially if he embarrassed her with any more affairs. I think he’s been pretty straight for the last decade or so. As for who the mistress was?” He tapped his glass against the tabletop, like he was distracted, thinking. “I could never confirm it, but about a week later, I was bartending at another event and I saw the same staffer. I got a few shots into him, and he grumbled about how their policy advisor just quit and now everyone had so much more work and he was tired of picking up the slack.”
“Who was the policy advisor?”
“I Googled. Someone named...Brooklyn? I don’t remember. But maybe it’s this Brooke Spencer you’re asking about. Her photo was on the senator’s website. Young. Pretty. Exactly what I would expect. Two weeks later, it was gone. Some middle-aged guy had the job.”
