More than the Game by Jenni Bara
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@NYStarPost:Turns out it was an old flame @TheCoreyMatthews that broke up Campbell and @HotShotDemoda—and we’ve got the pictures to prove it.
@CelebPeopleMag:How could she?!? Campbell caught cheating on @HotShotDemoda with his former teammate @TheCoreyMatthews
@USWeekly:Not just @TheCoreyMatthews! See the photos of Elizabeth Campbell and her many boy toys
@NYStarPost:She fooled so many—a look back at Elizabeth Campbell’s sordid past
The phone rang on Sunday morning before the sun was even up. It was too early, and her brothers had all been there way too late.
“Tell me Corey isn’t at your house,” her father demanded as soon as she said hello.
“What time is it?” Beth said, sitting up, trying to see her clock.
“Is. Corey. There,” he demanded, again accenting each word.
“Yes.”
“I should have listened to Marc. He said security couldn’t wait until Monday. Paul and I are on a flight to Jersey. I’ve called Austin, and he’ll be—”
“What are you talking about?” Beth asked, knowing something terrible had happened. “I talked to him last night, and he said he was issuing a statement from Marc and me this morning.”
“Do you live under a rock? You’ve once again blown up on social media.”
Beth’s heart stopped. “What?” she said, feeling a little sick. Her mind was jumping to conclusions that she hoped were wrong. They hadn’t issued a statement, but she and Marc hadn’t been seen together in days. Corey was staying here. Corey and Marc were known for never getting along.
“I like the Post’s tweet: ‘Matthews replaces Demoda again, this time off the field,’ with a picture of you and Corey supposedly taken last night. It’s blurry because it was shot through your back windows, but it’s clearly you and Corey. Tons of articles claiming he’s been living at your house. Rumors you two have been secretly dating for years, that Steve and Mandy are his. A few pictures of your last sexcapade.”
This couldn’t be happening.
“We’ve talked it over. Since you and Marc are taking your time to announce you’ve broken up, we can use that. Marc will fly in tonight for dinner, and you two will play the happy couple—”
“No,” Beth said sternly, and probably a little too loud. She wasn’t playing ‘happy couples’ with Marc anymore. Her heart couldn’t handle that. She heard stirring from the guest rooms, and Corey and Clayton appeared at her bedroom door.
“Paul thinks Marc will be willing, so I don’t see a problem—”
“I’m not willing,” she said sternly. Corey reached for the phone, and Beth shook her head. The two men both eyed her carefully, probably wondering who was on the phone.
“Elizabeth, be reasonable. Why can’t you go to dinner with the man?”
“Because I won’t.” She was on her feet; her father had no right to ask her to do this. She had told him exactly what happened with Marc. Her eyes stung, and she blinked furiously. Anything to do with Marc was still raw. “Dad—I just… can’t.”
Corey yanked the phone out of her hand. “Ed,” he said.
Beth stared blankly across the room, letting the truth sink in. She’d become the infamous daughter of Ed Campbell again. She ground her teeth. She’d have to see those damn pictures everywhere. And now they were going after her kids? Her hands came up to rub her eyes, but she didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was angry.
How dare a photographer take a photo from inside her house? What had made them suddenly think that was okay? And why did people want to read and buy this stuff?
She shook her head.
How did these magazines allow these unauthorized photos to be published, whether on their websites or in print? Beth glared. The last time, the story the media had run with was ‘sex tape,’ not ‘unconsented photos’—more sensational if they pretended she had been a willing participant. And her father had never let her say a word to correct anything.
“Clayton, go let Austin in and tell him we’ll be down in a few minutes. Beth and I have to talk,” Corey said after hanging up with her father.
Clayton nodded and got up, leaving Beth and Corey alone in the room.
Corey took a deep breath and ran his hand through his blond hair. “This is going to throw our past back into the headlines.”
She nodded, assuming her father would demand silence again. Her mind flicked to what Marc would think about that, and the thought of him caused a pang in her chest.
“There won’t be much point in hiding our friendship anymore,” Beth said with a sigh.
“Sorry,” Corey said sympathetically. “I probably shouldn’t have stayed here.” Beth had been telling him that for a few days.
“Anyway, I thought you were the one who didn’t want anyone to know we were friends,” Beth said.
“What? No.” Corey shook his head. She looked up at him in confusion. “Beth,” Corey said, drawing out her name like he was in pain, “I never cared about it. I was trying to protect you. It was the only way I could. I had to leave you alone, even when it killed me, because it was better for you. And once you and Bob were married and you started having people call you Beth, people didn’t know who you were. It’s always been better for you.”
She had always thought Corey had moved away from her because of the way the media presented her. Beth had always been certain that the reason Corey wanted to keep her a secret was because he was embarrassed by her. Her father was embarrassed. That was why she had assumed Marc would be too.
“It was never fair, the way I got a pat on the back and a wink at interviews while you got called a slut and accused of spiraling out of control. But I didn’t know how to fix any of it.” Corey paused uncomfortably, and Beth thought he was about to say something else, but he didn’t.
Beth blinked, and it was like a light had come on in a dark room. “It was unfair to both of us. And we were too young to handle it. We shouldn’t have had to.”
“We should have talked about this a long time ago. Things could have been different.” Corey hugged her tightly, then sighed. “Now we have a mess to clean up. Marc’s been helping me with the media—”
“He what?” She pulled back, staring up at him.
“He taught me the difference between being a politician in the media and being a superstar. I don’t need to be on good terms with them; they need to be on good terms with me.” He pulled away from Beth and stood thinking for a minute before he laid out his plan. “You and I need to come clean about our friendship. Tonight I’ll take you to dinner, and we’ll tell everyone we’re friends. No one will believe us, but that doesn’t matter. Marc will be back in Boston tomorrow, and I have an off day. I’ll fly up and make sure he and I have a very public, very friendly lunch. He’ll even get me a ticket for the game Monday night, and we’ll go out for drinks afterward.”
“Why?” Beth asked.
“The rumor now is that I stole you from him. I’m giving them a different story. In this one, he’s going to be my friend.” From the look on Corey’s face, that idea didn’t sit well.
“Will he even do that?” she asked.
Corey’s jaw tightened. “Judging from the sheer number of missed calls and ignored messages on my phone, I’d say he’s pretty eager to see me.”
“Cor—” She didn’t want to have the ‘you may not kill Marc’ conversation again. She’d done that several times now with all the guys over the past few days. Beth understood that they were mad—and, though they wouldn’t admit it, hurt by him too. But she didn’t want them going over and yelling. She had to move on; reliving it over and over would suck.
“You didn’t want me involved, but now I am,” he said. “Get dressed.” Then he left.
But their plan went out the window. By nine o’clock that morning, every website boasted pictures of her—not only with Corey, but with Paul, Austin, all her brothers, and numerous other men, some of whom she hardly knew. Although none of the pictures by themselves were all that bad, putting them all together in a group did the job. The headlines all read ‘The Secretary’s Daughter and Her Many Boy Toys.’
By that afternoon, her values, parenting, and morals were all fair game in the Democrats’ campaign stump speeches. They even speculated whether she had the right to be on the board of Helping Hands. Questions about her ‘relapsing’ into drugs floated all over social media. And Twitter was blowing up.
She had once more become a media frenzy. It was her worst nightmare all over again.
“Elizabeth.” Her father paced in the family room while she sat on the sofa, staring at the wall. Half her brothers, her dad’s people, and Austin all stood around waiting for direction on what to do now.
It had been a hell of a few days for Beth, and her father was about to tell her to hide out at Grant’s farm, far away from the media. She knew what was coming—and she wasn’t doing it. She’d spent ten years biting her tongue, so worried about causing him another mess that she hadn’t wanted to do anything that might rock the boat.
“I’m not going to Grant’s,” she said.
Her father blinked as if she hadn’t spoken English. But before she could add more, the front door opened. Beth’s head whipped around to see who her dad’s security would have possibly let in.
“Senator McGomry?” Beth stood there, in shock, looking at the presidential candidate—who should have been too busy to stop by New Jersey—standing in her cream pantsuit in the middle of the living room.
“I’ve told you before, you can call me Loretta.” The older woman smiled at her. “I got a phone call”—her rich brown eyes shot over to Austin—“telling me there was a story I needed to come hear.”
“Loretta,” Beth’s father began, “I have this handled. I told you I’d take care of it so we don’t get any backlash.”
Loretta’s lips tightened into a grimace, and she crossed her arms. “Since you and I don’t see eye to eye on most women’s issues, and I’ve come to learn family values actually mean very little to you, I’m going to talk to your daughter myself.” Senator McGomry swung her fierce, intelligent eyes to Beth again.
Beth had met the senator a few times, but that didn’t make her feel any less intimidated. Loretta was tall and striking with her dark hair and umber skin. But it was her commanding, capable presence that stood out. The woman wasn’t a career politician. She was a businesswoman, one of the first female CEOs in big tech. She had pivoted into politics with a focus on affordable daycare, safety at all schools, family medical leave—topics that weren’t usually part of the conservative platform. At every campaign event Beth had seen her, she was well-liked and came across as warm and caring. The media, however, used words like ‘ice queen,’ ‘abrasive,’ even ‘nasty.’
“If anyone knows about the double standard in the media, it’s me,” Loretta said with a smirk. “I had to bring Campbell on the ticket to make me seem more likable.”
A few people around the room covered their barks of laughter with a cough.
“But from what I’ve heard,” she continued, “you could be the poster girl for media double standards.”
Beth opened her mouth to say she didn’t need to be a poster girl for anything, but she stopped. She glanced at her father—the ‘family man’ who let his daughter constantly be thrown to the wolves—then to Corey, who was high-fived and slapped on the back for the exact same things she was attacked over. And even Marc, she thought; he was currently getting huge ratings and had gained thousands of followers in the last week because social media made him the victim in a breakup he had caused.
“Being able to have a voice is only a good thing if you choose to use it. I didn’t get into politics to become president. I did it to fix things—like the double standards women face,” Loretta said. “But if we don’t stand up and demand to be heard, we can’t make things change. Hiding does no one any good.”
Loretta’s brown eyes met Beth’s. “I’m willing to give you a platform to show the world how the media spins a story, how they blend truth and lies until they’re all gray. I believe it’s something we as a society need to be more aware of in general—but in the end, it’s up to you.”
Ed scoffed. “I’m not going to let her—”
“Enough!”
Everyone fell stone silent.
She had shocked them, she knew. But Beth continued, “Dad, I have let you control everything for the past ten years, because I was afraid. But I’m done. I’ve done it your way, and now it’s my turn. So start listening to what I want, because sometimes it has to be about me.”
The presidential contender glanced down at her phone as it beeped. Then her eyes shot to Austin with a smirk. “It’s good you want to talk—because after what was just tweeted, people will be begging to speak with you.”