Client No. 9

I remember where I was when I first learned of Eliot Spitzer's, my governor's, indiscretions. I was at the office passing by the break room which had CNN on the television and something about him being linked to a prostitution ring. Something about it was very ominous. No words like "alleged" or "smear campaign" or anything like that. It seemed very straightforward. I took a double-take and said to my co-worker, "What? What does that even MEAN? I don't know what that MEANS." But I was biding time as I absorbed shock. I knew what it meant. It meant he was a hypocrite.

I bought his whole image hook, line, and sinker. When he was the attorney general, combating corruption on Wall Street, running around like Batman himself, I loved reading about it. When he ran for governor, I voted for him. My female co-worker and I giggled like two schoolgirls when he was elected. What a bright future, I thought. We'd never know what one year later would uncover: Approximately $80,000 spent over possibly a decade to something called Emperors Club VIP. Are you kidding me?

Adultery as a concept, that's not what ruffles my feathers. I mean, we're human, and marriages are fragile. But the time and energy and money spent to keep up such a deception, breaking the law, and being able to compartmentalize one's feelings enough to be able to separate the girls from Emperors Club VIP and the four women living at home...boggles my mind. It dumbfounds me. He has teenage daughters, for the love of Christ. Daughters not much younger than the "employees" of this "agency." What must the family be going through right now? Oh, the future therapy bills.

This is such big news here. New Yorkers were dumbstruck. And now it's like we're all holding our collective breath while he's holed up somewhere deciding his fate. Seriously, reporters are asking each other, "You heard anything? You heard anything?"

Well...looks like we'll soon have our very first African-American, blind Governor!