FOR a split second, Silda flinched. The moment came at the end of a freakishly controlled press con ference thrown by soon-to-be-ex-Gov. Spitzer and his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Silda Wall “Doormat” Spitzer.
After two solid days spent trying to hang on to the chandelier of the Governor’s Mansion, Eliot Spitzer yesterday quit his job as New York’s Luv Guv.
For 2 minutes and 40 seconds, Spitzer spoke to us. And then, it was time to escape.
“Silda, are you leaving him?” I managed to shout as the state’s departing first lady headed for the door.
And for just a breath, Silda tensed.
But Eliot was walking impatiently behind her, as gamely as a john headed for the Emperors Club VIP. Silda nearly got pushed out the door in his haste.
And poof! – they were gone. They managed not to say a word about Spitzer’s liaisons with ladies of the evening.
Yesterday’s appearance came less than 48 hours after news broke that Eliot preferred the company of one high-priced prostitute less than half his age and four years older than his eldest daughter to that of his still-smoking-hot wife.
He got himself into this mess alone. So I never imagined that Silda, a Harvard-educated lawyer, would show up again to bail him out.
But a hush fell over the room as Silda strolled in. I thought she’d high-tail it to Bermuda, rather than serve as her husband’s ass-coverer and enabler.
Still, it was clear something had changed between them.
At a press conference Monday, in which Spitzer acknowledged the brewing scandal, Silda clung to her hubby as if he were a winning lottery ticket.
This time, she was careful to stand three feet away from the guy who stole her life.
On Monday, her eyes were bright red and swollen from crying. This time, she wore a jaunty scarf to take attention from the rings below her eyes.
Silda also made an effort not to look at her man. She trained her gaze on a sheet of paper in Spitzer’s hand, rather than stare at the louse who sentenced their daughters to decades of therapy.
Spitzer’s statement was petulant and angry. He said he was sorry. He clearly was sorry that he got caught.
At least he acknowledged he had kids.
“In the past few days, I have begun to atone for my private failings with my wife, Silda, my children and my entire family,” he started.
But just as quickly, he segued into an angry rant about “Me! Me! Me!” He never made mention of the depravity to which he had fallen.
He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
“I look at my time as governor with a sense of what might have been,” he said. “But I also know that as a public servant, I and the remarkable people with whom I work have accomplished a great deal.
“There is much more to be done and I cannot allow my private failings to disrupt the people’s work.”
Private?
Twice, he called spending at least $80,000 on hookers a “private” matter. He just doesn’t get it. And I doubt he ever will.
It is not clear why Silda stood by him, sending her daughters a message that it’s acceptable for a woman to behave like an object on which men wipe their shoes. That was her sin, her crime and her failing.
Eliot Spitzer is not just addicted. He is delusional.
Silda Spitzer, I pray, will soon escape her attachment to a man who dragged her through the mud.
The kids, I fear, will not soon get over their dad’s betrayal.