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Gavin Newscum: The Shoe Fits Better Than You Think
Gavin Newscum. Remember him? Well, President Trump’s nickname for him just took on a whole new meaning.
All was quiet on the West Coast front for Newscum — most of the news cycle diverted to Fauci pleading the Fifth like a little girl, the Democratic Socialists of America plotting their takeover of our motherland, or Mamdani’s contempt for 9/11 victims — but that changed Tuesday for the California governor, when his former paramour emerged with an explosive essay exposing the scandal.
Ruby Rippey-Tourk, deputy campaign finance director under a younger Mayor Newsom and wife of Alex Tourk, his field director, is finally telling her side of the story: an extramarital affair lasting two years, with the now-governor of California.
The takeaway? He is, indubitably and irrevocably, scum.
Imagine this. You’re in a position of power. Your best friend labors over you, day and night; so does his wife. You spend every waking moment with both of them, watching them weather the storms of substance abuse, a first pregnancy, and the ordinary vicissitudes of life. And then you start sleeping with your best friend’s newly mothered wife. Behind his back. For two years straight. You send her spiraling into full-blown addiction, gut her marriage, and detonate a one-year-old’s entire world.
That is what Gavin Newscum did to the Tourks. His friends. His subordinates. People whose entire livelihoods depended on him.
Rippey describes her marriage to Tourk as steady yet electric. Romantic and refreshing. Mostly right, and when it wasn’t, her husband still viewed it through rose-colored glasses, always seeing the best in her, always showing up for his wife and their baby.
Alex Tourk was as good a guy as it gets. He courted her by consistently showing up with mixtapes and matzo ball soup from her favorite deli, even when he figured he didn’t stand a chance. That same stalwartness carried into fatherhood and into his job, where he served Newsom as a reliable workhorse, there anytime, anyplace.
It turns out he and his wife both spent long nights enthralled by the same man; they just did it in vastly different capacities.
Newscum looked at this marriage between two hardworking people who trusted him, and made a conscious, cynical decision to break them both, one by one, from atop his City Hall tower.
Ruby lays out the relationship in full – from how it started to how it ended. And though she’s clearly responsible for her own abhorrent choices, it’s hard to read her account without concluding that Newsom’s power is what propelled her destruction.
She says it began in earnest in 2005, at a wedding in Napa Valley — one where she wore white (insane), became belligerent, and sent her husband home to their baby while she went back to an inn with the mayor. They passed out beside each other; she wet the bed. The crusade against common sense and decency was underway.
But it’s what she says about the lead-up that strikes me. In 2004, Ruby had strung together a stretch of sobriety after her pregnancy. That lasted until she, her husband, and their boss sat down at a Mexican restaurant, and Newscum commented on her body.
“You’ve lost all your pregnancy weight.”
Cue the margaritas. From that moment on, she starts obsessing over what she wears, how she looks, second-guessing every glance he holds a beat too long. The drinks start flowing again, right on schedule.
“We meet and we drink. There is sex, but it isn’t the point. The point is proximity — to power, to being chosen… It isn’t love. It isn’t romance. It’s intoxication. The text message is a hit.”
She’s captivated by his power. He holds her in the palm of his mayoral hand.
She’s relieved when he tells her it should stop. “You can’t be doing this to Alex,” he says, as if he’s the concerned friend stepping in to save the day, and not the governor-in-waiting who used his position to get her into this mess in the first place.
“Maybe now it’s over,” she hopes, desperate to be rid of his chains and of the alcoholism their affair ignited.
But it didn’t end. Over the course of the next few months, between the taxi rides home from one of Newscum’s penthouses or rooftop bars riddled with cigarettes, she turns to cocaine. Newscum does nothing to stop it. If anything, he fans the flames of her self-destruction, night after night, luring her back in, intoxicated, inebriated, incapacitated. He never tells her to get help. He never tells his friend. He casts himself as a passerby, a bystander to a mess he built.
He’s the ruinous villain in their stories, but they’re merely a footnote in his.
Ruby is the one who ends it, after checking into rehab in 2006. She confesses to her husband (Gavin’s best friend) via email in 2007 that they’ve both been lying to him and stabbing him in the back.
Alex leaves his wife and his job on Newsom’s campaign, both of which he’d spent years building, strengthening, and sacrificing for, with nothing left but a kid and an attorney’s bill.
He rebuilds slowly, forever bewildered that the two people he trusted most could do this to him. Ruby retreats into isolation, regret, and ruin, staying silent when Gavin’s memoir hits shelves, claiming it was he who “came clean” to Alex. And Gavin cashes his memoir checks, having barely acknowledged the “crazed woman” who’d “fall asleep outside his bedroom,” before ascending, smooth as ever, to the governorship.
There is no doubt that Ruby held a great deal of the responsibility for their affair, but what Newscum’s conduct reveals about him, across every stage of this, is the real story.
He used his power to pull his best friend’s wife into bed while all three of them worked under the same City Hall roof. He lied to everyone close to him for years. He is, demonstrably, the type of man who will absolutely wreck a woman’s heart if given the chance — and he did. Then he looked at the devastation, shrugged, found a carbon copy of Ruby, and married her. Her name is Jennifer Siebel Newsom, now California’s “first partner.”
Politicians aren’t exactly famous for being good people, and sure, everybody’s got skeletons. Trump’s got some. Clinton’s got a whole ossuary.
But there’s a difference between garden-variety sleaze and this: years of lying to your best friend’s face while sleeping with his wife, watching her drown in it, then writing a memoir where you’re the hero of your own betrayal.
He’s not Newscum because Trump said so. He’s Newscum because he earned it. And now this scumball wants America to give him a promotion.