Authors: Claire Adams
But
the agent leaned toward me and shook his head. “He’s not in, Miss Martin. He’s
in a meeting with his wife.”
The
skin on my face turned a sour white. I nodded toward the agent and thanked him,
feeling my legs turn to jelly. I wound from the Oval Office, down the steps and
into the gleaming foyer below. A chandelier glinted above me.
I
would find a way home, then. I would root myself in my bed and calculate the
perfect, most essential plan to counter what Jason was effortlessly planning,
somewhere in a strange, dark lair across the city.
Chapter 5
When I
swept into Rachel’s home, however, I found her leaning against the counter, a
glass of wine already in her hand and a smile on her face. She winked toward
me. “I have some serious news,” she smiled.
I
brought my hands to my face, allowing the worry from the previous day to fall
around me. “What is it?” I gasped.
She
eyed me, bringing her eyebrows up high on her forehead. “I have a date!”
I
clapped my hands together, allowing my papers and folders to fall to the ground
before me. They scattered, monstrously, on her fine, hardwood floor. I brought
my hands around her thin shoulders and hugged her supremely, feeling such a
happiness course through me. “I can’t believe this is true! Is it that—“
She
nodded. “That guy from work? Yeah. Michael.” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes. I
could tell she was tired, but that she was staying up to speak with me, to tell
me about her excitement. It had been too long since a truly good thing had
happened to either of us.
I
brought the wine bottle into the air and tipped into over a wine glass, filling
it heartily. I clinked the glass into hers and we cheered her impending date.
The wine coursed down my tongue. “When is it?” I asked her, my eyes bright.
She
laughed, snickering a bit. “I actually agreed to go out tonight.” She shook her
head, as if she couldn’t believe herself. “Is that all right?”
My
heart skipped a beat. The mere thought of spending a single night by myself in
her apartment seemed scary, made me feel out-of-sorts, in a way. I swallowed,
but didn’t allow the light to dissipate from my eyes. “Of course, that’s all
right! I know how much this guy means to you.” I took another sip, remembering
that this flirtation had been happening for several months—that Rachel hadn’t
thought it would materialize into anything at all. “Things work out, don’t
they?”
Rachel
leaned close to me, then. Her eyes grew serious. “I want you to know that I
think things will work out for you, as well. I have a really good feeling about
it. I think—I think the president will deal with this Jason issue. I think he
loves you enough to protect you.” She petered off for a moment, looking beyond
my shoulder, toward the door. I felt like an alien, for only a moment. “In
fact, he loves you enough to change his entire life. I can’t say that anyone
has ever loved me that much. Throughout my entire life.”
In
that moment, I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her about
Xavier, about his wife, Camille, discovering us. I wanted to tell her about my
doubts regarding our future—about how I didn’t want to be perceived as a
money-grabbing mistress. God, I didn’t want that. And I wanted to tell her
about Jason grabbed my throat and pressing me against a tree, threatening my
entire political existence. With just one strike of his hand—one sent email—he
could ruin me. Now that: that was power.
Rachel
tipped her glass back, not a glimmer of understanding about what was going on
in my brain showing in her face. I sipped at my wine and listened to her talk
about her date. This man named Michael—a lawyer who often came into her work,
who’d been flirting with her hard the previous few weeks. I knew she hadn’t
been happy for years. I wished, whole-heartedly for her happiness.
She
downed her drink, then, and reached for her coat. She swung it around her thin
shoulders and nodded toward me. “I know that we’ve spent so much time together.
And I’ve appreciated every moment,” she murmured. She looked down toward her
feet. I didn’t want this serious conversation. I didn’t feel ready for it. I
swallowed.
“Don’t,”
I began. “We’ll see each other after your date. I can’t wait to hear all about
how it went. You deserve to have adventure, to have things happen to you.
You’re one of the good ones.” I brought my hand to her shoulder and clenched it
for a moment, giving her my support. She smiled, if only for a moment.
“Okay.
I’m off. Please. Relax, tonight. Don’t think about Xavier, about his wife, about
Jason. Just allow yourself to be—free.” She nodded toward me, her eyes yielding
affirmation.
I
watched her leave the apartment. In that moment, I felt so lonely—but also so
free. I realized that I was so rarely by myself. I could create a moment of self-reflection,
of self-comprehension. I poured myself another glass of wine—this one even
bigger and stronger than the previous one. I sat back and guzzled it in her
great easy chair, allowing my eyes to glaze over in the haze of the television.
I imagined myself with a normal life, outside of the White House, never having
known the President of the United States. No. No. I shook my head ravenously.
Things were precisely what they were meant to be. This was my destiny. Every
step I’d taken, every move I’d made through the previous campaign, through my
work with the congressman, through my work at the helm of this campaign had
been appropriate, full-formed. I was taking the appropriate steps.
And
someday, I knew, I would feel free.
I
allowed myself to filter off, to fall asleep for a few hours, waiting up for
Rachel. I knew she would be gushing with details about her date when she
returned, and my ears ached for the details. I wanted to live in another
person’s story, for a moment.
Finally,
at around ten in the evening, Rachel burst through the door, her smile beaming
her face. She looked almost clown-like, with her red lipstick and her bright
expression. I brought my hands to my face, shocked awake with the noise. She
clattered her keys on the kitchen table and brought her fists to her cheek,
preparing a little ditty, a little dance for me. I shook my head back and forth
toward her, unsure of what to say.
“So—it
went well?” I finally asked her, laughing a bit, deep in my gut.
She nodded,
bursting. Her face had turned a subtle red. “It went so well, Amanda.” She sat
before me, then, on the coffee table. She’d poured herself another glass of
wine, and her face gleamed already of many alcoholic drinks. I laughed for a
moment. “We talked about everything. He told me about his—his career, his
dreams, his passions. And I told him about how I’d had to re-work my dreams to
account—to account for the fact that politics wasn’t actually in the cards for
me. You know?”
I
nodded, feeling my stomach brim with a sense of pride. “Wow.” My words were
nearly breathless.
She
nodded. “He’s a real gentleman. Someone I could—I could see myself with.” Her
eyes were bright toward me. “I feel excited, deep in my gut. Like—like things
are happening. Is this how you felt when you first—“
“When
I first met Xavier?” I asked her, then. I continued the sentence with a
breathless intensity, understanding her question. I began to nod, knowing that
this was the truth. I had absolutely fallen for Xavier in much the same way. I
had seen him and understood, almost immediately. He was the person I most
wanted in my life. “I think so.”
She
bit her lip. “I think I understand your situation a bit better, now. I can’t—I
can’t imagine feeling this way, and knowing that there was a blockage. A—a wife
in the way of my love and happiness.” She bowed her head, looking toward her
perfect, slim feet.
I
paused for a moment, allowing us to sit in comfortable silence. I knew I needed
to tell Rachel about the truths of the previous few days. I knew I needed to
get it all off my chest. I cleared my throat. “Rachel?” I whispered.
Her
eyes darted back toward me. “What is it?”
“It’s
just that. Camille found out.”
Rachel’s
eyes widened. She brought her free hand to her chest. “No.”
I
nodded. “She—she walked in on us the other day. I immediately thought we were
done for.” I snapped my fingers, hearing the echo in the small living room.
“But she just stood there, allowing us to get dressed before her. And then: she
told her that it was easier for her that Xavier was having an affair.” I
furrowed my eyebrows, unsure of what to say next. The entire story seemed to be
frothing from my mouth.
“It
was easier for her?” Rachel whispered. “What does that even—“
I
shrugged my shoulders, unsure of what to say. “I know. I know. But—she wants to
give us this freedom. To do what we want. As long as we don’t ruin her life as
First Lady. She wants to hold onto the position, even if he is re-elected.”
“And
live a lie?” Rachel asked.
I
nodded. “I suppose people have been through worse for much less power.” I
allowed the silence to filter around us once more. “Anyway. I don’t know how
long I can allow all this to go on, before I go crazy. I mean. I’ve worked so
fucking hard to get to where I am today. Long, sleepless nights working;
sucking up to so many members of Congress just to gain experience as a young
person—a woman on the road to something greater.” I bit my nail for a moment,
feeling infantile. “I know you can understand that.”
Rachel
nodded. “Again. Part of the reason I got out,” she breathed.
“And
now. With Jason all over me—suspecting that things are getting worse,
suspecting that he’s not going to get his end of the deal, I feel like things
need to change. Perhaps Xavier and I should be together. Perhaps this was all
too good to be true.” I bit my lip once more, tasting a tang of blood.
“What
do you mean, he’s all over you?” Rachel breathed.
I
bowed my head, looking toward my fingers. I wondered how to phrase what had
happened to me earlier that day. “Well. He had me—against a tree. He was
yelling at me. Threatening me.” I shuddered, feeling the tremors of the day’s
attack all throughout my body. “I think it’s getting worse.”
But
Rachel had risen up from her chair. Her face had grown hot, red. “What do you
mean, he threatened you. He had his hand around your throat? What the fuck do
you mean?”
She scowled, so angry at the
mere thought of this. My heart seemed to pump rapidly with too much blood, too
much happiness. Someone cared about me. Someone worried about me. Such a
strange sensation.
I
shook my head. “It’s okay—“
“No
it’s not,” Rachel scolded me. “He threatened you. I think it’s finally time to
go to the police.”
My
face looked stricken. I shook my head. “No. You know I can’t do that. You know
that he has so much information about the president and I—that this would ruin
the deal we have with the president’s wife.” I swallowed, knowing that none of
these elements affected Rachel’s comprehension. I tried once more. “And Rachel.
If you do this, you know that I will not go far in my career. I’ll constantly
be known as the girl who slept her way to the top.” I uttered the words once
more, bringing Rachel back to the coffee table. She sighed.
We sat
in a stunned silence for a few moments. I was terribly overjoyed at the sheer
passion Rachel had for me; the passion she had just to help me. I wanted to
tell her that I would do my best to get out of the situation on my own. I
wanted to assure her that I wouldn’t be stupid.
But
she interrupted my words. “I think you should press Xavier to help you,” she
began. I wanted to interrupt her—to explain to her that I did everything on my
own. But she held up her hand, shaking her head. None of her past glory, her
post-date gleam remained on her face. “I know that you don’t want to bother
him. But this is getting serious. The threats are becoming violent. You can’t
trust a crazy man like Jason. And he’s at your workplace, in the goddamned
White House. You have to take steps.” She shrugged her shoulders, placing her
fingers over my knee. I felt a single tear waft down my cheek. I knew she was
right.
My
voice croaked as I spoke to her. “I know you’re right,” I whispered.
Rachel
and I went to bed, after that. Just before we ducked into our separate rooms,
we exchanged a serious hug—one that allowed me to feel safe, feel whole again,
even after the strain of the previous day. I sighed into her, trying to
remember a time in which I’d felt completely full, completely sure. But I
couldn’t.
“Good
luck tomorrow,” she whispered into my ear, just as she swarmed into her
bedroom—in which, I knew, she would fold back into her self-made daydream about
her new date, Michael.
I
nodded back to her and shook the door closed, feeling the weight of the day
crash around me. I fell fast asleep, blinking my eyes only a few times before
falling away.
Chapter 6
But
the next morning, I knew that I wasn’t ready to press the president for his
assistance. God, not yet. Too much was riding on the next week’s campaign
processes. I had to put my head down, to root myself in this cause.