by Claire Adams
Another Secret Service agent stood outside the Oval Office door, standing tall. I stopped before him, without speaking. The man turned the handle and allowed me to enter.
Outside, it was a grey September day. I sniffed and tapped in, noting that the president had turned the chair away from me, toward the window. He was looking at the rain.
Before I could speak, he interrupted my thoughts. “Quite a bleak day, Amanda,” he stated. His voice was gruff.
“Yes,” I quivered. “It certainly is.”
He swung around, then. His fingers were laced together. He looked very much like a cartoon version of a world leader. He gestured forward, offering me the seat before him once more.
“Is there something wrong with the campaign?” I asked him.
But he just waved his hand before his face, shaking his nose with an almost imperceptive movement. “There’s nothing wrong. Both you and Jason seem to be doing a stunning job. Truly.”
I sat, hearing my knees creak a bit. I knew that the stress was getting to me. I swallowed, feeling the strained sexual tension between us once more. “So. What’s the deal, then?” I was challenging him, trying to comprehend what was going on in his head.
Xavier brought his hands apart and placed them before him, on the desk. He flexed them slightly. “Well. The thing of it is, Amanda. I’m quite worried about you.”
I swallowed. “Worried about me?”
He nodded. “The woman I met all those weeks ago—the woman I came to grow fond of, let’s say, would never have quit this. Would never have given this position off to another man.” He shrugged, then. “She wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”
I shook my head vehemently. “I can assure you, sir. I can assure you that—“
But he interrupted me. His voice was soft. “Amanda. I want you to be happy; I don’t want what happened between us the other evening to interrupt your career. I told you before: your life is set here. You have a job whenever you need it. This path is yours.”
I bowed my head. “I understand that, Xavier. I’m just—I’m in shock about what happened between us. You have to understand that.”
He tipped his head to the right, trying to gage me. “You haven’t grown close to anyone recently, have you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course I hadn’t grown close to anyone. I’d been married to my career. My career was the only reason I’d gotten this far: all the way to the Oval Office, playing the part of the other woman. “I haven’t,” I murmured.
He nodded, then. “I understand how you must feel about all of this, of course. I understand that this is a lot to take in—that every day here must be filled with stress. Of course, you must understand that I feel the stress, too.”
I nodded. I gazed at his solid expression. His eyes locked with mine. He felt like home; he felt like the only person I had ever trusted.
“I had a great time with you the other night, regardless of the stress,” he began again. He looked at me with such passion. “I know that it’s awkward for you; I know that it might be too much to ask. But I’d love to get together with you again. It’s only with you—with you, Amanda—that I feel good about myself.”
My head was spinning. Was the President of the United States really saying this to me, right then? I didn’t know what to do.
He began again. “Know that I think about you all the time—that you are an essential part of my being. I want you to be with me, Amanda. Please.” He tipped his head forward once more. “Just one more date.” His smile skirted across his face, like he was playing a game with me. I wanted to laugh.
But then I remembered the photos; I remembered the sheer scandal. I knew that Jason could hold this higher and higher above my head, until suddenly I was dangling beneath it, killing myself.
I shook my head slowly, still feeling like I was about to tear up. I felt such passion in his presence, like I could find true happiness with him. But I needed to rid the thoughts from my mind. “Xavier. I appreciate the sentiment,” I began. My voice was strained. “I appreciate it a great deal. But I can’t—I can’t go with you.” His eyes looked so strained. “You have to understand that it’s not personal,” I continued. “You have to know that it’s just—it’ s just because there’s so much going on right now, you know. There’s the campaign—“
But he just waved his hand to the side, like he was brushing off the existence of his own campaign. He stood up, showing me that muscled, taut body. He ran his smooth fingers down his suit. “If that’s your answer for now, I accept it. But only for now.” He brought his hand over the desk and caught my hand in his, shaking it. I felt such tension between us. I half wanted him to grab me by the waist, to toss me on the desk before him. There, in the Oval Office, I imagined that we’d fuck on the desk, against the window—calling out to all the campaign workers down the hall with such passion.
But I shook his hand, instead, allowing the feeling to pass.
I spun around. My long, brunette locks coursed down my back. I knew that he was watching me, looking after me. I turned my head back, still feeling that bit of daring energy in me. “You know. Don’t give up on me, Xavier. You know where my office is.” I winked at him.
But suddenly, I felt it: the lurch, the fear in my chest for what was going on outside. As I exited the Oval Office, I could nearly feel Jason’s grasp on my neck. As I tapped by his desk, I could feel his eyes on me. I wanted to spit at him, to tell him he was not only keeping me from the man I felt such passion for, he was also keeping me from doing my job the way I pleased.
I shook my head at him as I passed, unperceptively beginning a war with him in my mind.
You will pay, I thought.
Chapter Five
The following few days, I found myself in a blur of anger and obedience. Jason had begun to call me on my cell phone often simply to check up with me, to allow me to understand that he’s watching me all the time.
One specific night, he called me on the phone while I sat at my kitchen table, a glass of red wine resting before me.
“Hello?” I heard my voice quiver, and I felt such shame. I drank the wine quickly, feeling the tang of it against my tongue.
“Well, well. How’s the biggest slut in D.C. doing?” he asked me.
My voice grew hot. “What do you want, Jason?” I tipped my head, knowing that I couldn’t be too angry with him. Not overtly. I had to let him know that I would follow his orders; I would do whatever he wanted, as long as he allowed me to get out of this mess, eventually.
“I’m sorry. Is that a bit of sass I hear in your voice? Because you know what I can do about that.”
I swallowed, trying to quell my anger. “I’m sorry, Jason. Just a hard day. How are you doing?”
“Just fine. Just fine. I’m actually swinging up in front of your apartment. You care to come out and see me?”
I panicked. I bounced from my chair and ran toward the window. Sure enough, down on the street sat a long, stretched black limo. “That’s you in the limo?” I asked him.
“But of course. You know I only do things with style.”
In that moment, I remembered his ridiculous, ruffled shirt and his continuous unkempt appearance. I wanted to laugh. But then I remembered.
“I can come down. But only for a moment,” I stated, turning back. I grabbed my coat and pounded down the steps, my heart racing. I tried to push myself out of fear. I tried to tell myself that soon the campaign season would be over. I tried to remind myself that as long as I did his bidding, I could stay involved in the White House proceedings. I wouldn’t lose sight of my goals. Not yet.
I stepped toward the stretch limo, hearing my heels against the pavement. I blinked rapidly, trying to tell myself not to cry. I couldn’t in the face of him. I swallowed and pulled the door open, placing myself just on the inside, far away from his languid body. He was smoking a cigar, and the cigar smoke emanated throughout the cab, making me cough.
“Amanda. I hope you are well,” h
e said. His voice was filled with such slime.
“And I, you,” I murmured. I placed my hand over my mouth, trying not to inhale the stench. “Can I ask you why you’re at my house?”
He smiled on the other side of his cigar. “You know I’ve been here before, Amanda.”
I imagined him placing the cameras throughout my apartment, tossing his grimy hands through my fine things. I grew so angry thinking about it that I placed my nails into my skin. I penetrated too deeply, then, drawing blood.
“Anyway. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you out here. I didn’t do it for no reason.”
“Sure, Jason. Not that it isn’t great to catch up.” I tossed him a raucous, sarcastic smile. This sarcasm seemed to please him.
“Ah, yes. Just a saucy young lady, aren’t you?”
I raised my eyebrow. I didn’t want to say anything else.
“All right. I have another request for you. Another assignment, shall we say. You do work for me now, after all.”
I tipped my head to the right. “Sure,” I murmured. I felt the words, so scratchy, coming from my throat.
“I need a private session with the president. I need you to get it for me.”
I raised my eyebrow, then. “I thought you had that authority already?” I didn’t mean this as an insult, you must understand. I truly didn’t comprehend that perhaps things weren’t going as Jason had planned in his relationship with the president.
He grunted. “Ah, yes. Well. You and the president, as those little photographs allow us to understand, have an incredible relationship. When I can’t meet with the president, you can arrange it. Is that clear?”
I nodded, swallowing. Was he—was he actually the campaign manager? I realized I had still been doing most of the responsibilities. Perhaps the president had given him a few more duties; but perhaps the president hadn’t turned to him for anything more. Perhaps their relations were strained.
I could hardly think. I reared up on my seat, turning toward him once more. “So. This meeting—it’s over?” His face broke into a sort of sad, evil smile. I suddenly realized that this man had taken advantage of me in nearly every way possible. He’d tried to ruin my life, and everything still wasn’t working so well for him. He grinned, but I saw the instability in his smile. His teeth were brown.
I got a bit daring, then, just as I placed my hand on the handle of the vehicle. “So you’re—you’re planning on meeting with the president for what reason, exactly?” I asked him, spinning my head around once more. I tapped my heel against the plastic on the side of the car.
But his face broke out into an angry grin then. He shook his head. “Ah, no. You won’t fucking ask me questions like that.” He reared up, as well, and leered toward me. “You don’t have the right to ask me things like that. I know it.”
I bowed my head, feeling so angry, so horrified. I suddenly became certain that he only wanted this meeting so that he could hang the photos over Xavier’s head. I didn’t want this; I didn’t want Xavier to know that I was being manipulated. Surely he would think that I was stronger than that. But of course, I wasn’t.
I bit my lip and pushed myself from the car, out into the street. I spun around and watched the limousine speed away. I felt my sanity dipping away as it fled.
I didn’t know how long I would be this puppet. I felt like I was going to be strung along forever. I turned back toward my apartment. When I reached the table, I poured myself the largest glass of wine of my life. I had to drink away my sorrows. I had to fall away from this existence. Perhaps in the light of the morning, I would discover another realm of possibility. I could understand what to do.
Chapter Six
The next day, I sat at my desk, across the churning room from Jason. I watched as Xavier walked toward him and leaned down, whispering something to him over the chaos. Jason nodded curtly and turned back toward his computer. It was so rare that I saw them talk; I wasn’t sure what was going on.
But then, Xavier turned toward me. His eyes were bright. I could feel him analyzing every single cell of my body. I felt naked in front of him. I licked my lips and turned back toward my computer, trying to find something to think about, something beyond my sheer infatuation with the President of the United States.
But then, his shadow appeared before me. I looked up, acting surprised. My voice came out so slowly. “Hello, Mr. President.” I could hardly hear myself.
“Amanda,” he said. His face looked so open. “I just wanted to check in with you about—about the other day.”
A bit spastically, I waved my hands in front of my face. “No, no. Mr. President. It’s fine. I’m just—I’m a mess right now. The campaign is going really well, but at the cost of my sanity, I’m afraid.” I gave him my surest smile—the smile that told him I had everything under control. But God, I didn’t.
He nodded. I wanted him to take my face in his hands; I longed for him to kiss me so deeply, in a manner that forced my knees to dip to the ground. I bit my lip, wishing him to both go away and stay.
Stay.
But he remained, for better or for worse. “Jason’s doing an okay job, isn’t he?”
I turned my head toward Jason, watching him as he spewed into a phone, his face red. “He grows angry easily,” I murmured, gesturing.
But Xavier placed his hand in the air, in a fist. “I suppose you must have passion in this business.”
The words hung between us like a cloud. I longed to tell him, then. I wanted to tell him that Jason was terrorizing me; that he was the only person who knew about our one-night stand. (Because, at the end of the day, what else was it? It was a one-night stand. It couldn’t be termed anything else.)
Suddenly, two Secret Service agents appeared on either side of the president. One whispered in Xavier’s ear. Xavier’s eyebrows rose, and he turned toward him, speaking loud enough for me to hear. “Well, did you tell her I’m working?”
My mind began to rush. Was he talking about his wife?
The Secret Service agent whispered in his ear once more. His voice was so low, I assumed it was in some sort of code.
“Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,” Xavier stated then. His voice came gruffly from his throat. He casually rolled his eyes toward me, like we were sharing a secret joke.
I nodded, feeling my hair as it ruffled up against my neck. “I’ll see you later, Mr. President,” I murmured casually, watching him as he walked away. I felt nearly like swooning for a moment. God, this was all too much.
I turned my head back toward Jason then. He was still at his desk and he slammed his phone onto the wood, his hair in a mess above his head. I felt confidence surging through me. I plucked myself from my desk and walked toward him, feeling my firm shoulders waving this way, then that. I sniffed toward him, leaning over his desk with such femininity, such confidence. I knew he couldn’t handle it—that his confidence came and went with his sliminess.
But he leaned toward me, seemingly unperturbed. “Amanda. Can I do something for you?”
“Actually, you can,” I whispered. “I would love to speak with you in the other room, campaign manager. Just if you have a moment.” My words were laced with sarcasm.
He stood then. “Lady can’t keep her hands off me,” he muttered toward me, making another snide remark.
But I turned and led him toward the back office—the same office in which he’d revealed the photos to me all those days before. When the true terror of my life had begun.
I closed the door then, trapping us in there together. I turned toward him and brought my arms together in front of my chest. I cleared my throat before I spoke, tracing my eyes over his sloppy body. He was in such strange contrast to the president.
“How long do you plan on holding these photos over my head, Jason?” I asked him then. My voice was high-pitched, but laced with such anger.
He raised his eyebrows toward me. “Now, that isn’t the language I want to hear from my champion girl.” He took a step forward
, toward me. He was intimidating. I leaned against the wall. “Better question is this; have you arranged my meeting with the president yet? I saw you both speaking a bit earlier. He was giving you those eyes. God, office romances are the worst, aren’t they?”
I felt the wood of the door behind me. I longed to rush out, away from him. But I had to stand firm. “Tell me how much longer you want to play with me,” I demanded in a harsh whisper.
He took an additional step toward me, and he brought his finger to my face. He traced my cheekbone, my eyebrow with his first finger. I felt such menace from him, like he would hurt me if we weren’t stuck at the White House, the two of us. Together and so alone in that middle room—the very belly of the great political home.
“I can’t be certain how long I’ll need you, can I?” he finally whispered. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I braced myself. “I suppose I’ll keep the pictures until I get what I want, ultimately.”
“And what is it that you want?” I asked him. I swallowed, feeling such anger and hysteria beneath him.
He shrugged once more. “What I’ve always wanted, of course. What I’ve always wanted.”
I shook my head. I sputtered another question, feeling the quivering deep in my stomach. “Are there any more cameras in my apartment?” I finally asked. I swallowed, closing my eyes.
I felt him step even closer to me. I could feel his breath on my mouth. I could nearly feel his lips upon mine. His words echoed over me then. “I will answer this question, of course. For it is the most interesting of all. How many did you find?”
“Three,” I said, still keeping my eyes closed. I wanted to run away. I wanted to get out of there. But I felt so trapped, like an animal in a cage.
He started laughing then. I could feel him tip his head back to laugh stronger, harder than I’d heard him laugh since that first day, when he’d brought the photos to me—when he’d ruined my life. “Three cameras. Of course. Those were the ones I wanted you to see. The one in the armoire? What nice china, by the way. Antique, no?”