by Faye, Amy
"Good," Paul answered. He couldn't help smiling. He hated smiling now. It was what he did when he was bullshitting someone, and he was tired of it. Lara didn't deserve it. "I need someone who won't tell me what I want to hear."
"Mom? Are we getting on that plane?"
She knelt down and touched his face. "Not yet, sweetie. Mommy and Senator Green need to talk first."
Paul could see the boy didn't like that answer, so he set a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Your mother knows her business, okay? We'll just talk, and then I'll introduce you to the captain and show you around. Okay?"
Lara gave him a severe look. "Who says I'm coming with you? Who says he is?"
Paul's smile was still as inappropriate as it had been before. He ought to have been able to stop himself, ought to have been able to turn off the smile. When he was in front of a crowd, when he was talking to constituents and television people, he could turn it off. But with Lara, it was stuck in place no matter what he tried. He pushed the corners of his lips down, but he could feel them fighting back.
"Of course, Lara. I understand."
"What do you want us here for?"
"Well, I mean–I need Tim around, don't I?"
Lara raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean, Paul?"
"I need someone who's really invested in the political process," he answered. It was halfway true. There was something about the boy, something charming. An energy that Paul felt himself just about sustaining himself on. But he wasn't about to tell her that it was because he was fond of the boy. Not when he could barely explain what it was he liked so much.
Something about his excitement, and that was all he could say.
Lara's lips pinched together. "Alright," she said finally. Tim started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Paul watched him go.
"But?"
"But you leave him out of it. He's not a prop. He's not for you to use."
"Does that mean you are?" He smiled at her, enjoying the way her face reddened.
"Just for that, Paul, you can carry my luggage."
She didn't say no, though–that was something, and it was something that he didn't miss. Brian came down to grab the bag and Paul waved him off.
"Tell the pilot to prepare for takeoff, but we've got a special passenger who wants to meet him first. Can you do that?"
He hefted the bag. It was heavy. He started up the steps. He felt like taking them two at a time himself. Lara and her son were already doing their jobs wonderfully. Now it was his turn.
10
There were a thousand things Lara had hopes for. Most of them were closer to fantasies than hopes. It was important for her to remember which were which–which things were hopes and which were dreams.
It had hurt her years ago, when she'd forgotten that. When she'd let herself hope for a dream, that she could be with the man who she thought she loved. The man she thought loved her. And maybe, in his own way, he had.
But the minute she'd showed up at his office with a positive test, he'd sent her away without even seeing her, and disappeared. Maybe he did love her, in his own way, but it was important for her to remember–he loved the job more. He loved his career more. Maybe there was room for her in the middle of that.
That hope was still there, even after all these years. Even after she'd thought that it was gone for good. She ought to have known better, but last night had proven once and for all that no matter how much he did to her, no matter how much he humiliated her, she wasn't going to ever quite forget that awe she'd had for him.
Now he wanted her again and she came like his obedient little dog. So there were two dreams right there–the first, that maybe one day he would really love her, love her more than he loved being powerful and wealthy. The second, that maybe one day she wouldn't love him more than she loved her pride. Neither was ever going to happen.
But there were things that she had bigger hopes for. Things she might actually be able to get, if things went well. She had made this mistake before–the mistake of thinking she knew what might happen–but this time, she knew better. That was what she told herself, at least.
She settled into a chair that was probably, by itself, worth a year of her salary. Well, what her salary had been. It was a mistake, but she'd left that behind for the promise that he'd find something for her to do for him. She hoped that she couldn't guess what it was.
Paul was up front with Tim, introducing him to the pilot. God, if there was anyone he could like more than Politicians, please let it be airline pilots. At least then he could stay safe and stay relatively sane.
When they came back, Tim had a hat pressed onto his head, twice as big as his little head. An airline captain's hat. He held it on with one hand, the other one attached to Paul's hand.
"How was that?"
Tim looked up at him at the question. "That was great," he said, as if he'd already said it once before, and was just reminding Paul.
"Not to me," Paul said, smiling and crouching down. "Tell your mother!"
Tim climbed into the seat opposite her. "Seat belt," Lara corrected before he could start in.
Paul dutifully settled into his seat across from them. Tim did up the seat belt, which seemed way too big for him. "I met the captain," he said. "Mr… um…"
Paul leaned over and covered his mouth, whispering something conspiratorially. Tim's eyes slanted up and to the side before he nodded.
"Mr. Ando! He's from Japan, Mom. He knows all about planes."
"Oh yeah?"
"He says we're going to have an extra careful flight, so you don't have to be nervous any more."
Lara blushed, and hoped Paul didn't notice. With him, that was impossible, though. He seemed to always notice every weakness of hers, every chink in her armor. "I'm not nervous," she answered defensively. "It's just been a little while since I flew."
"But Mr. Ando says it'll be fine."
"Good. Did he let you borrow his hat?"
Tim lifted it up off his head and looked at it like he had forgotten it was there. "Oh. Yeah!"
Lana could feel the airplane start to move, and her hands tightened automatically on the wide arm rests.
"You don't need to be nervous, Mom," Tim reminded her with every ounce of helpfulness he could muster. "Like I said. Extra careful!"
Paul chimed in then, as if to complete her humiliation. "You heard the man. Extra-careful, right?"
"Right," Tim echoed.
They rose quickly, and she could feel her stomach being left behind on the ground. She didn't regret it, per se, but good God, she'd forgotten how much she disliked flying. This was a mistake, without a single doubt.
By the time they'd leveled out, Lara's heart was thumping and she had pushed the window next to her shut. A young woman–just Paul's type, Lara noted sourly–stepped back from the cabin.
"Okay, we're leveling out. You're good," she said. The woman gave a look at Lara, but if she had any thoughts, then the girl kept them to herself.
Paul unbuckled his seat belt almost immediately and stood, stretching his legs and walking towards the back of the plane. He turned at the last minute before disappearing into the hostess station. "I'll just be one minute," he said, as if she cared, and then it occurred to Lara that he wasn't necessarily talking to her.
True to his word, he reappeared a minute later with a man younger than Lara was, thick plastic-rimmed glasses and a serious expression.
"Hey, Travis, this is my friend Tim. Tim, this is my friend Travis. He works for the New York Times. He's a reporter. Can you say hi, Tim?"
Tim smiled up at him and waved. "Hello."
"Hi," said the reporter–Travis, Paul had called him. "How are you? You like the plane?"
"It's big," Tim said, as if Travis might not have noticed.
"Yeah, pretty big," the reporter said. "And who's this?"
Lara covered up her face. "Please don't take a picture of me," she said. "I'd rather–"
"That's my mom," Tim offered, as if he
didn't notice her avoiding the conversation.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she's Mr. Green's friend, she said. From a long time ago."
"Is that right?"
She heard the edge of a deeper question in the reporter's voice, and something told her that she wasn't going to have the quiet, solitary, out-of-the-public-eye trip that she'd hoped for.
She should have known not to hope for things that were never going to happen, but she was still making the same mistakes all over again. Why not one more?
11
Paul smiled as they took off from Philadelphia. Lara still wasn't used to flying. Still gripped the arms of the chair as tight as her fingers would allow. And she still acted like she didn't do any of it, of course, which was almost as charming as well.
"You know, you don't have anything to worry about," he offered. Tim chimed in with a 'yeah!'
She shot Tim a narrow-eyed look with a little humor in it. Then she turned it on him and though nothing about it changed he wasn't so sure about the humor any more.
"I'm not worried," she told him, her voice matter-of-fact. "I just don't like the feeling in my stomach. It makes me feel queasy."
"Oh, you'll get used to it."
He looked out the window. There was something about being on a plan constantly. You get a different view of the country from 30,000 feet. Like all of its problems seem so small. And yet, he knew, they were all so big.
The people themselves were small, and yet they added up to something he couldn't really explain. That was one way that he hadn't even realized that Lara and Tim would help. They were a subtle reminder of what sort of things 'everyday people' worried about.
Helen worried about things that even Paul himself couldn't quite wrap his head around. She was almost alien to him. She worried about public appearances, about how people thought of her, but the minute that someone spent more than five minutes with her, she stopped caring about whether or not she was nice to them. That was a contradiction–if you want people to like you, then you have to treat them with respect.
If you don't care if people like you, then why spend so much time, so much effort, worrying about it constantly? The answer was obvious. She was as acidic towards everyone else as she was to him, but she was convinced that at any moment, they would turn against her.
With Paul, he guessed, she thought that she was safe to treat him like she did because she thought she had him by the balls. Maybe she did. But that didn't mean that he wasn't a man, and as a man, it didn't mean he wasn't going to be stubborn as hell if he wanted to.
If he decided to burn the fucking place down then that was what he'd do.
"Sir?" Brian was standing by the gate into the back of the plane. Somehow Paul hadn't noticed him, lost in thought or lost in watching Lara's face as she spoke softly with her son.
"Is everything alright?"
"Ah, yes, sir. Everything ought to be fine. Maybe you should see this anyways, sir, just to be certain."
He took the laptop that Brian held in one hand and opened it up. There was an article on some right-wing rag. It was making the same usual sensational claims about his history. The same usual sensational claims about their campaign. The same usual, wrong, claims.
He let out a breath and scrolled. There was a name he recognized, there. Stan Reitman. He was a friend of Helen's. There had been a time, once, when Paul thought they were fucking. Helen wasn't the type, though, and she wasn't attractive enough to be able to use it as a bargaining chip.
Which meant that whatever he was working with her for, it wasn't between any bed sheets. The story claimed that the leaks on President Noble's involvement had come from Reitman; further, it claimed that they were total fabrications.
The second part, at least, was wrong. He knew that much. The first part, though…
"What does Helen have to say about it?"
"She says she's got no idea what they're talking about," Brian said. He didn't sound convinced himself.
Paul grimaced. He'd actually been feeling alright the past three days. He'd actually been able to cope with any of this. Tomorrow he'd be able to set down and actually sleep for a long night, and then he'd be back on the trail and ready to take on anything.
"Alright, thank you, Brian."
"Of course, sir."
At some point, he didn't know which, Lara had turned and was now looking at him.
"Is there something wrong?"
Tim's eyes were on him, brighter and hotter and full of more pressure than any spotlight he'd ever been under.
"I don't know. Probably not, but I ought to go and talk to my wife."
"Oh?" Tim's voice was coy, but Paul knew immediately that he wanted to be let in on the conversation. Better that he decided not to get into politics, and never learn how dirty it could get when the rubber met the road.
But if he wanted to know about how a politician's life was, then there wasn't much Paul could do about that. He would let him into big things, public things, until whatever interest he had lost steam and he finally could be convinced into something a little less insane.
Helen was a different beast entirely. Tim was off-limits to her, and vice-versa. He just hoped that his wife remembered that when she decided that she needed to pull on someone's strings. His, or Lara's, he didn't know who it would be first, but she was a spider and she knew which strings to pull.
"Not this time, buddy. Brian, you want to talk to him?"
Brian nodded and stepped over.
"This is Brian. He's with the Secret Service–do you know what the Secret Service is?"
Tim looked hurt. "They protect the President. Even babies know that."
"They do a lot more than just that," Brian cut in, smiling and kneeling down to talk to the boy.
"This is my friend Tim. Tim, Brian; Brian, Tim."
Paul took a deep breath, his hand touching Lara's shoulder just for a moment. That would have to be enough to get him through the next few minutes, because if things had gone the way he expected that they had, then it was going to get uglier before it got better. He was tired of ugliness. But he'd decided to be President, and that meant that ugly was his stock and trade.
"Helen?"
She looked up as he stepped through the curtain. She was reading a magazine–a fashion magazine, he thought, though he couldn't see the cover, and the inside was nothing but advertisements.
"Is there a problem?"
"You want to talk to me about Stan?"
"What about him?" She looked as innocent and doe-eyed as anyone had ever been, which was as clear an indicator that she'd done it as Paul had ever seen. She was never innocent, and only doe-eyed when she thought she needed an act.
"I want to know why he decided to go off the reservation. I want to know whether or not you put him up to it." He sidled up onto the arm of her chair and looked down at her. There was a shadow of fear in her eyes, one that he was not opposed to encouraging.
"I want to know why, because in an hour I'm going to be covered in reporters asking why we're pushing an unsubstantiated allegation about the President of the United States through our operatives, and I need to know why Stan wasn't thinking that the fuck through when he pushed it. Or whether someone else told him they'd thought it through and it was fine. Are you understanding my meaning here?"
12
The plane set down on the ground and Lara felt normal again. At least, for another hour or so. That was the lifestyle that she'd stepped into. Part of her wondered why exactly she had done it.
She didn't need to be here. She didn't really want to be here. Was it for Tim's sake? Not likely. He was important to her, the most important thing in the world to her. But that didn't add up, and Lara wasn't fool enough to believe that it did.
She was doing this for reasons that she didn't really understand, reasons that she didn't necessarily want to understand. After all, she wasn't just doing it so that Paul would care about her. Right?
She wasn't that stupid, wasn't that shall
ow, wasn't that… petty. She didn't need him, and she didn't even know that she wanted him. She reminded herself for the fiftieth time that week what he'd done to her.
Who knows–maybe he took her with him so that she could get dropped out of the plane at 30,000 feet and never be seen again. She'd heard some people on the internet suggesting that when people got close to Paul, and got too dangerous, they had a habit of disappearing.
It didn't sound right, but it didn't sound wrong, either. Paul was a man who knew what he wanted and was more than willing to do what he had to in order to get it. That alone was enough to set her on edge.
She swallowed hard and waited until the end to file off the plane, along with the press people. As if a woman with a child, no camera, and no press pass, might be a press agent. Someone would believe that in her dreams, maybe.
But so far, nobody had questioned it. Paul didn't give any speeches this time. Quick and easy, photos on the steps, getting off, and then he was carted ahead into a car. Slowly but surely, same as every stop, she was shuffled forward into another car. Sometimes it was the same one, other times, it wasn't.
This time, it was. What surprised her was the other passenger.
"Helen," Lara said, hoping her voice sounded light. She smiled and then gave a pointed look at her son. Hopefully, the spiny bitch wouldn't have anything truly bad to say in front of a ten-year-old boy, but Helen had always been a woman full of surprises. "It's been a long time. How are you? This is my son, Tim. Tim, this is Paul's wife, Mrs. Green."
"Hello, Mrs. Green," Tim offered dutifully. He held his hand out for a handshake and she took it gently. Helen managed to look like she didn't want to throw up, which was an improvement for her. Maybe she'd learned how to behave herself in the last ten years.
Helen looked over the boy with a critical eye. "How old is he?"
"Nine," Lara answered, hoping that none of them would give it much thought. Hoping desperately that they wouldn't bring up anything else.
"And his father?"
"He left," Tim offered, at the same time that Lara said "Out of the picture."