by Claire Adams
Finally, I righted myself. I wondered where Jason had gone. The staircase, the only one that brought you up from the Rose Garden, echoed only with my staggered breathing. I placed my hand on the wall and steadied my shaking body, inhaling and exhaling and appreciating every second of oxygen.
I hadn’t believed that Jason was capable of such terror, of such violence. My mind was suddenly rooted in ideas only of survival. I marched up the steps, knowing that I had to leave the White House, immediately. I had to give Jason time to cool off. I had to give myself time to think. I found myself in front of my desk, breathing heavily over my papers. I felt Jason’s presence in the room, several feet away. He was discussing something with one of the campaign team members. Both of them looked toward me as I staggered into my desk. I was a goddamned mess, and I knew it. Sweat dribbled down the line in the center of my lips.
“Miss Martin. Are you all right?” The young girl asked me, taking small steps toward me.
Jason leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. I was sure I heard the word “drug” amongst them. I grew hot, angry. The girl’s eyes molded toward me once more, confused. I wanted to shake her, to tell her it all wasn’t true.
I grabbed my things and swept through the room, now hearing the scattered gossip throughout. “Well. She has been sick an awful lot lately. What do you think it means? She’s a drug addict, obviously. Can’t get so far into the nation’s capitol without a little—you know. Extra oomph.”
My face burned. I dropped a few slips of paper as I scurried from the room, past the remaining offices. I found myself in front of the Oval Office, knowing that the president was in there. I wanted to stroke his chest, to ask him to tell me that everything was going to be all right. I knew that if anyone could assure me that the world was round, that it would continue to spin, it would be him.
In the shadow of the Secret Service agent beside me, I stroked the door longingly, wanting him. Wanting to touch him. I wanted to tell him everything that I’d been thinking—about our potential future, about how perhaps it would get in the way of the all-important nature of MY future. The one I had worked so hard for. I wanted to ram my fists against his chest, like a woman in an old black and white film, and demand answers from him. He was my president. And I needed his guidance.
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 Five
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 wholeheartedly 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 10 in the evening, Rachel burst through the door, her smile bea
ming 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 rework 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 us 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 Six
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.
I brushed my teeth ravenously at the bathroom sink, listening as Rachel sang in her own shower, down the hall. I felt like we were growing apart, in a way: simply because she found herself rooted in a sort of happiness, even as I swept along, floating in a sea of misunderstanding and sadness and threats.
I brought my arms through my blazer and sniffed up toward the ceiling, smelling someone baking bread, somewhere far off in the building. It could be a plain, uneventful day, if I worked for it. I could make this day work to my favor. If only I kept my head down. If only I asked only the appropriate questions and didn’t push any topics further than they needed to go. If only I kept my clothes on my body this time around, rather than falling into Xavier’s naked arms. I could do this. I could be strong.
I stood in the shadow of the White House, my heart beating only for Xavier—the powerful man who had claimed this house as his own. In the back, I knew that the Rose Garden continued to
squirm in its brown and grey colors on this near-November day. God, in just a year, we’d be weeks away from the election. In just a year, I knew that so much would have changed.
But where would our relationship be? What would we be to each other?
I lifted myself into the shell of the White House, preparing myself for the 10 o’ clock meeting, at which I knew I would be faced with both Jason and Xavier. I could get through it. I had my notes, my critiques for the way the entire campaign was being handled. I knew how to work a room. I’d been doing so since the age of eight, after all. However, something about having both of them in the room at the same time—both of them with different utilizations for me, for my body—made me queasy.
I sat at my desk in the West Wing, casually making notes and dreaming about a different kind of future—a future in which I would make political strides, without worrying about anything that anybody held above my head.
But being a woman, I knew, this would be an eternal struggle. Every woman I knew of in Congress had struggled on their path to the top. Without masculinity, without grey hair and those twinkling, age-old eyes, it was difficult to find the trust of the American people. I knew I would have trouble as well.
Suddenly, a girl appeared before my desk, leaning down toward me and meeting my eyes. She broke my reverie. I erupted up, bouncing in my chair. “Yes. What is it?” I asked her, my eyes large.
She blinked back. “I’m sorry to—um—interrupt you.” She peered down at the papers before me, at the fact that I’d been gazing off into space. “I just wanted to remind you that you have your meeting with both Jason and the President of the United States in a mere—well. Five minutes ago.” She swallowed, blinking toward me.