“There is a great deal of anger in this country,” Holly said, addressing the crowd. “That anger is what got this ticket elected. Voters are tired of partisan politics and childish games that belong on the playground instead of the halls of Congress. But anger isn’t an end. It’s a beginning. If we want to move this great nation forward, we need to work together instead of impeding each other’s progress. I would like to take this moment to issue a challenge to my colleagues in the House and the Senate, Republicans and Democrats alike. Our fellow Americans elected us to lead. Let’s do what we were sent to Washington to do: our jobs.”
As Holly returned to her seat, applause washed over her like a breaking wave. Taylor felt herself getting swept up in the pageantry of the moment. She threw her shoulders back and sat up straight when her parents rose from their seats and approached the front of the stage.
Her mother held the family Bible while her father stood in front of the Chief Justice of the United States and recited his pledge to fulfill his duty to the utmost of his ability. Taylor felt an unexpected surge of emotion as the final lines of the oath of office echoed in the air. Though she and her father had their differences both personally and philosophically, she was proud he had been able to accomplish his lifelong goal. Only a select few individuals had been trusted with the enormous responsibility of leading the country, and he had joined their ranks. Now she and the rest of the nation waited to see what his next move would be. Would he focus on undoing the gains his liberal predecessor had made, or would he move forward and try to make his own mark in history?
The massive crowd roared its approval throughout his inaugural address. Taylor wished she could match the crowd’s intensity, but she couldn’t. Instead of tossing a figurative olive branch, her father’s speechwriters had drafted a discourse that reinforced the same old us-versus-them mentality. The unfortunate new normal in American politics.
When her father first ran for office nearly twenty years ago, he had aspired to be the next Ronald Reagan—a charismatic leader whose broad appeal inspired the public and crossed party lines. But perhaps he had followed the blueprint a little too closely. Reagan’s slow response to the burgeoning AIDS epidemic had made him a pariah in the LGBTQ community in the 1980s. Taylor’s father was almost as unpopular now as Reagan was then. And rightfully so.
Rhetoric from both parties had created a schism that had turned the country into the Divided States of America, neatly color-coded into red territories and blue ones. And, based on what she heard while her father addressed the hundreds of thousands of people gathered on the National Mall, the sorry state of affairs wasn’t going to change any time soon.
“God, it’s going to be a long four years,” she said to herself after her father wrapped up his speech, then worked the crowd of dignitaries like he was trying to sway undecided voters at a campaign stop.
Her phone vibrated again as she filed into the review stand to watch the inaugural parade. Despite the cold weather, marching bands from each of the fifty states were lining up to make the steady procession from the steps of the Capitol Building to the White House. Portions of Pennsylvania Avenue had been closed to vehicular traffic for years, but the foot traffic would be heavy for the next three hours.
She checked her messages. The first was from Portia, letting her know she had arrived safely and was making herself at home in the Lincoln Bedroom. The guest suite on the southeast corner of the White House’s second floor was normally reserved for visiting dignitaries and generous campaign contributors, but Taylor had called dibs on it so Portia wouldn’t have to blow her hard-earned salary on a hotel while she was in town. She hadn’t checked the going rates, but she was willing to bet no one would be able to find a room within twenty miles of the Beltway for less than four hundred dollars a night until all the official and unofficial celebrations around town had ended.
The other two messages were from Robby.
You look cold, the first one read. Would you like some of my body heat?
The second one said, Got the tix 4 Friday. Can’t wait 4 R date. C U 2nite. Save the last dance for me. Sounds like a song lyric, doesn’t it? If it isn’t, it should be. TTYL.
“Whoever that is,” Christina “Tina” Crenshaw said as she warmed her feet with one of the portable heaters that had been set up in front of each parade watcher’s chair, “tell them to call more often. This is the first time I’ve seen you smile all day.”
Taylor hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
“Did you finalize your design plans?” she asked as she put her phone away.
That morning, the Crenshaws had sat down to breakfast with the departing First Family. Afterward, Taylor had planned to spend some much needed quality time with her parents, but her mother had cut the meeting short so she could huddle with her interior decorator. She wanted to begin putting her personal stamp on the East Wing, the portion of the White House set aside for the offices of the First Lady and the White House Social Secretary as well as the not-so-secret underground bunker designated to serve as base of operations during a national emergency.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I did.”
Her mother appeared surprised Taylor was attempting to have a conversation with her. Had it been that long since they had talked? Really talked instead of pointing fingers?
Looks like we both have some work to do in that regard.
Once the aesthetic changes were complete, Taylor hoped her mother would eventually attach herself to a more substantial platform. Nancy Reagan was famous for the anti-drug campaign Just Say No. Michelle Obama was known for Let’s Move, the program she developed to help combat childhood obesity. Did her mother want to be known only for her ability to accessorize, or did she want to aim higher?
Taylor reached out and clasped her mother’s hand. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job, Mom. You always do.”
* * *
Robby saw snippets of the swearing-in ceremony while she searched for a ball gown. Shoppers clustered around computer monitors and TV screens so they could witness the historic occasion. She watched the parade on her cell phone after she sent out a string of tweets. Anonymously, of course. She didn’t want to give herself away too soon. If ever. She was probably in the minority, but she had no desire to be rich and famous. Just rich. Leave the notoriety to someone else.
The parade was great if you were into marching bands. Robby wasn’t, but she kept watching anyway. In a knee-length robin’s egg blue dress and matching coat the exact color of her eyes, Taylor looked stunning. She also looked like she was freezing. As the parade dragged on, the crowd in the review stand began to thin, but the Crenshaws were obligated to stay until the bitterly cold end. If Taylor needed body heat, Robby was more than willing to share some of hers. She had even sent her a cheeky text message telling her so. Taylor hadn’t responded, but the Cheshire Cat grin she sported throughout the parade told Robby all she needed to know. Message received.
Robby finally found a dress in the eighth store she visited. She paid for her purchase with some of the money Miles had fronted her. She made sure to leave the tags attached so she could return the gown the next day. She might not be able to receive a cash refund, but the store credit would be enough to buy three or four outfits. It was so hard being a clotheshorse on a carousel pony salary.
She took the train home at six thirty, ninety minutes before the official inaugural ball was scheduled to begin. Miles picked her up an hour later, right about the time the First Family finally left the parade route. “Jesus, you look amazing,” he said when she ushered him inside her apartment.
“I do what I can.”
Time would tell if Taylor shared Miles’s sentiments.
Because she wasn’t Taylor’s official date, Robby would probably see her only in passing at the ball, where she would be just one of hundreds of attendees. She and Miles would have to entertain each other tonight. Based on the seating chart, they would be so close to the kitchen they could practically serve themselves.
But at least they would be in the room. That was all the opening she needed. She could figure out how to exploit it later.
“Shall we?” Miles offered his arm.
Robby placed her hand in the crook of Miles’s elbow. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter Five
Portia greeted Taylor with a warm hug and a cold beer.
“Thanks,” Taylor said. “I needed that.”
“Which one?”
“Both.”
If Portia had envisioned an epic romance when she invited Taylor to the Marine Corps Ball last year, those visions had quickly faded. From the moment they met face-to-face for the first time in person instead of on Skype, Taylor had known they weren’t destined to be lovers, but she suspected they would always be friends. In her world, good friends were hard to come by.
“Cheers.” Taylor raised the beer bottle to her lips and took a long draw. “It is so good to see you,” she said, giving Portia another hug. “How have you been?”
Portia shrugged. “Same old, same old. Though I can’t say the same for you.” She spread Taylor’s coat open to get a better look at the dress underneath. “This is a change of pace, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, well,” she said self-consciously, “we can’t all look as good as you do.”
“True,” Portia said with a cheeky grin as she brushed invisible lint off the shoulders of her uniform coat. She wasn’t wearing her white hat or matching gloves yet, but she was decked out in her dress blues, and her black shoes were so polished they shined. She never wore makeup because her caramel-colored skin was so beautiful on its own she didn’t need artificial enhancement. Her shoulder length black hair was pulled back into a bun, and her hazel eyes glittered with mirth. Just like always. “If I meet someone who agrees with your assessment, you might have to find your own way home tonight. Do you mind?”
“I think I can manage.” Taylor laughed as she opened her closet and pulled out the strapless black taffeta ball gown she was supposed to wear tonight. She was tempted to reach for her favorite tuxedo instead, but she knew she’d never hear the end of it if she did. “I’ve got thirty minutes to shower and change,” she said as she began to undress. “I’ll try not to keep you waiting long.”
Portia lay on Taylor’s bed, being careful not to ruin the razor sharp creases in her uniform pants. “I’ve got nothing but time. But make it snappy, okay? I want to hear all about the mysterious woman you met a few days ago. The way you described her in your email, she sounds like a dead ringer for Dita von Teese.”
Taylor thought for a moment. Yes, Robby bore a slight resemblance to the modern day burlesque star, but she couldn’t picture her performing a teasing striptease in front of a crowd. An audience of one, perhaps, but definitely not a whole room. Despite her flamboyant outfits, Robby seemed to want to deflect attention rather than attract it. Taylor found the dichotomy intriguing. But wasn’t that the point?
On the other hand, how well did she know Robby? They were barely acquaintances, let alone friends. There could be things about her Taylor didn’t want to know. Things that could make her life even more miserable than it already was if she were to be blindsided by the revelations.
Yet another reason to get out while the getting was good. So why did she feel like digging in her heels instead of turning tail and running? Because some things were worth fighting for. And perhaps Robby was worth the effort.
Taylor’s mother burst through the door without knocking. “Chop, chop,” she said, clapping her hands. “We’re going to be late.” Her expression hardened when she saw Portia reclining on the bed and Taylor standing half-dressed a few feet away. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Shit.” Portia scrambled off the bed as if her commanding officer had caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
“At ease, Marine,” Taylor said as Portia stood at attention like she was waiting for inspection. “And I have news for you, Mom. We’re already late.”
“Yes, well, see if you can do your best to speed it along.”
“I’m about to shower and change. I’ll be down in thirty. Is there anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” Her mother seemed a bit too fascinated by Taylor’s choice of footwear. “Did you invite someone to join you this evening?” she asked, finally meeting Taylor’s eye. “Someone besides Corporal Thomas, that is?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I think that’s my cue to leave.” Portia headed for the door. “I’ll come back when you’re ready, Tay. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Crenshaw.”
“Likewise.” Taylor’s mother waited for Portia to close the door behind her before she turned to Taylor and said, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Robby.”
“Really?” Her mother perked up, her blue eyes shining even brighter than the string of sapphires circling her neck. “And where will he be seated?”
“She will be seated a safe distance away.”
Her mother’s face fell. “Robby’s a woman?”
“Very much so.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? Inviting your…friend to your father’s first official function? One is bad enough. Two is a bit much, don’t you think?” The conciliatory tone Taylor had heard in her mother’s voice all day vanished. Ice took its place. Taylor thought the ice had melted.
Shows what I get for thinking.
“As I said, Robby will be seated a safe distance away from the head table. She’ll be well out of camera range, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried,” her mother said a bit too quickly. “I know you’ll do the right thing. Though I suppose the right thing would have been not to invite her at all. Either of them. It isn’t too late to list Steven Alesana as your official escort. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind trading in his pistol for a champagne glass for a few hours.”
Taylor wondered if her mother would be so eager to pair her with Steven if she knew he was gay. She and Steven hadn’t had a heart-to-heart conversation about his sexuality or hers, but he’d pinged her gaydar from the moment they were introduced. She didn’t plan on outing him, though. That wasn’t her style. It was his duty to protect her privacy, and it was her duty to respect his.
“Mom—”
Her mother held up her hands before Taylor could finish her sentence. “Forget I said anything.” She molded her face into the blank Stepford Wife mask she usually wore when she was in public. Taylor felt like a stranger in her own home. Then again, her real home was a thousand miles away. This place wasn’t it. Not yet. “One more thing.” Her mother hesitated before continuing. Taylor waited for the shoe to drop. “Your father needs you to do your part tonight.”
“I am.” Taylor pointed to the dress she had been coerced into wearing.
“That isn’t what I mean. One of the music video networks is having its inaugural ball at the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center. Your father and I don’t fit the channel’s demographic, but you do. We need you to put in an appearance in order to make the younger constituents feel like part of the winning team.”
“Even though I was rooting for the losing one?”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Let’s not get into that again. We don’t have the time, and I don’t have the energy for another round of infighting.”
“Finally something we can agree on.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“That depends. How much time does Dad want me to put in tonight?”
“Half an hour. One at the most. You can head over there right after the father-daughter dance.”
The official ball was supposed to end at eleven. Taylor suspected the one she was being asked to attend would continue well past then. She had a test in her nine a.m. sexual politics class tomorrow. When was she going to have time to study?
“Fine.” She felt like an unpaid spokesperson for a product she didn’t use. “As long as you don’t expect me to parrot the party line if someone shoves a camera in my
face.”
Her mother flashed a smile filled with more artifice than sentiment. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Have a good time tonight. But please try to be discreet.”
“What do you expect me to do, go down on Portia on the dance floor?” Taylor whispered the comment on the heels of a frustrated sigh, but the auburn tint to her mother’s cheeks let her know her words had traveled farther than she had intended. “Don’t worry,” she said, reluctantly conceding defeat. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Her mother patted her arm. “I knew I could count on you.”
Taylor shook her head disconsolately after her mother left the room. Any progress they had made that afternoon had been wiped out in a matter of seconds. She felt like a chess piece being moved around a board as her parents sought to improve their strategic position.
She didn’t want to be a pawn sacrificed for the greater good. She wanted to decide her own fate. But it was becoming increasingly obvious the choice might not be hers to make.
She took a quick shower, dried her hair, and got dressed. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t put her earrings in. She hadn’t been this out of sorts before an event since—well, since that morning. Like at the inauguration, her every move at the inaugural ball would be witnessed and dissected by an audience of millions. Now she had to make nice in not one venue but two. No pressure.
She finally pushed the diamond stud through the hole in her ear as Portia stuck her head in the door.
“Is it safe?” Portia asked.
“For now,” Taylor said, sliding the metal backing plate onto the sharp metal post.
True Colors Page 5