by Ruff, K. S.
I took a deep breath as I shifted my attention to Ms. Feinstein. “This bill is geared toward a vulnerable population. As you know, people in this age group are often forced out of their jobs and replaced with younger, cheaper employees. When this happens, they lose their employer sponsored health care. Because of their age, they find it difficult to secure another job. They are often unemployed for long periods of time, or they end up taking part-time jobs where they don’t receive any benefits. Because most people have preexisting conditions by this age, insurance companies refuse to cover them, or they charge them outrageous insurance premiums that are simply not affordable.”
Ms. Feinstein leaned forward in her chair. “So the Medicare Early Buy-in Bill would allow these individuals to buy into Medicare with an affordable premium?”
I nodded. “Precisely. The premium would be set on a sliding fee scale, based on income.”
“What’s the cost?” Ms. Feinstein asked.
Because it was the one question I didn’t have an answer to, it was the one I’d been dreading most. “The Congressional Budget Office is still performing a cost analysis,” I confessed. In all honesty, I was concerned about how the CBO would score the bill. I had a sneaking suspicion the office would completely disregard the money this bill would save Medicaid, which was a state run program that drew federal matching funds. If they left this out of their calculations, they’d kill my bill before it even got to committee.
“Well, you aren’t going to find many republicans who support the expansion of Medicare. Have you talked to Senator Jeffords’ or Senator Snowe’s staff? I think you’ll stand the best chance of building bi-partisan support if you can get them on board,” Ms. Feinstein added thoughtfully.
“I agree,” Senator Rockefeller replied. “I’d like you to talk to Senator Collins’ staff too. Let me know what they have to say about co-sponsoring. Once CBO scores the bill, we’ll regroup.” Senator Rockefeller rose from his chair. He patted me on the back. Then he shook Ms. Feinstein’s hand and thanked us for our time.
I gave the senator a curious look. I was quite certain it was I who should have been thanking him. My legs were still shaking when I walked out of his office, but I was so relieved I hadn’t made a fool of myself that I hardly even noticed.
* * * * * *
The next morning, I scheduled appointments with the legislative assistants working on health policy, more commonly referred to as Health LA’s, for Senator Jeffords, Senator Snowe, and Senator Collins. I e-mailed each of them a policy brief, a bill summary, and a draft of my proposed bill.
I was working my way through a pile of constituent mail requesting the senator’s support for a number of health care initiatives when I spotted a postcard from Boca Raton, Florida. I didn’t know anyone visiting Boca Raton, so I presumed I had been given the postcard by mistake.
I flipped the postcard over and found it was clearly addressed to me. Not only that, but the message was written in French. I skimmed over the words. Mon coeur, je te suivrai jusqu’au bout de la terre. Tu m’appartiens.
The vast majority of words were unfamiliar to me, so I logged onto my computer and pulled up Google Translate. I read the translated text, then slumped into my chair. Michael had found me in DC. I read the words again. My heart, I will follow you to the ends of the earth. You belong to me.
I stared at the card. Was Michael planning to follow me to DC? He had obviously figured out where I was working. What was I going to do if he approached me? Dan wasn’t here to protect me. The DC police didn’t know me, and I was quite certain the restraining order from Montana wasn’t valid in Virginia or DC.
The thought of facing Michael’s instability and his unwanted affections by myself was making it difficult for me to breathe. My heart was pounding. My arms and legs felt numb. I had never experienced a panic attack before, but I was quite certain I was dangling over the edge of one now.
With shaking hands, I scrolled down the list of contacts on my cell phone until I found Dan’s name. I hit the call button and waited anxiously for him to pick up. My knee bounced in time to the plea pinging across my mind. Pick up. Pick up. Please Pick up.
“Hi, darlin’. How’s your day?”
I stilled. “Good. Well… not good. I don’t know, Dan. I need your help.”
Dan took a deep breath. “Slow down, Krissy. Tell me what’s going on.”
I glanced over the top of my cubicle. No one was around, but I lowered my voice anyway. “It’s Michael. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s figured out where I'm working. None of my friends would have told him. How did he find me?”
Dan exhaled loudly. “Wait. What?”
My eyes flitted toward the postcard. “He sent me a postcard from Boca Raton. The postcard was buried in the constituent mail that was sitting on my desk this morning.”
“What did the post card say?” Dan asked. His voice was low and deadly, a warning that the tension deeply coiled within Dan was seeking some release.
I stared at the translation on my computer screen. “He said he would follow me to the ends of the earth. Is that a threat? Do you think he's threatening to come to DC? Oh, God. What if he’s already here? He’s clearly delusional. He won’t take no for an answer. What if he forces himself on me?”
“Stop. I want you to take a deep breath. Do it for me right now,” Dan demanded sternly.
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay...”
“All right. This is what I’m going to do. I don’t think Michael is living in Helena anymore. If he was, then I would have run into him by now. So I'm going to put a trace on him. I have a number of contacts from my skip tracing days who can help me locate him. If he’s still living in the U.S., I’ll find him. If he’s not at a location where I can personally deliver the message, then I’ll find someone who can effectively deliver the message for me.”
I was almost too afraid to ask. “A message?”
“Yes. A message… to stay the fuck away from you. It will be delivered in very few words. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
My heart stalled. I was more than a little concerned about how a man like Dan would deliver a message like that. “Uh, yes. I think so.”
“Now, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell Rockefeller’s office manager, his front office staff, and the security staff for your building about this guy. You’re also going to tell your lease officer about him. The more people who know about him, who can keep their eyes open for him and warn you if they see him, the better. Do you have a picture of him?”
“No. We only went on four dates,” I responded defensively.
“Do you think he’s on Facebook?” Dan asked hopefully.
I shook my head. “No. Michael is an old world kind of guy. I seriously doubt he’s on Facebook.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find a picture of him and e-mail it to you. You make sure that all those people I asked you to talk to get a copy of that picture. So, now that you know what we’re both going to do, this is what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to open your apartment door without knowing who is on the other side. You’re not going to leave your sliding glass doors open. You’re not going to leave your apartment alone at night, and you’re not going to walk Cade on any secluded trails. You stay near people. The more people the better. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dan. I understand.” I didn’t like it, not one bit. In fact, I was seriously questioning my decision to call Dan.
“Good. I’ll contact you with any new information. You do the same. Keep your eyes open, Krissy. Stay smart.”
“I will… and, Dan?”
“For you, darlin’, anytime.”
“Thank you.” He was trying to avoid hearing it, but I was determined to say it anyway.
“Just doin’ my job,” Dan responded before disconnecting the call.
I set the cell phone on my desk and tucked the postcard into my top drawer. I wasn’t crazy about advertising the insan
ity that was my life, but Dan’s advice seemed sound. There wasn’t much I could do until he e-mailed the picture, so I pushed Michael to the furthest corner of my mind and buried myself in work.
* * * * * *
I had no idea how Dan pulled it off, but I received an e-mail, with a picture of Michael attached, the very next day. A promise was a promise, so I distributed copies of the photograph and some cliff notes on Michael to my office manager, the front office staff, and the head of security for our office building.
Thankfully, it was Friday. Most senators had already left the Hill. Rockefeller’s staff drew straws to see which half could go home early. I was among the lucky ones.
Although it was early, rush hour was still a bear. I wasn’t about to complain, since I made it home by five o’clock. Most days I didn’t get home until seven or seven-thirty. When I arrived at my apartment, I found a sticky note on the door informing me that a package was being held for me in the main office.
I walked to the front office. I was pleased to see that Mickey was still there. We were the only two people in the office so I perched on the chair across from her desk. “Hi, Mickey.”
She set her paperwork aside and smiled. She had a beautiful white toothy smile, the kind people pay big money for. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate, and her face was framed with long black and gold braids that fell halfway down her back. She was short and very curvy, the kind of girl who causes whiplash. “Hi, Kristine. It’s good to see you. Are you here for your package?”
I was surprised Mickey remembered my name. There were hundreds of tenants living in our apartment complex, and I had hardly seen her since moving in. I smiled, then nodded. “Yes… and please call me Kri. Most of my friends do.”
Mickey rose from her desk and retrieved the package from a locked room. She handed me the box as she settled back into her chair.
I glanced at the label. The package was from Dan. I wondered how had gotten a package to me from Montana overnight. Nothing gets out of Montana in a day. I gently shook the box. I couldn’t imagine what Dan would send. I chewed my lower lip nervously as I contemplated whether he would have Michael’s ear or finger cut off and mailed to me.
“Maybe it’s a care package,” Mickey suggested.
I began tugging at the tape. I was pretty certain it wasn’t a care package. Dan wasn’t the kind of guy who sent presents. He was the kind of guy who showed his love through service. I worked the last piece of tape off the top of the small box and opened it. A single item lie nestled in the brown packing paper. I held it up to examine the object more closely.
“Mace?” Mickey asked. “Wait! That’s the good stuff.” She stood to take a closer look. “Yep. That’s the kind that’s issued to police officers. You can’t buy that from a store.”
I studied the small plastic canister. I wondered how Dan had obtained it and whether it was legal for me to carry. “Well, I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t send me an Uzi.”
Mickey looked a bit concerned by my statement, so I figured it was as good a time as any to explain my situation. I had multiple copies of Michael’s picture, so I slipped one out of my briefcase and handed it to her. I told her about the proposal, the restraining order, and the postcard.
Mickey eyed the picture. “Wow. This guy is hot… like a younger, more mysterious version of Antonio Banderas.”
“Yeah. Sadly, the guy is crazy.” I sighed because it really was sad.
Mickey folded the picture in half and shoved it in her purse. “What are you doing tonight?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, really. I was able to leave work early for a change, but I don’t have any plans. I don’t know my way around very well, and I’m not comfortable being out after dark.”
Mickey smiled. “Why don’t you join me and a few other tenants for drinks at TGI Fridays? You can ride with me.”
I perked up instantly. “Really? That would make this my first night out since moving to DC. Do I have time to walk Cade and change out of my work clothes?”
Mickey nodded. “Sure. Meet me back here at six o’clock.”
I was already halfway out the door. “I will. Thanks for inviting me!”
I hurried back to my apartment. I unlocked the door and dumped everything on the counter. I apologized to Cade the entire time I walked him. I fed him dinner. Then I tore through the clothes in my closet. I rejected several outfits before settling on a short black skirt, a gray silk-blend sweater, gray stockings, and tall black boots. The ensemble was comparable to what I saw most girls wearing to work on the Hill. I ran a quick brush through my hair, refreshed my mascara and lip gloss, and sprayed some Bvlgari perfume on for good measure. I left a light and the television on for Cade. Then I loaded him up with treats.
Mickey drove to TGI Fridays, which was only three blocks from the apartment complex. She wore the same outfit she had been wearing at the office… a long bohemian style dress in teal, orange, and red with gold jeweled flip-flops that showed off her artfully painted toes. Mickey managed to snag a table in the bar just as another group was leaving. We climbed onto the tall stools and ordered margaritas when the waitress stopped by.
Mickey glanced over the other bar patrons, then turned her attention to me. “So, if I remember rightly, you’re from Montana. What was it like living there?” She took a sip from the largest margarita glass I’d ever seen. The monstrous container looked like it might hold the equivalent of four standard size margaritas.
“I enjoyed living in Montana. People are friendly, we don’t have any humidity, and it snows about eight months out of the year. We spend a lot more time outdoors than you do here… hiking, skiing, boarding, snowmobiling, and snowshoeing. No one has more than a fifteen minute commute, so there’s more time to play and to have a personal life,” I noted wistfully.
Mickey looked thoroughly unimpressed. “When I think of Montana, I think of cowboys, Indians, and gold miners.”
I chuckled softly. “We still have our fair share of cowboys, Indians, and gold miners, but they’re a dying breed.”
Mickey stilled. “Did you ever run into any wolves or bears?”
I stirred my margarita with my straw, then sampled the drink. “No wolves. They’re still pretty scarce. Mountain lions and bears are more common. You have to be careful where you hike. Most people carry bear spray.”
Mickey’s eyes widened. “What’s bear spray?”
I laughed. “It’s a giant can of pepper spray.”
Mickey folded her forearms on the table. “Did you ever run into a bear?”
I nodded. “Once. I had run into a convenience store in Cooke City. When I came out of the store, I found a big black bear sitting on the hood of my jeep. He was trying to get my dog. Thankfully, I had only cracked the windows open an inch.”
“What did you do?” she asked incredulously.
I shrugged. “There wasn’t much I could do. Two large dogs came ripping out of nowhere, and they chased the bear down the street.”
Mickey shook her head. “I don’t think I’d like living in Montana.”
I tried to picture Mickey, the bohemian goddess, in Montana and choked on my drink.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do any black people live there?”
I glanced at her apologetically. “A few. Not many. I think somewhere around one half of one percent of the population is African American. There’s not a whole lot of ethnic diversity in Montana.”
“Black people do not like nature. They don’t like snow or the cold, and they’re too smart to live anywhere where they might get eaten by a bear,” Mickey responded vehemently.
This time I didn’t choke on my drink. I snorted the margarita right out of my nose. Just as I was mopping up my face, an incredibly good looking man strode purposefully toward our table. Mickey followed my gaze as I stared open-mouthed at the guy.
“That man is F-I-N-E fine,” Mickey whispered as she watched him cross the room.
Fine was not the right word, not even close. The guy w
as seriously hot. Although, he apparently didn’t feel the need to impress anybody, since he was wearing gym clothes. His black dry-fit shirt showed off broad shoulders, clearly defined pecs, and what looked to be eight pack abs. Black workout pants hung loosely from his narrow hips but still managed to show off well-muscled thighs. Like Mickey, he was black, but his skin coloring was lighter… the color of a caramel macchiato before you stirred the whip cream in. He had soft brown eyes and a neatly shaved head. His whole physique screamed athlete, although there was something about him that seemed dangerous, almost lethal, but in a really good way.
He walked right up to Mickey. “Hey, Mickey.”
Mickey tucked her braids behind her shoulder as she smiled. “Hey, Kadyn. Glad you could make it. This is Kri. She just moved into the Point at Park Center too.”
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Kadyn.”
I snapped my jaw back into place as I shook his hand. “Hi. Did you say your name is Cade?” The crowded bar was noisy, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
Kadyn slowly released my hand. “No, Kadyn. K-A-D-Y-N.” He smiled like he got that question a lot.
The waitress stopped by, no doubt on a mission to meet K-A-D-Y-N, Kadyn. She patted him on the shoulder. “Hi, love. Can I get you anything?”
His eyes remained locked on mine. “I’ll take a Sprite.”
The waitress shot me a dirty look before walking away. I watched her walk to the bar before shifting my attention to Kadyn.
“What brought you to DC?” He asked as his eyes recaptured mine.
I wondered how he knew I wasn’t from the area. Is it that obvious I’m not from around here? “A senate fellowship. I'm working on aging and health care policy on the Hill.”
“Really. Which senator?” Kadyn asked. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
Mickey’s head was bobbing back and forth like she was watching a tennis match.
I glanced at Mickey nervously. I wondered whether she was feeling the same tension I was feeling. It felt like some invisible string was pulling me toward Kadyn. My eyes returned to Kadyn when I realized I still hadn’t answered his question. “I’m working for Senator Rockefeller.”