by Harte, C. J.
Chapter Two
Jordan Thompson offered more tea to her guests. Sitting around her were ten former elementary school classmates. These few people had remained a part of her life even after her father was first elected governor of Ohio and the family had moved to Columbus. For Jordan, this was a time to reconnect with her past. Her parents, however, saw this reunion as political goodwill. After all, Ohio had put her father in the White House.
By the time her family moved into the White House, the tradition was established. The National Republican Committee picked up the cost. It was an opportunity to emphasize the president’s family values. Jordan may have wanted a visit with friends, but that wasn’t possible. She was the First Daughter and that was a very specific role. It wasn’t just her parents that made the expectations known, but also the various aides, assistants, and social coordinators who kept the First Family’s schedule.
Lately, however, she felt a chasm growing between her childhood and her life. Her father’s political activities had introduced her to a world of celebrities, events, and ideas. There were even times when she silently questioned some of her parents’ beliefs and values, though she never voiced her doubts out loud. She preferred getting along to conflict. As a result, Jordan often wondered if anyone would know who she was if it weren’t for others telling her how to behave, when to smile, how to dress, and whom to be polite to.
Someone was talking to her. She tried to focus on the conversation.
“Jordie, what are you going to do when you finish college?” Mary Lou Bates asked. She and Mary Lou had been best friends from fourth through ninth grade. “Are you interested in politics yet?” Mary Lou married the month after high school graduation and was pregnant already. Their lives had gone in very different directions.
“No way. I just want to be a good engineer and work for a while. Like my mom. I’ll leave politics to those with egos stronger than mine. Besides, some people have to be voters.”
“I can’t imagine not having a Thompson campaigning in Ohio,” Russell Baker said. “Seems like we were always campaigning for your dad.” Russell had been an active Young Republican and a good friend.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for you, Russ,” Jordan answered to more laughter.
“If I can’t convince you to marry me, Jordan, then I must get your parents to adopt me. That will give me four more votes.”
“You’re assuming you can convince Jordan to vote for you,” her father, President Harold Thompson, said. “I’m not sure she’ll vote for me in the next election.” Her parents’ arrival was not unexpected, nor was their warm teasing. “You, however, may be more successful winning her vote.” Everyone stood to greet her parents. They walked around the room, hugging and welcoming their old friends and encouraging them to sit as they joined the group.
Marcia Thompson, perched on the arm of Jordan’s chair, gently played with Jordan’s hair. “Jordan always has been independent,” her mother added. “I’m not sure where she got that from.”
Her father smiled. “I have no idea, my dear. My daughter is my most difficult critic.”
Jordan rolled her eyes and then smiled at her distinguished looking father. This familiar teasing resulted from Jordan once asking her dad why he didn’t support busing. At age six, Jordan assumed lack of busing meant children would have to walk to school. Her father listened carefully and then, in an equally serious voice, explained the busing issue. While she had not always agreed with everything her parents stood for, she had supported them unconditionally.
“It’s always wonderful to see everyone again. I’m sorry the First Lady and I can’t stay longer, but please, enjoy yourselves. When we get back to Ohio, we’ll have a big celebration.” With that, her parents rose, spoke briefly with each person, then quietly left. Forty minutes later, the group adjourned to join other family and friends for dinner. This was the final day of the four-day visit.
Jordan hugged each visitor and wished them well. She had no close friends, except for her brother, and these people came as close as any. After watching them leave the private residence, Jordan briefly wondered what life might have been like if her father had never run for the state legislature when she was a preschooler.
Two hours later, Jordan was dressing for another formal evening. Air Force Captain Robert Schrader Jr. was to be Jordan’s escort. Capt. Schrader was the consummate gentleman, allowing Jordan’s hand to rest lightly on his arm as they walked around speaking to various guests, enjoying the music and the evening.
It was after midnight before the majority of guests left and Capt. Schrader walked Jordan to her quarters. “Jordan, I’ve enjoyed the evening, as always. I’m excited about your college choices. I’ve always known you were smart.” He squeezed her hand. “Please call me if you need some help. After all, I’m an engineer first.”
“Thank you, Rob.” It was her turn to blush. So few people saw her as anything but Harold Thompson’s daughter. She was deeply touched. “I’ve applied for a tutor, but, trust me, I’ll call if I run into any problems.”
“Do,” he reassured her.
She hugged him and said good night. As she watched him walk away, she again wondered why she wasn’t attracted to him or any of the nice guys she often met at various functions. “Probably because I’m not interested in being serious with anyone until I finish school,” she muttered as she walked into her private quarters.
Chapter Three
Drew was up by five. Ranch life dictated an early start and that habit hadn’t changed. She had practiced roping, showered, had breakfast, and read her e-mails by eight.
By eight thirty, she was restless. Mark had promised to take her over to the medical school to check her schedule. She was ready to pound on his door when he finally wandered into the kitchen. He was wearing blue satin running shorts and his short blue-black hair was standing on end. He looked more like a lost little boy than a twenty-three-year-old medical student.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“Morning?” Drew feigned impatience and looked at her watch. “It’s damn near nine. Almost time for lunch. You city folks have late hours.” Drew grinned at his “not amused” look. “Geez, you look like morning warmed over.”
“What do you expect from someone who is caffeine deficient?”
“Is that your only deficit this morning?” She was having too much fun.
Mark glared and wandered over to the coffeepot. He poured a full cup, drank a sip, and sighed. Finally, he grabbed a chair and sat. “God, when is the maid coming in?” He looked around the kitchen at the still unopened boxes. “Ooops, I forgot. I’m the maid.”
“I can tell we’re going to get along,” Drew said. “We can have wonderful conversations and I don’t have to say a word.”
Mark continued to glare. “Is there a ‘do not start’ time for your humor? At least let me get some more caffeine flowing in my body so I can try to keep up.” He drank his coffee in quiet.
Drew patted his shoulder as she walked past him. “I’ll go change clothes and be lenient this first morning.”
*
A few other students were standing around the schedules. Mark started jumping up and down. “My good luck continues,” he said. “We’re going to be in the same classes.”
“That’s good. Especially now that you can move faster than a turtle.”
“Girlfriend, I need to be in fast gear to keep up with you. Let me give you a quick tour.”
Thirty minutes later, they were headed back to the car. “Last year, I made good grades,” Mark said, “but I was struggling personally. I was actually physically afraid my roommate would do something.” He sat quietly before he finally got out of the car. “I’m feeling things are gonna be different. Thank you.”
Drew smiled and put her arm over his shoulder. “Man, I’m so sorry. I got teased some in high school, but I grew up with so many of my classmates that it never went very far. Besides, I could give as good as I got. When I did my undergraduate at U
niversity of Wyoming, it wasn’t that much of a problem.”
Mark grinned. “Well, life is getting better, and I’m looking forward to this year and the next two after that.”
“If I don’t get over to financial aid, I’m not going to be able to afford this year. I have a big appetite.”
Mark laughed and nodded. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
*
Drew’s family’s budget was strained. Her younger brother, Hayden, was just beginning his junior year at Colorado State. Her older brother, Greg, had finished law school last spring and was now living in Atlanta. Drew’s parents had to rely more on hired help. She needed to do whatever was necessary to finish medical school without huge debts.
She finished the forms and handed them to Martha Harris, the assistant director at the financial aid office. She had already filled out the standard financial aid applications but was told that she would need to come in personally to check on jobs.
“I see you did a lot of tutoring at Wyoming,” Ms. Harris said. “It’s rather unusual for medical students to come to us looking for a job. Most students use the tutoring center. Once in a while, we get students who want individual tutoring and are willing to pay. It’s coordinated through the employment center.” Ms. Harris paused. “If you would be willing to do that, you could set your own schedule.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“I don’t doubt that. I’m just trying to find something that can give you consistent income and still be flexible in scheduling. The majority of students will not be back for another couple of weeks. Let me check with a colleague, and we’ll see if we can match you up with someone.”
“Thank you,” Drew said. She headed back to her apartment. She had two more days before classes started and a roommate she liked. Life was good. Uncomplicated and good.
*
One more week and Jordan could begin her sophomore year. Time wouldn’t pass fast enough. Unfortunately, Brandan Carter, a fellow student, arrived in Washington intent on personally escorting her to Gainesville. Brandan was conceited and self-serving. He had numerous girlfriends on campus and showed little attention to Jordan, unless her father was around. She had once overheard a conversation between Brandan and his father, Richmond Carter, a prominent Republican and early supporter of her father. “Jordan is your ticket to a fast-track political future.” Richmond Carter’s voice was scolding.
Fat chance.
She recalled with bitterness the remainder of the conversation. “Jordan Thompson may not be the smartest or most attractive girl you date, but she is political collateral. She can be an incredible asset to a future president. Understand, son?”
At first, Jordan had been stunned until she heard Brandan’s response. “Dad, she’s a dumpy horror. I can’t date her. Besides, I’m seeing someone.”
Jordan was incensed. It increased her determination to be her own person. She might have to tolerate Brandan, but that was as far as it went.
“Miss Thompson,” her mother’s secretary interrupted, “the Carters are joining the President and First Lady for lunch. Your parents requested you join them. Mr. Brandan Carter specifically wanted to make plans for the evening. What shall I tell him?”
Jordan sighed, regretting the interruption to what had been a pleasant day. She tried to think of possible excuses, but finally relented. “Tell Mr. Carter I’ll talk about evening plans at lunch.” She put aside her novel and rose from her comfortable seat. “Ellen, tell my parents I need a few minutes to change and then I will join them.”
She carefully selected a casual but conservative outfit. She stared at her own image in the mirror. Her mother was often described as elegant. Jordan knew she would never meet that standard. She was not svelte like her mother, nor did she have her mother’s social graces. Or for that matter, her brother’s height and blond hair. With her mother’s help, however, she was no longer the ugly duckling. She was even beginning to feel comfortable in her own body, though she doubted she would ever be as at ease as her mother.
*
Lunch was another First Family political opportunity. Jordan was seated with Brandan, and two other offspring of invited guests. She asked about their summers. She had learned when to turn on the political charm. It was becoming automatic.
During his turn, Brandan eagerly discussed his political campaigning efforts. Jordan smiled and nodded, mentally reviewing her schedule for the next few days. “In fact, I was hoping you would join me tonight. There is a special performance of Aspects of Love. I remember you wanted to see it.”
Inside the reserved Jordan Thompson was a romantic who thrived on musicals, mushy movies, and maudlin books. She loved any Andrew Lloyd Weber musical and had several songs on her iPad, which she played over and over. Aspects of Love was the only one of his musicals she hadn’t seen. “That would be nice,” she answered. “I’ll have my father arrange a car. We can pick you up, Brandan, or we can meet you there.” She could tell by his expression that this was not what he had planned. She didn’t care.
Brandan recovered quickly. “Of course. We won’t have to worry about parking.” Brandan chatted for a few minutes and then left.
He was good-looking, Jordan realized, but she really didn’t like him. In fact, she only tolerated him because of his father’s ties to her father. Once we’re back at school, I’ll rarely see him, thank heaven.
At the theater, Jordan greeted several familiar wealthy Republican supporters. She was gracious and polite, speaking quietly to each person and offering personal regards from her parents. She was their consummate envoy. “Senator, it’s so nice to see you and your wife. Mrs. Sagan, how are you adjusting to your new home?”
“Thank you for remembering,” the senator’s wife said.
Jordan moved to another familiar face. “How is the new grandbaby?”
Jordan continued to exude both sincerity and kindness. She would have preferred being one of the people quietly waiting for the musical to start. Finally, the lights dimmed. She joined Brandan and moved toward their box seats.
At intermission, Brandan was furious. “How repulsive! Christ, Jordan, how can you like this? I can’t believe you didn’t know about this?”
“Brandan, please lower your voice and watch your language. I’ve never seen this musical, and mostly, I’m enjoying the music.”
“Enjoying? Is the rest of this about queers?”
Jordan breathed deeply and tried to remain calm. “Lower your voice!” she said.
“Having that woman kiss Rose was repulsive. What do you think your parents are going to say?”
“This is a musical.”
“Oh, sure.” Brandan’s voice was barely controlled. “Rose seduces a seventeen-year-old, then shacks up with his uncle, and then is making out with a woman. All before intermission. This is perverted.”
“If you don’t want to stay, I can arrange for you to be driven back to the hotel. I’ll get one of the—”
Brandan lowered his voice to a threatening growl. “How the hell do you think that would look? I’m your escort for the evening, and we will leave together. Now call the car.”
Jordan pulled away. She was irate and found her stubborn streak barely controlled.
“How can you stand this garbage?” His voice was harsh and filled with venom. “Jordan, I can’t believe you. Your father would be furious.”
“It’s a musical, Brandan. It’s not real. Don’t presume to tell me what my father would like and not like.” In spite of her words, she realized she was touched by the final scene of the first half. She tried to turn away from him. She did suspect her father wouldn’t approve.
Brandan grabbed her arm. “We’re going.”
As she pulled away, Jordan saw one of the Secret Service agents approach. “Is everything all right, Ms. Thompson?”
This was one of the times she appreciated the protection detail. “Mr. Carter’s not feeling well. I think he should probably leave as soon as possible.”
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Brandan forced a smile. “It’s nothing serious, but we should get Jordan home, just in case.”
How dare he! She wasn’t ready to leave, but she didn’t want to cause a scene. “Fine!” When they arrived at his parents’ hotel, she offered a quick good night.
“Of course,” he said, “you must be tired. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Good night,” she said. Jordan sighed as soon as the vehicle pulled away. Now how do I avoid the Carter entourage tomorrow? She leaned her head against the seatback. Maybe the reason I haven’t found the right guy is that I only have Brandan Carters around.
With only a few days left before classes started, Jordan was able to convince her parents that she wanted to spend time with them. They were well aware how little Jordan wanted anything to do with social and political functions. It was easy for Jordan to talk them into allowing her to spend the last few days reading, watching a few movies, and not having to see Brandan Carter. It was the only peaceful time all summer.
Chapter Four
September
By the second week of class, Drew was frustrated. She had carefully budgeted and, if she didn’t hear from financial aid by the end of the week, she needed to get a job. The call came that afternoon.
“Ms. Hamilton, we have a special request from a student who needs to get caught up on calculus and physics. She’s requested a female tutor and doesn’t want to go through the tutoring lab. She’s interviewing prospective tutors now.”
“Okay.”
“There’s one caveat. The family insists that the tutor be available for the student, which could limit other work or tutoring offers. For that reason, they offered significantly higher hourly pay. If you find the time commitment a problem, we can look at other opportunities.”