DUTCH AND GINA: WHAT HE DID FOR LOVE

by Monroe, Mallory

  LaLa just sat there. She didn’t know what else she could do. “Crader, I told you I feel terrible about what happened. I told you I was sorry. I asked your forgiveness. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you can begin with fidelity. Maybe you can begin to be a wife who doesn’t happen to be some trash-barrel whore!”

  LaLa jumped from her seat. “Now you wait a gotdamn minute!” she bellowed. “I messed up, and you have a right to be angry and hurt and upset with me. But you don’t have a right to disrespect me and call me such a horrible name.”

  “Change shoes, La. Put yourself in my shoes. What would you call it then? What would you call a woman who cheats on her husband? A woman who made a mistake? Is that what you’d call it? You cheated, La, and with Christian of all people! You cheated! You didn’t make a mistake!”

  “Yes, I did,” LaLa said, staring unblinkingly at her husband. “I made the mistake of thinking that you actually loved me.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault now. It’s all because I don’t love you. You fucked Christian because I don’t love you. That’s what you’re telling yourself now?”

  “You love me when I do everything right, and I’m at your beck and call, and I make you the center of everything that I am. You falter, I forgive you. You falter again, I forgive you again. Over and over I forgive you. Because you’re my husband I foolishly thought this marriage was worth it. But I falter, then I’m a whore, I’m a cheat, I’m somebody you’re ready to discard because I’m not everything that’s good and right in this world anymore. Oh, yes, I made a mistake, all right. Just not the one you mean.”

  And LaLa, refusing to shed another tear after a night of tears, walked out of the dining room. Crader sat there. And then threw his plate against the wall.

  Freshly showered, shaved, and dressed for his upcoming meeting with the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Dutch hurried down the stairs in search of his wife and son. Once on the first floor, he was about to head for the kitchen, but Franklin informed him that they were outside in the back courtyard.

  Dutch thanked his house manager and headed in that direction. When he opened the double French doors, and saw his wife and son, he sighed relief. While he was dressing upstairs, a queasiness had come over him that made him anxious to see their faces again.

  And then to see Gina, running around the paved courtyard fully dressed in her Prada pantsuit and Christian Louboutin heels, with their little son chasing her, was a sight to behold.

  Dutch took a seat on the patio and watched with a smile on his own face as his wife and son seemed to be having the time of their lives. Especially Gina, who couldn’t stop grinning as she made sure she stayed just out of Little Walt’s short reach. Walt was smiling, too, but Dutch could see that fierce determination on his handsome brown face. He was enjoying himself, but he wanted to win. He had to catch her, his face seemed to say, if it was the last thing he did.

  And when Gina saw Dutch seated in the chair on the front end of the courtyard, she raced toward him grinning so widely that Dutch couldn’t help but laugh, too.

  “Dutch, help!” Gina was yelling as she ran. “Save me from Little Walt! Save me from this fast and powerful little boy of yours!”

  Dutch laughed loudly as Gina ran and jumped onto his lap. He held her tightly as she pushed against him just as Little Walt ran up and flopped his short arms onto Gina’s lap. He was so tired he could hardly breathe.

  “You okay, son?” Dutch asked between laughs.

  Little Walt had to take a few more breaths before he could speak. “Yes, sir,” he said, breathing hard and fast. Then he nodded his head. “Mommy’s fast,” he said.

  Dutch grinned. “Yeah, she’s fast already,” he said.

  Then Dutch called for Nanny.

  “Take Walter into the kitchen and get him some juice.”

  “Water first,” Little Walt said.

  Dutch smiled and ruffled Walt’s curly hair. “Water first,” he said to the Nanny. “And then some juice.”

  “Yes, sir,” the older black woman said as she took Walter by the hand and escorted him back into the main house.

  Gina wrapped her arms around Dutch’s neck and looked at him. He was dressed in a light brown suit that contrasted beautifully with his big green eyes. “You look handsome this morning,” she said.

  “Thank-you.”

  “How do you feel?” she asked, straightening his tie. “Excited?”

  “I would say yes.”

  Gina smiled. “Good.”

  “What about you?” Dutch asked, looking at her with concern in his eyes. “How do you feel?”

  “Me? I feel great. After your meeting with Birdie this will be the first day of the rest of our lives, and I can’t wait to get started.”

  Dutch continued to stare at her. “You do understand that we’ll never be completely private citizens. You do understand that, darling, right?”

  “I understand it,” Gina said, still looking at his tie. “You’ll be a former president who’s still young and vibrant. We’ll still be fodder for gossip sheets and imaginary scandals, I know. But at least we won’t be in Washington.”

  Dutch smiled. “At least that,” he said and continued to stare at her until she looked her big brown eyes into his big green ones. His heart swelled with love when she looked at him. “I’m going to make it up to you, Regina Harber. You hear me?”

  “Make what up to me?”

  “All of the peace and quiet you’ve been denied ever since you married me.”

  “But Dutch, you were a sitting president when I married you. I knew what I was getting into. I would have been a fool to expect peace and quiet back then.”

  “That still doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some now. Because you do. Because I see your good works, Gina. You’re a great mother to our son. You’re a great wife to me. And you’re a great friend and mentor to so many others. It was the best move I’ve ever made when I married you.”

  “Oh, Dutch,” Gina said and kissed him on the lips. When she thought to end the kiss, he wouldn’t let her. He, instead, kissed her harder and longer and more passionately.

  When he did allow her to come back up for air, a memory flashed through his head. He and Gina were on the Truman balcony at the White House, and it was the same day she was subsequently shot. And that same queasiness he had that day, was the queasiness he was feeling earlier, and again right now.

  A worried look crossed his face, as he remembered that day, and how he should have kept her with him. She would not have been injured, he felt, if he would have paid more attention to his feelings.

  But Dutch knew Gina. He knew she was a stubborn broad and it would take more than a feeling to keep her from her carefully laid out plans.

  “Still sore?” he asked her.

  She smiled. Sometimes Dutch’s appetite for her simply amazed her. “You know I am,” she said, hitting him on the chest. “After those numerous poundings you put on me.”

  “But I would have thought, after my, how do I say it? After my meal this morning, it would have soothed you.”

  Gina remembered this morning, when she woke up to the feel of Dutch’s mouth feasting on her pussy.

  “Soothing me wasn’t exactly what that meal was about, was it?” Gina said and Dutch laughed.

  And then Franklin appeared and announced the arrival of the Speaker.

  “Here we go,” Dutch said as he tapped his wife on her hip, prompting her to get off of his lap. He then stood and began buttoning his suit coat.

  He kissed Gina on the mouth. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple minutes with Birdie,” he said.

  “A couple minutes?” Gina asked doubtfully. “I don’t know, Dutch. He’s supposed to be on a mission to get you to change your mind.”

  “That’s why it won’t take more than a couple minutes.”

  Gina laughed as they began heading for the entrance. “I’ve got to freshen up, anyway, before I leave. Thank
s to that son of yours. I can’t go to BBR all sweaty.”

  Dutch, walking behind her, placed his hands on her hips. “You don’t sweat,” he said. “And I’ve given you enough workouts to know that with quite a degree of accuracy.”

  Gina smiled as they walked through the French doors.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Twenty minutes later, Birdie Camp was finally beginning to get the message: Dutch Harber’s decision to resign the presidency of the United States would not be altered. But he continued to try, anyway.

  “There’s concerns, Dutch, and you know this, about the vice president.”

  They were in Dutch’s home office, with Dutch seated behind the desk and Benjamin “Birdie” Camp, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, seated in front of the desk. Birdie’s long legs were extended outward, his elbows resting on either arm of the wingback chair, and his well-worn suit was stained and wrinkled. He used to be a Jesuit priest who still abstained from worldly pursuits. But even in his rumbled appearance, even with his thick brown hair barely combed, he was still eye candy to the ladies. From his big blue eyes and beautiful smile, to his long, lithe body, many women had tried, and failed, to win him over.

  Dutch’s view of him, however, was less contentious. He trusted Birdie Camp. He saw him as a man of faith and unquestioned integrity who had Dutch’s complete confidence.

  But even Birdie wasn’t going to change Dutch’s mind.

  “Crader has been an excellent vice president,” Dutch said. “Does he have faults? Yes, of course he does. But he’s a leader.”

  “Yes, he’s an excellent leader. As far as it goes. But his temperament, Dutch. You’re talking about entrusting the presidency to a man with his temperament. You’re talking about entrusting the presidency to a man who flies off the handle with the least provocation.”

  “When he became vice president, as you well know, he became the person who was first in the line of succession. It was already decided then that he was presidential material. I don’t get your concern, Birdie.”

  “He has a lot of issues,” Birdie explained. “He’s an infamous womanizer. And then there’s the discovery of that child conceived while he was engaged to his current wife. And again, yes, his bad temper. It makes you wonder if a man like that is the best we can do.”

  “He’s the best,” Dutch said in defense of Crader. “He has issues, yes, he does. Sometimes I’m astounded myself by his lack of self-restraint. But he loves his country and will fight for it. And he’s more than capable of fulfilling my term.”

  “But he has no self-restraint, you just said so yourself. And remember he wasn’t elected by the American people, but was chosen by you when our elected vice president was forced to resign.”

  “And he was confirmed by a majority of both Houses of Congress, Birdie. With no serious opposition to that appointment whatsoever.”

  Birdie stared at Dutch. “So you won’t reconsider this decision?”

  Dutch looked Birdie dead in the eye. “Absolutely not,” he said.

  Birdie finally smiled, and admitted defeat. He stood to his feet. “I should have known it would be a cold day in hell before you changed your mind.”

  Dutch laughed heartily. Then Dutch reached into his desk drawer, pulled out his written resignation, and stood up. He walked around his desk and handed it to Birdie Camp.

  “I believe this is yours,” Dutch said with great relief.

  Birdie accepted the letter. “Yes, I’ll take that now. And go out before the cameras and admit that I’m an abject failure.”

  Dutch smiled. “Oh, it’s not so bad, Birdie.”

  “It’s horrible, are you kidding? The American people were counting on me to get you to change your mind. And I didn’t come close.”

  “They’ll get over it, trust me,” Dutch said like the experienced politician he was.

  “If you say so,” Birdie said as he and Dutch began walking toward the exit.

  Dutch had his hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “I say so,” he said. “All of us aren’t pure as you, Bird. Some of us have pasts we wished we didn’t have, but we do.” Then suddenly, as if gripped, that same queasy feeling came over Dutch. And a different day flashed through his mind. The day when he had that same queasy feeling, and paid it no attention. The day Gina entered that booby-trapped house and nearly died.

  His heart pounded in fear.

  But before he could react at all, a succession of events left he and Birdie both reeling. First, the direct line to the Oval Office that was installed in his office a month ago began ringing. Then Birdie’s cell phone began ringing. As Birdie pulled out his cell phone to answer it, and as Dutch hurried to answer his desk phone, Christian ran through the office door, a look of terror on his face, and raced past both men and hurried to the television set. Then the Secret Service Agent-in-charge ran through the side door, with a contingent of agents following suit.

  Birdie answered his cell phone, but Dutch stopped in his tracks. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

  Christian pressed the television’s remote control and as soon as the TV came on, Dutch saw destroyed buildings that looked like the aftermath of war zones. People were running and screaming, fire and smoke were still billowing, and the captions identified those war zones, not as places on some far away soil, but as actual cities inside the United States.

  Dutch’s heart dropped through his shoe.

  The flustered anchorman on television was grabbing paper after paper from an off-camera aide, and was updating his report with each new paper he received.

  “Confirmed in Abilene, Texas,” the anchorman said. “And another one in Wichita, Kansas. And yet another, ladies and gentleman, in Butte, Montana.” He began to count the list of reported attacks. “That brings the total reported explosions to ten, thirteen, now eighteen, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Explosions?” Dutch asked, staring at the television screen.

  “From one end of this country to the other end, sir,” the Agent-in-charge replied. “At first it seemed random, like one and then two. But not anymore, sir. This is orchestrated.”

  The anchorman received yet another paper containing yet another update. “Peritop, Oregon is now reporting an explosion at one of their chemical plants.”

  Then Dutch felt that odd sense of dread again. He headed behind his desk to answer his still-ringing phone. He looked at Christian. “Get my wife,” he ordered.

  “Your wife?” Christian asked, perplexed. “But she’s not here, sir.”

  Dutch stopped in his tracks and looked at Christian. “What do you mean she’s not here?” Panic began to surge within him. “She already left?”

  “Yes, sir. Her car is just pulling off.”

  Without a second’s hesitation, Dutch took off running, prompting the Secret Service agent-in-charge to take off behind him, and some of the additional agents to follow suit.

  “Get Little Walt!” Dutch screamed to Christian as he ran for the door. “And don’t let him out of your sight!”

  Christian, along with two Secret Service agents, immediately hurried to do just that.

  Two agents remained in the office, as protection for the Speaker of the House, and Birdie, still on his cell phone, ordered one of the agents to answer the still-ringing desk phone.

  Dutch and the agents ran through the office, through the house, and out of the front door. The SUV carrying Gina was nearing the electronic gate, which would place it one step away from a clean getaway. Dutch ran across the grounds screaming Gina’s name. Other agents ran toward the president, unsure what was going on.

  The agent-in-charge had his hand to his wrist. “Stop Eagle!” he was yelling as he ran. “Stop Eagle! Stop Eagle! Stop Eagle!”

  And the SUV came to a screeching halt so sudden that its tail end almost jackknifed. But Dutch kept running, hard as he could run, until he was opening the backseat of that truck’s door, and he saw Gina’s face for himself.

  He slumped against the vehicle, in
pure exhaustion.

  Gina, terrified, was attempting to get out. “Dutch, what’s wrong?” she asked him. “Our son okay?”

  But the agent-in-charge arrived and pushed both the president and First Lady back into the vehicle. And he got in, too.

  “Turn it around!” he ordered the driver/agent.

  “What’s happening?” Gina asked hysterically.

  The additional agents had their weapons drawn as they ran beside the SUV, looking around as if they were suddenly in a war zone themselves. They escorted the SUV back up to the main house.

  Dutch, in the backseat, put his arm around Gina. His heart was still racing.

  But Gina wanted answers. “What’s happened?” she asked him. “Dutch, what’s going on?”

  But she wanted answers he couldn’t give. “We don’t know yet,” he said, pulling her closer. “We don’t know.”

  By the time Dutch had secured Gina and Little Walt in the home’s living room, with Christian and a contingent of Secret Service agents with them, he returned to his office where Birdie had been fielding calls. He was then told by Birdie that the explosion had increased from eighteen to forty-one. All small cities. All at state or federal government buildings. And his estate was not only protected with agents below, but with air support above. The United States were considering the bombings as an act of war.

  Dutch and Birdie were on a conference call with Crader, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and the Director of the CIA. The SecDef and the SecState were certain it was not Al-Qaeda. The Director wasn’t so sure.

  “We’re still checking with our sources,” he informed the president. “We’re not prepared to rule any group in or out.”

  After more back and forth, more theories and counter-theories, Dutch ended the call. Birdie was sitting behind the desk, and Dutch sat in front of it. His thoughts were all over the place, but he knew the writing was on the wall.

  Birdie stood up, walked around the desk, and stood in front of Dutch. Behind him was the television set, on mute, showing all of the carnage, the panic, the pain and suffering throughout the contiguous United States.