Presidential Bargain

by Rebecca Gallo

  “That was one hell of a welcome,” he said hoarsely.

  I looked up at him through my hooded gaze and smiled wickedly. Then he grinned lasciviously and rolled me onto my back where he demonstrated with great proficiency just how much he missed me.

  This trip was just what Georgie and I needed after the tumultuous campaign events back east. Her skin developed a gorgeous glow and she seemed more relaxed. She was starting to fulfill her campaign duties with ease that it was hard to believe there was a time when she wasn’t a part of it. She was vital not only to my campaign, but to me.

  The West Coast was always more liberal, so we didn’t have to try hard to sell our vision for America. We were all relaxed, enjoying the energy of campaigning and meeting voters. There was also no more talk about “us”. Georgie didn’t ask about her place in my life, but she frequently reminded me of her love. Before I gave speeches, she would kiss me and whisper, “I love you.” When I was deep inside her, satisfying the connection we both craved, she would chant it. And then there were the random moments, like when we stopped for doughnuts in Portland because I knew we couldn’t leave the city without visiting a famous shop known for its outrageous concoctions. She was practically giddy holding the pink box in her lap. She looked at me, with a childlike gleam in her eyes, and said, “Jameson, I not only love you, but as long as you buy me doughnuts, I will fucking worship you.”

  Every time she said it, I expected to feel uneasy or awkward. But I didn’t. Pride swelled in my chest because I made her happy. She made me feel relaxed and content. Her love gave me a new level of confidence and I was riding high as the campaign rolled into Phoenix for the second debate.

  The second debate was a town-hall format. There wasn’t really a moderator, just a host who ensured order. The questions were provided by audience members in advance and the Election Commission then chose the questions that would be asked. Since the location of this debate was Phoenix, I focused my prep on immigration and domestic policy. Arizona was a firm “red state” and they cared about their guns, so I also firmed up my position on the Second Amendment.

  We arrived at the university where the debate was being hosted. Georgie looked beautiful in a pair of olive-colored pants with a black camisole underneath a silk, cream-colored, short-sleeved jacket. Her hair was braided and she was fresh-faced. She called her look “fancy casual”, which made me smile. I was also dressed a bit more casually than the previous debate. I wore a pair of crisp khaki pants and a blue checkered shirt with the collar undone and a navy blue blazer.

  Georgie and I were a sharp contrast to how Governor Huntley and his wife were dressed. Louise Huntley was done up in a bright red suit with large gold earrings and heavy gold jewelry. Her platinum-blond bob was perfectly shellacked into place. The governor was in a traditional suit and his tie and pocket square matched the color of Louise’s suit.

  I hated giving so much thought to how we looked, but whenever I would protest about clothing, Lewis and Jenkins were there to remind me about Nixon and Kennedy.

  “Kennedy’s good looks played an important part in his victory over Richard Nixon. Nixon was more qualified, but Kennedy was hotter,” Lewis informed me. Right.

  “So you’re telling me I’m running on a Ken doll platform?” I said sarcastically.

  “No, but it certainly doesn’t hurt us that you’re hot,” Jenkins chimed in, his eyes traveling the length of my body.

  The triviality of this campaign was damned annoying at times. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied Georgie talking with some members of the audience. She started out as a part of that triviality and she was now an essential part of my life. It pained me to admit that there was always some truth to the madness of Lewis and Jenkins.

  The town-hall format of the debate meant the governor and I could walk around the stage. We could interact with our audience. It also meant I could see Georgie sitting clearly in the front row. There weren’t any blinding lights preventing me from looking out and seeing her.

  As was her tradition, Georgie kissed me chastely and pressed our foreheads together. “I love you,” she murmured just before the start of the debate. Her love was a buoy, keeping my confidence constantly afloat.

  Governor Huntley was clearly more prepared this second time around, and there wasn’t a scandal involving my personal life to address, so he hit me hard on more substantial issues. I took notes on issues we needed to address better, areas of weakness the governor managed to identify. But I wasn’t pulling any punches either. There were areas where the governor and I differed greatly. One of my greatest strengths was my military background and it was easy to hit the governor on his lack of service. Not only did I graduate from West Point, but I also served well beyond my required four years after graduation and I had been elevated to the rank of major during my service. His lack of service was a legitimate criticism and I made sure to attack him often, to emphasize that he evaded service to the country. The governor would shrink back and respond by circling back to a topic that was more comfortable.

  There were times when the governor cornered me, but instead of giving in, I tried to address the area of deficiency. I was not a perfect candidate. I was aware that many of my more liberal viewpoints did not sit well with many Americans, nor with many of my conservative colleagues. But I was a negotiator and I made it a point to stress my willingness to work with both parties to craft legislation that benefited the American people.

  “I have a percentage in my mind, every time a new bill comes across my desk in the Senate,” I told the audience. “If that piece of legislation does not meet that percentage, then I won’t sign it. That’s how I’ll approach the presidency. If a piece of legislation comes to me and it doesn’t pass this one simple test, I’ll veto it. The people come first. Everyone and everything else is a distant second.”

  That was how the debate ended and when I finished speaking, I smiled with relief. I made it a point to greet audience members, to thank them for attending or participating. I took the time to talk with them briefly, to look into questions they had or issues they wanted to address. The entire time, though, I was mindful of Georgie, of her proximity to not only me, but to the governor. She seemed to gravitate toward me, and together, we worked the rest of the room.

  I held her hand firmly in my own and often, I would look down at them tangled together. The partnership that formed as a result of our arrangement was unexpectedly familiar. It was something I wanted to last. I wanted it to be permanent. The last few weeks I took time to consider what Georgie wanted from me, what she had already given to me. She was nothing but fair in asking for reassurance that I wasn’t going to get rid of her the moment she became ‘unnecessary’ because truthfully, that was never going to happen. My tune on having a First Lady had changed considerably and I planned on telling Georgie exactly what she wanted to hear once we were back in New Hampshire, in her family home.

  We were finally back in my home state. I was beyond thrilled to campaign in Nashua, Keene, and Exeter, but Jameson seemed nervous. On stage, he was the confident candidate, but in private he was quiet and reserved. I would often catch him staring at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. Every time he realized he’d been caught, he’d shake his head as if clearing away a daze, and then kiss me. Each kiss was soft and lingered, like he wasn’t truly finished kissing me.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Jameson informed me.

  We had just ended a town hall event and I was beyond exhausted. I collapsed against the plush leather seat of the SUV we traveled in and looked at him. He had that introspective look on his face, the one that told me he had been deep in thought. Our hands were connected, fingers intertwined, palms touching. He gazed down at where they rested, linked together, and then he lifted them, bringing them to his lips. He placed reverent kisses where our hands were joined and I felt a heaviness in my chest. Our relationship was suddenly changing; I could feel it thicken the air between us.

  “What is it?”
I asked quietly.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  I gasped at his confession. He was taking me back home? I was both nervous and excited because I hadn’t returned since the day I fled to my parents’ cabin and I knew that renovations had been going on. What would I find there?

  “Oh, Jameson,” I whispered before I flung myself at him. I peppered his face with short kisses until he pulled me away.

  “I hope you like all of the renovations. I’ve seen a few pictures and it looks amazing.”

  I desperately wanted to ask to see the pictures, but I restrained myself because I wanted to be surprised. I bounced in my seat anxiously as we drove through the narrow, winding roads that would take me back to a place filled with so much love and so many memories.

  The brick Tudor I called home came into view as we drove down the long, tree-lined driveway. The brick looked refreshed and the cream stucco looked brighter. The SUV stopped just in front of the house, which was anchored by a heavy, red wooden door that had been freshly lacquered so the red was a bold, vibrant shade. I quickly exited the car the minute it stopped, but came to a halt when I realized I no longer had keys. I gave them to Jameson months ago, when he announced he formally hired contractors to begin renovations. His strong arms wrapped around me and he dangled the keys in front of my nose.

  “I know New Hampshire is very safe, but I made sure the door was locked,” he chided me.

  I snatched them out of his grasp and made quick work of unlocking the door.

  I stepped into the expansive front living room, which was both disgustingly bare because I had sold all the furniture, but also gleaming and gorgeous. The hardwood floors sparkled under a fresh coat of stain and the beams in the ceiling had also received a similar treatment. The paneling that once lined the walls had been removed and the room was now painted a soft, creamy color. I was in awe.

  I turned back toward Jameson, who stood in the entryway, filling it with his large body. Tears stung my eyes, ready to fall, and my bottom lip quivered under the weight of my emotions. He smiled and gestured with his hand to urge me forward. I nodded in understanding and turned back, heading toward the kitchen I loved so much.

  It had been completely gutted. The old, golden pine cabinets had been replaced with beautiful white ones and the countertop was now a shiny, black granite. I looked down at the slate tile that covered the floor and then at the professional-grade appliances that filled the spaces where my ancient ones used to be. It was all so overwhelming, and yet, exactly what I wanted.

  Large piles of mail waited to be sorted, but that could wait. I turned back toward Jameson, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He was back to watching me like a hawk, his expression thoughtful. I grabbed his hand and dragged him up the back staircase. I was eager to see him in my bedroom, the only place other than the kitchen where I truly lived.

  I stepped foot into a room I didn’t recognize. The floors had been refinished with a dark stain and the trim was a bright white. The walls were painted a rich shade of gray that had a hint of purple, and the rickety ceiling fan had been replaced with a stunning chandelier. Gone was the ancient mattress and box spring I slept on and in its place was a massive bed. The headboard and footboard were upholstered in a creamy velvet and it was covered in plush bedding, with piles of pillows. The entire room was so cozy and romantic, and I wanted to get lost in its beauty with Jameson.

  “Aren’t you going to check out the bathroom?” Jameson prompted.

  I had completely forgotten the request I’d made.

  Eagerly, I walked toward the door that led to the master bathroom and squealed with delight. It was exactly like Jameson’s; white Carrera marble everywhere, a gigantic soaking tub, a massive glass enclosed shower. The only difference was the pale pink walls.

  I turned back toward Jameson, ready to tackle him, but found him sitting on a bench at the foot of the bed. He was looking at his phone, his face contorted into a troubled expression.

  “Jameson? Is something wrong?” I asked delicately, walking slowly back into the room.

  “I’m so sorry. Sean has been texting me like a fiend. I need to call him,” he explained, waving his phone at me.

  “Not a problem. You can use my dad’s study. I’ll be in the kitchen sorting through the mail.”

  Jameson stood and slid his phone into his back pocket. He approached me and placed his hands on my hips, pulling me close.

  “Are you happy with the renovations?”

  “Yes. The house is magnificent, Jameson. Thank you so much.” I tilted my face and our lips met in a short but searing kiss. We parted and I directed him toward the study before walking downstairs to the kitchen.

  I wasn’t looking forward to sorting the mail. I was sure it was nothing but bills, bills, and more bills. Jameson and I needed to talk finances because clearly, I could no longer accept the money he offered.

  A large, manila envelope caught my attention. The address had been handwritten in a feminine-looking script, and there was no return address. Curious, I flipped it over and slid my finger under the flap, careful to avoid giving myself a paper cut. I opened the envelope and reached inside, pulling out the contents. Photographs. A single piece of stationary was placed on top.

  This is what your fiancé is up to when your back is turned. A sense of dread filled me.

  My hand shook with fear as I looked through the photographs, one by one. Each picture was of Jameson and various women. Having dinner. Laughing over conversation. His hand placed on the small of their backs or wrapped around them intimately. He wasn’t alone with them in any of the pictures, but there was a sense of familiarity in each photograph.

  My fingers felt another sheet of paper in between the photographs and I pulled it free. It was a copy of an article and I could see that the article was dated for tomorrow. “D.C. Escort Tells All, Implicates Democratic Candidate Senator Martin in Sex-for-Hire Scheme.” I immediately dropped the photographs and the article onto the floor and covered my mouth, suppressing the terrified gasp that threatened to escape.

  “Georgie, we need to talk.” Jameson had entered the kitchen and his voice was cold.

  “You need to leave,” I demanded in a shaky voice.

  “Georgie? What’s wrong?”

  I felt him behind me. He placed his hands on the countertop, caging me with his body.

  “I said, leave. Please, Jameson. Just go.” I couldn’t bear to look at him. His hands left the counter and he bent to pick up the photographs that littered the floor.

  “Where the fuck did these come from?” he demanded, his voice an angry growl.

  “I don’t know. It was in the pile of mail.” I slid the empty envelope across the counter and watched it flutter to the ground with the rest of the photographs. Jameson knelt to pick it up, along with the note and the copied article.

  Jameson was quiet as he read through both and then he slammed them down on the counter. I jumped, and the tears that would have fallen out of happiness now fell out of despair.

  “Shit, Georgie. I need to explain.”

  “Do you know those women?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Are those women prostitutes?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply before opening them again. I grabbed the closest thing, a ceramic canister, and sent it hurling across the room where it smashed into hundreds of tiny pieces.

  “Get the fuck out!” I roared. I didn’t want to know any more. I didn’t want to know what kinds of sordid affairs Jameson engaged in before me. I shouldn’t care who he dated, who he fucked before me, because he was supposed to be mine now. But seeing him with these women, with prostitutes, tore my heart into a hundred broken pieces. I looked at the remnants of the canister on the floor and thought, Same.

  The shouting of the reporters was deafening. And my own anger at the entire fucked up situation had me seeing red, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that Georgie was gone. Fucki
ng gone.

  “Senator, where is Ms. Washington?”

  One question that I was able to hear clearly. I scanned the pool of reporters, looking for the asshole who asked that question. No one made eye contact.

  “She left.” My voice was hollow and empty, exactly how I felt.

  “Senator, can you elaborate?”

  I looked up at the pool and scowled. Are you fucking kidding me? Did they really expect me to elaborate on my fiancée leaving me?

  “Okay. She fucking left.” That certainly got their attention. I didn’t give a shit anymore. The Oval didn’t matter if she wasn’t there with me. She had changed everything about me, made me want something other than to be the president. She showed me that it was possible to have both her and the presidency. Now she was gone, and she took my heart with her. I found it very hard to blame her for leaving. Even though she refused to talk to me, to let explain, she was right to leave. I was shocked she hadn’t left the moment Russell Atlee laid his filthy hands on her.

  I felt hands tugging me away from the podium. A familiar blond head stepped in front of me. Sean was here to save my ass. I stood back, defeated, and listened as he eloquently said what I could not.

  “Ladies and gentleman of the press, I apologize for the senator’s remarks. Understandably, Senator Martin and Ms. Washington are upset by these disgusting and unfounded allegations. Additionally, Senator Martin is very protective of Ms. Washington and does not wish to subject her to any unfair criticism. She has already faced so much in such a short time. Ms. Washington is currently taking some time away from the campaign while we deal with this issue. She will begin making limited appearances in a few days because she firmly believes that Senator Martin is the only person qualified to be the next president. That is all we have to say at this time.”