by Claire Adams
Knowing that there were problems at home—or at least, rumor of it—made me feel safe to engage in my fantasies. Letting my mind wander, I could tell myself that he’d be much happier with me. We’d be happy together, the two of us. I imagined standing before him, naked; I imagined him wrapping his arms around me, leaning toward me—the dark eyebrows furrowed…
My daydream was interrupted by a sudden vibration in my bag that was sitting on the counter. I jumped from my chair and rushed toward it, leafing through the papers for my phone. George sometimes called me that late in the evening with a job emergency. I immediately prepared myself to stay up all night.
But the number was unrecognizable. The area code was D.C., and I tapped the screen, ready to answer. I breathed into it casually. “Hello? Amanda Martin speaking.”
“Amanda. Yes. Miss Martin, could I please invite you back to the White House?”
My heart dropped into my stomach. It was Xavier. It was the President of the United States.
I swallowed. “Absolutely, sir. I can be there first thing tomorrow morning.” I couldn’t focus; my tongue felt so heavy in my mouth. Did this mean I got the job?
“No, no. I don’t think you understand. I need you to arrive as soon as possible. I’m sending a car now.” Suddenly, I heard him call into the distance. “Dimitri! Take a car. Go pick up Miss Martin!”
I heard emptiness after that. He’d hung up on me. Realizing I had less than 15 minutes, I gasped, grabbing my skirt and shirt from the floor and flinging them over my body once more. I needed to hurry. I flounced up my brunette hair and spun around, already feeling the vibrations, the excitement of the following few hours. I didn’t bother with the tights—I knew I didn’t have the time.
I’d gotten the job, I knew then. I was literally on top of the world.
Chapter Four
I rushed out onto the sidewalk and found Dimitri already outside, waiting for me in a simple, elegant, black vehicle. I opened the rear door and swept in. “Long time, no see!” I called up to him, tapping the back of his seat in hello.
“I told you, Amanda,” he said with a grin, peering at me through the rear window. “You have to start trusting your old friend, Dimitri.”
“All right, all right,” I said sarcastically, laughing. I gazed out the window at the incredible city—my adopted home. In the darkness, it looked so beautiful. The moon shone on some of the statues we passed as we swept along. “What’s going on up there?” I asked Dimitri, trying to orient myself into the chaos.
“I think you’ll see. It’s—it’s madness,” Dimitri said, laughing.
Dimitri parked the car in the exterior garage, and he walked me into the White House, giving me a brief pat-down in the hallway. “Sorry. Every goddamned time, I swear,” he said.
I didn’t have time to banter. My head was elsewhere. I tapped away from him after he swatted my ass once, and he didn’t say anything, already so aware that I was in the zone, ready to take over the show.
I walked into the West Wing, already feeling the chaos brewing before me. Several desks were positioned in the great room, side by side. People in various states of panic were calling into their phones, even at 9 o’ clock at night, spitting words with anger. I blinked my eyes wildly, wondering where to turn. Had I gotten the job? Or was this some sort of mad ruse?
Suddenly, a man approached me. He was wearing this suit that seemed nearly lived-in. He was a bit overweight and bald. His mouth was nearly barking at me as he spoke. “Thank God you’re here. Finally, he made a decision on who to lead us.” He brought his hand forward and grabbed mine, shaking it. “I’m Jason Ritz. Your second-in-command.”
My mind spun with the news. “So wonderful to meet you,” I declared, nodding with affirmation. I knew, in that moment, that I had to act like the smartest in the room. I was their leader. “Please. Brief me on what’s going on.”
Jason led me through the hallway, back toward the Oval Office. He stopped at a glass door and we swept inside, into a small conference room. “Okay. First of all, welcome to the team,” he began, pacing back and forth. “It seems you’ve been hired on a very dramatic day.” He swept his hand through his balding hair. “We’ve dropped in the polls significantly in the previous 12 hours. The drop seems incredibly random—as in, we don’t quite know where it originated.”
I brought my hands into my pocket and took out a notepad and a pen. I began scribbling. I oriented myself with great authority. “We’ll craft a statement and get it out for the morning news. And then we’re on serious damage control. Agreed?” I said to him, my eyes on fire. I still felt the wine buzzing in my head. But I felt the anger mixed with power fuel me. I was going to get the president out of this mess.
Jason’s eyes widened at me. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, I knew: not with this sudden knowledge that I—this young, 29-year-old woman—could handle this near-catastrophe. A bead of sweat rolled down his face.
Suddenly, he shot forward and opened the door. “MR. PRESIDENT!” he called down the hall. Xavier had just walked past the small room we were in, on his way toward the West Wing. My heart began to beat so quickly. I continued to scribble my first formation of a statement for him for the following morning—an outline to pass on to the public relations specialists. But even through the noise of my beating heart, I could hear Xavier speak the words: “Follow me” in the hallway.
Jason sped out into the hall and I followed, tapping quickly.
“Amanda’s beginning to draft the statement,” Jason said succinctly, sniffing toward the president.
For all the chaos surrounding him, Xavier seemed so calm, so cool. He simply nodded toward me. Eyeing me in that peculiar way he always did. “Good start, Amanda. Welcome to the team,” he stated.
We walked into the swarms of people—the campaign team I’d been a part of only four years before. Now, I led them.
I stood at the helm of the swarming crew and I tapped my hand on a desk, allowing it to rattle back and forth. The people slowed down, placed their phones on their desks. They blinked up at us.
“Okay, crew,” I called to them, utilizing that firm voice. The president stood beside me, and I could feel his attention like a blanket, wrapped so firmly around me. “My name is Amanda Martin. Many of you know me from the last round of elections. Those of you I don’t know, I look forward to getting to know you.” I nodded to them, driving my speech forward. “As you know, we lost a few notches in the polls today. Nothing we can’t jump up from. Nothing at all. I will be stopping in with each of you as the night goes on to see what you are doing and to work on an action plan.” I passed my pencil over them, sort of like a wand. “Let’s get this thing under control.”
With that, I nodded toward them once more, allowing them freedom to continue on their phone calls, their tap-tappings on the keyboard. I turned toward the president and nearly bit my lip with anticipation.
But all he said was this, “Let’s get started on this statement.” He sat at the desk before me, offering me a chair beside him. I gulped, feeling a bit naked before him.
I started wishing I had thrown my tights back on.
“Here are my initial thoughts,” I began, my mind whirring. “We are not going to apologize for the dip in votes or outwardly acknowledge it in any way. We don’t even know the cause for the sudden drop yet, but my guess is it might have something to do with your stance on education getting a bit more focus from the 24-hour news networks, so I think that should be our focus. Let’s confront the fact that your revolutionary ideas about education are worrisome in people’s minds—and let’s tell the American people that you have a plan to keep going, to keep charging forward to make change, that there cannot be improvement without a move towards progress. Let’s anticipate what they might be worried about, and maybe convince a few more voters along the way that you’re enacting good change.”
The president’s eyes were stern, so serious. “Amanda.” He tapped the paper before me. “This is assuredly the best pla
n. Let me speak to Jason.” He gestured for Jason to come toward him. Jason leapt up from his chair by the door and rushed toward us both, looking a bit like a schoolboy—or an excited puppy. I felt embarrassed for him. “This is Amanda’s rough plan,” Xavier began, stating the words I had just spoken with sincere precision. “What are your thoughts?” The president asked him, his eyebrows furrowed.
Jason nodded, again padding at his hair with his right hand. “It’s brilliant, Mr. President. If you think it’ll work, I do.”
Xavier turned his head back toward me, nodding. “Shall we proceed with the plan?”
I began writing, then, feeling nervous with the president’s breath hot on my neck. I felt so earnest, so unsure in his presence. I wanted to create a smooth transition for him from this presidency to the next. I swallowed as I wrote, listening to the president as he continued his conversation with Jason. I wondered why he was there—why he was still there. Generally, Xavier hadn’t spent much time with the election crew the last time around.
I began thinking, abstractly, that the president was only spending all this time with the election crew in order to see me. I felt the thought pass through me, and then I flung it to the side. These thoughts were so useless—so baseless. Don’t go there, I thought. He probably just wants to get away from his wife, after all. Camille probably made his life a living hell. He yearned for excitement. Or maybe just a friend.
Certainly, he didn’t yearn for a lover.
At three in the morning, after the statement was outlined, flushed out, critiqued and tweaked, I said goodnight to the bleary-eyed president. I walked outside, where Dimitri was waiting with a car in the lot. I popped into the rear seat, and I forced my eyes to stay open until we arrived home. Dimitri spun his head around and smiled at me. “I heard you did well in there,” he gestured with his head.
I nodded, yawning wildly. I stretched my arms over my head. “I can’t even think straight. They’ll release the statement in the morning. Will you send the car for me, or are you off tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” Dimitri said, laughing. “Come on, now. I don’t have a life.”
I shook my head, feeling the heat from the president’s soul. I felt like there was so much I wanted to know about him—so much I wanted from him. I shook the thoughts from my head. “Neither do I, of course.”
I jumped from the black car and ran toward my apartment, where I fell onto my bedspread and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter Five
I woke early, just three hours after I’d arrived home. I leapt into the shower and scraped my nails against my scalp, trying to wake myself up. I knew that Dimitri would arrive in only an hour and that the news would get the press release at around 9. I needed to be at the office when it happened. It needed to go well. I began counting the numbers in my head, hoping the polls would rise once more. This had been my first 24 hours on the job—well, less, actually—and already I was nervous, riddled with anxiety. And, of course, I was more excited than I’d been my entire life.
I strapped my black dress over my body and shoved my feet into my black heels. I dried my hair swiftly, taking extra care to make it look prim and precise. I knew all eyes would be on me in my new position as lead of the campaign. Of course, I knew one pair of eyes in particular were interesting to me. But I couldn’t think about it. Not yet.
I grabbed my bag and I fled down the steps, finding my trusty friend, Dimitri, already parked out front. I jumped into the back seat, and Dimitri sent a small coffee through the small portal between our seats. “Here you are, my lady.”
“Oh, God. Dimitri, I didn’t have time to make coffee. Thank you.” I breathed in the beautiful aroma and felt my brain waking. “How’s the mood at the White House?” I asked him.
“It’s anxious, of course. Everyone’s waiting for the press release. It was sent to the news this morning.”
“Yes. Yes. Good,” I said, already deep in thought. I sipped the coffee and leaned forward, feeling the blood beating fast in my arms and legs.
I was smart to leave at 7 since traffic was so bad. Finally, we pulled up in front of that White House, the very home I’d been fearful of only 24 hours before. It seemed that so much had changed. “I’ll catch you later, Dimitri,” I called to him, running from the car. I wouldn’t give him time to frisk me; not today. I rushed through the door, feeling my portfolio banging against my leg as I carried it, still holding the coffee cup in my hand.
I flung myself into the West Wing. The campaign workers were still aligned at their computers, as if they hadn’t left the previous evening. Their eyes were bleak, working ever toward a future of continuous phone calls, campaign work, and seemingly gray days. But I understood; I had married my work years and years ago. I didn’t even understand who I was anymore.
“It’s coming!” Jason called from the side, yelling at the campaign workers and I. I knew he meant that the press release was happening, then: that this was the very core that our cause relied on. This needed to go well. I rushed toward the television and pushed people to the side, knowing that it was up to me to save this re-election campaign.
The news anchor stood with a microphone positioned near her face, her eyes bright. The White House stood far behind her, almost looking like a model. It was strange to me that I stood in that very building as I stared at it on the screen.
“The president’s re-election campaign has released a statement regarding the drop in polls,” the woman began, her hair rattling around her slim face with the wind. “It states: ‘The president’s recent decision to enact positive change throughout the country’s education system has been misconstrued by a variety of people—and that is not the American people’s fault. Rather, our decision to make such change should be brought to you every step of the way for your complete comprehension and to ensure absolute transparency. We are working day and night for a better, brighter American future, and we need your involvement.’”
The news anchor went on from there, stating that this was good news for the re-election campaign and for the president’s future. “A president that looks to the needs of America’s future is a president we can trust,” the news anchor finished.
The re-election campaign team cheered all around me. I felt my heart grow in my chest; I felt so assured. I turned toward Jason, who was shaking his head in amazement. “It seems we chose the exact right words,” he said, his eyes wide in his head.
Suddenly, I felt something else: a hand on my shoulder. I spun around and felt my heart drop into my stomach. There, before me, was the President of the United States. He was wearing another one of his dark, brooding suits. And his eyes seemed to tear into me with such expressiveness. He smiled for only a moment. “Thank you for your hard work,” he said. He spun around, then, and disappeared without a trace, around the corner. I wondered what he’d be up to in the Oval Office, all by himself.
I wondered what he thought about in there.
But I shook it off, and began clapping my hands in front of my crew. “Attention, all!” I called to them. “Please. Know that this was the first of many obstacles on our way to re-election. Get back to your computers, and let’s get ready to promote some votes!”
Cheers rallied from all around. The people swept back in their suits, their trim dresses. Faces spun back into comprehensive work mode. I nodded primly toward Jason, as if to say: “That’s how it’s done.” But I knew he already felt a bit too shitty, as it is: after all, he’d been passed over as leader of the re-election team.
But something still lingered in the back of my brain. What was going on with Xavier? Why was his touch on my shoulder so intimate, so outside of our surroundings for some reason? It felt like when he looked at me, we were the only two people in the room.
This, of course, was silly; we were two people in outrageous exposure. We had no business looking at each other in any manner beyond a quick, furtive glance and perhaps a nod. I was his employee, I reminded myself. Nothing more.
I sat
at my desk at the helm of the great sea of workers and began analyzing the numbers. I buried myself in the work for a few hours, allowing the sun to ramp up in the sky over the White House.
My phone started ringing, scaring me senseless for a moment. I brought my hand to my heart as I answered it, expecting to render another, short comment to a news source.
“Hello, Miss Martin.”
The words made my whole spine shiver.
“Mr. President,” I said. I tipped my tongue to the top of my mouth after I said it, waiting in such apprehension. I watched a frenzied girl in the sea of people before me as she tapped at her computer keyboard over and over, her eyes anxious and wide.
“I’d like it if you come to my office. I have something to ask you.”
I stood unsteadily from my desk, feeling the world spin around me. I felt so many things when we were together around other people; what would I feel when it was just us? Together in a room, alone? My feelings from the day before had escalated greatly, I knew. Could I handle it?
“I’ll be right there, Mr. President,” I said. I placed the phone down timidly and stepped toward the door, leaving the chaos behind me. I walked down the hallway, toward the Oval Office. I remembered the sheer anxiety I felt before the initial meeting with him. I was so sure I wouldn’t make the position! What anxiety—and all for nothing.
I found Dimitri outside the door. He nodded at me, friendly.
“He called me,” I shrugged, making light of it. “When the boss calls, you know.”
Dimitri nodded, laughing. “Right? A bit scary when the boss is President of the United States. I suppose we’re united on that front now.” He winked at me and let me into the room, opening the door behind him.
I found myself back in the Oval Office with the commanding president before me. He stood from his desk as I stayed, staring blankly forward. “Mr. President,” I addressed him, politely.