by Claire Adams
I tried to think good thoughts about the earlier afternoon, about kissing the president on his couch, about making plans for our weekend. Unfortunately, the entire time, all I could think about was that Camille was lurking outside, her eyes so watchful and certain that her husband was cheating on her. I hated it—I hated this feeling. I began to cry, feeling the tears course down my cheeks.
Finally, I heard them: the clatter of Rachel’s heels up the steps. I lurched up into a standing position, ready for her to appear on the other side of the wall. And that she did: eagerly smiling at me, swinging her satchel from side to side. She waved her hand toward me, and I felt my heart nearly explode in my chest. “Rachel! God, it’s so good to see you!”
She began talking to me about her day, telling me about various office drama. All the while, her eyes looked at me curiously. I knew that she could tell that I’d been crying; I knew that she had a sort of sixth sense about my emotions. However, she didn’t say anything, knowing that if I wanted to share, I would. I absolutely would.
But I felt that I had been far too annoying about my lack of ability to tell her anything the previous day—when I’d rambled on and delivered nearly nothing of my predicament. And so I bit my lip and started preparing dinner, listening to music, and trying to filter my brain into a sort of happiness. The happiness was lined with fear, with anxiety. But it would have to do for now.
It was so strange how my situation haunted me in such a way. It seemed that everything I did, everything I said reminded me of the fact that my career and my life could come crashing around me at any second. I sliced a vegetable, and the fear of the next few months pulsed through my body. It was nearly like I couldn’t do anything but brace myself for the crash. The crash was certainly coming.
Rachel and I holed up and watched a movie that evening, drinking wine casually and speaking about silly things we used to care about. She knew that I was rooted in political comprehensions, and she was lost in her own work thoughts. But it was good that we could come together, that we could be a team in these evening hours.
Rachel pulled off her sock and grabbed at her toes, looking toward me. “I wanted to tell you I suited up the guest bedroom for you. I didn’t have a bed for it until today. I had the movers bring it in at lunchtime.”
My eyes widened. “No.”
Rachel nodded. “It’s all yours.” She led me toward it, wearing just one sock. She opened the door to reveal a king-sized bed, a broad desk, and a dresser. I brought my hand over my mouth in disbelief. The place seemed so comfortable; it brought an ease over my mind. I brought my arms around her neck and hugged her tightly.
“This is the most wonderful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I told her. I felt my body shaking a little bit. I couldn’t believe I’d lucked into such a friend—such a friend who would take me in when the world felt like it was coming apart.
She pulled back and winked at me. “Get some sleep, Amanda,” she whispered. “I know you’re going to need it.” She looked at me with a worried expression before turning away, back toward her bedroom. I stood in the shadow of the doorway, looking after her. I was worried that my own personal anxiety had spread like a flood, that it was leaking out to those I loved.
There was nothing I could do anymore. And thus, I fell between the sheets and drifted into a deep and delicious sleep.
Chapter Nine
The following day, we had a campaign meeting in one of the greater rooms of the West Wing. I’d prepared for it for many, many weeks, and I knew it was important: it was the day when we outlined the next several months of the campaign, when we really needed to catch voters’ attention, when we needed to rally as much support as possible.
Naturally, I was nervous. Beyond the fact that I was falling madly in love with the president, of course, I was also embarking on my first very important position as campaign manager. And God, I didn’t want to mess up.
I set up the meeting room in the early morning, placing packets carefully at each seat, arranging pens and pencils and pads of paper throughout just in case anyone wanted to take notes. I brought my hand to my forehead and felt a small bead of sweat dribble out, alerting me of my inherent fear for the following few hours.
Jason still hadn’t arrived for the day. I was dreading his involvement, of course. We were meant to be working together, to be aligned as a team. But instead, he’d been a sort of maniacal leader, a traitor to my very sense of self.
Suddenly, I heard the door open behind me. I froze, my elbows poised high up in the air. I swallowed, waiting. Waiting. Was this Jason? I heard the footsteps behind me, but still no words.
Suddenly, a hand went over my eyes. I lurched forward, frightened. My stomach clenched, and I thought for a moment that if I wanted to scream, my body wouldn’t let me.
“Ah—if you—if you want to take something—“ I sputtered, barely able to find the words.
But then I heard laughter. It was joyful, a bit incredulous. I felt a kiss on the back of my neck, near my ear. I recognized that cologne.
“Xavier,” I breathed. I spun around, removing his hand from my eyes. “You know you scared the shit out of me.”
“And for that I will be eternally sorry,” he said. His face yielded this incredibly bright smile. He leaned forward and caught my lips in his, wrapping his arms around me. The door, I noted, was safely closed; no one was watching. That I knew of.
“You’re here early,” I whispered to him as our kiss broke.
He shrugged. “I knew you’d be here. You little workaholic.” He winked at me, and I brimmed with pleasure. I wanted him to think that I was working hard for him; I wanted him to know that this was my top priority. Because, God: it was. My job was my life.
“You can have a seat in the front row,” I said, gesturing.
He stepped toward it and sat down, leaning toward me with such intensity. “So. Teacher. I have a question,” he said playfully. He lurched his hand in the air and waved it around a bit, trying to get my attention.
I scanned the room, a grin on my face. “Hold on, Billy. I think someone else might have a question—“
He started laughing. But all at once, the play was over. The door swept open, bringing a few of the campaign employees into the room. I nodded toward them and gestured toward the side wall. “We have bagels and coffee, if you like,” I stated to them. They looked at me fearfully. They were in their mid-20s. I was sure I looked like an old, corrupted shrew to them—only 29, and already at the top of the game. “Have a seat wherever you like!” I called.
They were no longer listening to me. I sighed, peering at the president. My eyes gleamed. He snickered at me and leaned forward. “Not the most popular girl in school anymore, are you?”
I shrugged my shoulder and leaned down. “I was always in chess club, anyway.” I winked toward him.
All at once, the remainder of the crew came in through the door, chattering and grabbing bagels as they flew into their seats. I stood at the helm of the room, my hands grasped together. I had my PowerPoint slides ready; I had my speech prepared. But one thing bothered me, in the back of my mind: where was Jason?
Suddenly, the door burst open one final time. Jason flounced in, still wearing his sunglasses. His hair was in an uproar and he was carrying a big, steaming cup of coffee. He dropped his suitcase by the door, and he strode up to stand next to me at the front of the room. His presence was so massive, so obtrusive, that many of the people in the room had turned toward him rather than me. I frowned.
Jason bowed his head toward Xavier then. “Mr. President.”
“Jason. How are you doing?” Xavier asked him, smiling. They pounded fists. I thought I was going to throw up. A part of me wanted to blurt out the entire story right then, right there—in front of everyone. But where would that get me? I’d be fired instantly; the president would be out of office. Our lives would be over.
“All right, everyone. Are we ready to get started?” I asked. My voice grew loud and it emanated o
ver people’s heads.
A few people nodded, waiting.
“All right.” I clicked my clicker, bringing the first PowerPoint slide over the wall. “So. We’re in the beginning stages of the campaign.”
“That’s right; we are,” Jason spit.
I turned and glared at him, uncertain about his outburst. He was chewing gum and raising his eyebrows toward me in such a provocative, strange manner. I paused for a moment, my mind racing. Was he going to fuck this up for me?
“Right. Anyway. Here’s a map of the states we’re going to hit really hard this time around. As you know, we already won the election utilizing younger voters. However, we’re struggling, now, because the older voters are dropping in droves.”
A few people from the audience nodded their heads toward me, their eyes large. Jason, beside me, scoffed at these words. “They’re dying off, you mean,” he said. His joke rang false through my ears, but many of the campaign workers started laughing joyously, holding their gut.
I cleared my throat, searching around the room. Finally, my eyes latched on Xavier. He nodded toward me, frowning. He didn’t appreciate the joke either, I knew. But he didn’t understand the undercurrent of why Jason was trying to get me to mess up. There was so much at stake here.
“Anyway. As you know, Michigan currently has a very rocky economy because of Detroit—“
Jason raised his hand then. He stood right beside me and raised it, ready to silence me. “Please don’t be offensive about Detroit,” he said, his eyes glowing, so bright. “Some of us are from Detroit. Isn’t that right?”
One small girl in the very back of the room raised her hand. Everyone glared at her.
But Jason brought his hands together. “That is a girl who worked hard to get here,” he said, turning his eyes toward me. His eyes were evil, burning. “That is a girl who kicked and screamed her way in here. She didn’t sleep her way to the top or anything.”
The eyes were on me. They were accusatory; they were filled with hatred. I dropped my pen on the ground. I wanted to drop down and get it, but I didn’t want to look so flustered in front of my employees. I cleared my throat. “Anyway.” I continued on with my speech, feeling Jason’s eyes on me the entire time. His eyes were so wicked, so angry. Every time I felt them upon me, I heard myself mix and match different words; I felt myself stutter. Soon, I felt my face redden beneath my fingertips. I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I stopped for five seconds and stared at the wall, my fingers over my mouth. It was like I had no idea what came next.
I turned toward Jason. “I’m sorry. I will have to excuse myself for a moment.” My voice was hushed, unsteady. I didn’t bother to look toward Xavier, to make any sort of eye contact. Instead, I just rushed from the room and into the hallway. I closed my eyes and let out a small, helpless scream that I was certain no one would ever hear.
I rushed into the bathroom then. My breaths were coming in strange, scattered stages. I inhaled with my nose, exhaled with my mouth, trying to right my brain once more. I staggered toward the sink and thought I was going to get sick. I gazed at myself in the mirror, looking at an unsteady, insane person. The girl in the mirror was not Amanda Martin. She was a strained and haggard woman—someone who needed help.
I brought water over my face and padded my cheeks with my fingertips. I coughed into my fist and felt my body rattle. Who would help me? Who could I turn to? I didn’t know. I couldn’t know.
I turned back and leaned heavily on the porcelain, my mind racing. Xavier couldn’t know about this. He had so much on his plate; he couldn’t sit around, worrying about this man. And what would he do, anyway? Wouldn’t Jason discover what was going on and immediately release the photos to the public?
My mind was chaotic, strained. I turned toward the wall and pounded on it once, twice, three times. The tears were running heavy down my cheeks.
And then, suddenly, I realized that I did have a friend. Just one friend in the world. I had a bed and a home and a friend.
I spun out toward the door, knowing that I needed to go home, I needed to go see Rachel. She had been a part of this world, before she’d gotten smart enough to get the hell out. And because of her experience, she’d know exactly what to tell me. She’d point me in a reasonable direction.
I just wasn’t sure if I was actually ready to hear what this “reasonable” direction would be. Perhaps it would involve never seeing Xavier again. And just the feel of Xavier’s lips on my neck, on my cheek that morning had made me weak at the knees, ready to give him my all.
I shook my head, trying to clear the cob0webs from my head. I was on the curb, trying to hail a taxi. I was going home. And I could be my own woman—I could be someone beyond Xavier’s other woman.
If I had to give up this beautiful, romantic endeavor, so be it.
Right?
Chapter Ten
I rushed home, willing the taxi driver to drive faster, to go further. But I sat in back, biting my tongue and waiting. I couldn’t wait to give this to someone else, to ask Rachel to help me carry it. It seemed like too much, in so many ways. And I knew it was.
I burst up the steps, knowing that Rachel had the day off that afternoon. I felt my bag as it banged against my side. Each step seemed further and further apart. Finally, I reached her floor and tapped at the door, bringing my weight from one foot to the other.
Rachel appeared in the crack of the door. She looked so bright, so sunny. She was wearing a spring dress, even on the grey fall day. And she was holding a broom. “Hello! You’re home early!” she called to me.
I loved that she called it my home. In that moment, I felt really light, really happy. But then, she saw my face, and her frown took form. “What is it, Amanda?” she asked. The reality rushed up around me. She pulled out the kitchen chair and allowed me to collapse in it. She locked the door. “You look so sick. Are you all right?” Her voice had taken on that authoritative feel—the one she’d used to use when she’d worked in politics. It was oddly comforting to me. This was the Rachel I had first met.
I shook my head. “I really need to talk to you,” I whispered. I made a strange motion with my hands. My throat was caught. “I just. I need to talk to you.”
Rachel frowned. She reached around and grabbed the wine bottle then, and she tipped it back on her mouth, allowing the wine to drizzle down her throat. She handed it to me, and I did the same. Then, she grabbed two glasses and got serious.
“Okay,” she stated as she poured. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about—is this why you called me out of the blue?”
I nodded, taking a long sip from the glass of wine. “I’ve made many, many mistakes,” I began then. “You know that I’ve always treated my career as the most important thing.” My eyes flitted up to her, and she nodded, listening to me with such earnestness. “Well. I worked my way to the top, just like I wanted. I had the interview with the president.” I sighed, thinking about his face. “And truth be told, I’ve always had a thing for him. But in an abstract way, you know?”
Rachel nodded. “I remember you talking about it.”
I smiled sheepishly. “I can’t hide things like that very well. Anyway. We started seeing each other. Just as friends, of course. And then, not like friends.”
Rachel’s eyes grew wide. “He’s married,” she whispered. But she didn’t seem shocked; she was simply stating the fact of it. The root of my debacle.
“I know. That is an issue. But I was just following my heart, sort of being reckless. Which isn’t like me at all. And then: boom. He comes to my place. We sleep together. Things get out of hand.”
“Sure,” Rachel whispered. She poured us both another glass of wine. We were drinking far too quickly, and the room was blurring on all sides.
“But Jason, my second-in-command in the campaign. He had placed cameras in my apartment. And he caught it all on camera. And he’s blackmailing me, Rachel. He’s ruining my life.” I felt my throat crack. I felt the tears course dow
n my cheek. I didn’t know what to do, who to turn to. I watched as Rachel brought her hand toward me, placing it on my arm, rubbing at the skin with her thumb.
“He’s taking advantage of you. This is completely illegal,” Rachel stated. Her words were precise, a bit angry. Her eyes flashed. “I can’t believe this.”
I nodded, closing my eyes. I wanted someone to whisk this all away, to carry it for me.
Rachel thought for a moment, tipping her tongue up to her top lip. She tipped her head to the right. “Have you seen the president since then?”
I nodded, blushing. “We—we care about each other a lot. He told me that he would leave his wife for me.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “Well. This is quite a quandary. And you’re worried, of course, that if this is exposed, the president will be slaughtered. And naturally, you’re worried about your own career.”
I nodded. Finally. Someone understood. It was out in the open. It was free.
Rachel considered this. “You love him, as well. I understand that. Don’t you think it’s time to tell him about this, to allow him to help you through this?”
Initially, I shook my head vehemently. I nearly laughed. “No. No. I mean. He’s so busy; he’s the president. He has so much on his mind—“
But Rachel squeezed my arm a bit harder, looking at me with such assurance. “You have a good deal on your mind, as well. Please don’t downplay this in your life. If you’re important to him, then he must care about this. He must help you get out of this. Do you understand?”
I understood. I bit my lip, blinking toward her with big, doe-like eyes. My wine was disappearing before my eyes. I gestured toward it, hoping to cut through the tension between us. “Gosh. I’ve really hit rock bottom here, haven’t I?” The words rang with a strange truth. I shuddered.
But Rachel just shook her head, bringing the wine bottle back toward us. “We’re just two 20-something girls—not yet 30!—with so much going on. Someday, we’ll be old, and this will all feel like a dream. At least you’re living. You slept with the president!”