by Claire Adams
I snarled at most of the people as we passed them, wishing I was anywhere else. Just a few feet away from the West Wing offices, however, I suddenly felt a firm hand on my elbow. I wheeled around, noting that the cameramen had roped themselves around the president in the previous hallway. It was just Jason and I, then.
“What do you want?” I spat at him, my anger from the previous day growing in my chest.
He laughed for a moment, placing his hand on his stomach. “Oh, darling. I just want to talk to you. Just the two of us.” Suddenly, he shoved me into a small office, right off from the stairwell. I’d never been in the cruel, cold room—with only a single desk off to the side. I shivered and grabbed at my elbows, blinking up toward him.
“What do you want?” I hissed. I could still hear the gruff voice of the president down the hall, explaining his trajectory for education in the United States. In the back of my mind, I congratulated him—this was precisely right for the campaign. But god: if he could just come swiftly, come and save me!
Jason took a step closer to me. His breath was riding hot and solid on my nose, making me feel queasy. “I feel that we have an unfinished conversation from yesterday,” he murmured. “I’m sure you went running to your little boyfriend about it. I could just feel his hatred for me in that meeting. Couldn’t you feel it?” Jason brought his fingers up to my cheek, then, and laced them down my skin, across my lips. I shivered, hating him with every element of my heart, my soul.
“Can’t you imagine a world in which everything isn’t about you?” I spat at him, shaking my head. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck, to make him feel as frightened as he’d made me feel the previous day. But I knew it was impossible—that that kind of fear was personal.
Jason laughed, bringing his fat, sausage-link fingers to his belly. He shook his head, wiping at the tears that protruded down his face. “I suppose not!” he answered, his voice so honest.
Suddenly, the door swung open, at the far end of the grey and stark room. I brought my hands around my chest, worrying, for a moment, that Jason had brought back up. However, my heart began to beat ravenously in my chest as I realized the truth.
There, standing in the light of the doorway, stood Xavier. He wore a grimace on his face; anger traced itself in his eyes. He turned his eyes toward me and didn’t reveal a hint of passion, of lust. And then, he turned toward Jason.
“Jason. I need to see you in the Oval Office.”
Jason nodded, his smile bright. “Just as soon as Miss Martin and I are finished with our meeting,” he said primly.
Xavier turned his head toward me. “Miss Martin. Have you sufficiently wrapped up what you want to say to Jason?”
I swallowed, knowing that the words I actually wanted to say to Jason were crude, were inspired by an inner anger that I’d never before seen. But I nodded my head slowly, knowing that I was sending Jason off to a different kind of punishment, to something that I—in my current, low status in the political realm—could never understand. “I’m all done, Mr. President,” I said sweetly. I blinked up at Jason, watching as his face fell before me.
Jason spun his head back toward the president. My heart was beating so fast, telling me alternately that I was doing the right thing, that I wasn’t doing the right thing. I was allowing Xavier to take over my problems—for the first time. But this entire situation had escalated out of my control. I couldn’t measure it anymore; I couldn’t read it the way I was meant to. And thus: I needed to hand it off to the man I loved, the only man I knew who was strong enough to take Jason and bend him back, till he snapped.
I tapped into the hallway and peered left, toward the Oval Office. Two Secret Servicemen held Jason’s arms behind his back as they swept toward the office. Xavier led the tide. A wave of emotion escalated over me, making me feel that—finally—Xavier could take care of me. Finally, he understood that my strength, my vitality only went so far. That this was what it meant to be in a couple. That you were meant to support each other, through thick and thin.
Perhaps, in a way, this rooted me further in my desire for him. Sure, my concerns for my future rang true. But I righted myself and flung my brunette hair around my shoulders, tapping back into the West Wing office. I smashed my hand against the board at the helm of the room and announced to the great campaign team—the campaign team that I’d earned, that I was in charge of:
“Listen, team. We have one year to make this president stick. One solid year to make everything count.” I paused, breathing heavily. The moment had become all too much. “Make the President of the goddamned United States proud.”
Suddenly, I flung my papers, my folders, my binders into the air. They soared high. The entire campaign team skirted up from their desks and flung their hands together in an enormous applause. Their eyes were wide toward me.
Chapter 7
In the moments after I knew that Jason was in the Oval Office, speaking with the president about god-knows-what, I sat at my desk, waiting. I clenched my hands together, dreaming about this future in which I didn’t have to feel that Jason was watching my every move, a camera in his hand. It all seemed too good to be true.
I attempted to work on the campaign. I brought my fingers to the keyboard, ready to send out email after email; ready to push forward, toward my dreams of becoming a successful campaign manager. However, my brain was dripping with other thoughts. How could I feel normal?
I left the White House and swept down to the Rose Garden, then. I felt my feet tap-tap-tapping beneath me, and I felt my heart escalating when I passed the Oval Office. I knew that the walls were far too thick, that I would never hear the sounds of men screaming out presidential secrets.
I found myself once more in the grey of the once-Rose Garden. I wrapped myself in my coat and peered over the grounds, feeling a sense of solace. I wanted to do something with my hands, then, and I turned toward the hallway, knowing that I would find a Secret Service agent there. This one, I knew.
“Benny,” I hissed. “Benny!”
The agent darted his head toward me, surprised. He raised one eyebrow toward me.
“Do you have a cigarette?” I asked him. I hadn’t smoked in years—not since college. But I needed something to calm me down, to keep me grounded.
Benny reached into his pocket and brought out a pack of Camels. He tossed them to me, and I caught them in my delicate fingers. I twirled a lighter. “Do you want one?” I asked him. I felt my words as they escalated—so sultry—from my mouth.
But Benny waved his hand. He couldn’t, he explained. This was his post. If he abandoned it, all hell could break loose.
I understood.
I twirled back to the Rose Garden and lit the stick in my mouth, taking a deep, penetrating drag. The nicotine seemed already to course through my body, to my fingers and my toes. It made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in many, many months. In that moment, I knew that I wouldn’t have to worry about Jason again. Ever again. I started taking tiny jumps, even in my heels on that muddy terrain. Yes. Yes. I felt my knees bend with each jump. Yes.
I stumped out the cigarette halfway through, not wanting the smell to course through my hair, my lips for the rest of the day. Something about the moment, there beneath the grey sky, reminded me of a different Amanda—an Amanda of my past. A girl who’d ached for success; a girl who was sure she knew how to get it. I had to do everything for this girl, I knew. I had to continue to stride forward, sure of myself (and of her), in order to please my internal self. I couldn’t let my past self—the one who had strained and worked and stressed continually—down.
After I stumped out the cigarette, I entered the White House once more. I nodded toward Benny with a secret smile, and he returned it. I scaled the steps knowing that I had several more hours of work left before I could return home, before I could think the events of the day through. I passed a member of the press as I walked down the hallway, and she nearly grabbed me with her excitement. “Is it true the president—”
/>
But I didn’t allow my ears to hear her penetrating words. I was far too distracted. For suddenly, standing before me, looking wide-eyed, shocked, was Jason. His white business shirt was un-tucked all the way, now. The tails swept around his knees. His tie was loose and crooked, and his face was red and splotched. My heart dipped into my stomach when I saw him. What had Xavier done to him?
Jason’s eyes darted down, below my eyes. I wanted to say something to him, in that moment—something saucy, something that initiated my win. But I couldn’t find the words. Instead, after a small moment’s hesitation in which we just half-looked at each other, with a reporter screaming into our ears, we went by each other like ships in the night.
I nearly shook with the intensity of the previous moment. I couldn’t believe how terribly Jason had looked. God, he’d tormented me in so many ways, both physically and emotionally. But it still hurt to see a man fall so far. Xavier must have said something to him, done something to him. He must have threatened him within an inch of his life. This Xavier, I reminded myself, was the same man who initiated drone strikes, who signed off on major wars. I shivered, thinking of our nation’s past—the things that Xavier COULD feasibly change as president, and the things he would never be able to. Not without incredible reform.
I paused at the doorway of the West Wing offices, looking out over the sea of heads, each of them busy with the impending campaign. I brought my fingers to my lips and wiped them, trying to think through this terrifying time. I knew that I didn’t want Jason’s reputation to be ruined. I didn’t want his life to be over. I wanted him to continue on in his political career. Certainly nowhere near me, of course. He hadn’t technically ruined Xavier and I, although he’d had his finger on the trigger the entire time.
I swallowed, feeling myself growing lost in my thoughts. I knew that the afternoon meeting was drawing forward, in which I would be required to address several members of our campaign team, alongside both Jason and Xavier. The men—who’d clearly fought like children in a playground earlier that morning—would be hard to handle. I knew they would be.
But beyond anything else, I knew that Xavier had won.
I knew that Jason would refrain from ruining us.
And I knew that I still had so much to maneuver, so much to discuss with the president.
As much as I just wanted him to wrap his thick, firm arms around me, to assure me that everything was okay, I knew I needed to cleanse my rushing mind and find a truth for our relationship—a path down which we could walk, hand-in-hand, while still meeting each of our personal, political goals.
In many ways, I knew that in this pending conversation, I had to assure Xavier that I was his equal. That I wasn’t to be thought of as less than. That my wants and needs were powerful—that I wouldn’t turn them away.
Finally, I watched as the relevant campaign team rose from their seats, ready to proceed toward the afternoon meeting. I clapped my hands, more trying to wake myself up than anything else. “All right, team. I hope you’ve all grabbed your statistics from the previous day?”
I turned back, feeling like I was leading an army toward the conference room. The campaign team that was following me was a smaller version—the leaders of the smaller “teams” in the greater campaign group. Each had its own subset, its own worries. We would address these worries with each campaign leader this day. I remembered that I’d been one during my time with Xavier’s first campaign. God, how I’d held my nose high in the ear—just like these schmucks were doing now—just because I felt high-and-mighty, just because I felt that this was just one on the road of many steps that would ultimately propel me to high political power.
Perhaps I’d been right.
But I hadn’t been nice about it.
I allowed the campaign leaders to enter the room and find their seats at big, twirling leather chairs. I stood outside and waited for a moment. I felt my heart quivering in my chest. Finally, around the corner, I saw a shadow. Xavier appeared: his beard dark, his eyes brooding. Three Secret Service agents followed behind him, their heads bald and gleaming in the hallway light. Xavier brought a hand up to greet me, and he stopped short before me, bringing all three secret service agents to a halt, as well.
“Amanda,” he whispered. “How are you?”
I nodded, biting my lip. “I wanted to tell you. I really need to talk to you about something—in private.” My voice was filled with breath. I huffed into each word.
Xavier brought his hand to my upper arm. I wondered about this—so open? So uncovered? But I couldn’t care. His touch was a comfort. “I understand,” he murmured.
I gestured toward the Secret Service agents. “Is everything okay?”
Xavier nodded. “They upped my security after the Jason incident. I’ll fill you in on everything later. Okay?”
“Is Jason coming to the meeting?”
“I think he knows not to,” Xavier informed me. He pushed open the door, allowing me to enter first. “Shall we?”
I nodded and entered the meeting, feeling all eyes on me. I snapped my binder on the table before me, alerting the members of the campaign that the meeting was coming to a head. Xavier stood beside me—such a powerful force to have at my side. “All right, team.”
But the meeting was generally uneventful. After a while, I was able to get through the tremors I felt about Jason missing the meeting. The back of my mind ticked, wondering where he was, where they were holding him, if he was fired—But the streaming thoughts didn’t affect the meeting. And no one on the campaign team raised their alarm bells, curious about Jason’s whereabouts. Generally speaking, many people on the campaign team couldn’t stand that snake-of-a-man; they came to me with their questions and looked toward Jason with distrust. Strange that their feelings about him were so correct, even without any tactile backing.
Finally, Xavier and I dismissed the meeting. I sat in the black, leather chair, spinning slightly, back and forth, as the people proceeded back to their desks. “Thank you, everyone,” I continuously said, flashing my pearly smile. But I felt my happiness dissipating. I knew that Xavier and I needed to face real truths, in the following hour. I knew that we had to gear into our relationship, tear it apart perhaps, in order to allow it to survive. It was, in so many ways, like that Rose Garden downstairs. Faltering, falling apart—at least in my tired mind. We had to make it grow once more.
Xavier sat beside me. He turned toward his Secret Service agents. “Could you please give us several moments alone?” he asked them.
The agents nodded curtly and escalated from the room, leaving us in a pocket of quiet. I swallowed, feeling that I could hear every mechanism in my body, my rushing heart included. I looked toward my fingers.
After allowing the silence to stretch far too long, Xavier finally began. “Amanda. I know you called this meeting for a reason. You aren’t one for wasting time.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t find the air for it.
“Please,” Xavier murmured. He brought his hand over mine. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay,” I breathed. I twirled my chair toward him and forced myself through the words. “Yesterday, I went for a walk through the Rose Garden. A strange time of year to do it, sure. But such a solace and understanding passed over me. I understood that—that so many things about this relationship aren’t good for me.” I allowed the words to glimmer in the tense air.
Xavier frowned, but he didn’t say anything. He would trust in my words, no matter what they were.
I continued. “Not that it hasn’t been wonderful. God, it’s been wonderful. There’s something electric between us. But this relationship doesn’t align well with my goals. I have a million things I want to do in my lifetime. Political goals I’ve had since I was a little girl. Even—even silly ones. Like being president someday.” I bit my lip, gazing up toward him. He didn’t scoff or laugh, like I’d assumed he would. “I just. I’m trying to imagine the next five years. Us together, sneaking arou
nd, even while your wife knows everything. It feels wrong, Xavier. It feels—distasteful. Off.”
Xavier considered this for a moment, bringing his fingers to his chin. “And does the relationship feel off to you right now?”
I considered his words for a moment. I shook my head slowly. “No. It feels incredible. It feels like—the sort of relationship I’ve been waiting for since I was a girl.”
Xavier nodded. He brought his fingers toward mine and laced them through, linking us. I felt the rest of the world humming around us, but everything was so solid, so stark, there between us. We were the last, flickering flame.
“Amanda, Amanda. This is one of the reason I love you,” he murmured.
I blinked, unsure of what he meant.
He continued. “I love that you think, think, think all the time. About your dreams, about your goals. I love that you’re not willing to give them up, just because you’re falling in love. But please. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t expect you to give up on anything, because of this. I expect you to continue doing your job, to continue working up at the White House. You have a bright future. I saw it when I first met you—when we first had your interview, in the Oval Office.”
My eyes were so bright toward him, feeling like his words were too good to be true.
He continued. “I don’t have all the answers. I wish I did, but I don’t. I can assure you that I won’t try to get in your way on your path toward your dreams. And I can assure you that I want to be with you. These are the only two things I can readily understand. If experience has taught me anything at all, it’s simply that no one knows what the future will bring. An example of this? I thought I’d become a baseball player when I grew up. I thought I’d want to be married to Camille for the rest of my life—and not just the five years our happiness lasted.” He adjusted himself in his leather chair. “But I know that I want to be with you, that I want to fight forward on this journey with you. This doesn’t mean I’ll help you. I know that you don’t need any help, anyway. But it does mean that I’ll stand by you. I’ll take hits with you. I’ll be with you, and I’ll see what life has in store for us.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes still revealing such intensity.