by Huskyteer
But sometime after recapping the 9/11 ceremony and discussing the MEF, and before touching any books in the library, Alex asked if the little lady was out of town or just asleep.
David said, “The little lady doesn’t exist, I’m afraid,” in the tone of quaint apathy he’d perfected over years of public service.
“Oh, good,” Alex replied with a lopsided smile, and a minute later they were wrapped up in each other on the lion’s davenport in a passionate kiss.
It was a long evening, indeed.
* * * *
Emmett pulls the car behind the massive metal scaffold at the south end of the park, kills the engine, and slumps back in his seat. The constant rumble of the crowd on the other side of the stage is drowned out only by the occasional jetliner taking off from Reagan International directly to the south. After exiting Emmett strides around to David’s door, opening it for the lion.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it, sir.”
“Oh, give it up,” the lion says, pushing himself up and out, straightening his shirt and tie. When he looks over at his campaign manager, the man wears a smile the lion can’t take seriously. “How did you ever graduate Harvard?”
“Cribbed off your notes.” Emmett shuts David’s door.
“Asshole. It’s a wonder you ever—” The roar of another jet drowns out the rest. Both men watch the plane fly directly over them, then over the crowd gathered on the small spit of land.
“You couldn’t do any better than next to the frickin’ airport?” David asks once the noise dies away.
“You wanted a venue close to home, you wanted something easy on the budget, and you wanted a central location for people to gather. The closest open space is Arlington, and there’s a few hundred thousand dead soldiers who might not want foot traffic over there.” Emmett has a point. This is the best they can do under the circumstances. “Plus, you weren’t supposed to win,” he adds, swinging his arm around David’s back to lead him to a cluster of tables amid a sea of wires behind a giant purple curtain. A royal purple. A king’s purple. Definitely the product of some sociologically-motivated PR focus group study, to portray an image of strength and leadership.
Jesus, this is actually happening, thinks the lion. The enormity—the meaning—of tonight threatens to bog down his mind, but he shakes it off with the practiced ease of a politician.
“Do you know what just occurred to me?” asks Emmett.
“What?”
“It’s crazy, but I feel like having a fake wife go up there with me to share the spotlight would be a damn good idea.” Emmett—his best friend since college, the first person he came out to, his right-hand man—regards him quizzically.
“It’s a little late to be thinking like that, even if it is crazy talk. We’ve had the black guy, we’ve had the woman, and now we can have the single president.”
“People will talk.”
“Of course they will. The trick is to have them talking about you doing your job, not why you’re unattached. Besides, which do you think is worse: the country finding out your ‘wife’ is a paid actor, or that you like dudes?”
Emmett had a point.
* * * *
“Good morning, Mr. President.” A small hand reached across David Kibber’s chest ruff and grabbed tufts of dark, golden fur.
“That’s more than a year away. I don’t even want to think about that right now.” The words were underlined with a deep rumble he didn’t much like.
Alex didn’t seem to have heard it. “Sleep well?” He was talking like a boyfriend, and it concerned David even more.
“I wasn’t asleep.” In fact, David hadn’t slept at all, sometimes pacing through the downstairs living room of his townhouse, sometimes lying in bed staring at the ceiling with his tail lashing against the cool sheets. It had been eight hours since he’d decided to throw his hat into the presidential race. Six hours since he’d met Alex on his stoop and issued his first executive order for the man to get his ass up to the bedroom. And five since the lion realized he had a lot more on his mind than being the leader of the country, an idea that sounded quixotic as soon as he’d left his Georgetown offices backed by the cheers of his staff.
“Coulda fooled me,” said Alex, nuzzling into David’s side. David traced his pads over the man’s smooth back, the same little thrill running through him as the first time he’d touched human skin. It had lost some of its appeal lately, though. “David?”
“Yeah?”
“What would you do if I died?” David’s tail fell still. This wasn’t unusual, coming from Alex. He tended to ask offhand rhetorical questions at inopportune moments. Some were uncomfortably insecure, and some of his passionate defenses to David’s answers were scary in their scope and detail. Weeks ago the lion had begun wondering how Alex would find a boyfriend with his clinginess and outlandish ideas. He’d also wondered why he hadn’t called it off.
He had known it was risky from the time Alex leaned in and kissed his muzzle. He’d thought in the back of his mind that his career might never be the same. But gay Senators came and went just like the rest of them, and what had passed for a scandal almost fifty years earlier didn’t have quite the same impact as it used to. Much to the disdain of traditional Republicans, a Congressperson’s ability to do his or her duties to the people mattered far more than his or her activities in the bedroom. It was the cover-up—or the lack thereof—that mattered.
Which was why, if he were faced with the bald truth, he wouldn’t lie. And if that made him unelectable as president, so be it. He just hoped to God Americans would value his honesty over his homosexuality.
Sacrifice. That should be a key point in his speech later on this evening, when he would announce his candidacy, running on a platform of equality and diversity across all barriers. Alex could understand sacrifice, couldn’t he?
He’ll have to. It’s been nice, but I have to be professional about this. I owe it to my constituents. And perhaps, for the first time, the prospect of the office scared him.
“No answer?” Alex asked softly, now turned so he was looking into David’s hazel eyes.
“I don’t think I can answer that without sounding stupid.”
“Why not? It’s a simple question,” Alex countered, propping himself up on an elbow. There were no simple questions with Alex Basher, though. “Even if you think it’s a stupid question, you should be used to stupid questions by now.” David was dismayed to see the man was serious. He wondered how he’d ended up in this situation. The answer was, of course, that he had brought it all on himself.
“I would go on.”
“You wouldn’t miss me?”
Had he been canine, David’s ears most certainly would be telling the story for him. “Of course I would miss you,” he said anyway. In a sense he would, like anyone would miss being close to another person in an intimate way. But two months of on-and-off sex (not even a relationship, not to David) competing with a presidential campaign? When faced with the stark light of reality, surely Alex would have some sense of priority.
Maybe he won’t, thought David. Alex didn’t act like it. Ever since the first night he’d acted like a smitten puppy whenever they were together. He hung on and let loose with innuendo because they’d always been in the relative safety of David’s house. God forbid that it would go any further. It couldn’t happen, not the way it was now. Which was why it had to end, whether or not Alex took kindly to the idea. Things had changed.
Thin bars of sunlight stretched across the ceiling, bending at the wall and crawling halfway down. Soon the room would be as golden as David’s fur, but he wouldn’t be around by then. He had a speech to prepare.
“Would you find someone else?”
No, because I might have a country to run. “Christ, what’s this preoccupation with death?” David sounded exasperated because he was exasperated. He sat upright, purposefully adding to the emotion he was trying to convey. Maybe Alex would drop it if he knew he’d
pissed off the lion enough. Instead of waiting for a response, David swung his legs around and off the side of the bed. Alex sputtered while David made his way to the bathroom to shower. As he stepped over the side of the tub, he could have sworn he felt like he was married. It was just as unsettling as his failed relationships with women had been.
“Do you at least want some breakfast?” he heard Alex yell over the spray, just as it wet his mane down to the skin. David tried to tell himself it was an innocuous question, but it wasn’t. It carried so much unwanted subtext that it ignited something inside of him. Whether from stress or something else, he couldn’t keep it in. He didn’t mean to roar, but dammit, he couldn’t think of any other way to get his point across. And, of course, it got Alex running into the bathroom.
“What happened?” Alex threw open the curtain, his face stricken with horror and panic. It was then that David decided that was no way to live. And after today it wouldn’t matter.
“Nothing! Nothing happened, okay?” Water flew off David’s mane, splattering Alex’s chest and dripping down in mini-rivulets.
“You were yelling. You sounded hurt.”
Of course you thought I was hurt. You can’t tell hurt from anger from anguish. “I’m fine.”
“You want me to join you?” It never ended. What had been cute a few weeks ago now made the lion’s stomach turn on itself.
“I think you should leave.” There it was, simple enough on its face. But where it was a request to David, Alex looked as if it were a breakup. For that to be true, they would have had to have been together in the first place. The man stood gawking at him, letting all the hot air out.
“Why?” Alex asked in a tiny voice.
“I have a busy day ahead of me. I’m sorry, but I need time to think things through. Today’s going to be stressful enough as it is.”
“And I can’t help take some of that stress away?” Alex reached out and put his palm to the lion’s chest, the tenderness of it making David oddly nauseous. Why wouldn’t he take the hint?
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“It has before.”
“Just…give me some goddamn space, okay? I need to figure out how to handle this from now on. I’d rather not keep secrets.”
Alex’s face fell as he realized the implication. “I’m a secret?” For someone who had come across as an intellectual at the MEF fundraiser, he was either a victim or a novice in the emotions department. It didn’t mesh with David’s finely-tuned political mannerisms, in or out of the public eye.
“Yes and no. We’ll talk about it later. Maybe lunch, I can’t really discuss it right now.” David pulled the curtain closed, putting a wall of opaque plastic between them. “Until then I need to think. About a lot of things.”
Alex walked away without another word, and a few minutes later David heard the front door close. His relief was short-lived. He hadn’t solved the problem, only kicked it down the road. Not a good tactic in politics, either.
* * * *
“Mr. President,” says the smartly-dressed woman who stands up from a terminal to shake David’s paw. Her purple blouse-and-skirt combination complements the bright gold choker around her neck. The lion is flattered to see her in those colors, but he’s not entirely surprised.
“Julia,” David says, engulfing the small but strong-gripped hand with both paws. “President-elect for the time being. And I thought we discussed earlier that we wouldn’t wear the same thing to this shindig.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Julia says, adjusting the American flag pin on David’s lapel. “Not only am I your press secretary, I can be a dynamite stand-in First Lady.” She laughs good-naturedly, but stops when she sees David’s long face. Patting his paw, she quickly adds, “Though I assume you’d appreciate someone a bit less feminine.”
“Thanks a lot.” His sarcasm is tough to mask. “I know it’s all in good fun, but I think it’s time to get serious, if you don’t mind.”
Before Julia can manage an answer, Emmett inserts himself between them. “David’s been under a lot of stress. But you’re dealing with it, aren’t you?”
“Is everything okay?” Julia may look concerned, but the lion knows the subtext of her question: This isn’t another Alex issue, is it? I thought you took care of that long ago.
The weight of his civilian phone is ponderous; he knows Alex has at least left a text message, if not outright called him again. He doesn’t understand how one man can be so foolish as to hope to stay close to someone like David, especially now.
Maybe he was merely calling to congratulate the lion on his win. Could that possibly be it, and nothing more?
I’ll send him a thank-you letter, in that case. But even that little bit of placation bothers him. Now more than ever, he regrets having struck up that conversation at the fundraiser. No, not that. He regrets what happened after, when he was tired and buzzed and vulnerable.
And stupid.
He was weak. He can’t be weak anymore. It’s not respectable. It’s not leonine.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Little of the old stage fright.”
“You? Stage fright?” Julia looks incredulous, managing another laugh. “In your defense, it’s not every day this country elects a morphic president.”
“I owe that to the voters as much as to my campaign,” David says, beaming despite his jumbled nerves.
Emmett slaps the lion on the back. “Don’t forget to put yourself in there too, buddy. You’re the face they saw. They didn’t vote for you because you have the biggest mane.”
“I guess brains and charm win out after all.”
“Atta boy!” Emmett’s back to his old chummy self again, now that all the heavy stuff has been swept to the wayside. “Julia, you have it all prepped?”
The woman jerks her thumb over her shoulder. She answers Emmett’s question but addresses David: “The teleprompter was updated two hours ago with the speech you emailed me.” Then she stands on tiptoe, which looks painful in her stilettos, and pecks the lion on his whisker bed. “You’ll do fine, David. It’s just another speech. The words are right there. Be your usual wonderful self, ignore the cameras, and tell the people what they need to hear.”
“You two sharing secrets? Or planning a rendezvous later on at the Caucus Room?” Emmett asks, as if he heard nothing. He gains a punch in the shoulder from Julia and a dismayed look from David.
“You had to mention the Caucus Room,” the lion moans. Not only was the Continental restaurant considered a Capitol Hill hangout, it was David’s favorite steak joint. And he was a man of discerning carnivorous tastes.
Emmett smiles. “Empty stomach’s good for you. Keeps you sharp. Gives you courage. Not that you’re a pussy, I’m just—”
“Don’t make me eat you,” David growls.
“No need,” Julia says. “Head over to the backstage prep area. We had the caterers here an hour ago. There’s coffee and water, some bagels and crap, and a big Kobe sirloin just for you. Rare. It’s not Filet au Oscar with béarnaise, but it’s something.”
David breaks into a grin. “Julia, you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s all about the details,” she quips. “But, for God’s sake, check your teeth before you go on. They put parsley on everything these days.”
“Love you, Julia.” Planting a gentle kiss on each of her cheeks, David mounts the steps to the back of the stage with Emmett close in tow. Beyond the thick purple curtains with their red-white-and-blue bunting, a crowd of thousands of expectant souls begins chanting “President Lion” in growing volume.
* * * *
If David’s mood was somber on the way to the office (a January morning in a D.C. greyed by sleet) it certainly didn’t stay that way once he stepped off the elevator to thunderous cheers and applause. Seeing the people who’d worked so hard and succeeded so fully made it seem, for the first time, like he could affect some of the changes he had promised in the Iowa caucuses this past weekend. That tack had gotten him the Dem
ocratic nomination. Now all he had to do was win.
He bowed briefly before sending everyone back to their cubicles, but the office remained abuzz with energy. After telling a secretary to hold his calls until after lunch, David stepped into his private office in the corner of the leased third-story space. The thick wood-and-glass construction kept out most noise, so he could finally think. And as he took a well-worn stack of paper out from under a glass weight, he got to thinking.
It wasn’t long, as far as speeches went, but it was vastly important. As of tonight it would be the most important speech he’d given, if only the first as the nominee of his party.
He must inspire. He must give hope. He must comfort and cajole in the same breath, letting the country know that complacency was the key to downfall, that four more years of the same would lead to nothing but trouble. It was all rhetoric, of course; no politician before had avoided it and no politician hence would either. It was the name of the game in Washington. Except this time David would be the one at the podium reciting it. The people had faith in him. And he had just under ten months to convince more than just his own party. Election Day had never seemed closer.
The lion read and reread his script, trying different cadences in his head, seeing which stresses had the most impact. Twice he made revisions, but after that the words started to lose their meaning and recitation did no good. Just as the paragraphs blurred together, David heard a knock at the door.
“Come in.” Emmett shut the door behind him and leaned against the frame. He looked at ease, quite opposite from the nervous wreck who had bused around Iowa with the lion for the past few months. Such was life on the campaign trail.
“How’s it going?”
Tap-shuffling the papers on the desk, David angled back and stretched out. “I think I may have taken this as far as it can go. There’s enough red ink here to make a second-grade teacher blush.”
