Black President Season 2 Collection

by Brenda Hampton

  “Stay down,” Stephen yelled at me. “Stay down on the floor!”

  “Mr. President, get down!” Secret Service hollered.

  Bullets were flying everywhere. Glass was shattered, people were screaming and many cries rang out. I rolled my way over to Stephen with my hands shielding my ears from the loud gunfire. By then, Secret Service had covered us and rushed us through a concrete staircase that led to the parking garage. My body trembled all over; hands were shaking badly. My legs felt so weak that I could barely make it down the stairs. My twisted ankle didn’t help. Stephen held my hand, and with a scrunched face and sweat beads dotting his forehead, he didn’t say anything. He seemed slightly out of breath; I could feel his palm sweating. Secret Service busted through the exit door, examining our surroundings. There was a car waiting for us with the doors wide open.

  “Go!” One of the agents said to the driver, after we were shoved inside. “Now!”

  The car skidded off, and as we sat on the backseat, Stephen finally let go of my hand.

  “You alright?” he asked as he removed his suit jacket.

  I was still nervous. “No, I’m not. Wha . . . What in the hell is going on? Were those men shooting at you?”

  “I don’t know anything yet. I’ll soon find out.”

  It wasn’t long before Stephen’s phone rang. While he was in the midst of a long conversation with Andrew, I sat there shaking and wondering if this was just another set up. It couldn’t have been because there were real bullets flying. People were on the floor severely injured. I saw a few bodies, and unfortunately, one of the bodies was Senator Dressel. I felt so bad for her. I couldn’t stop thinking . . . what if it was me? Stephen’s actions surprised me. He didn’t run for Michelle, he came for me. He rushed in my direction to protect me. I wasn’t happy about seeing the two of them together, but I was relieved he wasn’t hit. It wasn’t that I wanted him dead or anything like that. I just wanted him to hurt like I was. I also wanted as much money as I could get to make up for my heartache.

  Stephen still hadn’t said much. At least, not until we got to the hotel, where more Secret Service agents and police were at. They took Stephen and me to my suite first. And after he was briefed about the situation, he found out it wasn’t a hit on him. There was a hit, however, on several senators who had angered four men. The men were able to make their way into the event and cause major damage. Three people had been killed, five in critical condition and eleven people seriously injured. Three of the four people involved had been arrested; one man had been shot and killed by police. This time, it was real and I felt horrible.

  “Once things settle down,” Stephen said, sitting on the sofa with the bottom of his leather shoe pressed against the table in front of him. “We need to get back to the White House. I know you’re tired, but we have to leave tonight.”

  “That’s fine with me. I hate this happened, and is one of the people dead Senator Dressel? I had just spoken to her about campaigning with her.”

  “Unfortunately, she is one of the deceased.”

  Stephen’s phone vibrated. He looked down at it, then quickly glanced at me. Without saying a word, he got off the sofa, walked toward the TV and started texting. I wasn’t sure if he was texting Michelle or not, but I assumed it was her. Feeling frustrated about all of this, I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. My clothes were wrinkled, I had also scraped my knee when I fell and my ankle was still tender. I dabbed a wet towel against it, and covered the scar on my knee with a Band-Aid. After I was done, I returned to the bedroom to remove my clothes. I changed into a T-shirt and jeans, and while I rummaging through my suitcase to look for my tennis shoes, I heard Stephen’s loud voice behind me.

  “What in the fuck is this?” he shouted.

  I quickly turned around, only to see my notebook in his hand. The damn notebook that I’d forgotten was on the table. From the dreadful look on his face, I could tell he had read enough of the content to know what I had been up to. Still, I lied.

  “It’s just a notebook I was writing my thoughts in, Stephen. Calm down.”

  “Your thoughts, huh? Don’t lie to me, Raynetta! Your notes and these lies tell me exactly what you’ve been up to!”

  “I haven’t been up to anything. Calm down and give it here.”

  I extended my hand, but Stephen ripped the notebook to shreds and threw what was left of the notebook at me.

  “I can’t believe you wrote that shit for a book deal! How much are they paying you, Raynetta? How much are you willing to sell our fucking secrets for and tell your gotdamn lies?”

  “All of it isn’t lies, and why are you assuming I’m pursuing a book deal?”

  He reached in his pocket and flicked a business card at my face. “Because that’s your agent’s business card. It was in the notebook too, along with a bunch of figures. What you wrote tells me everything I need to know!”

  I rolled my eyes, and as I proceeded to move to the other side of the room, Stephen rushed up from behind and put me in a chokehold. I was caught off guard. His hold was so tight on my neck that I couldn’t move it.

  “I hate you, Raynetta! But I’m not going to do a damn thing to you, because you’re going to hang your fucking self. Write your story, tell your lies and make all the money you can get. In the end, I hope you get what you always wanted. This just proves that greed is the only thing you love, just like your sucka-ass grandfather.”

  He released me and pushed me hard on the floor. I skidded and banged my knee. As he stormed toward the door, I yelled after him.

  “Call it whatever you want! I call it getting what I deserve!”

  He swung around and pointed his finger at me. “If you sell that shit, you’re going to get what you deserve. I promise you that, so think real hard. The choice is yours!”

  He punched the bedroom’s door on his way out, and after I heard the other door slam, I snatched some of the papers off the floor. I couldn’t piece anything back together, so I got off the floor and searched for a pen in my purse. Another notebook was on the nightstand, and instead of going back to the White House tonight, I stayed at the hotel, writing until nearly four o’clock in the morning.

  President of the United States,

  Stephen C. Jefferson

  The situation at the fundraising event had everyone on pins and needles. Yet again, people were upset because security that was put in place hadn’t worked. We had recently left a massive meeting in the Roosevelt Room, with several agencies who were tasked with keeping everyone safe. The sad thing was, not much was accomplished. The blame was transferred from one person to the next. I was tired of firing people, and there wasn’t much hiring going on. We still had numerous positions to fill, but I was in no rush to fill them. The minimal amount of people working at the White House, the better it was for me. Some people took on multiple duties—mainly people I had started to trust. Those people were Andrew, Sam and also General Stiles.

  I’d found out more details about Raynetta and her book deal. Her agent had been shopping it around and numerous publishers were biting. I had the power to shut it all down, but I didn’t do it. I wanted to see if she was brave enough to go through with it; it appeared she was. I saw her writing here and there. I knew she had gone to several meetings to discuss the details. The last thing Andrew told me was, she was close to a decision and would get an advancement in the millions. This was why trusting the person you intended to spend your life with was so important. I’d shared all of my secrets with Raynetta, and no matter how bad things had gotten between us, I never thought she would tell the world what had actually happened to my father. I stood in the Oval Office, gazing out at the Rose Garden, while thinking about a day that had haunted me for years.

  I was eleven years old and had just come home from school. It was already a bad day, because every time I’d gone to school, kids made fun of me. My hair was too nappy, the clothes I wore looked like hand-me-downs, and they teased me about being too skinny. I had
fights nearly every day and the boy I’d fought with that day had busted my lip. I rushed into our one bedroom apartment where the living room was my room. My mother always kept everything as tidy as she could, but on that particular day, dishes were in the sink. I had forgotten to wash them after dinner last night. And after I wiped my bloody mouth, I intended to take care of the dishes. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. As I looked in the mirror while wiping my lips, my father appeared in the doorway. He was a mean-ass man and his gaze was very intimidating. Standing six-feet-four and three-hundred pounds, I definitely feared him. He never had anything nice to say, and if he wasn’t beating my ass for something, he was fussing and hitting on my mother.

  “What happened to yo damn lip, boy?”

  “Nothing. I tripped and fell.”

  “You need to trip and fall yo ass out of this bathroom and get in there on those dishes. Didn’t yo Mama tell you to do those dishes last night?”

  “Yes, Sir, she did, but I had homework to do and a test to study for. I fell asleep doing my homework and didn’t have time to do the dishes.”

  He grabbed me by my shirt, and yanked me out of the bathroom. We stood in the hallway as he continued to chastise me.

  “You got plenty of time now, so get the fuck in there and get busy. And for lying to me about falling, you know I’mma hurt you, right? I saw Li’l James outside kicking yo ass. All his daddy gon’ do is brag to me about it and laugh at me for having a punk-ass kid like you. You ain’t shit. I’mma teach you, again, how to stand up for yourself.”

  “I did stand up for myself. I hit him back and punched him in his stomach. He may have busted my lip, but I won the fight. You can ask the kids who watched.”

  “A winner doesn’t have a busted lip. How in the hell can you call yourself a winner and yo lip looking like that?”

  He pushed me again and slapped me upside my head. With tears in my eyes, I ran to the kitchen and started on the dishes. My whole face was scrunched. I pouted as I listened to him ramble on about what a loser I was.

  “Stupid ass motherfucker. You ain’t nothing but a Mama’s boy, a bitch and a little faggot. Those good grades you make don’t mean shit, and all that studying you do ain’t gon’ get you nowhere in a white man’s world. You need to know how the streets operate. How to beat a nigga’s ass when he come for you. Turn yo ass around and let me show you what to do when a nigga comes for you.”

  I was in no mood for this, but I turned around with tears streaming down my face. Trying to appear tough, I smacked my tears away and held up my fists. My father had his up too.

  “Come on, son, hit me. Show me what you got and hit me in my face.”

  I gritted my teeth and swung out at him. He blocked my punch and landed a hard blow to my chest that made me fall to the floor.

  “Get up! Get up and try it again!”

  I got up with more tears streaming down my face. Snot drizzled from my nose and my head was starting to hurt.

  “If you stop all that gotdamn crying, maybe you can focus and hit me like you supposed to.”

  I growled as I swung out at him again. This time, I punched him in his ear. My punch angered him; he reached up to hold his ear.

  “I said punch me in my face, fool. Like this!”

  He started punching me in my face, on the back of my head and in my chest. I crouched down on the floor, feeling dizzier after each blow. Li’l James’ punches from earlier felt nothing like my father’s punches. They felt like hard bricks being thrown at me, and it wasn’t long before he drew blood. I could taste it in my mouth; my left eye started to close.

  “Fight back, nigga! Don’t you know how to fight back?”

  “I can’t!” I cried out. “It hurts, Daddy, please stop! It hurts!”

  He didn’t stop until my mother came in. She could barely stand and was drunk as hell. After she saw my bloody face and trembling body, she sobered up a little. Her eyes grew wide and she staggered into the kitchen where I sat on the floor in so much pain. Daddy stood over me with tightened fists.

  “What have you done?” she shouted. “What have you done to my baby?”

  “He ain’t no damn baby! That’s why he fucked up now. I’m teaching him how to be a man!”

  Mama rushed over to us and shoved him away from me. She then pulled me up from the floor and held me in her arms. I sobbed as I squeezed my arms around her waist.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she said, kissing the top of my head. “He shouldn’t have done this to you. How could you do this to your own son?”

  She started to cry, too, and while holding me close to her chest, the stench of alcohol was real strong.

  “Shut up, you drunk bitch. You mean, how can you do that to him. How can you make him such a wimp and not want him to be like these other boys around here?”

  While rocking me in her arms, she defended me to him. “You’re damn right he’s not like these other boys around here. He’s smart as hell and he’s going to make something out of himself. He can learn how to fight later. You can’t teach him how to fight like this, and shame on you for beating him Reggie!” Mama released her arms from around me, then looked at my battered face. “Go wash your face and put on some clean clothes. You don’t have to cry. Crying isn’t going to solve a damn thing so wipe those tears.”

  I wiped my tears, but as I walked away from her, my father smashed his fist into the side of my face again. This time, I saw darkness. My weak body hit the floor hard. My head was spinning. I could hear the two of them going at it. I crawled on the floor and made my way over to a drawer where he’d kept two guns. I was sick of this shit, and I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I didn’t want Mama to hurt anymore either, so I removed the gun and aimed it at my father who had Mama in a chokehold. When he saw the gun aimed at him, he released Mama and laughed.

  “It’s about damn time, boy! About time you want to be a man and stand up for yourself. But if you gon’ aim a gun at somebody, you damn well better use it. Shoot that drunk bitch and let’s go get something to eat!”

  As the heavy gun trembled in my hand, I looked at my mother. She, too, had a busted lip but a stern look was on her face.

  “Kill that nigga, Stephen! Shoot him! I’ll dump his body in the trash where it belongs!”

  When he reached out and backslapped her, it prompted me to pull the trigger. I fired once, then again and again. Daddy’s body dropped to the floor; he was gone. Mama ran up to me and snatched the gun from my hand.

  “Go to my room, shut the door and don’t let nobody in here. I’ll be back. I’m so sorry about all of this, baby. So sorry.”

  She held me in her arms, before pushing me toward her room. I had stopped crying, and as I looked at my father’s dead body, I didn’t regret a thing. I went to the bedroom like Mama had told me to. While peeking through the cracked door, I saw her cover Daddy’s body with a sheet. She made a phone call, paced the floor and poured herself several drinks. A few minutes later, I saw a man I had never seen before come inside and drag Daddy’s body out of the apartment. Mama returned a few hours later and told me to never tell anyone our secret. The only person I had ever told was Raynetta.

  I continued to look out at the Rose Garden. I wondered what Raynetta would ultimately decide. The more I’d thought about it, my answer became clearer. Not only would she tell about my past, she also knew who was behind her assistant Claire’s death. The American people wouldn’t understand. They would want me and my mother arrested. We had come too far to go down like this. It would be hell for me; I just couldn’t let that happen.

  Several hours later, I went to Camp David to get my thoughts together. I knew what had to be done, but this was one time that I didn’t have the courage to do it. I was waiting for General Stiles to come; after all, she said she wanted to talk. She didn’t know about my plans, but I was sure they wouldn’t surprise her.

  With jeans hanging at my waist and no shirt on, I walked across the wooden floors and stood in front of
the fireplace. The cabin-like house was chilly, but always cozy. I hadn’t come to Camp David since the incident with Claire, but I needed some privacy. Secret Service was nearby, but no one was in the cabin with me. I stoked the fire and then I sat on the leather sectional to chill until General Stiles arrived. She said she would be here in about fifteen minutes—that was nearly ten minutes ago. When my phone vibrated, I thought it was her. Instead, it was Michelle. I hadn’t spoken to her since the fundraising event, but she’d sent me a text message, asking if I was okay and telling me she was fine too. She’d told me to call her, but I’d been so busy that I hadn’t had time. I answered the phone and propped my feet on an ottoman in front of me.

  “I know you’re busy, and I know you have a lot on your mind,” she said. “But I need to share with you how I’m feeling about something. I’m bothered by what happened at the fundraising event. Maybe I shouldn’t be all in my feelings about this, but the way you ran over to Raynetta truly hurt me. I was right in front of you, Stephen. And when those bullets started flying, you didn’t do anything to protect me. You didn’t ask if I was okay, and you didn’t even bother to pick up the phone and call me. I was the one who reached out to you, to make sure you were okay. I know she’s your wife, but in the moment, you could’ve made sure I was okay too.”

  I rubbed my waves and cocked my tense neck from side-to-side. “In the moment, I was trying to save my life too. I didn’t know who the target was, and I assumed those bullets were for me and Raynetta. We are targeted, you know, and I’m sorry if you felt like I didn’t do enough. Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly, and right after that incident, I didn’t have time to call anyone. I’m sure you know many people were trying to reach me.”

  “I get that, but . . .”