“The risk was worth it,” I said with a mischievous grin.
He was laughing when the waitress arrived at our table and placed menus in front of us.
“Can I take your drink orders?” she asked.
Instead of answering her, the President looked at me. “Do you like lasagna?”
“I love it.”
“Good. They have the best here.” He turned to the waitress. “We’ll both have the lasagna. And could you bring us a bottle of Pichon-Lalande?”
“Certainly,” she replied as she retrieved the menus. “I’ll be right back with the wine.”
After she left, I asked, “How often do you do this?”
“What? Eat here?”
I laughed. “No, go out on your own.”
“Let’s see, the first time I did it was about a year and a half ago, and this is the fifth, no sixth, time.”
“Have you ever been close to being caught?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“A kid ratted me out.”
This struck me particularly funny, and I laughed again. “A kid?”
“Yes, they seem to be able to see through the disguises. The best I can figure is that while everyone else is distracted by the beards and glasses, they focus on the simpler things, like the shape of the eyes, or the lips.”
“So, what happened?”
“It happened right here. I was sitting over there in the corner, wearing a long gray beard and black-rimmed glasses, and at the next table was a young family with a boy in a high-chair, probably around three years old.”
I smiled at the picture he was painting in my mind.
“So, I was just about done eating, and all of a sudden the kid points to me and yells, ‘Pwesident Wemington!’”
I laughed.
“Of course, the parents were mortified, and apologized profusely, but the whole time the kid is yelling ‘Pwesident Wemington! Pwesident Wemington!’”
I was giggling into my napkin.
“I had to leave quickly before someone decided to take him seriously.”
“That’s funny.”
“So, Sarah, how was your week without me?”
“Lonely.”
“Anything eventful happen?”
I looked at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m picking up a vibe of something wrong.”
“A vibe?”
“Or something.”
I looked at him another long moment. “I’m never going to lie to you.”
“That’s good.” He looked at me curiously.
“But I’d rather not tell you just now.”
He studied me. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Something happened and I dealt with it. It’s over now.”
He watched me for another long moment without smiling. “Will you tell me someday?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m satisfied.”
“You should know one thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“Knowing I belonged to you helped me get through it.”
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, but I knew he liked what he had heard.
“Very well. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me.”
“Thank you.”
The waitress returned with our wine, opened the bottle, and poured some into our glasses. It was excellent.
After she left again, the President spoke. “So, has Chief-of-Staff McGraw had his talk with you yet?”
“Yes. I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“That’s not true. He doesn’t like the idea of you.”
“What’s the difference?”
“It’s nothing personal. He just thinks that me being involved with you is politically dangerous.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
“You and I are two adults who’ve made our own choices.”
“I agree. But a lot of people wouldn’t see it that way. And your opponents would use that against you.”
He gave me a slight smile. “Why Sarah, are you trying to talk me out of this?”
“No, I would never do that. But I’d hate to be the one responsible for causing you problems.”
He shook his head. “I ran for this office on the platform of personal responsibility, because I believe in it. I’m responsible for the actions that I take, not you. I’m more concerned about what would happen to you if our relationship was made public.”
I smiled. “I guess we’re both more concerned about the other than ourselves.”
He lifted his glass. “Touché.”
I touched my glass to his, and took a drink.
“You make me happy, Sarah. As long as our relationship doesn’t affect the job I was elected to do, I have no moral qualms about it.”
My heart swelled with pride. “You make me happy too.”
Our food came and he was right, the lasagna was delicious. We enjoyed our dinner and finished off the bottle of wine. As we waited for our check, he looked at his watch. “It’s only nine-thirty. Too early to go back. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Like where?”
“There’s a club called Hot Shots I stop by sometimes.”
“That’s odd, I was just there with April last Saturday.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Okay.”
When the check came he paid it with cash so he didn’t have to use a credit card. The club was only three blocks over, so we walked. Once again, he took my hand in his, and it felt like a normal date, and I almost forgot I was with the President of the United States, who snuck out of the White House and was wearing a disguise. I certainly had a story to tell my grandchildren.
Chapter 20
The club wasn’t that crowded, and we found a table in the back near the one I had shared with my friends. A group of college students sat at the table next to us.
We ordered drinks, but since I’d already had the wine, I asked for a Diet Coke. I was just about to press the President on his promise to take me to bed, when I felt a presence standing next to me.
“Sarah?”
I turned to see a tall, dark-haired guy wearing a Georgetown T-shirt. He looked slightly familiar but I couldn’t place him.
“It’s Marcus,” he said. “I met you here the other night when you were with April.”
I smiled, the recognition finally sinking in.
“Hi, Marcus. Nice to see you again.”
“Is April with you?”
“No, I’m here with Reginald. Reginald, this is Marcus.”
“Nice to meet you, Reginald,” Marcus said, and leaned over and offered his hand.
The President clasped it firmly and said, “Jolly good to meet you,” in his British accent.
Marcus’ eyebrows lifted slightly. “You’re from England?”
“A small town called Eynsham. Are you familiar with it?”
“No, I’ve never been to England.” He hooked a thumb back towards his table. “Hey, we’re having a discussion about politics over here. You two are welcome to join us. Reginald, you being from England, you probably have some interesting views of the American political system.”
The President smiled. “I’m here with Sarah, so we can’t sit for long, but I’d loved to join you for a few minutes.”
“Great,” Marcus said. “Come on.”
We moved next door to their table, and they made room so we could sit together. Marcus introduced us, informing everyone that Reginald was from England.
“Where in England?” a busty red-haired girl asked.
“Eynsham. It’s a small town near–”
“I’ve been there!” the redhead announced. I dated a guy from Eynsham. We used to hang out in a bar called the Wild Boar.”
The President nodded. “I’ve been there many times.”
I considered interrupting, saving the President from having to maintain his bluff.
The girl continued. “I
fell in love with that old guy who owns it. He’s such a sweetie. What was his name again? Mr. Stafford. No, that’s not it. Mr. Standish?”
I took a deep breath, and looked at the President expectantly, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.
“Mr. Stangfort,” the President said.
“That’s it!” the girl said. “He’s a great guy, isn’t he?”
Remington nodded. “Yes, he’s a treasure.”
I looked at him in amazement. How did he do that?
“So, Reginald,” Marcus said, “What do you think of the American political system?”
“It has its advantages and disadvantages.”
“Such as?”
“Well, the primary advantage is that the power ultimately lies with the people.”
“And the disadvantages?”
“For it to work properly, it requires an educated and engaged population. If they’re not, then it breaks down because the politicians know they can get away with anything they want, and they won’t be held accountable by the voters.”
Marcus nodded.
“Sounds like you just described Remington perfectly,” a thin guy with long hair and wire-rim glasses said.
The President gave him a curious look. “How so?”
“He’s a fascist,” the man said. “He’s owned by big business and doesn’t care about the common man.”
A blonde beside him rolled her eyes. “Bradley, you think everyone is a fascist. And yet you have a poster of Che Guevara in your dorm room.”
“Che was a hero of the people.”
Her eyes rolled again. “Yeah, when he wasn’t brutally murdering them.”
“I think he’s sexy,” a black girl with pretty eyes said.
Everyone stared at her. “You think Che Guevara is sexy?” Marcus said.
She looked confused for a moment, and then said, “No, not Che. Remington.”
Everyone laughed, and I noticed a few of the girls nodding their heads in agreement.
“I think he’s creepy,” a short girl with a blonde afro said. I glanced at the President, and he was looking at her curiously.
“Creepy?” Marcus said. “Why do you say that?”
“The only reason he got elected was because his wife died.”
I looked at the President again, and his expression hadn’t changed, but he was watching the girl intently.
“That’s true,” Bradley said, nodding.
“No, that’s ridiculous,” Marcus said. “American voters aren’t that stupid.”
“Yes, they are,” Bradley replied.
The girl with the afro spoke again. “He killed her.”
We all stared at her.
“Who killed who now?” Marcus said.
“Remington killed his wife. There’s a website that shows the proof. He had someone rig the helicopter to go down so that he would win–”
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” I was on my feet, staring at her. The anger was buzzing in my head like a swarm of bees.
The girl stared at me with wide eyes. “I was just saying–”
“I know what you were saying. It was a stupid and ignorant thing to say, and you should be ashamed of yourself.” I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes.
“I, I,” She was struggling to form a coherent sentence.
Marcus stood. “Um, I think I should have explained when I introduced Sarah. She works as an intern at the White House. The West Wing, as a matter of fact.”
Afro girl stared at me again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter where I work. What you said was beyond reprehensible.”
The President stood and slid his arm around my waist. “Sarah and I are going to dance. Thank you all for allowing us to join your conversation.”
“I’m sorry,” Marcus offered. “Tell April I said hello.”
The President led me away. Without speaking, we stepped onto the dance floor and I melted into his arms, holding myself to him as he held me and moved slowly to the music. I felt my anger dissipate. We stayed like that for several songs, just silently holding each other. Finally, I lifted my head to look at him.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” I said.
“It’s not the first time.”
“It was disgusting.”
“Sarah, it comes with the job.”
“Then you have a really crappy job.”
He smiled and leaned down, kissing me softly. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“I wanted to kick her ass.”
He chuckled. “Then I’m glad you exercised restraint. It would be hard to explain why the President of the United States was involved in a bar fight. Besides, she looked pretty tough. Short, but stocky.”
I giggled. “Yeah, but she didn’t have righteous indignation on her side.”
“Very true.”
We laughed again, and then I turned serious. “If you ever do want to talk about her, I’m willing to listen.”
“Who?”
“Your wife.”
His face lost all of its humor. “No,” he said flatly.
“I’m just saying that if you ever–”
“Sarah,” he said, cutting me off. “We won’t be discussing her. Is that understood?”
I looked downward. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
He watched me for a long moment, and then pulled me back into his arms. We held each other without speaking for another dance, and then went back to our table. I was relieved to see that Marcus’ group was gone.
As we sat, I turned to the President and said. “Hey, what was that about Eynsham? I thought you were bluffing. How did you know that bar owner’s name?”
He smiled. “Me? Bluffing?”
“Well, you obviously didn’t grow up there.”
“No, but I spent a year attending Oxford University, and lived in Eynsham. The Wild Boar was a popular hangout.”
I shook my head. “Unbelievable.”
“What?”
“You got lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I said I was from a town I was familiar with.”
I grinned. “I guess you’re right.”
He smiled back. “I know I am.”
“Sarah?”
I wondered who was calling me now. I turned to see, thinking it might be Marcus again, but I was startled to see Jamie’s smiling face.
Chapter 21
Oh, crap. He was the last person I wanted to see right now. I wondered if he had someone here watching out for me, letting him know if I came in.
“Jamie?”
“I was wondering where you were,” he said with a smile. “I thought you might be avoiding me.”
“Been busy,” I said, and realized I had to introduce him.
“Reginald,” I said, “this is Jamie. Jamie, this is Reginald.”
Jamie stepped forward and held out his hand. The President took it and gripped it firmly. The two stared at each other for a moment.
Suddenly, Jamie looked between the President and me, and the light bulb seemed to go on. “Oh,” he said, pointing between us, “am I interrupting a date?”
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s quite alright,” Remington said. “Have a seat for a moment.” He offered his hand toward the empty chair. To my dismay, Jamie grabbed it and turned it around, sat down, and rested his forearms on the back, looking between us.
“Thanks,” he said, “I won’t stay long.” He turned to me. “How have you been, Sarah? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“How do you two know each other?” the President asked.
“I work at a restaurant where the White House interns frequently eat,” Jamie said. “Sarah and I met last week when she came in for lunch. How about you two?”
“I’m an assistant to the British Prime Minister,” Remington said, “and I was at the White House today to follow up on his visit. I ran into Sarah there and asked her
if she would show me the town.”
“That was the meeting at Camp David, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I hear it’s nice there.”
“Quite.”
“Real secure though.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Neat.” He looked between us and grinned. “I am so jealous. You two have the coolest jobs, and I’m stuck in that dumb restaurant.” He turned back to Remington. “Did you get to meet the President?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he like?”
“To be honest, he’s not that friendly.”
Jamie nodded. “Yeah, some of the interns have told me that too.”
“You haven’t heard that from me,” I said, interrupting. “I think he’s sweet.”
Jamie grinned and winked at the President. “She always talks about him like that. I think she has a crush on him.”
“I do not!”
Jamie put his hands up and smiled. “Whoa, I’m just kidding. Easy there.”
I glanced over at the President, who seemed to be amused by the conversation.
“Hey, speaking of Remington,” Jamie said, turning to me, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Well, you know I’m a big fan of his, right?”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering why he never wears an American Flag pin.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“The reason I ask is, my mother was a huge fan of Reagan, and Reagan always wore one. That was one of the things she loved about him. And I think there are plenty of people out there like her. If Remington would wear a pin, they would love him for it too.”
“So you want me to ask him to wear a flag pin?”
“Um, not quite.”
“Then what?”
“Well, my mother met Reagan once. Her church group was invited to the White House, and she got to shake his hand and talk to him. It was one of the biggest thrills of her life.”
“That’s sweet,” I said.
“And she told him how she loved his flag pin, and the fact he wore it all the time. And you know what he did?”
“What?”
“He reached down, pulled the pin his was wearing off of his lapel, and gave it to her.”
“He did?”
Yes, Mr President Page 10
