Don't Ask, Don't Tell

by M. T. Pope

  “Yes, dear, I’m here,” Trugonoff replied with a hint of in irritation in his voice. “Are you sure you can’t rearrange your schedule? I was hoping we could talk more about your husband’s future.”

  Raven hesitated before she responded. “What time were you thinking of?”

  “How about ... three o’clock?”

  Three o’clock was the time she was scheduled to return and pick up Raven. “I think I can make it at three,” she said all while devising alternative plans for her daughter.

  “Wonderful!” exploded from the speaker. “Come to Pier 39. I’ll have my man waiting for you there.”

  As soon as the phone call disconnected Raven dialed her son’s cell phone. Little’O answered in a whisper, “Mother, I’m in class.”

  “I know, honey,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry. I need you to pick up your sister this afternoon from school for me at three.”

  “But I have debate club today after school,” he said, protesting.

  “You can take her home and then go back to school.”

  “Mother, but if I do that I’ll be—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Little’O. Just pick up your sister at three. I love you, honey. Have a good day,” she said and disconnected the call.

  Raven questioned whether she was truly ready to play with the big boys while driving along the wooded roads of the Presidio. You’ve been working toward this your whole life, she thought. Just pay him a few compliments, pat him on his balding little head, and walk off that yacht one step closer to the White House.

  In Raven’s world every action was a means to an end. Her life was efficient. There was no room for wasted energy, pointless conversations, or associates who could not assist in attaining her goals. People were disposable to her. Once they had served their purpose, she saw no reason to keep them around. The only college friends she stayed in touch with were those who traveled in the same political circles as her. She couldn’t even remember the names of anyone from her high school in Los Angeles. If any of them had become somebody, they no doubt would still be in her life.

  She interpreted her husband’s reluctance to go after the vice presidency as betrayal. After all I’ve done for him, this is how he repays me, she thought angrily as she drove.

  I gave him two beautiful children. I’ve created the perfect home for him. I’ve sucked up to every asshole in Washington just to get his name on the map and he wants to just turn his back on everything.

  The more she thought the faster the car skidded around curves on the winding road. Anger and resentment welled inside her.

  If he doesn’t do this, I swear I’ll take the kids and leave him.

  She felt a slight bump under her rear tire but continued to roll forward. In her wake were the remains of a squirrel that had succumbed to the weight of her barreling SUV. There would be no point in staying with him. I have no intention of being the wife of the youngest retired general in the history of the country. I want this and I’m going to have it.

  But at what price? Again Carla’s words came to her. “They believe in order to get something you really want, you have to give up something you love.”

  A shiver worked its way up her spine. She could think of nothing more repulsive than the idea of sleeping with Victor Trugonoff, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had used her body to get what she wanted. The promotion at the prestigious Washington law firm of Bernstein, Cooper, and Frank was had due to her impressive law degree from Harvard, her thorough knowledge of international law, and several nights spent in Cooper’s Watergate penthouse.

  You’re a big girl, Raven, she reasoned. If that’s what it takes you can do it.

  It was 2:50 in the afternoon. Raven handed her keys to a valet in a nearby parking garage and began the one-block walk to Pier 39. Sailboats in the distance the size of postcards glided on the crystal clear surface of the bay. Locals jogged and tourists shopped along Embarcadero Street. Dozens of brown and black sea lions luxuriated in the afternoon sun on floating wooden platforms and barked to throngs of visitors who hung over the pier railing taking their pictures.

  She could see Trugonoff’s two-story, refrigerator-white floating mausoleum looming in the distance. Rows of tinted windows looked like black eyes watching her as she approached. The sleek lines and pointing bow reminded her of an arrow preparing for flight. She saw a series of wooden chairs and chaise longues with blue striped cushions sitting on the rear deck as she walked closer. A brown lacquered table with chrome pedestal legs held a vase filled with orchids, an ice bucket, and two champagne flutes.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Roulette,” she heard from behind her. “Welcome to the Agente del Poder.”

  Raven turned abruptly and found herself standing face to face with a large man wearing dark sunglasses, a navy blue sports jacket, and gray slacks. “Mr. Trugonoff is expecting you. Please follow me.”

  “Thank you,” Raven replied as she fell in step behind the man.

  “Watch your step,” he said, extending his hand down to her from the deck. “It might take you awhile before you get your sea legs.”

  Once onboard the man escorted her into the main cabin and said, “Mr. Trugonoff is upstairs. He asked that you wait here. May I get you anything to drink? The yacht has an extensive bar and wine selection.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll wait for Mr. Trugonoff,” she replied.

  “Very well, ma’am. Please make yourself comfortable. Mr. Trugonoff will be down shortly.” The man bowed his head slightly and exited the room.

  The room was surprisingly dark despite the banks of windows on each side. Cherry wood covered much of the walls, including a series of bookshelves that held volumes of novels that all seemed to have nautical themes. A big-screen television was positioned on a wall next to a state-of-the-art sound system. Overstuffed tan chairs and couches were placed in seemingly no particular order around the large space. In the center of one such cluster was a white and brown marble chess set on a round table ready to be played. A wet bar complete with stools and taps was in a corner of the room.

  “Raven!” Trugonoff bellowed, entering the room. “I’m so glad you could come. You’re looking ravishing as usual. Welcome to Agente del Poder.”

  “Thank you for inviting me, Victor. She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Now what can I get you to drink?”

  “White wine would be nice.”

  “Perfect,” Trugonoff said, walking to the bar. “I just bought a case of 1993 Masetto, Tenuta Dell’Ornellaia. I’d love to hear what you think of it.”

  After handing Raven the glass of wine and exchanging the obligatory comments about its full bouquet and hints of fruit, they embarked on a tour of the yacht. It was 199 feet of floating elegance complete with six cabins, a formal dining room, six-person sauna, Jacuzzi on deck, wine cellar, and had a range of 5,380 nautical miles.

  They ended the tour back where they started in the living room. “Please sit down, Raven,” Trugonoff said pointing to the sofa. “Let’s talk about that husband of yours.”

  “You know, Raven,” he opened. “My little circle of ten are divided on your husband.”

  Raven listened attentively.

  “As I mentioned to you yesterday, some feel he’s not ready for prime time. Too green. While others are convinced he is not only vice president material but he’d even be ready for the presidency in eight years.”

  “And which side do you fall on?” Raven asked even though she was already two steps ahead of him.

  “Me? Well I’m on the fence,” Trugonoff said, raising his hands to signify ambivalence. “I could go either way at this point. We’ve already decided Milo Fredericks is going to be the next president. The question is, who will be his second man?”

  Enough of the bullshit, Raven thought angrily. Are we going to do this or not?

  Raven moved closer to Trugonoff, positioned herself on the edge of the sofa, and placed her hand on his thi
gh. She looked earnestly into his eyes and said, “What can I do to move you to my side of that fence, Mr. Secretary?”

  Trugonoff covered her hand with his beefy mitt. “Oh, Mrs. Roulette, you are a naughty girl,” he said with a wicked laugh. “I like that in a woman.”

  Raven matched his toothy grin with her own playful smile. “And I like a man who knows when he’s being seduced,” she said, moving her hand farther up his thigh. “I think it goes without saying there is almost nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure my husband becomes vice president.”

  “I respect a woman who supports her husband,” Trugonoff said in a whisper. “It shows he’s worthy of other people’s respect as well.”

  “I love my husband,” she said, placing her hand on his chest. “He’s already my president.”

  “Well if he’s good enough for you,” he said, running his hand up her thigh, “he’s good enough for me.”

  Trugonoff lumbered forward and pressed his lips to Raven’s. She detected a slight hint of lox and cream cheese on his breath. Fat bastard could have at least gargled before I got here, she thought as she unfastened the buttons around his bulging stomach. A field of bushy gray hair sprang from beneath his shirt as their heads turned from side to side locked in a deep kiss.

  Trugonoff slid awkwardly to the floor and raised Raven’s skirt only high enough for his head to slip under. She leaned back on the sofa and planted the heels of her leather pumps on the coffee table. She ran her fingers through his salty gray hair and moaned convincingly, “I’ll do anything for it, Victor, I want it so bad.”

  He lifted her by the waist and slid her silk panties down and around her ankles. She could feel the stubble on his cheeks as he slid his head between her legs.

  “Your husband will make a fine vice president, Mrs. Roulette,” he said, probing her with his tongue and thick fingers. “He’s a lucky man to have a wife like you.”

  After moments of loud gurgling from Trugonoff and exaggerated moans of ecstasy from Raven, he struggled to his feet and said, “My God, Mrs. Roulette, you’re a beautiful woman.” His face was red and wet and his scraggly gray hair pointed in every direction. Raven saw the bulge in his trousers and thought, First thing I’m going to do in Washington is outlaw Viagra, but said out loud, “You’re so big, Mr. Secretary.”

  Trugonoff unfastened his pants and let them drop to the ground. The evidence of his lust pointed her in the face. “For your husband, Mrs. Roulette,” he said, looking down at his erect member. “Do it for your husband.”

  For my husband, she repeated in her mind as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and leaned forward.

  “Oh, Mrs. Roulette,” Trugonoff moaned. “That’s it. Show me how much you love your husband.”

  She felt the thick bush of gray hair tickle her nose and cheeks with each downward lunge. “I love my husband,” she said, looking up into Trugonoff squinting eyes. “He’s going to be the greatest vice president this country has ever seen.”

  “With a wife like you,” Trugonoff said breathlessly, “he has no choice, Mrs. Roulette.”

  Trugonoff pulled her head away abruptly, lifted her by the shoulders, and turned her around to face the couch. “For your country,” he said, bending her over and lifting her skirt to her waist. “This one is for your country.”

  For my country, she thought, burying her head into the cushions on the back of the sofa. Trugonoff entered her without warning and pounded at her flesh mercilessly, pressing her head into the sofa over and over again. She could feel the sweat dripping from him onto her back and legs. And then she finally heard the words she had been waiting for. “I’m gonna cum, Mrs. Roulette. God bless America... .” he shouted. His spasms sent shutters through her body as he gripped her waist and jerked his body to completion.

  Suddenly the boat stopped rocking and the room was quiet. Trugonoff collapsed onto the sofa next to her still panting. Don’t fucking die on me you son of a bitch, she thought as the old man struggled to catch his breath.

  “Are you okay, Victor?” she said, pulling down her skirt.

  Trugonoff laughed and said between breaths, “I’m better than okay, Mrs. Roulette. That was fucking amazing. This country needs more women like you.”

  “You mean who will sleep with you?” she said with an ironic smile.

  “No,” he said with perfect composure, crystal clear blue eyes, and the sternest expression she had ever seen on any man’s face. “I mean who are willing to sacrifice everything for their husbands, even their own dignity.”

  Raven body jerked upright and a look of shock took over her face.

  “Don’t be offended, Raven,” he said. “I meant that as a compliment. I’m impressed. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you. That, by the way, was my last reservation about your husband. I wasn’t convinced that you were woman enough to support him no matter what. And now I have my answer. Congratulations, Mrs. Roulette. You are now the wife of the future vice president of the United States of America.”

  The controls on the Jacuzzi tub were set on high. A whirl of bubbles traced the curves of Raven’s body, making their way to the surface and exploding into a mist over the tub. The scent of eucalyptus, lavender, and jasmine bath gels merged into a sweet, indecipherable bouquet in the steam-filled bathroom.

  Raven could still smell Trugonoff on her hands even through the aromatic elixir. Try though she might, Raven was not able to wash the memory of her afternoon on Agente del Poder from her skin. Her hands trembled when she thought of the man standing in front of her with his pants around his wobbly ankles. The sounds of his moans echoed in her head above the hum of the Jacuzzi engine. Several times she made a premature dash to the toilet fearing that the contents of her stomach were about to spew from her lips.

  However, she had no regrets. I’d fuck him again if I had to, she reasoned in the bubbly soup. Hell, I’d fuck all ten of them if that’s what it takes. For the third time she dunked her head under the boiling water and remained there for as long as she could stand the heat. Her head emerged with a violent splash as she gasped for air.

  The words she had longed to hear for so long, “Wife of the future vice president of the United States of America,” wiped the image of the wrinkled man’s convulsing body from her mind and made her smile. Small price to pay for the White House, she thought proudly. I hope he appreciates the sacrifice I made.

  Raven knew from experience that she had to keep moving forward to not become bogged down in the trauma of any bad experience. She willed herself to other more productive thoughts. Keeping Orpheus on point would be her next big challenge.

  Reva stood in front of the mirror in her room. She held a script in one hand and gestured dramatically with the other.

  “Oh, I’m miserable,” she recited to her image in the mirror. “I can’t work. I’m not going to work.” She paused and threw the script on her bed, then slammed her body on top of dog-eared papers. “I hate Three Sisters!” she complained loudly. “I hate Chekov.”

  Little’O sat at the computer in his room with his fingers flying furiously across the keyboard. He had been a straight-A student his entire life and this year was no exception. This evening’s assignment was an extra-credit twenty-page essay titled “The Role of a Vice President in the Current Economic Crisis.”

  His room was as orderly as his world. There was a proper place for everything and unless that thing was serving his needs at the moment it was in its place. Perfectly starched button-down shirts were hung in the closet according to color, five whites, five light blues, and five yellows. T-shirts and boxer shorts were folded and stacked neatly in the drawers while socks were rolled into tight little bundles and placed in the drawer beneath them. There was a logic to the room and anyone who entered it would be able to intuitively find whatever it was they were looking for.

  The handsome adolescent was a study in contrasts. He was a smaller version of his father. Good-looking and tall, all the girls on campus thought he was extrem
ely “doable” but were hesitant to approach him because of his intense demeanor. He always looked like he was in a hurry to get somewhere and paid little attention to those who tried to distract him. Every year his new crop of teachers were always shocked when they learned of his extreme right views on so many topics, from the abolition of entitlement programs, support for the Arizona anti-immigrant legislation, to pro-life. He was often the topic of discussion in the teachers’ lounge. “I don’t get it,” someone had once said. “How could such a bright kid be such a little Nazi?”

  The kitchen was quiet and everything was in its proper place. Li Yeng had gone for the evening. Dinner had been served without Raven being at the table.

  “I won’t be dining with the family tonight, Li Yeng,” Raven had said when she came home that evening just after 5:00. “I’m not feeling well.”

  Li Yeng had been surprised to see her employer’s hair in a not perfect state. She had never known Raven to leave or return to the house in anything but picture-ready condition. Her hair looked fine, but it had obviously been hastily combed. Her makeup was on, but it somehow looked ... rushed.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Roulette,” Li Yeng said convincingly. “Would you like for me to bring up a tray later?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m just going to take a long bath and turn in early tonight. But please make sure the children are fed at exactly seven o’clock.”

  Orpheus had decided earlier that day that he would sleep in his bed that evening. She’s only doing what she thinks is best for me, he reasoned silently. Hopefully they’ll find someone better suited for the job and this will blow over on its own. She’ll be disappointed but at least we’ll be able to get on with our lives.

  The prospect of talking to Kiss-n-tell in the chat room became irresistible as the evening drew on. The children were in their rooms and Raven hadn’t come downstairs all evening. It was approaching midnight when Orpheus turned on the computer and logged into the chat room. I’ll just say hello and then go to bed. He probably won’t even be there.