by Claire Adams
But there on the floor of my kitchen, in front of my armoire, I felt that I needed a friend more than anything else in the world. I swallowed and reached toward my phone. I’d kept every contact in the thing since the dawn of my political career, of course. I couldn’t afford not to. People continually cropped back up, their smiles sure and their arms outstretched, needing something from you. You had to pretend you knew them; you needed them. They did the same for you.
I tapped her number into the phone and I held it against my ear, sighing. I couldn’t believe I was dipping so low.
Finally, on the last ring, I heard her voice: “Hello?” It still held that efficiency that I knew so well from those years before, but it was also a bit softer, a bit friendlier. Like she’d been waiting for me.
“Rachel?” I murmured into the phone. I heard my voice—so clumsy. Like it needed her. I hated that I needed her.
“Amanda. Is that you?” The voice was hesitant, unsure, and a bit confused. She didn’t know what to think of this call; I didn’t, either.
“Yes,” I said, laughing a bit too loudly into the phone.
“How do you still have my number?” she asked, laughing.
I was confused by this. Of course I had her number. “You know I keep all the numbers, Rachel. Just in case.”
“Ah, yes,” she murmured, chortling a bit. “I didn’t quite realize that you were still in the business. I stepped away all those years ago and I forget how things are.”
So she’d actually quit, just like she’d said she would. I felt befuddled. I cleared my throat. “What a thing.” This was something my mother used to say. I had hated it, always thinking she sounded like a plain woman. I supposed she was, truly.
“Why are you calling?” Rachel asked.
A pause hung between us. I let it go on too long, nearly forcing her off the phone. But then I spoke up. “Listen, Rachel. I just…you’re the only person I could call. I have a small emergency at my place. The gas is leaking, and—and they have to do some repairs.”
“That’s terrible!” Rachel lurched, still a bit confused. Why would I call her, I was sure she was thinking. I was sure she had a million people she could have called in this situation. But she had taken herself out of this game so long ago; she didn’t have to play with fire, like I did.
“Right. So I need a place to stay,” I whispered into the phone, cringing at myself. I could hear the desperation.
Rachel “ohhed” into the phone. “Of course you can stay here.” She glided into it easily, as if she hadn’t had an incredible, overexerted though process in the back of her mind. “I have everything for you. A guest bedroom, even. Please. Come.”
“Thank you, Rachel,” I murmured, leaning my head back with such relief. “You’re really saving my life.”
She had no idea just how true this was.
Chapter Nine
After a half-hour taxi ride, I sat at Rachel’s kitchen table. She was across from me, looking a bit tired, if interested. She had poured us both a glass of wine, and I spun my glass round and round, trying to avoid the topic of why I was there.
“I like your place,” I finally sputtered, listening to the soft jazz in the background. The place was a good deal smaller than mine. She still lived alone. “You seeing anyone?” I asked her. This was what women were meant to ask other women. This was what I was sure.
She laughed—that familiar, tinkling laugh. “Actually, my boyfriend and I just broke up. About three weeks ago.”
I placed my hand over my heart then. “I’m so sorry.” It was truly strange that Rachel had even been seeing anyone. She’d been the one who’d stated that no one was meant to fall in love in our political business. “I thought you said no dating in politics?” I said then, taking a sip of my wine.
She shrugged her slim shoulders. I wondered if she was aging better than me. “You know, I did say that. And then I got the fuck out of politics.” She snapped her fingers, not in an unkind way. “I had to get out of there. It was toxic.”
I nodded, thinking about Jason. There was so much I could tell my friend, then. She could smell it on me.
“It’s been a long time,” Rachel finally said. “I haven’t seen you since—after the campaign? Is that right? Your career’s really taken off since then.” Her voice sounded impressed, but I didn’t know if it was a fake kind of impressed. I couldn’t tell if she hated my guts or felt jealous of my success.
“I guess it has. I’m with this new campaign. One of the leaders,” I stated, nodding.
“Well. You always had a thing for Xavier, right? So this must be nice for you.” Rachel smiled at me. Did she know?
I laughed, shaking my head. “That man is a trip. If he didn’t run the nation, I’d probably kill him.” I knew this wasn’t true; I knew that Xavier was an incredible man—a man I truly was falling in love with. But I had to put on a face for Rachel. Rachel laughed good-naturedly, but there was definitely something different about her—something resigned. We didn’t have the same relationship anymore.
Rachel set down her glass, and I heard it clink on the wood. “Amanda. Do you remember that I was really pretty good at reading people?” she asked me then.
I nodded, remembering it. I flashed a smile. “I remember you guessed the other candidate was lying. We wrote a speech about it. And he had been lying.”
Rachel nodded, nearly laughing. “I didn’t guess; I knew.”
“Anyway. Yes. You were good at reading people,” I stated, suddenly feeling uncertain but allowing her to continue.
She cleared her throat. “I can read you. I know that something’s wrong. I know you’re still in that poisonous environment. Are they eating you alive, like they do the other women? You have to tell me.” Rachel brought her hand over the table and draped it over my fingers, looking at me in the eyes. She pulsed with understanding. I felt like I could tell her anything, like the old times.
But then, I knew what she would say.
She would tell me that I should turn Jason in.
She would tell me that I should take the consequences to my career.
She would tell me that I should allow the photos to be viewed by millions and millions of people.
She would tell me that I deserved a better life and a better career.
But it wasn’t true. Not for me. I was doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. I swallowed, trying to think of something to say. Rachel’s cat came sauntering into the room, meowing. Her eyes were yellow, glaring at me. Telling me to answer. Answer.
“Oh. Work is just so stressful,” I finally said, placing my head in my hand. “You were right to get out when you did. Although, of course, I’m addicted to it. I love it. I love the work. I love the pulse of it. The emotion of it. But sometimes, it’s nice to turn to someone and speak out your problems. You know?”
Rachel raised her left eyebrow toward me. I knew she didn’t trust me. She swallowed slowly and flung her shortened red hair across her shoulder in a way that made me understand that she expected more to be there when she made the move. More hair. More of herself. “You can still get out, you know,” she said, her eyes glowing.
“I know,” I murmured. I faked a yawn and stretched my hands into the air, feeling my spine pop inside me. “I think I need to hit the sack. Thanks for being my ears—and my home tonight, Rachel.”
Rachel still looked at me curiously. “Of course,” she whispered.
I stretched out on the couch, then, placing my wine glass on the coffee table. I aligned my feet with the edge of the couch, and I dug my head into the pillow. In a moment, all comprehension of the previous day fell away.
I finally found sleep.
Chapter Ten
The next day, I rose early. My back felt so crooked from sleeping on the couch and I stretched on Rachel’s floor, listening to her as she readied herself for the day. She’d told me she’d become an editor at a publishing company—that she was finally pursuing he
r dreams. I wanted to proclaim that I’d thought politics was her dream. But I didn’t.
I steadied my hand as I prepared the coffee in the coffee pot, remembering that Rachel liked her coffee with just a bit of milk—no sugar. I prepared it and had it waiting for her as she tapped out of her room. Her face looked fresh; she didn’t look as tired as she had the day before. “I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable on the couch?”
I shook my head, sipping my black coffee. “Of course not.”
We shared a taxi to our workplaces. We didn’t speak; we stared out of different windows. But when we swept in front of the White House, I could feel that she was impressed. In a small way, I knew I had won. But I also knew that she didn’t know anything that I had to face in that terrorizing house; she didn’t understand that I was a puppet, in hiding.
I turned toward her while I unbuckled myself. “Thanks for letting me crash last night,” I said, flashing her a White House smile. No longer did I want to resemble that tired, weak woman who’d taken up on her couch the evening before, nearly quivering with fear. I couldn’t be that person.
I stepped into the September sunlight without waiting for her response. I flung the sunglasses up over my forehead and entered the White House, allowing the Secret Service men to pat me down in that familiar manner. I greeted them and sauntered in, knowing in my heart and in my mind that that day, I had to fulfill my promise to Jason. I had to alert the president that he wanted a meeting with him; I had to make this happen for him.
Otherwise, I was screwed.
The Secret Service agent allowed me entrance to the Oval Office, and I found Xavier speaking quietly with the vice president by the window. They both turned toward me, a bit surprised. “Hello, Amanda,” Xavier stated with such precision. “I believe you’ve met Raymond.”
I nodded graciously and extended my hand, allowing the sour man before me to place his lips on my skin. I quivered. “So good to see you again.”
Xavier nodded toward Raymond and continued. “I think we can wrap that up with them on our next trip to China. Don’t you?”
“As long as they don’t cook that terrible food again,” Raymond chortled, laughing at his own joke. He spun from the room. I watched as his upper body seemed to bulge from its shirt.
Xavier turned toward me as the door closed, and I felt the tension between us brimming. He was waiting for me to say something, but I had suddenly forgotten why I’d needed to see him in the first place. Think, Amanda! Think!
But then, finally, he sighed. “All right, Amanda. I see you’ve come to see me, instead of me having to summon you. What a nice change of pace.” His voice was a bit tactful, but his smile was warm. I accepted it graciously.
“Xavier, I’m afraid I have a question for you,” I began, steamrolling down my required conversation once more. I felt my stomach begin to curdle a bit with nerves. “Jason would like a private meeting with you, Mr. President,” I stated, trying to hide any drop of emotion in my voice. “He’s assured me that it’s completely confidential and absolutely imperative.”
Xavier raised his eyebrow toward me, unsure. He sat at his desk, tapping his nose with his long finger. “And why do you think Jason wants to see me, Amanda?”
“I’m certainly not the one to ask,” I answered, feeling my heart racing in my chest. I felt like I was either going to die on the carpet or run out of there screaming. I held my ground, somehow.
“You aren’t the one to ask?” the president murmured. “I find that highly unlikely.”
I swallowed. The whole thing was messy, and I knew it. I wanted the president to be safe from the knowledge of the photographs. I had no idea what Jason was up to. But I knew I couldn’t trust him; I couldn’t allow him to ruin this presidency. “Just promise you’ll stand your ground with him?” I whispered.
Xavier stood up, alarmed. He seemed nearly angry, and I wanted to take it back—to yield the fact that I didn’t think he was a weak president, that he could certainly hold his own. But Xavier saw the expression of fear on my face, and he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a step back, toward the window. “Have dinner with me tonight, Amanda,” he stated, looking at me as if I were an injured dog.
I bowed my head, knowing that I could not. This went against the entire plan. I couldn’t grow close to the president once more. There was too much at stake. “I’m sorry, Xavier. You know I can’t do that.” This was all I could say.
But Xavier spun around the desk in a simple motion, stepping toward me. His nose was mere inches from mine, and I felt his breath hot against my lips. I closed my eyes, trying not to give in to temptation. But instead of kissing me, he began to whisper: “I need to know what’s going on with you. With everything.” His eyes were searching around the room haphazardly. “The evening will be secure. No one will know about it. Is that clear?”
My body felt all wrong, like my joints were in the wrong places. I swallowed, knowing then that Xavier suspected something. But I didn’t want him to know about any of it; I had to keep it all a secret. And so I swallowed. And I agreed that I could have dinner with him. Just one dinner. I would flirt. I would smile. And then, at the end of the night, I wouldn’t have to date him again. And he wouldn’t be any wiser about the photographs.
Chapter Eleven
I jumped out of the Oval Office then, and found myself in a continuous daydream about Xavier—about the evening in which we would gaze at each other, alone, without prying eyes. Of course I knew I couldn’t allow it to happen. I knew it was completely insane. But this was, in so many ways, what I wanted.
I rushed down the hall. As I spun into the great hall in which so many workers were flying through phone calls, creating such havoc, I smiled to myself for just a moment. What we were creating was truly wonderful. We were prolonging a beautiful presidency and the happiness of so many Americans.
Suddenly, I felt it: the hand on my shoulder. It grabbed the fine fabric of my blue and white striped blazer and tugged my back—literally like a puppet. I felt like a ragdoll as I was dropped into the seat in front of Jason. He unwrapped his grip from me and adjusted his own sloppy shirt. “My Amanda. How are you doing today?”
I felt my mouth open with such shock. I wanted to cry out, to attack him with ravenous nails. But instead, I simply stated, “I’m fine, sir. And how are you?” like the dutiful puppet I was.
Jason seemed pleased, entertaining himself with my discomfort. I cleared my throat slightly and watched as he brought his pen tip to his mouth, over and over again, while raising his eyebrow. He looked like he was in the midst of a massive twitch. “I wondered if you’d had a chance to talk to your little friend lately?”
“You mean the President of the United States?” I asked him, scoffing a bit.
He nodded, not acknowledging my snark. I bit my lip for a moment, trying to finagle my way out of the conversation. Behind me, a young girl—an intern—dropped an entire wad of white papers and allowed them to stream like kites throughout the office. Jason clapped his hands suddenly, forcing me into a state of shock, and yelled out, “CLEAN IT UP!”
I cleared my throat. “Anyway. I did speak with him, and he’s inclined to have a meeting with you. This afternoon, if you’re lucky.” I tipped my head.
Jason smiled. He looked like an oversized baby when he smiled like that: so gape-toothed and pulsing with fat. “You’re doing a swell job, Amanda,” he stated then. I felt like he was my teacher. “Gosh, you’re doing such a swell job. I don’t know what we would do around here if it weren’t for you.”
I wanted to spit on the ground. He was treating me with such disdain in that moment. I’d been dragged through the mud because of those photos; I’d been made to do ridiculous things. Most of all, I’d been made to fear for the career I’d worked so hard for. It hung like a string now. Would he allow it to break?
Suddenly, he brought his fingers into the air, pointing downward. He waved me off with them, forcing me up from my chair and back toward my sad, crooked de
sk in the corner. I felt like a piece of gum at the bottom of someone’s shoe. My only purpose was to cry to old friends, sleep on couches, and then come to work and do whatever Jason wanted.
I sat at my desk and stared at my computer screen for a while, blinking evenly and feeling more like a robot than a person. I knew that at 2 in the afternoon, we’d have our press release meeting. The president was declaring another few aspects of the education reform bill. It was his baby—the very reason he’d been elected in the first place. Now, in the second term, he would enhance it and restructure it to work out the kinks. It was a great plan—a wonderful wave on which to ride out the rest of the election.
I didn’t go to lunch, even as I watched the interns, Jason, and the Secret Service agents shoving salads and burgers down their throats. I shuddered at them, feeling the aching emptiness in my stomach. Would I ever feel normal again? I was continually feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.
Suddenly, and all too soon, it was 2 in the afternoon. Xavier appeared at the far end of the hallway and he sauntered toward us. The room grew quiet and Jason stood, nodding his head toward the president—all but saluting him. I stood as well, as he entered. I held my hand over my stomach, listening to the way it was erupting inside of me.
I kicked into gear. The press release was still my main duty. “Hello, Mr. President.” I felt every person’s young eyes on me as I walked toward him, taking his arm and guiding him through the press release proceedings that I had outlined. As we passed Jason’s desk, Xavier leaned toward him, over the desk. They shook hands, and Xavier pointed toward the press release.
“What do you think of this?” he asked Jason. The entire room remained so quiet.
Jason looked beyond Xavier, toward my face. His face was actually leering at me, making me feel like I was only three inches tall. I felt my stomach drop out beneath me.
