Gina laughed. Pinched him back. He reacted by swaying forward, his penis ramming her. And the sudden contact caused both of them to smile no more. Dutch put his hands on the sides of her face, and began to kiss her so gently, so sweetly, that Gina found herself enraptured.
+++
Back in Newark at BBR, LaLa and Dempsey were going over the monthly receipts when Frank came in asking if they had seen the news.
“Stay away from the news,” Dempsey said. “At least until they get off of their Bash Gina kick.”
But Frank turned on the office television anyway. There was a press conference in the White House briefing room, with Allison and Max at the lectern.
“She’s not his girlfriend,” Max was saying and both LaLa and Dempsey looked up at the TV screen.
“But why is he cavorting with a socialist?”
“She’s not a socialist,” Allison said. “And you know it, Dale.”
“The fact remains,” another reporter shouted, “that the president’s girlfriend was arrested--”
“She’s not his girlfriend,” Allison insisted.
“Can I finish my question?” the reporter asked.
“No,” Allison said. “Not if you’re going to distort facts. She’s not the president’s girlfriend. Let’s get that straight. She’s a friend. He has many female friends, and she’s just one of them. But she’s not his girlfriend.”
Frank looked at LaLa and Dempsey. “Not his girlfriend,” Frank asked, “but his whore?”
Dempsey looked at LaLa. “Frank’s right,” he said to her. “Not his girlfriend, but she spends every weekend with him now. With Wham, Bam Harber, the hit and run specialist. And when he finishes his hit, and he runs, where is that gonna leave Gina?”
LaLa leaned back. Dempsey began to worry more than he already had. And Frank, who sighed outwardly, was inwardly thrilled that that lame president of theirs would be dumping Gina sooner rather than later and pave the way for him to worm his way back into her heart and, eventually, into her bed.
And not one of them, in the BBR office, nor Dutch and Gina at the White House, had any inkling that the worst was yet to come. And this little episode about some socialism party, about some arrest that really wasn’t much of an arrest to begin with, would be like a pebble on a beach, like nothingness, compared to what was coming when new news broke, news they had no way of even anticipating, let alone countering with an adequate response.
THIRTEEN
The president slapped the ball across the table expecting Gina to flub it, but Gina was ready. She slapped the ball across, whipping it just as hard as Dutch had, and the game was on. They laughed as they played, their ping pong paddles turning the little-used White House game room into a loud, rip-roaring fun factory for a change. Christian was there too, keeping score, although it was obvious that who won, or who lost, took a far second to enjoying the game.
That enjoyment, however, was short-lived when Dutch got word that Max and Allison needed to see him.
Dutch grabbed a couple towels, threw one to Gina, and began to wipe his face. They were both in shorts, t-shirts and tennis shoes. Had been on the treadmill earlier and had planned to just relax all day. It was Saturday, there was nothing on the president’s schedule, and he was determined to enjoy every minute of freedom he had with Gina. And now this.
“Chris you take my place,” he told Christian, handing him the paddle. “And don’t you cut her any slack.”
“Oh, no sir,” Christian said with a smile, enjoying the day himself, “she’s definitely a gamer.”
Gina and Dutch laughed. And although Dutch didn’t let on around Gina, he was concerned. His chief of staff and press secretary disturbing him at the residence on a Saturday afternoon automatically meant that something that absolutely couldn’t wait was up. And it wasn’t any world event that was up, or a cabinet secretary would have phoned him. This, Dutch thought sadly as he made his way to the sitting room, was personal.
Allison and Max stood to their feet when Dutch entered the room. He sat in the chair flanking the sofa. When Dutch was seated, both of them sat back on the sofa.
“Okay, give,” Dutch said as he crossed his legs. “Why did the two of you feel a need to disturb me today?”
“It’s vital, sir,” Max said. “Or you know I wouldn’t be here.”
“What is it?”
Max looked at Allison. Allison leaned forward. “Sir, did you know that Miss Lansing has a brother?”
“A brother?”
“Yes, sir. A half brother by the name of Marcus Rance?”
Dutch shook his head. “No, she never mentioned such a person.”
“They have the same father, sir. Or had since their father is deceased.”
“I take it there’s a problem with the brother?” he asked.
Max shook his head. “That’s the understatement of the century,” he said.
Dutch braced himself. “What is it?”
Max was too drained by the news to speak of it. He looked at Allison again.
“The brother, Marcus Rance, is currently in prison, sir.”
Dutch’s heart tightened. “What for?”
“Murdering a family,” Allison said, and Dutch’s heart dropped.
“He’s on death row, Dutch,” Max said.
Dutch leaned back. “Dear God,” he said. Then he looked at Max. “What’s the story on this guy?”
“Drug dealer. And I mean major. It was a drive-by shooting. Didn’t care who he hit, just as long as he hit some punk who happened to be at the house for some Fourth of July celebration. Both parents, three of their five children, and two other partygoers were killed. The punk he was gunning for wasn’t even hit.”
Dutch shook his head. Thought about what the press would do to Gina with this one. Max moved to the edge of his seat. “Just as we’re about to get your reelection campaign cranked up into high gear, this pops up. And once again, she’ll claim ignorance. Are you sure she isn’t some plant for the opposition, Dutch?”
“Cut that out, you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cut that the fuck out, do you hear me clearly, Max?”
“Yes. I apologize, sir. But, Dutch, man, this is a problem.”
“I know it’s a problem. I don’t need you to tell me it’s a problem.”
Dutch picked up the phone on the side table, pressed a button.
“Yes, sir?” Christian said on the other line.
“Bring Miss Lansing to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dutch hung up. When Gina and Christian arrived, they all stood up. Dutch motioned for her to sit next to him.
“Get lost, Chris,” Max said to Christian and Christian, after Dutch’s nod, left.
“What’s the matter now?” Gina asked Dutch. She was still in her shorts and t-shirt, still feeling the effects of a hearty workout. But it didn’t take a genius to feel the tension in the room.
“Marcus Rance,” Max said and all three of them looked at her.
But Gina frowned. “Who’s Marcus Rance?”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Max yelled. “You expect us to believe that you never heard of your own brother?”
“My brother? I don’t have a brother! And don’t you yell at me!”
They all stared at Gina. “You didn’t know that your father had a son?”
There was a long pause. “I mean, I knew--”
“Oh, great,” Max said, and Allison rolled her eyes.
Gina was so tired of these people making her out to be some idiot, when their obsession with the fringes of her life was the real idiocy. She exhaled. “I knew my father had a son out of wedlock, okay, before he married my mother. But he had no contact with that boy, far as I knew, and I didn’t even know his name, where he lived, or anything about him. When I was fifteen and my parents died in a car accident, and I asked my aunt if she was going to try and find this boy of my father’s, she said my father had one child, me, and that was the end of that.
So, that was the end of that.”
“Not quite,” Max said. “Especially since your father was paying child support for many years to this non-existent brother of yours.”
“Child support?” Dutch asked.
“Yes, sir,” Max said. “And it’s DNA confirmed,” Max added.
Dutch stood up and began to walk around the room.
“Have you ever met this man before, this Marcus Rance?” Allison asked Gina.
“Please say never,” Max said.
“Never.”
“At least there’s that,” Allison said.
“But, I assure you, Miss Lansing,” Max said, visibly agitated, “when the opposition gets a whole of this bit of information they will make it seem as if you and Mr. Marcus Rance are joined at the hip. Siamese Twins, the two of you will be. They will make it seem as though no sister could possibly mean more to a brother, and vice versa, than you and Marcus mean to each other. In other words, they will excoriate you, my dear, when this gets out.”
Dutch stood at the lunette window and stared at the activity going in and out of the Old Executive Office Building. “Will it get out?” Dutch asked, still looking out of the window, his heart pounding, his soul pained at just the thought of the harsh judgments Gina could endure.
“The story will break tomorrow,” Allison said. “Somebody in Director Munford’s office has leaked it to The Post already. The Post has asked for us to comment prior to going live.”
“No comment.”
“They want us to say something, sir,” Allison insisted, but Dutch interrupted her.
“No comment,” he said, turning and looking at Allison. “I don’t give a good gotdamn what they want or don’t want, I am not legitimizing this nonsense! Regina didn’t even know this man existed until we told her, and now they want to act as if she was responsible for his behavior? No. No comment. And I mean hell no.”
The exhaustion on Allison’s face told her story. Being a press secretary when your boss will not even allow you to speak to the press on a subject that was sure to explode all across the country in twenty-four hours, was a hard pill to swallow.
“What’s the story?” Gina asked. “What has this Marcus Rance done?”
Max and Allison looked at Dutch. Dutch walked back over to the sofa, reached out his hand to Gina. When Gina stood, he grasped her. “Marcus Rance is currently on death row for murdering six people.”
Gina, stunned, nearly collapsed. But Dutch held her up. With tears in his eyes, he held her up.
+++
Max and Allison left the residence and headed downstairs, to their offices on the West Wing. They walked as if they were in a funeral procession. When they arrived at Max’s office, Max went behind his desk, picked up his telephone, and dialed a once very familiar number.
“We’re dead, you know that?” Allison said.
“I know.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Kate Marris.”
Allison stared at Max. “The president’s ex? Are you sure?”
“What the hell else can we do? You saw him? He doesn’t even want us to comment. He’s running for reelection, will be in the fight of his life, and he decides to date some sister-girl from the hood with more baggage than Samsonite! You’d better believe I’m sure.”
Then a familiar voice came onto the line. “Kate, darling, how are you?” Max said into the phone. “It’s Max Brennan. No, it’s not a social call. This call is strictly business.” Then Max exhaled, looked at Allison. “He needs you, Kate,” he said.
FOURTEEN
Two weeks later and the story was still a big topic of conversation. Although there had been a few disasters, like more flooding along the southern plain states, nothing so severe that it would knock Marcus Rance and his shady life off of the front pages.
The staff at BBR, however, were no longer bombarded with reporters camped outside their office doors, or at their homes, but the effects of the last two weeks were being felt in their donations. Down mightily, by all accounts.
They sat at the conference table, Gina, LaLa, Demps, and Frank, and tried to make sense of it all. But they couldn’t. It was nonsensical.
Gina stared at a picture of her half-brother, and she could see no resemblance to her father at all. The caption read: The President’s Brother-in-law?
“They know I have never had anything to do with this guy,” she said. “Every reporter in America knows that I don’t even know him. But they continue to print this craziness! And now it’s hurting BBR.”
“Even our local paper,” Frank said, “hasn’t been immune. They claimed that’s the real reason why you started BBR. Because you saw the waywardness of your brother.”
Gina shook her head. It was too much. And this story, unlike the faux arrest story, couldn’t’ be ignored.
That was why they spent most of the morning watching news accounts, amazed at how, not just Dutch’s political opponents, but reporters as well were linking her to Marcus Rance. Now the president was speaking at the White House about a meeting he had just wrapped up with the prime minister of Pakistan, who stood beside him in the Rose Garden, and the very first question by reporters wasn’t about the US-Pakistani relationship, or the war in Afghanistan. It was about Marcus Rance.
“I don’t condone murder, first of all,” Dutch had to clarify based upon the reporter’s question, and it was downhill from there. Yes, they had the same father, but no, she never met him, didn’t have any relationship, didn’t know he existed until the story broke. But the very next question would be, once again, about this unknown half-brother of Regina Lansing’s and why it wasn’t made public sooner.
Gina, for her part, could only stare at the screen. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked Dempsey. “For the president, I mean?”
Dempsey glanced at LaLa, who was horrified by it all. Dempsey leaned forward. “When the President of the United States has to begin an answer by saying he doesn’t condone murder, as if it’s implied that he might, yeah, it’s bad.”
Gina frowned. “It’s so unfair,” she said.
“Politics and fairness are nonexistent bedfellows,” Frank said, and LaLa looked at him.
+++
At the Mirth restaurant and Dutch and Max were eating alone. It was Max’s idea. Get out of the White House, show the press that you’re moving on. Dutch knew it was also to show the press that Gina wasn’t in town, but he was hungry and lonely, so he agreed.
They were a few minutes into their meal and conversation when the door was opened within the private room and Katherine Marris, blonde, blue-eyed, and voluptuous, walked in.
When Dutch saw her, he sat his fork on his plate. Max stood to his feet.
“Hello, Darling,” Kate said to Max, air-kissing him on both cheeks.
“How are you, Kate?”
“Famished,” she said, sitting down in Max’s seat and removing her gloves. “A gentleman,” she said to Dutch, “would have stood for a lady.”
“If I had seen a lady,” replied Dutch, “I would have stood.”
“Ouch,” Max said with a smile.
“What is she doing here?” Dutch asked Max. “And who gave her clearance to interrupt my dinner?”
“I did,” Max said. He put his hands in his pockets, revealing a belly flapped over his belt. “I asked her to talk to you.”
Dutch stared at Max. He just didn’t get it. He thought Gina was just a temp, just like all of his previous ladies, and Kate was the true love of his life. She wasn’t, and never was, but Max didn’t believe it.
When Max had excused himself from the room, Dutch leaned back and folded his arms. “All right,” he said. “You’re here to talk, then talk.”
Kate smiled, picked up a carrot off of Max’s plate and took a bite. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said. “But I love you, too.” Then she sighed. “It was Max’s idea, darling, believe that. He’s under the impression that I still have some sort of influence over you, foolish man.” She look
ed at Dutch. “He’s worried about you.”
There eyes met. In Dutch, Kate did see the love of her life, a man she still found herself crying over. In Kate, Dutch saw the woman who had given him an ultimatum. Marry her, she’d said, or leave her. He wasn’t about to marry her, there was too much character lacking in hers, and he called it quits.
“And besides,” Kate said, “I’ve missed you.”
THE PRESIDENT'S GIRLFRIEND Page 12
