Stella, of course, is a total bitch. While we’re waiting backstage before the swearing in, she swoops in while I’m trying to have a private word with Elliot and absolutely takes over.
For his part, Elliot finally stops her. “Sis, you need to go sit out there and wait with Mom and Dad.”
“But…” She looks at me. “I’m holding the Bible for you!”
“Yeah, out there. You just interrupted us.”
She glares at me but I’m sure she won’t even remember my face in twenty minutes. She’s that kind of person and hangs with people who aren’t much better than her.
Hard to believe she and my sweet pet share the same parents.
She huffs off to take her seat. Elliot catches my eye and winks, and I wink back as I stroke my tie.
He smiles and touches his.
It’s the best we can do under the circumstances.
Jordan rushes up. “I didn’t miss it, did I?”
“No, you’re just in time. How are things going?”
“We’re getting ready to start. I have to get back soon.” They can’t officially get started until the actual swearing in is handled.
Elliot tucks his left hand in his pocket and extends his right hand. “Thank you for all your hard work, Jordan.”
Jordan glances at me before nodding and shaking with him. “It’s been my pleasure, Vice President Woodley. Thank you for the opportunity.”
That finally draws an honest, easy smile from Elliot. “Not VP for a few minutes yet.”
Shae walks over. “We ready to do this?”
I wish I could pull Elliot in for a hug and kiss, but I can’t. Too many witnesses, too many photographers.
Too many cell phones.
So I do what I can—I stick my hand out to him and drop my voice. “El.”
He smiles and shakes my hand, but I don’t let go immediately. I squeeze twice, and he squeezes back.
Then all I can do is watch from our vantage point as he’s sworn in first, per tradition, then Shae is sworn in.
And…that’s that.
The country now owns a chunk of my boy.
I feel a tug at my arm and lean in so Jordan can speak into my ear. “I’ll see you later, Sir. I need to get back. We’re starting.”
Again, I can’t kiss him. Not here. Not where we’re not anonymous. I squeeze his hand, where it’s on my arm, and give him a nod.
As the day progresses, I’m nearly ready to kill Stella. Their mom, Norah, says something to Stella at the luncheon when Stella gets snippy with one of the servers. I’m not close enough to hear but the dark glare the Woodley women exchange tells me there’s trouble.
Elliot’s father, Oliver, in also rare form today. He’s sullen and barely civil, and also earns his fair share of scolding from Elliot’s mom.
I know his father’s not happy their son is a Democrat, but you’d think the man would at least be happy for his son on this important day.
It leads me to think Elliot’s never going to earn the man’s admiration.
I can only hope he figures that out sooner than in sixteen years.
* * * *
The day spins past almost too quickly. Before we return to Blair House to prep for the balls, Shae, Chris, and Kev want to stop by the White House so she can check out the Oval.
I have a feeling that’s not all they want to do but we’re on a tight schedule.
“Madam President,” I say, “just a reminder that we need to keep an eye on the schedule.”
“Duly noted, Leo,” she says.
Kev leans in. “Keep everyone distracted for us for a few minutes, okay? Including the photographer.”
I nod. “Yes, Mr. Markos.” They might be my friends, but now that she’s sworn in, I damn sure will adhere to protocols.
The photographer is a little put out that I won’t let him into the Oval, but I take him on a tour of the West Wing, showing him where everyone’s offices will be. When we spin back by the Oval, the door’s still shut, so I herd him upstairs, to the residence. While the Oval Office and Shae’s private study were finished early, there’s still an anthill of activity elsewhere in the building, including the residence.
Elliot’s not here, unfortunately. He’s spending time with his parents and sister. At least he won’t be going to his residence until after the balls. That was a promise I extracted from him yesterday.
I want to be there when he sees it for the first time.
The photographer is a nice guy, but he’s understandably irritated at me right now. “This is interesting, but when can I get pictures of President Samuels in the Oval Office?”
“Eh, should be soon.”
I spot Jordan in consultation with one of the White House staff and take the photographer over to him. I lean in close. “Keep him busy for at least ten,” I whisper, and Jordan nods, immediately taking over while I slip away and head back down.
I break into a jog, and as I hit the outer office, the door to the Oval opens, and there stand the triad, who burst into laughter upon seeing my approach.
Yep. They absolutely were fucking. I can tell from the flush on her cheeks and the all-too-pleased matching grins Chris and Kev are wearing.
Can’t blame them. I plan on fucking Elliot over his desk as soon as possible on the day he’s sworn in as POTUS.
“Madam President,” I say. “Can I have the photographer come down before we leave for Blair House? He wants a few shots of you in the Oval.”
“Sure, Leo.”
Relieved, I head back upstairs to get him.
Jordan leans in. “I’ll be ready to go to Blair House in about twenty. They don’t need me for the rest of this.”
“Cool.”
We get the pictures taken and then head out. We’re not fifteen feet inside the foyer at Blair House when I hear Stella’s shrill tone.
“What do you mean I can’t stay with you? Stop being stubborn, Elliot.”
Shae arches an eyebrow at me and I immediately detour, following the sound of Stella’s voice. I quickly locate them in a sitting room. Elliot looks up when I appear in the doorway, and the unmistakable relief on his face angers me, because I can’t jump in and defend him the way I want to.
Let me clarify—I’m not angry at him, obviously.
“Vice President Woodley,” I say. “It’s time to get changed for the balls.”
“Thanks, Leo.” He stands.
Stella—that bitch—actually moves to stop him. “Elliot, you’re not leaving until we settle this. I’m your sister. Mom, help me out, here.”
“Ms. Woodley,” Kev says from behind me, “due to the nature of your work, I’m going to insist you drop this until I have time for the White House Counsel’s office to thoroughly investigate the matter.”
Her face goes beet red. “What?”
I step aside so Kev can move into the room. “You’re a lobbyist, Ms. Woodley.”
“But… I-I’m not!”
“Do you not lobby on behalf of your employer?”
“But I—”
“Which, actually, I think you need to take a step back from your job, quite honestly. I don’t believe you’re officially registered as a lobbyist, are you? Yet you seem to be doing exactly that. If you were to produce a letter of resignation, and a sworn affidavit from your employer stating you were no longer working there, then perhaps we could clear it. Until then—”
“I am not quitting my job! Who the hell do you think you are?”
Kev stands a little straighter, his hands in his pockets, and drops his voice into what is definitely Dom tone. “I’m chief of staff to the President of the United States, Ms. Woodley. I can talk to Secret Service and have you removed from Blair House right now, and revoke your tickets to the balls. Or you can behave yourself, stop acting childish, and have a pleasant evening. Your brother isn’t moving you into his residence.”
She turns to Elliot, who shrugs. “You heard him, Stell. I’m not going to trigger a scandal less than twenty-four hours in
to her administration. Suck it up, sis.”
Enraged, she storms out of the room.
I lean in close to Kev. “Thanks,” I whisper.
He nods.
Elliot turns his back to his parents and mouths, “Thank you,” to Kev.
He nods again. “Mr. Vice President, we should start getting ready for the balls.”
“Thank you, Kev.” He turns to his parents. “Mom, Dad—”
His mom smiles and shakes her head. “She’s just being spoiled.” She stands and hugs him. “Don’t worry what she thinks, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
His dad also stands and shakes hands with him. “We probably won’t go to all the dances tonight. Early flight tomorrow. Can’t be away from the farm too much longer.”
“That’s all right, Dad. I understand.”
They leave the room to get ready, leaving just the three of us and Secret Service.
“Boy, Stella’s a piece of work,” Kev mutters.
“You ain’t kidding,” I say. I wish I could pull Elliot into my arms and hug him. I mean, I could, but it’d terrify him right now. “You all right?”
He nods. “I just want to get through tonight.”
“Three balls,” Kev says. “Then you can head out.”
“Thanks.”
Kev leaves. I walk with Elliot to our rooms. I want to slip inside with him, shower with him, dress him.
In another world, Elliot’s my husband and I’m taking care of my pet ahead of us appearing in public so we can dance together.
In another world, Jordan’s with us, helping me with Elliot, our secret strength.
In another world, Elliot’s father gives my pet the unconditional love and acceptance Elliot’s always craved, and Elliot’s sister isn’t a conniving, pushy bitch intent on cashing in on her brother’s fame.
Maybe I’ll finally get to step foot into some form of that world in sixteen years.
Unfortunately, tonight is not that night.
Chapter Forty
Now
My personal problems are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, I suppose.
I need to do my fucking job.
Still… I end up using that plane ticket after all. I fly down to Tallahassee with every intention of talking to Jordan, and…
I chicken out. I spend the weekend following Jordan around and feeling like an idiot. Because I can’t make myself approach him. I text him once, just to say hello, while I’m watching him from several hundred yards away.
He stops walking, pauses, and spends a couple of minutes standing there before he replies to my text. I mean, people are walking around him because he’s literally just standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking the path, while staring at his phone.
At the message I sent him.
I feel simultaneously guilty and triumphant.
Then I feel like an asshole, because obviously Jordan’s hurting.
Despite the California trip and weekend I spent with Elliot, nothing’s changed between me and him. Not in good ways, at least.
He’s still not going to ask me to live with him.
He’s still not going to publicly come out so we can be together.
I’m still his dirty secret, and fuck that grates on my soul after six years with Jordan at my side.
When I fly home to DC on Sunday, I’m feeling angry with myself, irate at Elliot, and even more miserable than ever. No, I don’t tell Elliot I went to Tallahassee. It would mean having to finally explain to him why Jordan left and engaging in emotional discussions with Elliot that I honestly don’t have the strength for right now.
As two months without Jordan turns into three, and time rolls on…I eventually stop hearing from him. I also stop initiating contact.
Not…directly. I don’t want to make this any harder on him than I’m sure it already is.
Hurts like fucking hell, too. Not to sound like a douchebag but it’s the emotional equivalent of losing a limb and the phantom pains are fucking killing me, man.
Miserable holiday season for me, too. Elliot has to deal with his family and makes trips to Nebraska over Thanksgiving and Christmas. Shae, Chris, and Kev guilt me into stopping by the White House for dinner on those days by using the excuse that the kids want to see their Uncle Leo. I depart as soon as I can slip away without being noticed.
I don’t want to be around people.
I damn sure don’t want to fly home to California and be forced to explain to my family that Jordan and I broke up.
Because they’ll want to know why.
Because they loved Jordan.
And any explanation is hollow without the crucial information of the identity of the invisible presence at the center of our relationship—Elliot.
I spend those holiday evenings alone and sulking in my apartment and drinking. I think about how, for the past six years, my holidays were joyful because I had Jordan. How he always put up a little Christmas tree for us with ornaments that he’d had from his Mimi.
I wonder if he put up a tree in his apartment this year. He hasn’t posted any pictures of one on social media like he always used to. We’re still friends there, and he’s barely posting anything except photos he takes of things around Tallahassee, or pictures of his artwork.
All of the images he posts bear a melancholy feel, or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.
Of course I’m still keeping tabs on him. Don’t be an idiot. He’s my boy.
I mean…he’s not anymore. But he always will be, to me.
Which is why I make several solo trips to Tallahassee over the next couple of months.
I take comfort in the fact that Jordan is never with anyone else, that I can tell.
Yes, I’m stalking him. All right? I think we’ve already established I’m a very bad man with more than a few emotional issues of my own.
And maybe, while we were together, after Chris’ brother and sister-in-law were killed, I put a tracking app on Jordan’s personal cell phone without him knowing.
Perhaps I log in and look at it on a fairly regular basis to see where he’s at and where he’s been.
By regular, I mean daily.
Fuck, okay, fine. I check it several times a day. Happy? Only time it doesn’t work is when he shuts the phone off, which he rarely does.
Mostly work, shopping, and home. Jordan nearly always takes the same route to and from work, unless the weather’s bad. Then, based on his path and travel times, I’m guessing he uses a ride-share.
Yes, I might have Tallahassee on my weather app so I can see what it’s like there.
So what if the first thing I usually do every morning is check to make sure he’s up and moving?
Who cares if I worry when, on a weekday, he’s home for too long?
What business is it of anyone’s that the thought of him one day being with someone else makes me sick to my stomach?
Meanwhile, at work, we make it through the State of the Union address in January. I’m also keeping tabs on developments elsewhere. That distraction is greatly welcomed. Especially the closer we draw to Elliot needing to make a decision about declaring. Time is running out for him to officially declare. The assumption by everyone is that he will.
The assumption by everyone except me, and I keep that particular thought to myself.
He hasn’t indicated that he won’t run.
Except he’s talked with me a few times, more trying to verbally purge his brain, and the way he talked led me to believe maybe he’s considering not running.
I won’t hold my breath, though. Assuming things has broken my heart more than once now.
In some ways, Elliot and I are in a holding pattern as we orbit each other at slowly increasingly distances. I know he feels guilty that Jordan’s gone. Since I’m not talking about Jordan, and Elliot’s kinda got a pretty important job, I easily deflect when he wants to discuss the topic.
Doesn’t help that I’m pulling away from him. I don’t have the em
otional energy to engage in the usual subtle maneuvering to get him to ask me to spend time with him, and there hasn’t been a repeat of him spontaneously asking me for time the way he did that weekend after we returned from the California trip. I use the bustle of activity of trying to get the budget passed as an excuse to spend more time than ever working. Shae’s schedule gets busier, too, as she starts stumping for Senate candidates, both incumbents and challengers, who’ve indicated they’re running.
Meaning I spend more and more time away from DC.
Plus, we have a long overseas diplomatic trip coming up soon, one that will take me away from DC for several weeks.
We’re nearly a year out from the Iowa caucuses. The clock’s ticking louder by the day. I suspect there will be a “conversation” of some sort between myself and Elliot before he officially declares.
At least, I hope there will be a conversation between us.
What I’m not looking forward to is the distinct possibility that, after all these years, Elliot might declare…and it truly means the end of us.
Wouldn’t that be ironic? That I lose my pet and my boy, in the end? Because if that happened, and I approached Jordan about reconciling, I wouldn’t blame him if he laughed in my face since it would appear I was settling for my second-place choice.
He wouldn’t be…wrong, exactly. He also wouldn’t be correct but it’s a very fine and fragile distinction that’s impossible to explain aloud.
Still, I stay my course and personally act as if Elliot is going to declare. Even though we feel more distanced from each other than ever, I secretly continue what I’m doing for Elliot behind the scenes, because I do love him and want to protect him.
The aforementioned keeping tabs on people and situations.
He cannot know about it, either. Neither can Shae.
Over the years, I’ve done a decent job of shielding my pet from certain influences and quagmires. Unfortunately, as of late, there have been distinct rumblings and increased activity in specific areas.
If Jordan was here, I’d send him on clandestine fact-finding missions, because damn, the boy did have an awesome disguise. No one knew how shrewd and cunning he was but me. Everyone thought he was an innocent. I mean, he is, in many ways.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 38
