Taylor read an email from a twelve-year-old girl in Phoenix who said seeing her and Portia dancing at the inaugural ball had made her two moms cry. Beneath that was a letter from the director of a shelter for homeless LGBTQ youth in New York inviting her to tour the facility and sit down with some of the residents. She wasn’t used to having such influence. Now that she did, she wanted to make sure she used her power wisely. What was the point of having a platform if she didn’t have anything to say?
She shoved the letters into her backpack. “I think I’ll hang on to these if you don’t mind.”
“If you say so, but try not to get overwhelmed. There’s bound to be more tomorrow.”
After she and Diana parted ways, Taylor left the West Wing and walked to the Executive Residence. She was housed in the East Room, just down the hall from the Queens’ Bedroom. She opened the door to the Lincoln Bedroom and peered inside. All signs of Portia were already gone. What she wouldn’t give to be able to talk to Portia now. But Portia had a duty to perform and Taylor didn’t want to keep her from it. She took one last look, then carefully drew the door closed.
Candy and James Ferrell were scheduled to inhabit the Lincoln Bedroom when they came to town for the National Cherry Blossom Festival in March. After last night’s fiasco, would they still show up? If Candy thought she planted the article, it could make for a tension-filled weekend. One Taylor was already dreading.
She tossed her things on her bed, walked to the window, and looked outside. Her mother often referred to the inhabitants of the White House as “American royalty.” For the first time, the analogy rang true for Taylor. She felt like a princess locked away in a castle. Instead of a water-filled moat, her prison was surrounded by eighteen acres of well-guarded land. Serenaded by the sound of Marine One practicing landings on the South Lawn, she let the curtain fall.
Though Taylor was reluctant to admit it, Candy was right about one thing. She needed a confidante. She thought she’d go crazy without someone to talk to. TJ was too busy, and Portia was too far away. She needed to find someone close at hand. Someone who knew how to keep a secret. Steven was the most likely suspect, but he was in her life because he was ordered to be, not because he had chosen to. Sheridan was an option, but she came from a family of political operatives. How could Taylor be sure she didn’t have an agenda?
That left one person: Robby. The woman both Steven and Sheridan had tried to warn her away from. Admonitions aside, there was something about Robby Taylor found appealing. And utterly irresistible. She wanted to see Robby again. Spend time with her. Get to know her without someone else’s preconceived ideas getting in the way. If she was lucky, perhaps Robby felt the same way about her.
“Here’s hoping she’s worth it.”
* * *
Any championship hopes fanned by the Washington Wizards’ deep playoff run last season had been quickly dashed this year as injuries depleted the roster and eroded team morale. With a record well under .500, the Wizards were one of the worst squads in the NBA. They limped into the game against Golden State on a four-game losing streak. Not exactly the best time to face the defending champions. Robby was surprised to see the Verizon Center was sold out. Then again, most of the gold-clad fans were rooting for the visitors instead of the home team.
Robby, Taylor, and Steven took their seats. The other three Secret Service agents Steven had brought along as backup fanned out so they could monitor the activity in the stands. The agents were wearing T-shirts and jeans instead of suits and ties, but there was little chance they would be mistaken for sports fans. The ultra serious expressions on their faces and the high-tech communication devices wedged in their ears gave them away.
After Washington won the opening tip, Robby watched Golden State’s speedy point guard steal the ball and lead the Warriors on a three-on-one fast break. With a flick of his wrists, he lobbed the ball high in the air. One of his teammates caught the alley-oop, spun three hundred sixty degrees in the air, and slammed the ball through the hoop. The play was sure to make the evening’s highlight reels on all the local and national sports recap shows.
“Man, I wish I could dunk like that,” Taylor said.
“Can’t you?”
“Yeah, in my dreams.”
“Do your dreams often involve tall, sweaty men in voluminous shorts? Mine feature lots of sweat, but it’s usually dripping off a woman’s bare skin. And her shorts are anything but voluminous.”
“I don’t know whether to be worried or intrigued.”
“Be afraid. Be very afraid.”
Taylor took a bite of a burger piled high with bacon, avocado, and Monterey Jack cheese. Her metabolic rate must be off the charts. Robby felt like she’d gained five pounds just by looking at the calorie- and carb-laden snack. “Are you having fun?” she asked before taking a sip of her diet soda.
“Basketball, junk food, and a beautiful woman to share both. What could be better? These are great seats, by the way.”
“Courtside would have been better, but I didn’t think you’d want to risk ending up with a seven-footer in your lap.”
“You thought right.”
The Wizards called a timeout in an attempt to slow the Warriors’ momentum. Golden State had scored sixteen unanswered points to start the game. To keep the crowd involved in what was rapidly becoming a blowout, the arena’s management team cued up the ever-popular kiss cam.
Robby looked up at the heart-shaped graphic on the oversized scoreboard suspended above the court as a camera roamed the audience. Each time the camera stopped, the couple framed in the heart was urged to kiss. Fans whistled in derision if a couple refused to play along—and cheered wildly if the kiss met with their approval. Kiss cams were popular in stadiums across the country. Except for San Francisco, same-sex couples weren’t usually featured unless the kiss was played for a laugh—two players from the opposing team or heterosexual celebrities with a sense of humor.
Robby watched as one couple after another took their turn on camera. Some were eager to lock lips. Others looked as if it was the last thing they wanted to do. Then Taylor’s face appeared on the screen. Taylor’s and Steven’s.
Taylor froze. Robby could practically hear her wheels turning. Should she play along or politely refuse? In the wake of Wednesday’s blog, logic said she should probably play along. But she had been castigated for well over a year now for not doing or saying enough to challenge her father’s ideas. This was her chance to make a statement. To shut her critics up for good. Robby—along with the fans in the stadium and the ones watching at home—waited to see if she would take it.
* * *
It would be so easy for Taylor to give the whistling crowd what they wanted, but she wasn’t in the mood to take the easy way out. From the day she realized she was a lesbian, she had never denied who she was. And she wasn’t about to start now.
Steven was seated to Taylor’s right. She turned away from him and leaned to her left. She kissed Robby. Not chastely—that would have been a cop-out. But not soundly, either. No need to shock any of the kids in the stands into puberty quite yet.
She heard a few gasps, scattered jeers, and a smattering of applause from the sellout crowd. Then the kiss cam abruptly shut off and images of the huddled teams appeared on the oversized screen.
“That was more than worth the price of admission,” Robby said after Taylor pulled away.
“You might not think so after you read tomorrow’s headlines.” She might feel the same way after she received the inevitable tongue-lashing from her mother and the umpteenth reminder from her father to maintain a low profile. But that was tomorrow. And in the immortal words of Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow was another day. “Are you ready for your fifteen minutes of fame?”
“If I get to spend them with you.”
“Careful. I might hold you to that.”
Robby wiped her lipstick off Taylor’s mouth. “Still not your shade.”
The comment reminded Taylor of the post she
had read that morning. The one that had spilled the beans about her brief dalliance with Robby during the inaugural ball. The mystery blogger had had plenty to say about that kiss. What would he—or she—have to say about this one? She doubted she would have to wait long to find out.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Robby paused as she chewed her kosher hot dog. “What do you want to know?”
Taylor took another bite of her burger and washed it down with a swig of soda. “Where are you from? Do you have a large family? What do you want to be when you grow up? The usual stuff.”
Robby smiled as she reached for one of Taylor’s French fries. “If you ask me, ‘usual’ is a polite word for boring, an adjective I have never aspired to have applied to me.”
“Point taken.”
“But since you asked, I was born in Richmond, I’m one of three kids, and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I’m too busy trying to figure out the present to plan for the future. Hopefully, I’ll have an epiphany before my quarter-life crisis hits, but I shouldn’t have to worry about that for another year or two. I’ll bet you already have your life planned from start to finish, don’t you? Earn your PhD, take a year off to travel the world or write a book, then join the faculty of one of the Seven Sisters colleges, get tenured by thirty, publish another book by thirty-five, and meet the love of your life somewhere along the way. Then, after both your careers are established, you’ll get married, move to the suburbs, and have two point three kids. How am I doing so far?”
“You were doing great, but you forgot about the requisite pets. I’m thinking one dog, one cat, perhaps a hamster, and maybe a goldfish or two.”
“Whose fantasy is this, yours or mine?”
“Fantasy? I thought we were talking about my life.”
And Robby’s version of it was alarmingly close to how she hoped it would turn out. Except for the part about the two point three kids. She hadn’t planned on becoming a mother, but now that Robby had put the idea in her head, she could easily imagine having a family of her own one day. Having a chance to tell her son or daughter they could be whoever and whatever they wanted to be and she wouldn’t love them any less. But how was she supposed to teach her kids a lesson she had never learned from her own parents?
“Why so glum?” Robby asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, I was just wondering which kidney I’d need to sell in order to be able to afford tuition for those two point three kids.”
“I’ve got two words for you: full scholarship.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re a born diplomat. Are you sure you don’t see politics in your future?”
“Not a chance. I’ve always been fascinated by politics. I watch all the Sunday morning round table shows religiously. But I’ve also seen how politics change people. Politicians enter the arena with their ideals intact, and exit looking and sounding completely different. I don’t want to sell my soul to the highest bidder for the sake of an election. And don’t get me started on the silly games of partisanship. It makes me long for the days when members of the House and Congress voted their consciences instead of sticking to the party line.”
“Perhaps you could be the one who changes all that. The one who makes bipartisanship sexy again.”
“Now I know you’re talking about a fantasy instead of real life.” Taylor placed her empty food container under her seat as the Wizards started to slice into Golden State’s lead. The home team was threatening to make a game of it after all, but the action on court was the last thing on her mind. Right now, Robby came first. “Enough about me. Tell me about Sheridan.”
“We finally get to the elephant in the room.” Robby checked her watch. “And it only took two days, thirteen hours, and six minutes. Like I said before, what do you want to know?”
Taylor tamped down a surge of guilt. She hated putting Robby on the spot, but she had questions that needed answering. Ignoring them would only prompt more, not make the original ones go away.
“How did you meet?” she asked. “And, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you come apart? Two years is a long time to date someone. That means your relationship was serious, not casual.”
Robby ran a hand through her hair. Taylor watched the ebony waves rise and fall. Robby’s spirits seem to follow the same arc.
“We got together when I was twenty-two. She was three years older than I was and everything I wanted to be—rich, worldly, sophisticated, quick-witted.”
“Where did you meet?”
“At a party in Richmond. Her family was hosting a group of visiting dignitaries, and I was one of the servers at the intimate dinner they threw for two hundred of their nearest and dearest friends. I was attracted to her the instant I saw her, and I could tell the feeling was mutual. We hooked up after the party, but I told myself it was a one-night stand. She was the daughter of one of the richest families in Virginia, and I was just a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. We didn’t have anything in common except desire. How could we possibly build a relationship?”
“So how did you make it work?”
“We didn’t.”
“What do you mean? You said you were with her for two years.”
“I was, but our relationship, such as it was, was in name only. I was her dirty little secret the whole time we were together. Her family is based in Richmond, but she lives and works here in DC. She invited me to move in with her, but she didn’t tell her family or friends we were a couple. To them, I was her roommate. Some poor, unfortunate soul she was giving a helping hand to out of the kindness of her heart.”
“And that was okay with you?”
Something flashed in Robby’s dark eyes. Something that looked a great deal like pain.
“No, it was far from okay, but I kept hoping things would be different one day. That she wouldn’t need to keep her life a secret from her conservative parents or feel the need to project a false image to her clients and co-workers. But things never got better between us. They only got worse the more successful she became at her job and the more power her family wielded in the political arena. I never got invited to the swanky events she planned or participated in. I had to hear about them after the fact when she was too filled with adrenaline from her latest success to fall asleep. I finally got tired of being on the outside looking in.”
“What did you do?”
“I told her I wanted to be at the center of her life, not on the fringes of it. She preferred to give ultimatums rather than be on the receiving end so she broke up with me.”
Taylor could understand both Sheridan’s and Robby’s perspectives. Like Sheridan, she knew what it was like to feel divided by what her family wanted her to do and how her heart said she should feel. And she could empathize with Robby wanting to be publicly acknowledged instead of ignored by the woman she loved.
She wanted to promise she wouldn’t repeat Sheridan’s behavior, but hadn’t she done that already? Yes, she had invited Robby to the inaugural ball, but they didn’t appear in any of the official photos together, and the only mention of them as a couple was a blind item in a blog.
Steven pressed his fingers to the communication device in his ear, listened for a moment, then nodded, and said, “Wait one. Let me ask.” He turned to Taylor. “Ma’am? That was Agent Moss. He says the building manager wants to know if you might feel more comfortable and more secure moving to one of the suites rather than sitting exposed in the stands.”
Taylor looked at the ring of luxury boxes high above the stands. If she accepted the building manager’s invitation, she, Robby, and her contingent of security guards would be able to watch the rest of the game in relative privacy while they lounged on leather theater-style seats and served themselves from their own wet bar instead of standing in line at the concession stand or flagging down a passing vendor.
The invitation sounded too good to pass up. Until Taylor considered what she would be giving up by saying yes.
She would be sacrificing an opportunity to live her life openly—and to acknowledge the woman at her side.
Her appearance on the kiss cam with Robby had undoubtedly discomfited some people in the stands and behind the scenes, but that was their problem, not hers. And if Robby agreed to keep seeing her after tonight, she wouldn’t ask her to do it behind closed doors.
She took Robby’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Are we good here?”
Taylor saw a flicker of disappointment flash across Robby’s face before her expression changed to one of gratitude. She gripped Taylor’s hand harder. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Taylor turned to Steven. “Tell them we like these seats just fine.”
Chapter Ten
Robby managed to keep her hands to herself during the ride from Penn Quarter to Dupont Circle, but it took a concerted effort. Tonight, she didn’t want to take it slow. Tonight, she didn’t want to use Taylor to gain information about her father. Tonight, she wanted to be with the woman who had drawn her closer instead of keeping her at a distance.
She lost her inhibitions as soon as she locked Steven on the other side of her apartment door. She and Taylor tore at each other’s clothes, shedding garments left and right as they stumbled through the living room.
They were half-dressed—Taylor in her jeans and bra, Robby in her skirt and a camisole—when Taylor lifted Robby off the ground. Robby wrapped her legs around Taylor’s waist and hung on for dear life. “Bedroom?” Taylor asked, her palms cupping Robby’s ass.
“The couch is closer.”
Taylor looked over her shoulder. “What about him?”
Robby followed Taylor’s line of sight. Her cat was napping in the center of the sofa. “Orson, down.”
Orson slowly stood and stretched, but didn’t rush to grant her request. He quickened his pace when she and Taylor fell on the sofa.
True Colors Page 9
