True Colors

by Yolanda Wallace

  * * *

  Robby smoothed Taylor’s hair as she watched her sleep. Taylor looked so innocent. So helpless. So…perfect.

  “If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with you, too,” she whispered in the dark.

  At the moment, it felt like she was already there. That was the main reason she hadn’t confessed everything when Taylor had given her the opening. Because she didn’t want to lose Taylor or see her hurt. But how long could she keep playing both sides? How long could she hold on to Taylor and betray her at the same time?

  “As long as it takes.”

  She nestled into the warmth of Taylor’s body, trying to make the moment last until she could think of a way to make it real.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “The ceremony starts in two minutes,” Steven said as he and Taylor took the stairs two at a time. “We’re never going to make it.”

  “Never say never.” Taylor burst into her room and tossed her backpack on her bed. She reached into her closet, hoping her hunter green corduroy blazer with the brown suede elbow patches would turn her jeans and white button-down shirt into an outfit slightly more befitting the ceremony that was about to take place.

  She ran downstairs and headed for the East Room. She took a moment to catch her breath before Steven opened the door for her. Then she slipped into the rear entrance. A few heads craned in her direction as she unsuccessfully tried to fade into the background. She took in the faces of the hordes of reporters, politicians, and invited guests that filled the room. She was none of the above. She was, for lack of a better term, an admiring fan. Though she was firmly opposed to the U.S.’s lingering involvement in the never-ending Middle East conflict, she was fascinated by the reason for today’s gathering: Lieutenant Harper Hutchinson. She wasn’t alone. She had never seen Steven so star-struck, and Portia had emailed three autograph requests in case she missed or chose to ignore the first two.

  Steven and Portia prattled on and on about Lieutenant Hutchinson’s courage under fire, but Taylor was more impressed by her grace under pressure. The woman radiated calm no matter what the circumstance, a trait Taylor couldn’t claim to possess.

  Two years ago, the Ohio native had changed from an anonymous grunt into a military hero. She and the members of her scout team were patrolling the mountainous border between Afghanistan and Pakistan when their Humvee was attacked by mortar fire. Shattered glass and burning shrapnel had ripped the left side of her face to shreds. Bleeding profusely from her wounds, she had put herself in mortal danger in order to save the lives—or, in two cases, retrieve the bodies—of the four soldiers with her. Then, despite bullet wounds in her leg and shoulder, she had singlehandedly fended off an organized ground attack from Taliban foot soldiers until help arrived several long hours later. After being rescued, she had been airlifted to a military hospital in Weisbaden, Germany, where she had undergone several hours of surgery. Then she had spent three months at Walter Reed Hospital rehabbing her injuries. She had done all these things under the cloak of anonymity. Then the military stepped in.

  Lieutenant Hutchinson’s injuries automatically merited a Purple Heart, but her commanding officer thought her actions warranted even greater recognition. He had nominated her for a Medal of Honor and sent the application up the chain of command. In a few minutes, Lieutenant Hutchinson would become the second female recipient of the prestigious award—and the first to be lauded for military service.

  According to her recent interview on 60 Minutes, she would have preferred to remain unheralded. “I was just doing my job,” she said. “I was doing what I was trained to do.”

  More like what she was born to do.

  Her father had distinguished himself during Desert Storm. Her grandfather had stormed the beach in Normandy. Her great-grandfather had endured the Battle of Belleau Wood. Her great-great-grandfather had fought in Cuba during the Spanish American War. And so on and so on. If she researched long enough, Taylor thought she could probably find a Hutchinson listed on military rolls of honor for every conflict since human beings learned to wage war.

  She felt awed by the occasion. And privileged to be able to bear witness to it.

  “I’m glad you could make it.” Taylor started in surprise when Diana Crawford tapped her on the elbow. Taylor guessed the rolled-up sheaf of papers in Diana’s hand contained the final version of the State of the Union address Taylor’s father, Diana, and a team of speechwriters had been drafting for weeks. “You look dapper.” Diana fingered the lapel of Taylor’s jacket. “Are you planning to treat our guest of honor to a night on the town?”

  “Are you trying to add matchmaker to your long list of duties?”

  Diana shrugged. “I come by it honestly. I get my penchant for matchmaking from my mother. We all turn into our mothers at some point, don’t we?”

  Taylor shuddered. “I certainly hope not.”

  “Well, if you do take the lieutenant somewhere, please be sure to have her on the Hill by nine. Your father intends to recognize her during tonight’s speech, and she needs to be in the audience when he mentions her name. Will you be in attendance as well?”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “The text of the speech in your hand.”

  The annual State of the Union address was typically given in late January or early February, but Taylor’s father had opted to get an early start on revealing his planned agenda for the next four years. Taylor didn’t know what he planned to say, but she thought she might feel more comfortable absorbing the words behind closed doors rather than on camera.

  “Remember our previous conversation about protecting myself from potential embarrassments?” she asked. “Tonight’s speech could be one of them.”

  Diana crossed her arms, a telltale sign Taylor wouldn’t be happy with some of the things her father planned to say when he stood before the joint session of Congress in a few hours. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by tonight’s discourse.”

  “Prove it.”

  Diana accepted the challenge. “See for yourself.” She gave Taylor her copy of the speech. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

  “I’ll do that.” Taylor folded the pages in half and slipped them into the inside pocket of her blazer.

  “Will I see you tonight?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’ll save you a seat just in case.”

  Taylor shook her head in wonder, impressed by Diana’s persistence. And her confidence. “We could use you on our side.”

  “We could use you on ours.” Diana clapped Taylor on the back. “I, for one, would love to be able to call you ‘Madam President’ one day.”

  Taylor had always campaigned for openly gay or gay-friendly candidates, supported pro-gay causes, and boycotted companies with anti-gay track records. She had always tried to do her part to make a difference—to make the world a better, more tolerant place in which to live—but she had never considered following in her father’s footsteps. Could her small-scale efforts find a much larger stage? Could she lead the charge one day instead of marching behind it?

  A candidate had to be at least thirty-five to run for president. Thirty if they wanted to become a senator. She was years away from reaching the age limit for qualifying for either office, but if she chose, she could seek a Congressional seat. Like that would ever happen.

  If she ran for public office, she wouldn’t have a shot in hell at winning. Or would she? Diana certainly seemed to think so. Even though Diana had aligned herself with the opposition, Taylor valued her opinion. She was one of the most intelligent women Taylor had ever met. Diana would make an excellent campaign manager. But what kind of candidate would she be? There was only one way to find out.

  “We should have lunch sometime,” she said.

  “I was about to suggest the same thing.”

  A fanfare sounded over the loudspeaker, bringing their hushed conversation to an end.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,”
a disembodied voice announced, “the President of the United States and First Lady Christina Crenshaw, accompanied by Medal of Honor recipient Lt. Harper Hutchinson.”

  As the people in the back of the room raised their camera phones to record the occasion, Taylor stood on her tiptoes to try to see over them. For the second time in a week, she had a chance to witness history instead of watching it on the news. How cool was that? She positioned herself next to the camera crew from a local TV station so she could get a better view.

  The crowd in the packed East Room rose as “Hail to the Chief” began to play. Taylor watched as her parents and Lt. Harper Hutchinson strode into the room. Her father was wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie. A small American flag pin was affixed to his lapel. Lieutenant Hutchinson was wearing an Army dress uniform, her dark blue jacket paired with a matching skirt that fell just above the knee. Both sides of her uniform coat were filled with colorful service medals. Her wavy blond hair was pulled into a tight bun more severe than chic.

  Taylor took her seat as her father and the lieutenant stepped on stage. Her mother, wearing a royal blue dress and a string of pearls that reminded Taylor of Barbara Bush, situated herself in the front row, next to Lieutenant Hutchinson’s parents.

  Lieutenant Hutchinson’s father, a newly retired five-star general, sat ramrod straight, his broad shoulders square. His salt-and-pepper hair was trimmed with military precision. His wife, seated to his left, was already dabbing at pride induced tears. Her winter white pantsuit served as the perfect counterpoint to her husband’s black suit.

  An Army chaplain approached a podium emblazoned with the presidential seal. “Please bow your heads.”

  When the prayer ended, Taylor’s father approached the dais. Taylor peered into the camera crew’s monitor so she could get a closer look. Her father faced the crowd, his expression suitably solemn.

  “Welcome. We come here today to honor someone who, by her own account, wishes she could remain nameless. The unquestioned bravery she demonstrated in the crucible of war made her someone no American shall ever forget. According to Section 578.4 of the Code of Federal Regulations,” he said, referring to his notes, “the Medal of Honor is awarded to someone who demonstrates conspicuous ‘gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his or her life above and beyond the call of duty while engaged in an action against any enemy of the United States; while engaged in military operations involving conflict with an opposing foreign force; or while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in an armed conflict against an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party.’”

  He paused, looking up from the lectern.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I need not remind you of the sacrifices Lt. Harper Hutchinson made on that fateful day in Afghanistan two years ago. I need not remind you of her selfless yet courageous actions, which prompted her commanding officer to nominate her for the highest military decoration awarded by our government. Actions which our military leaders saw fit to acknowledge by bestowing upon her the hallowed Medal of Honor. I need not remind you but I will, for she is, simply put, the best this country has to offer.”

  The audience broke into a deafening round of applause. When the sound finally faded, Taylor’s father read the citation detailing Lieutenant Hutchinson’s feats of valor. Lieutenant Hutchinson’s expression didn’t change during the lengthy reading, but the crawling muscles in her tightly clenched jaw betrayed her unease. Standing at parade rest with the eyes of the nation upon her, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Taylor looked at the monitor as the cameraman zoomed in for a close-up. His lens lingered on the road map of scars that crisscrossed one side of Lieutenant Hutchinson’s face. The raised lines, bumps, and ridges were significantly redder than the rest of her skin. The scars would probably fade over time, but what about the inevitable psychological wounds?

  Taylor had hoped to pick Lieutenant Hutchinson’s brain when the ceremony came to an end. To discover if she was really as humble as she appeared to be, to hear firsthand how it had felt to come face-to-face with almost certain death, and to compare notes on what it was like to live life trying to please a powerful father. Watching the lieutenant’s discomfort grow, Taylor changed her mind. She didn’t want to subject her to yet another interview. The distinguished veteran had been forced to sit through more than enough of those already.

  “Maybe I’ll just buy her a beer instead.”

  After the ceremony ended, Taylor waited for the press corps to leave before she waded through the crowd of well-wishers and stuck out her hand. “Lieutenant Hutchinson—”

  “Harper.” Her handshake was crushing.

  “Harper.” Taylor returned Harper’s shy smile, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on her full lips. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

  “I think that’s my line, Miss Crenshaw.”

  Taylor wagged her finger. “If I can’t call you lieutenant, you can’t call me Miss Crenshaw. It’s Taylor, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  Taylor shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She could feel unease rolling off Harper in waves. Her brown eyes kept darting off to the far side of the room, where her parents and Taylor’s were standing. When General Paul Hutchinson looked their way, Harper’s jaw tightened. She looked like a little girl who longed for her father’s approval, but had resigned herself to the fact that she would most likely never receive it. Something they had in common.

  “How long are you going to be in town?” Taylor asked.

  “Just for the day.”

  Harper stood with her arms held tightly at her sides, chest out, shoulders back. Not quite at attention, but close enough. Did she ever relax? Let her guard down? Crack anything resembling a real smile?

  Pinned by Harper’s impenetrable stare, Taylor struggled to think of a question that rose above the inane. “Is this your first time in DC?”

  “No, I used to live here when my father was assigned to the Pentagon, but I was too young to remember it. Or fully appreciate it.”

  Her eyes finally flickered with something that bordered on interest. As Harper’s father closed in on them, Taylor seized the opportunity. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  “I could use several.”

  “Would you like to get out of here?”

  Harper cast another anxious glance in her father’s direction. Taylor prepared herself for the inevitable “Thank you, but no thank you.” But then Harper said, “I’d love to.”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  Taylor expected her to make a safe choice to protect her squeaky-clean image, but Harper surprised her again.

  “Somewhere loud, dark, and filled with women.”

  “How about Virginia’s? I’ve never been there, but from what I hear, it certainly fits the bill.”

  A corner of Harper’s mouth quirked up into a long-awaited smile. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  Taylor placed a hand in the small of Lieutenant Hutchinson’s back and extended the other toward the door. “After you.”

  * * *

  Robby showed up at Virginia’s thirty minutes early to prepare for her shift. After restocking the top shelf liquors, she tossed the orange and lime wedges in the trash and chopped more, insuring her garnishes would be as fresh as possible.

  “What are you doing here?” Megan Sherwood asked as she squirted ginger ale into a Shirley Temple.

  “I do work here from time to time.” Robby tilted the bucket in her hand, pouring fresh ice on the bottles of beer in the cooler under the bar.

  Megan reached for a maraschino cherry. “But never this early in the day or this early in the week. What gives?”

  “Karima and I switched shifts. Her Tuesday for my Friday. She had a hot date tonight, and I’d like to wake up at least one Saturday morning without smelling like cigarettes and stale beer.”

  Robby polished the photograph of Virginia Woolf behind the bar. What would the lit
erary lion say, Robby wondered, if she were alive to see the antics that took place in the establishment that bore her name? That was a book Robby would love to read.

  “Sounds like you’re coming out on the short end of the stick. Twice. You’re stuck working a slow night, while Karima gets laid tonight and she gets to rake in the tips on Friday.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Now that money would no longer be an issue, Robby could afford to be magnanimous. And she liked the idea of being able to spend an unhurried weekend with Taylor. Maybe they could go away together. Someplace quiet, romantic, and, above all, far from prying eyes.

  When she and Sheridan were together, they used to have getaway weekends all the time. New York, L.A., Miami. Even Paris. Robby missed being spoiled like that. She could easily get used to it again. She couldn’t imagine it happening any time soon, though. Taylor’s salary as a teacher’s assistant was barely enough to buy subway tickets, let alone splurge on first class seats to Europe.

  “Who is she?” Megan asked.

  “Who’s who?”

  “Whoever has you this happy. And this settled. I’ve never seen you acting so…responsible.”

  “Why does there have to be a woman involved?”

  “Because with you there’s always a woman involved. What’s this one’s name?”

  “Taylor Crenshaw.”

  Megan dropped a swizzle stick into a Tequila Sunrise. “Bullshit. I know you went out with her once, but you don’t expect me to believe you’re in an actual relationship with her, do you?”

  “I’m not saying anything of the kind, Megan. I’m saying she’s here.”

  “She’s what?”

  Robby tipped her chin toward the door. Taylor, a female Secret Service agent, and a stunning blonde in full Army dress uniform were standing near the entrance.

  “Damn, that is her.” Megan botched the Bahama Mama she was trying to make, poured it out, and started over. As the after-five crowd wandered in, drink orders were coming fast and furious. She was struggling to keep pace. “Who’s the eye candy with her?”