Power

by Claire Adams

  I sauntered up my steps, feeling the glow of the moonlight on my back. It was a hazy summer evening, one I knew was best spent with friends, with lovers. But I didn’t have those people in my life. Work friends, sure. They’d all been friendly enough over the years, always inviting me out to events, to the bar. But I never readily agreed to go out with them, always assuming that my desires, my needs, were far more important than anything they could create for me: laughs over a drink, inside jokes. I didn’t need them. I only needed my career, my intelligence—my success.

  I reached my apartment and removed my keys from my coat. I entered the apartment—it had been an upgrade for me a few years back, this one with much more square feet. I flung my stuff on a chair and began unbuttoning my shirt one button at a time, gazing around the room. The wine bottle I’d opened the previous evening was still resting on the counter. I reached my hand up to grab a wine glass from the top shelf, feeling my bra tighten against my breasts with the stretch. I poured the glass of wine, remembering all the long-lost nights of college and post-college, drinking my red wine by myself in the shadows of my living room.

  I took in the first sip of wine slowly, easily, tasting every morsel of it. I walked toward the chair by the window, still removing each button from my shirt. I tapped the wine on the table and removed the rest of my clothes, standing in only my tights and my gray bra, feeling the warm air emanating from the window. I felt relaxed for the first time all day.

  I peeled off my tights and then collapsed into the chair, continuing to drink the wine slowly, tapping the remote control to my side to create tip-tapping jazz music in the background. I allowed my mind to ease a bit as I sat there, lost in thought. I’d been so consumed with thoughts of the interview all week, I hadn’t had time to do anything else.

  Of course, this wasn’t strange. The past year and a half, I hadn’t thought about much beyond work. I’d been consumed with it, truly. Working beneath George Carlman was a continuous struggle. He wanted the best of everything, of course, and I gave it to him. I stayed up countless nights making phone calls, assuring his re-election—everything. He trusted me to do good by him, and goddammit, I did. But at what cost? I already felt like I was aging far too quickly. And in many ways, I wanted to be old: to have those wrinkles that George Carlman dripped onto your face, making you look wise beyond your years. I knew that those wrinkles made you formidable in office.

  Of course, because of this continuous struggle, I’d lost my interest in men, in relationships. I’d had a boyfriend in college, certainly, but he’d been a passing fad. He’d moved to New York to make millions on Wall Street—and I didn’t miss him. I knew we were both driven by our goals. I respected this.

  There’d been that man in Congress, as well, during the past election. But I’d lost interest in him during the course campaign. He’d been sexy, in this elusive, older way; a real silver fox. His power had certainly captured my attention—not that I slept with him for the power. But I’d lost interest in him, just as I’d lost interest in all the others. During the campaign process, my eyes had flitted upon something else—something incredible. Something I knew was special.

  I couldn’t linger on those thoughts. I couldn’t linger on the fact that every time I met with the president, or even stood in his presence, my heart started beating rapidly—my mind started racing. I never felt like myself around him. I felt like a blushing girl—like the kind of girl I rejected so readily in the rest of the world. His passionate eyes and those firm, handsome eyebrows, that curled head of hair, the way he looked in suits. God. I moved this way, then that in the chair, feeling the nakedness of my body, exposed to the rest of the room.

  I remembered the afternoon’s interview, the way he’d looked at me with such curiosity. Layered in clothing, I’d felt nearly naked in his presence. However, I’d interrupted that romantic moment.

  I’d turned his attention toward his wife.

  I knew that he and his wife, Camille, weren’t happy people—not together. They’d been married right after college. Many in his staff—including myself—speculated that the marriage had been a sort of political decision. Camille’s father was an important man in the south, and Xavier had needed backing. They did look beautiful together on camera. All throughout the past twenty years—the entire length of my political comprehension—I’d seen them photographed from place to place, as Xavier moved up the political ladder. I remembered thinking that they were the most beautiful people in the world. And they knew, in many ways, that they fit the bill of what the American people wanted.

  But the reports of fights at home, whispered throughout the White House and throughout The Hill made many in his staff nervous that a divorce or a scandal would spark. For this reason, Xavier was continually watched. He wasn’t to have an affair; the secret service men would be sure of it.

  Knowing that the was problems at home—or at least rumor of it—made me feel safe to engage in my fantasies. Letting my mind wander, I could tell myself that he’d be much happier with me. We’d be happy together, the two of us. I imagined standing before him, naked; I imagined him wrapping his arms around me, leaning toward me—the dark eyebrows furrowed…

  My daydream was interrupted by a sudden vibration in my bag that was sitting on the counter. I jumped from my chair and rushed toward it, leafing through the papers for my phone. George sometimes called me that late in the evening with a job emergency. I immediately prepared myself to stay up all night.

  But the number was unrecognizable. The area code was D.C., and I tapped the screen, ready to answer. I breathed into it casually. “Hello? Amanda Martin speaking.”

  “Amanda. Yes. Miss Martin, could I please invite you back to the White House?”

  My heart dropped into my stomach. It was Xavier. It was the President of the United States.

  I swallowed. “Absolutely, sir. I can be there first thing tomorrow morning.” I couldn’t focus; my tongue felt so heavy in my mouth. Did this mean I got the job?

  “No, no. I don’t think you understand. I need you to arrive as soon as possible. I’m sending a car now.” Suddenly, I heard him call into the distance. “Dimitri! Take a car. Go pick up Miss Martin!”

  I heard emptiness after that. He’d hung up on me. Realizing I had less than fifteen minutes, I gasped, grabbing my skirt and shirt from the floor and flinging them over my body once more. I needed to hurry. I flounced up my brunette hair once more and spun around, already feeling the vibrations, the excitement of the following few hours. I didn’t bother with the tights—I knew I didn’t have the time.

  I’d gotten the job, I knew then. I was literally on top of the world.

  Chapter 4

  I rushed out onto the sidewalk and found Dimitri already outside, waiting for me in a simple, elegant, black vehicle. I opened the rear door and swept in. “Long time no see!” I called up to him, tapping the back of his seat in hello.

  “I told you, Amanda,” he said with a grin, peering at me through the rear view window. “You have to start trusting your old friend, Dimitri.

  “All right, all right,” I said sarcastically, laughing. I gazed out the window at the incredible city—my adopted home. In the darkness, it looked so beautiful. The moon shone on some of the statues we passed as we swept along. “What’s going on up there?” I asked Dimitri, trying to orient myself into the chaos.

  “I think you’ll see. It’s—it’s madness,” Dimtiri said, laughing.

  Dimitri parked the car in the exterior garage, and he walked me into the White House, giving me a brief pat-down in the hallway. “Sorry. Every goddamned time, I swear,” he said.

  I didn’t have time to banter. My head was elsewhere. I tapped away from him after he swatted my ass once, and he didn’t say anything, already so aware that I was in the zone, ready to take over the show.

  I walked into the West Wing, already feeling the chaos brewing before me. Several desks were positioned in the great room, side by side. People in various states of panic
were calling into their phones, even at nine o clock at night, spitting words with anger. I blinked my eyes wildly, wondering where to turn. Had I gotten the job? Or was this some sort of mad ruse?

  Suddenly, a man approached me. He was wearing this suit that seemed nearly lived-in. He was a bit overweight and bald. His mouth was nearly barking at me as he spoke. “Thank god you’re here. Finally, he made a decision on who to lead us.” He brought his hand forward and grabbed mine, shaking it. “I’m Jason Ritz. Your second in command.”

  My mind spun with the news. “So wonderful to meet you,” I declared, nodding with affirmation. I knew, in that moment, that I had to act like the smartest in the room. I was their leader. “Please. Brief me on what’s going on.”

  Jason led me through the hallway, back toward the oval office. He stopped at a glass door and we swept inside, into a small conference room. “Okay. First of all, welcome to the team,” he began, pacing back and forth. “It seems you’ve been hired on a very dramatic day.” He swept his hand through his balding hair. “We’ve dropped in the polls significantly in the previous twelve hours. The drop seems incredibly random—as in, we don’t quite know where it originated.”

  I brought my hands into my pocket and took out a notepad and a pen. I began scribbling. I oriented myself with great authority. “We’ll craft a statement and get it out for the morning news. And then we’re on serious damage control. Agreed?” I said to him, my eyes on fire. I still felt the wine buzzing in my head. But I felt the anger mixed with power fuel me. I was going to get the president out of this mess.

  Jason’s eyes widened at me. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, I knew: not with this sudden knowledge that I—this young, twenty-nine-year-old woman—could handle this near-catastrophe. A bead of sweat rolled down his face.

  Suddenly, he shot forward and opened the door. “MR. PRESIDENT!” he called down the hall. Xavier had just walked past the small room we were in, on his way toward the West Wing. My heart began to beat so quickly. I continued to scribble my first formation of a statement for him for the following morning—an outline to pass on to the public relations specialists. But even through the noise of my beating heart, I could hear Xavier speak the words: “Follow me” in the hallway.

  Jason sped out into the hall and I followed, tapping quickly.

  “Amanda’s beginning to draft the statement,” Jason said succinctly, sniffing toward the president.

  For all the chaos surrounding him, Xavier seemed so calm, so cool. He simply nodded toward me. Eyeing me in that peculiar way he always did. “Good start, Amanda. Welcome to the team,” he stated.

  We walked into the swarms of people—the campaign team I’d been a part of only four years before. Now, I led them.

  I stood at the helm of the swarming crew and I tapped my hand on a desk, allowing it to rattle back and forth. The people slowed down, placed their phones on their desks. They blinked up at us.

  “Okay, crew,” I called to them, utilizing that firm voice. The president stood beside me, and I could feel his attention like a blanket, wrapped so firmly around me. “My name is Amanda Martin. Many of you know me from the last round of elections. Those of you I don’t know, I look forward to getting to know you.” I nodded to them, driving my speech forward. “As you know, we lost a few notches in the polls today. Nothing we can’t jump up from. Nothing at all. I will be stopping in with each of you as the night goes on to see what you are doing and to work on an action plan” I passed my pencil over them, sort of like a wand. “Let’s get this thing under control.”

  With that, I nodded toward them once more, allowing them freedom to continue on their phone calls, their tap-tappings on the keyboard. I turned toward the president and nearly bit my lip with anticipation.

  But all he said was this: “Let’s get started on this statement.” He sat at the desk before me, offering me a chair beside him. I gulped, feeling a bit naked before him.

  I started wishing I had thrown my tights back on.

  “Here are my initial thoughts,” I began, my mind whirring. “We are not going to apologize for the dip in votes or outwardly acknowledge it in any way. We don’t even know the cause for the sudden drop yet, but my guess is it might have something to do with your stance on education getting a bit more focus from the 24 hour news networks, so I think that should be our focus. Let’s confront the fact that your revolutionary ideas about education are worrisome in people’s minds—and let’s tell the American people that you have a plan to keep going, to keep charging forward to make change, that there cannot be improvement without a move towards progress. Let’s anticipate what they might be worried about, and maybe convince a few more voters along the way that you’re enacting good change.”

  The president’s eyes were stern, so serious. “Amanda.” He tapped the paper before me. “This is assuredly the best plan. Let me speak to Jason.” He gestured for Jason to come toward him. Jason leaped up from his chair by the door and rushed toward us both, looking a bit like a schoolboy—or an excited puppy. I felt embarrassed for him. “This is Amanda’s rough plan,” Xavier began, stating the words I had just spoken with sincere precision. “What are your thoughts?” The president asked him, his eyebrows furrowed.

  Jason nodded, again padding at his hair with his right hand. “It’s brilliant, Mr. President. If you think it’ll work, I do.”

  Xavier turned his head back toward me, nodding. “Shall we proceed with the plan?”

  I began writing, then, feeling nervous with the president’s breath hot on my neck. I felt so earnest, so unsure in his presence. I wanted to create a smooth transition for him from this presidency to the next. I swallowed as I wrote, listening to the president as he continued his conversation with Jason. I wondered why he was there—why he was still there. Generally, Xavier hadn’t spent much time with the election crew the last time around.

  I began thinking, abstractly, that the president was only spending all this time with the election crew in order to see me. I felt the thought pass through me, and then I flung it to the side. These thoughts were so useless—so baseless. Don’t go there, I thought. He probably just wants to get away from his wife, after all. Camille probably made his life a living hell. He yearned for excitement. Or maybe just a friend.

  Certainly, he didn’t yearn for a lover.

  At three in the morning, after the statement was outlined, flushed out, critiqued and tweaked, I said good night to the bleary-eyed president. I walked outside, where Dimitri was waiting with a car in the lot. I popped into the rear seat, and I forced my eyes to stay open until we arrived home. Dimitri spun his head around and smiled at me. “I heard you did well in there,” he gestured with his head.

  I nodded, yawning wildly. I stretched my arms over my head. “I can’t even think straight. They’ll release the statement in the morning. Will you send the car for me, or are you off tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here,” Dimitri said, laughing. “Come on, now. I don’t have a life.”

  I shook my head, feeling the heat from the president’s soul. I felt like there was so much I wanted to know about him—so much I wanted from him. I shook the thoughts from my head. “Neither do I, of course.”

  I jumped from the black car and ran toward my apartment, where I fell onto my bedspread and fell instantly asleep.

  Chapter 5

  I woke early, just three hours after I’d arrived home. I leapt into the shower and scraped my nails against my scalp, trying to wake myself up. I knew that Dimitri would arrive in only an hour and that the news would get the press release at around nine. I needed to be at the office when it happened. It needed to go well. I began counting the numbers in my head, hoping the polls would rise once more. This had been my first twenty-four hours on the job—well, less, actually—and already I was nervous, riddled with anxiety. And, of course, I was more excited than I’d been my entire life.

  I strapped my black dress over my body and shoved my feet into my black heels. I dried my hair swiftly
, taking extra care to make it look prim and precise. I knew all eyes would be on me in my new position as lead of the campaign. Of course, I knew one pair of eyes in particular were interesting to me. But I couldn’t think about it. Not yet.

  I grabbed my bag and I fled down the steps, finding my trusty friend, Dimitri, already parked out front. I jumped into the back seat and Dimitri sent a small coffee through the small portal between our seats. “Here you are, my lady.”

  “Oh, god. Dimitri, I didn’t have time to make coffee. Thank you.” I breathed in the beautiful aroma and felt my brain waking. “How’s the mood at the White House?” I asked him.

  “It’s anxious, of course. Everyone’s waiting for the press release. It was sent to the news this morning.”

  “Yes. Yes. Good,” I said, already deep in thought. I sipped the coffee and leaned forward, feeling the blood beating fast in my arms and legs.

  I was smart to leave at 7 since traffic was so bad. Finally, we pulled up in front of that White House, the very home I’d been fearful of only twenty-four hours before. It seemed that so much had changed. “I’ll catch you later, Dimitri,” I called to him, running from the car. I wouldn’t give him time to frisk me; not today. I rushed through the door, feeling my portfolio banging against my leg as I carried it, still holding the coffee cup in my hand.

  I flung myself into the West Wing. The campaign workers were still aligned at their computers, as if they hadn’t left the previous evening. Their eyes were bleak, working ever toward a future of continuous phone calls, campaign work, and seemingly gray days. But I understood; I had married my work years and years ago. I didn’t even understand who I was anymore.

  “It’s coming!” Jason called from the side, yelling at the campaign workers and I. I knew he meant that the press release was happening, then: that this was the very core that our cause relied on. This needed to go well. I rushed toward the television and pushed people to the side, knowing that it was up to me to save this re-election campaign.