by Andy King
“He asked me what he could get for the woman who has everything,” Carmel says out of the side of her mouth.
“Really? He came out and said that?”
“Of course not, I had to beat it out of him. He’s a stubborn one, but I went to work on him. Threatened to blow your little secret.” She holds up a hand. “You know I wouldn’t, but you know how scary I can be.”
It’s true. When Carmel’s angry she’s hard on people, but when she’s busy sweetly prying concessions out of them, she’s as fearsome as a creature from a horror movie. I suppress a laugh.
“What did you tell him?” I ask softly enough that the agents behind us can’t hear me.
“I said he should give you something personal, from his heart. It doesn’t have to cost anything, but it has to be real. That’s how you are.”
“Huh.” I think about that while we walk. Morrie’s face flashes in my mind. He taught me how to love and how to fight. He was my Person in every sense of the word. When he died I was heartbroken, but I poured myself into the job with a million volts of anger over the injustice of his death. Carmel’s right, it has to be real.
I want to change the subject. “Been thinking about doing some interviews, kind of a poll. A little one-on-one with the Joint Chiefs and Cabinet heads, like coffee chats over the next few days.”
Carmel doesn’t miss my meaning. “You sure? That would get MacElvain’s panties all twisted up. What’s the point?”
“It would make Nick and his gang pay attention, for sure. It’s sending a message. Whatever they’re up to, I’m onto them. Sort of.”
“You could always ask for his resignation.”
“That might make things worse. Having them where I can see them, you know, we’ve been over that.” The gossip our people pick up from their staffs is a lot fresher than it would be if they were elsewhere. “Hopefully, it keeps them honest. Well, as honest as possible.”
Carmel grins at me. “Divide and conquer, baby.”
Thinking about getting unpleasant things out of the way, an idea occurs to me. “This storm? How long’s it supposed to go on?”
“Couple days. Why?”
“We’re probably going to have to cancel a bunch of events,” I roll a hand, “if it’s as bad as it looks, right?”
“Probably.”
“Maybe I’ll ask Tom Shelby to send a couple of Marines to go pick up Mom. She’s been bugging me for a visit for months. If there’s nobody around she can offend…”
Carm’s smile is ear-to-ear. “You’re pretty smart for a white girl,” a running gag Carm never gets tired of. I grin back at her.
We’ve reached the south side of the White House, also known as the back, away from Pennsylvania Avenue. Delivery people and maintenance workers frequent the area. The Secret Service would rather I keep away from it altogether. The agents behind us draw closer.
Carmel sees them before I do. Her hand shoots out to pull me around a corner. My eyes go wide when I catch a glimpse of a familiar figure, tall and broad-shouldered, leaning over, hugging a young, blond woman. He lets go of her and she gets up on tiptoe, kisses him, then pirouettes toward the door.
I stop short, steam jetting out of my ears, my vision a sheet of red. Tears in my eyes, sweat pouring off me, I clench my fists. Fight, or flight?
Jack turns toward us. His mouth drops open.
I run.
Agents pound down the hall after me. “Madame President!”
8
Jack
Anna is my pride and joy, my angel. Born twelve years after me, an oops my parents didn’t plan on, Annalise Isabel Runyon has been my guiding light and reason to live since they died.
It wasn’t easy, dropping out of CalArts and working two jobs to support us. I went into the military to get health benefits, so that Anna could get the treatment she needed for Asperger’s, leaving her with our aunt and sending my paycheck home. It’s worked out great, though. The blond to my brunette, the petite to my mass, Anna now has a top-tier position in the Washington Ballet, teaches dance and takes off-season roles in theater productions.
We live together. It’s the only way Anna can do what she needs to do and pay the rent. I certainly don’t mind. Just seeing her smile is all I’ve ever wanted, until a month ago.
Because our loss was so final I guard against nostalgia. No good can come of it, the past is the past. But there’s something about Cheri, not familiar, reminiscent. Not her coloring, the way she glows. The way she walks, the way she speaks and holds herself; not contrary, but direct. For weeks I’ve tried to put my finger on it. Now I know. She reminds me of my mother.
When Cheri’s Chief of Staff, Carmel Monroe, told me what she thought about a gift for Cheri, there was only one choice. I called Anna right away. Telling her that it would mean a lot to me, I asked her if she could part with the ring she’d inherited. Anna didn’t hesitate, she only wants her big brother to be happy. I arranged a pass for her to come to the south entrance to the White House to deliver our mother’s wedding band.
Anna slips it into my hand and looks up at me with adoring eyes. I thank her, and say that I have to make it brief. I’ll explain when I get home. She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, then twirls toward the door.
I turn back to the hall and my jaw drops. Cheri’s standing there with a look that could burn stucco off the side of a building. She whips around and runs, agents racing after her. I take two steps.
Carmel holds up a hand. “Don’t.”
I stop, embarrassed and confused.
“Walk with me,” Carmel says.
I can only obey. I have to fix this.
She throws out a hand. “Think about what you’re doing, please think carefully. There’s only one President, and for you and me, there’s only one Cheri Barnes.”
I have no defense, and say nothing.
“I sense there’s more than meets the eye, so tell me.”
I stop in my tracks. “That was my sister, Anna. She brought me something I want to give Cheri.”
Carmel stares, considering it. “All right, but take my advice. Stay away from her, for now. She’s got way more on her plate than you do. You do get that, don’t you?”
I swallow, trying to summon an answer she’ll accept.
But the ring’s burning a hole in my pocket. I’ve got to make this right. “Not to be disrespectful, ma’am. I just have to do this.” Before she can say anything, I spin around and run. I hear her yell, “Hey!” but my long legs eat up the yards.
Cheri’s either gone to her office or the residence. I hope it’s the former, because I doubt that I could get to the living quarters if unassigned. It’s almost certain that Carmel will flag down an agent and make a call to head me off. I steam around a corner, nearly running over a couple of journalists being shepherded by a media minder.
Drawing near the office I try to calm down. This isn’t going to work if I’m all jittery. Cheri’s overloaded with God knows what, she’s already upset and I’m adding to her problems. I’d better be in control of myself if I want to get what I need. A couple of deep breaths and I step up to the door. An agent I know raises her eyebrows.
“I’ve got something for Ms. Monroe,” I say, hoping that Carmel hasn’t called and hasn’t charged after me.
The agent gives me a head tilt. I turn the doorknob and walk in. There’s another agent at the door to the President’s office.
“The President asked me to bring something to her.” It sounds lame and off-script, but I have to try.
The agent turns and knocks softly. I hear Cheri say, “Yes?”
Before the other agent can challenge me, I brush past him and open the door. Cheri glares lasers at me.
I hold up my hands. “Just hear me out. Just one minute.”
She doesn’t protest, so I keep going, my words tumbling out. “That was my sister, Anna. She’s my world, until I met you.” I dip into my pocket, pull out the ring and extend my palm. “It was my mother’s, I wan
t you to have it.”
Cheri stares at me, her face hard. I’ve never seen that in her, anger red and primal. I stare back, not blinking. I’m telling the truth, and I hope it comes through. I’m banking on her understanding that. I know she’s been through a lot, and she’s under enormous pressure, but for me, this is the end of the line.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go. I’ll get a transfer and get out of your life.” I keep holding out the ring. I have nothing else to offer. My eyes beseech her.
She looks away. I can only wonder what she’s thinking. After seeing me with Carmel, then with Anna, I understand she might be skittish.
Finally she stands up and comes around the desk. Her eyes go to the door. I turn around. Carmel stands there, her face a mask of fury.
“I’ve got it, Carm,” Cheri says softly. Carmel shuts the door behind her.
Cheri waves at a sofa and takes a seat at the other end. I sit down, still holding the ring. She takes her time, composing what she wants to say.
“Before today… No, let me start over. Jack, I don’t know what to do. This jealousy, it isn’t me, I’ve never felt like that before. You’ve come into my world and all of a sudden I’m like a teenager. My thoughts and feelings flit around, scattered. I want to believe you, really I do. My heart says to do it, but my head?”
I take a breath. She holds up a hand to stop me from saying anything and shakes her head, her eyes shiny with moisture. “I just don’t see how this can work out. Yes, I want you, and yes, I’d love to accept your ring, but the hurdles are too big. There’s too much at stake.”
She slides over, reaches out and takes one of my hands in hers. “I’ve always done the right thing, even when it’s hard. I have to do it now.”
My heart is ripped in two. I can’t think, my mind shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. No. No way. She’s mine, and nothing is going to come between us. I slip the ring in my pocket and lean forward, meaning to be gentle and not get physical.
I fail.
My hands are under her legs and butt. I pull her into my lap before I can think. My lips are on hers and my tongue searches for love in return. She kisses back, at first gingerly, but then with fire.
Minutes go by. We break for air. She has a tiny grin.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” she whispers.
“Stand up.”
She gets to her feet. I reach under her skirt and slip off her underwear. She’s ready for love. I lead her to the desk and bend her over it, so she has a good grip on the hardwood. Her ass points at me like twin volleyballs. I almost melt into a puddle, the sight of her is so luscious.
In a flash, my pants are on the floor in a pile. I cup her full hips in my hands, then gently spread her legs.
When she feels my fingers, her sigh is like a distant train whistle. “Just do me,” she whispers. “Hard.”
I lean in so we’re touching, all but joined. She breathes another deep sigh. I snake a finger around her front and find my target, then push inside. She jolts, clenching me, and moans from the bottom of her chest. We start our rhythmic sway.
In minutes she peaks, up on tiptoe, smashing back into me, manic with need.
Struggling to keep my balance, I spread my feet, redoubling my efforts. I hunger for another explosion.
It doesn’t take long. Cheri wails and pounds the desk with her palms. Papers flutter to the floor. She buries her head in her arms. I continue, my head thrown back. Her shoulders shake. It sounds like she’s crying.
Finally we slow down. “Just another minute, I want to kiss you,” I whisper. I help her turn around, and lift her onto the desk, her arms around my neck. We start again, tenderly.
Lips touching, tongues snaking, our cells join like we’re part of each other. Our hips barely move, our passion all in our mouths.
It’s time to give it to her again, hard like she wanted. I feel her excitement build.
She holds me away by the shoulders. “We’ve got to finish. Let me lie down.” She lays back and clasps her ankles around me. I lean forward and start.
“Harder, Jack,” she growls.
I drive her hot, like running a big V-8 across the desert. It’s only minutes, but it seems to go on for hours.
She throws her hands to her mouth, stifling a yell. Her hips jump up and down. Her pelvis jerks. I can’t hold back.
My explosion is tremendous. A current of gold fires through me. I grip her elbows and pull her up so she’s clasped against me while I rock.
She jolts and shudders again. I almost scream. She puts her hands on my shoulders and rides me. I can’t help it. I erupt again, an open fire hydrant. Stars dance in front of my eyes. I feel like I’m no longer standing, but floating.
“Unnhhh,” she whimpers. Her movements start to slow down. It’s only been about twenty minutes, but she’s had four orgasms, I think.
Still holding her against me, I wait for her to open her eyes and focus. Her gaze tells me what I want to know. She’s mine.
She gives me a kitten smile, eyes down, all eyelashes. “My arms hurt.”
“Nothing else?”
“Maybe my back. Everything else feels…wonderful.”
I hug her tight. “Are we good?”
She looks up, her eyes more green than grey. “Better than good.”
“So you understand?”
“I still don’t know what to do with you, but yes, I understand about your sister, and Carm.”
She gets down and slides on her undies as I pull up my pants. Then she turns to me, her hands on my arms, eyes full of tenderness.
There’s only one thing to do. Maybe this isn’t a solution, but maybe it is.
Pulling out the ring, I drop to one knee. “Marry me, please?”
9
Cheri
My vision’s gone cloudy. It’s hard to breathe. Jack’s kneeling. Did he just ask me to marry him? I’m speechless for the second time in one day. That’s got to be a record.
I thought that he was going to—I don’t know—ask me to be his girlfriend or something. Am I being old-fashioned? This is all going too fast. Marriage?
I see myself in a battle, bullets whizzing past me, explosions off to each side, people milling around and shooting, pure chaos. Suddenly a G.I. drops to his knee and asks me to marry him. It’s like a strange dream. Kind of a turn-on, to tell you the truth.
Maybe it would level me out, maybe give me enough strength to deal with all the crap that flies at me every day. But I can’t help but think of Mom, chasing after love and comfort, getting married and never finding it. And Morrie, my soul mate.
Is this a golden opportunity and I’m being a dumbass, or should I be really careful? I know who I am, I just don’t know who he is.
“I have to think about that,” I say.
Jack’s face falls. He holds the ring, but he’s not eagerly extending it anymore. Standing up, he puts it in his pocket.
“I don’t know what I can do to convince you.” He looks like someone just shot his dog.
“I don’t know either. I just know I need to think about it.” Looking down, I run my fingers along the edges of my blouse, tucking it in just so.
Then I look up. I feel good about him, and I want to be kind. “Please babe, give me some time.”
He nods. I put my hand on his arm, and lean up to kiss him on the cheek. “That was really nice,” I whisper.
But I have to get going with work. The country’s business never ceases.
Jack’s smile is weak, but at least it’s a smile. He seems to understand. “You know where to find me.” He turns toward the door.
I clasp my hands, wanting to convey that I’m thinking of him. “I do. Bye, baby.”
When he opens the door, Carmel walks in. The looks they exchange aren’t exactly warm, but I can’t worry about that. I watch him disappear.
A big breath, and I smile at Carm. “What’s up?”
“Want me to ask Shelby to pick up your mother?”
I tilt my
head in an “OK,” still distracted.
“Bill McCracken’s niece? She’s waiting.”
My eyes snap into focus. I’d forgotten about that. “All right. Send her in,” I say, hoping that the office doesn’t smell too much of musk. I’m getting hungry again, and hope the niece doesn’t take too long.
When the girl comes in, I’m surprised. She doesn’t gush or act shy like so many young women do, just marches up, looks me in the eye and sticks out her hand. “Angeline Porter. I’m a big fan.”
She’s a little heavy, with long blond curls, wearing a nice ensemble, probably from Nieman or Nordstrom’s. I offer her a seat on the sofa. Carm pops her head in, but Angeline declines refreshments.
“I need a soup and salad after Ms. Porter’s visit,” I say, then turn to my guest.
“I know you’re busy and I won’t bore you with my resume,” Angeline says. “It’s all on paper, Ms. Monroe has it. I only have one thing to say and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Shoot.”
“I’ll do anything, and by that I mean anything. I want to work on your staff with Ms. Monroe, but if you want me to mop the floors and clean the toilets, they’ll sparkle like you’ve never seen.” She bobs her head up and down, then holds my gaze.
I’m pretty good at sizing people up, and I like what I see, her brown eyes resolute. It doesn’t matter that she’s in her early twenties. She said she had something to tell me, she said it, and it’s a good message. My sense is that Angeline Porter is for real, not like her uncle.
I decide to test her, and stand up. “I hear you loud and clear, Ms. Porter.”
“Angeline.” She gets up, too.
I hold out my hand. “Angeline, I need to talk to somebody. You’ll be hearing from Carmel, one way or another.”
Without fawning or trying to sell me, she smiles, shakes my hand and leaves. I sure wish there were more people like her, of any age.
Carm comes in with a tray. I’m happy that she’s not too proud to bring my food. Having fewer staff buzzing around is a blessing.
