The President’s Bitch

by Andy King

  “Josh needs a word,” she says.

  “Already? Is he on the line?”

  “He’s on his way over, probably be here in twenty.”

  My eyebrows go up. It must be important. It’s excellent timing, though. I’ve got something for him, too.

  Twenty minutes and I’ve plowed through as much food as I can handle. Josh walks in, briskly slips off his trenchcoat and closes the door.

  He sits down across the desk. “I’ll get right to it. Word is you’ve got something going with a Secret Service agent.”

  How did that get around so quick, I wonder. My lips stay relaxed, but I’m sure my eyes betray me. I feign amusement. “This is a national security matter?”

  “No, not exactly. I’ve got a source, many sources as you know. I’ve heard that Nick may want to make something out of it.”

  “Oh? How?”

  “I’m not sure. You can always tell the truth and let the chips fall, but a couple of years from now, it might be an issue with the public.”

  “A couple of years from now, we might be married.” Jeez, how did that stumble out? Usually my brain is faster than my mouth.

  Josh is a good poker player, but this time his eyes go wide. “Uh, really?”

  “No, not really, I’m kidding. But I won’t be bullied by Nick, or anybody else. I’m going to run this country with its best interests at heart. If I don’t get re-elected, then I don’t.” I’m bluffing. You don’t sit in this office and not want to stay here as long as you physically can.

  Josh knows this, like almost everyone with a pulse knows it. “All right, Cheri, just wanted to pass it along.”

  “Did you really come here to tell me that?”

  He shakes his head. “The news about North Korea’s missile is totally out in the open. Distress is slowly building. It’s too early for poll results, but the hubbub’s growing.”

  “I’ve heard some stuff, the alt-right crowd is worried that I might call out the cavalry, or something.”

  Josh holds my eyes. “It might get out of hand. You need a public relations effort, a slow hype. Throw shade on the wingnuts, but from the side, not from your office.”

  “Use a PAC? I’ll think about it.”

  “There’s more. This next bit is hazier. I can’t get any source to commit to anything other than rumor.”

  I sip some water and nod.

  “You’ve got five in your cabinet that aren’t exactly fans of yours, we both know that,” he says. “I’ve been told, and like I say it’s not firm, they want you out. Sooner than the election.”

  “How’s that going to happen?”

  “There’s always impeachment.”

  “I run a tight ship and having a lover’s not an impeachable offense.” My toes curl when I feel defensive. I really do like Jack, and I really do detest MacElvain and his posse. Besides, Jack’s proposal got me hot. I’m digging in my heels.

  Josh’s low baritone goes lower. “There are other ways.”

  I bust out laughing. “Like a coup? Is that what you’re saying? Josh, I don’t doubt your loyalty, and I’m sure your sources are good, but that’s never happened. Besides, I have sources, too.”

  “It’s never happened, but we’ve never been in this exact place before.”

  “You mean with a young, mixed race female running things? Possibly with loose morals?”

  “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard, and what I think you need to look out for, Cheri.”

  I rest my chin on my fists and go silent. Josh wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think this was serious. I’d better listen to his counsel. We stare at each other.

  I have an idea. “They’re sworn to uphold and protect the Constitution. If anybody tried a coup, it would be treason, right?”

  Josh’s eyes narrow. He catches my drift. I don’t need to say anymore. If he understands like I think he does, he’ll ask certain trustworthy people to stand by, just in case. They’ll probably never be needed, but if…

  My lips tighten. I don’t want to think about this any further right now. Later, when I’m falling asleep, maybe.

  He stands up. “Better get going, it’s rough outside.”

  “How long is this storm supposed to last?”

  “Three days, they say.”

  “Be careful.”

  At the door he smiles for the first time. “I’ve got that Land Rover, right?”

  I grin back, then remember what I wanted to talk to him about. Describing Angeline Porter in a few sentences, I pitch to him using her to collect and document intelligence on Mac’s little band of losers. There’s no spot for her in the White House. Carmel would chew her up and spit her out before breakfast.

  “She’s really young?”

  “Right out of college. Look, why don’t you interview her? Bet you’ll see what I see, bet you’ll hire her. Set it up through Carm.”

  He tilts his head and shrugs. “OK.”

  I hear him exchange a few words with Carmel, then goodbyes. After checking my desk I go out to her office.

  “You should stay over,” I say. Months ago, I had a suite redone for her to spend the night if she wished. She’s currently between husbands, so why waste the space? This mansion is lonely enough.

  “Yeah, it’s supposed to get brutal out there. Might give me better odds on making it to work tomorrow.”

  It’s been a damned long day. I give her a hug and walk back into my office. I know she’ll wait to leave until I go upstairs. After surveying the layout of the piles on my desk, I rate them in my mind in order of urgency.

  Turning off my desk lamp, I swivel my chair to look out the window at the snow flurry, the subject on my mind Jack.

  It’s unsettling, because I shut that door a year ago. When Morrie was killed, I decided that there was only one thing left in the world, the welfare of the United States of America. I close my eyes and sigh. I can’t help it, I can’t stop what my heart and soul are telling me. I’m falling in love.

  10

  Jack

  After leaving Cheri, I walk around, caught in a quicksand of feelings. I can’t leave the building. My shift’s over, but I prowl the hallways pretending to be doing something. When I find myself back at her office, her pull is so strong I almost can’t resist.

  My heart’s racing and my blood is boiling. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to burst back in and plead with her. I need to be near her, so I make a deal with the agent stationed in the hall. Claiming that I want to try waiting out the snowstorm, I offer to take the balance of his shift. He can trade some time with me later. It’s just an hour, but I know the guy has a wife and new baby at home. He agrees in a heartbeat.

  Now I’m standing here, glancing at my watch every five minutes. A young blond woman strolls up and looks at the number on the door. She asks if this is Ms. Monroe’s office and I say yes. Not advertising that it’s also the President’s office is a small security precaution. She goes in.

  Only ten minutes later she comes out. I’ve looked at my watch three times. It’s late, so Carmel has to be going home soon. In a fog of anguish I wait.

  Deputy Director Jefferson approaches, his posture ramrod straight. He nods at me and opens the door to Carmel’s. I struggle with my longing to follow him, barge in, and insist that Cheri do what I need her to do. But I’ve got to keep my mind on where I am and who I am, and ignore my heart. If I don’t, I’ll end up in jail, arrested for stalking the President. The door shuts behind him.

  I can’t stand it, being close to her, but not being hers, and she mine. There’s only one other choice—resign from the detail and transfer out of D.C. Any far-flung field office would gladly take me. If I can keep from screwing up for another day. Cheri made it clear that she’s going to sleep on it, but I don’t have that luxury. My heart aches, the image of her eyes brimming with love haunting me. My body aches for her heat.

  Josh Jefferson has been in there awhile now, which makes it even harder. For a month I’ve watched her surr
ounded by men, officials and other agents. Like a wolf or a bear, my urge to claw them away from her has been strong. Somehow I’ve kept it in check, but now that I’ve had her, and felt her skin on mine, it’s overpowering. I inch closer to the door, trying to hear sounds.

  That’s silly. The walls are thick and soundproofed. I’m not going to be able to hear anything. If I throw open the door, Carmel will singlehandedly get me fired from the White House detail, I’m sure. Only Cheri would be able to save me. Right now I’m not sure she’d do that. Then everything I’m living for would be lost.

  I’m beyond rational. I’m almost sure that Jefferson doesn’t have anything going on with Cheri, but I can’t stand not knowing. I can’t stand him being in there another minute. I reach for the door handle.

  The door swings open. “Night, Carm,” he says.

  I barely recover in time and stand at attention, hands clasped, back to the wall, staring straight ahead. He walks out. I feel his eyes on me.

  He steps in front of me. “Runyon?”

  The word about Cheri and me must be out.

  “Guard her with your life,” he says sharply.

  “I would take a hundred bullets for her, sir.”

  He looks me in the eye, soldier to soldier. I’d know that stare anywhere.

  He salutes. I salute back automatically. He walks away. My shoulders ease a bit.

  Another agent walks toward me. It must be time for the shift change. He gives me the standard status queries. I answer without thinking, my mind a thousand miles away. Then I trudge down the hall to drive home through the blizzard.

  _______

  In the morning I drag myself out of bed. Slogging to the kitchen to make coffee, I think I’ve had about two hours of sleep. My thoughts tormented me for the six hours I lay there, and they always came back to the same solution. I’ve got to resign from the White House detail. It’s the only fair thing to do.

  Cheri is not going to be able to deal with the distraction. She’s smart and she’s tough, and she might have feelings for me, but the nation and the world come first. That’s clear.

  My urge is incredibly powerful, but I have to get past it somehow. That’s clear, too. The only fighting chance I have to carry on is to distance myself from her, as far as possible. I’m going to have to make a plan. Taking care of Anna is super-important.

  Sitting at the table, propping my head with my hand, I hear Anna come out of the bathroom. She waltzes in.

  Her hand in my hair, she leans over and kisses my forehead. “What’s the matter, Jack?”

  I look up and try to smile. “Nothing. Everything’s OK.”

  “No it’s not.” She folds her arms, ready to wait me out all day if she has to. To say that Anna’s stubborn is to say that the Himalayas are a nice little range of hills.

  How can I tell her? Where can I start? She doesn’t understand people that well to begin with. I’ve always shielded her from the reasons for the things I did in war, and glossed over the cold, hard facts about my job. On top of that, if I move away, I’ll have to figure out how to contribute to her support, financially and emotionally.

  “Work stuff,” I mumble.

  “You have a girlfriend at work?”

  My eyes shoot wide and my mouth flies open.

  “When people act like this it’s because they’re in love. I see it all the time. I’ve never seen you in love, Jack. Who is she?”

  “Uh, just a woman.”

  Anna picks up an orange and starts to peel it. “Oh sure, just a woman. Come on, if you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

  I know that Anna would never breathe a word about it. She would carry a secret to her grave, not just for me, it’s how she is. So I relate everything except Cheri’s name and the fact the she’s the President. Some things you just can’t do.

  Anna’s cheeks are pink with excitement. “This is wonderful. My brother’s in love.”

  “More like I wish she was in love with me.”

  “So what are you going to do, Jack? You have to tell her.”

  “I did, the ring?”

  “Oh. She didn’t want it?”

  “No, she didn’t want it.”

  “Then she’s not good enough for you.” Anna dumps the orange peel in the trash, rinses her hands and puts them on her hips. “You tell me who she is, I’ll straighten her out for you.”

  She’s staring in my eyes, daring me to believe in myself. I believe in Anna, that much is certain. I smile at her with love, and stand up to get ready for work. But I’ve made my decision.

  _______

  Fifteen minutes before my shift starts I walk into Carmel’s office.

  She gives me a frosty look. “She’s busy.”

  “I’m sure she is. This’ll take less than a minute.”

  “You need to stay away from her.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I just want to tell her, then I’ll be gone.”

  Carmel raises an eyebrow, her eyelids down in a skeptical but hopeful expression. Cheri’s office door opens.

  “Carm, you seen that troop estimate report?” Cheri steps in. Her eyes narrow, but then she smiles. “It was on the upper left corner of my desk.”

  “I moved it to the center,” Carmel says. “Sure you didn’t put something on top of it?”

  Cheri beckons me and disappears into her office. I follow.

  She’s across the room at her desk already, searching for something. Holding up a hand to keep me from speaking, she says, “I want forty thousand ready to ship out in two days.”

  “That’s going to be hard,” a gruff voice says over the speakerphone.

  “Not if you want it to happen. I will replace you if don’t. So get those troops moving.” She punches the phone decisively before the voice can reply.

  I raise my eyebrows. Seeing her in action only makes me want her more. I wonder what Freud would say about that.

  She grins. “Hi, Jack. Nice to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too. I won’t take a minute of your time. I’ve thought about it, and I have to tell you in person. It’s the right thing to do. I’m resigning from the White House detail. Sir.”

  Her face drops into a sour expression. She walks over and clutches my arms, peering up into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry I put you off like that.”

  “It’s not just that. I’ve decided that, well, if I can’t have you a hundred percent, it’s too painful for me to be around you.” I try my hardest to keep a blank face.

  She trudges back behind her desk, a finger to her lips, her eyes half-closed as if she’s far away. A minute passes while she thinks about it. Then she looks at me and softly says, “I respect your decision, Agent Runyon. Good luck.”

  I turn around and plod through Carmel’s office. I’ve got five more minutes, so I find a restroom stall and blot my eyes.

  11

  Cheri

  Like rain on a windshield, my tears blur what I’m looking at. I turn my chair around, facing the window. There are a million things I need to do, but my body is limp, slack with sorrow. I’ve cried so much in the last year, and now this. When is it going to end?

  Slowly I become aware that the sky is dark outside, and bit by bit my vision clears. A fat slur of rain and snow smears through the sky and slashes through the trees, pounding the window. The day matches my mood, dark and cold. The pressure of the job, then moments with Jack, have reached down and stirred something deep in me—the closeness I felt with Morrie. Being with Jack teased it to the surface. Now it’s gone.

  I’m vaguely aware of voices coming from Carmel’s office, then realize what’s happening. The timing couldn’t be worse. I quickly grab a tissue.

  “Mrs. Taylor, Kayla, please let me tell her you’re here.”

  “I know she’s busy, I’ll just pop in for a minute.”

  I throw the Kleenex in the trash, swing my chair around and stand up.

  Mom peeks around the doorframe, her smile meant to be endea
ring. Her dark blond hair in a chic, loose chignon, she looks even younger than usual. “Cherilyn, honey. I’m here!” She bustles across the room as I come out from behind the desk, and practically jumps into my arms as if she were a child. So appropriate.

  With a hug followed by air kisses, she holds me at arm’s length and inspects me, then smiles and lets go. “It’s so good to see you, baby. I was so glad when Carmel called, and thank you for sending those nice soldiers to drive me.” She looks around, deciding which piece of furniture suits her.

  Dressed in a brown, tan and charcoal grey winter outfit—probably from Saks—Mom picks a Windsor chair, one of the few antiques I have. She strides over and carelessly places a hand on its back, posing so I can admire her slender form before she sits down.

  My mother is a fine-looking woman, her haircut more stylish than mine. I marvel at her ability to appear as well as she does on her limited income. She’s always been incredibly resourceful, though. She stays in shape and still has a sharp jawline to enhance her surgically straightened nose. A couple of times I’ve wondered how she’s managed to drive away the men she courted over the years.

  As soon as she’s settled, I take a nearby seat on a sofa and force myself to listen. She’s chattering about the drive through the storm, with digressions about her chiropractor (not a prospect), and her podiatrist (a longshot, but potential prospect). I need to pay attention to her for a few minutes, then dispatch her with one of the guides and an agent—handpicked by Carmel. She’ll get a tour, and hopefully stay out of trouble.

  My musing is interrupted when she says, “Who was that man?”

  “What man?”

  “The one leaving Carmel’s office when I arrived.” She glances toward the door as if he might walk in. “He looked unhappy to say the least.”

  I swallow. The last thing I need is for my mother to insert herself into my private life. I spent two decades trying to convince her that I would let her know if I needed her counsel. Which I don’t. “He’s an agent.”

  “Secret Service?”

  I somehow manage to not roll my eyes. “Yes.”