Dutch and Gina: The Power of Love

by Mallory Monroe

  “Yes,” he said, kissing Gina on the top of her head. “Apparently so.”

  “What specifically did you and she talk about? Was it anything specific?”

  “It was all about how she felt she lived her life wrong. She kept saying how she got it all wrong. She said you, and women like you who didn’t prostitute their bodies, essentially was what she was saying, did it right.”

  “And she was just figuring that out? At her age?”

  “I think Liz had figured it out a long time ago. But she was tired. Instead of doing something about it, instead of righting her ship, she decided to sink it. But she could have changed course. It would have taken work, but she could have changed.”

  Then Dutch frowned. Shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said so heartfelt, so pained, that Gina turned around, kissed his forehead, and held him in her protective arms.

  The helicopter landed in the US Virgin Islands, in the backyard of the Rand estate, and two of the most powerful men in America, Vice President Shelton Pratt and Speaker of the House Jed Brightman, alighted out of the craft, buttoned their wind-blown suit coats, and made their way toward the estate’s entrance.

  Once inside the livingroom, and after waiting only briefly for Robert Rand to make an appearance, all three men sat down to strategize. Their concern: what happened in San Francisco.

  “Did either of you gentlemen see that one coming?” Robert asked.

  “Hell, no,” the Vice President responded. “But I figure we should play it up for all it’s worth.”

  Speaker Brightman and Robert exchanged a glance. Shelly Pratt really was a fool in many ways, their looks seemed to suggest.

  “No, Shelly,” Brightman said. “We aren’t touching that particular scandal.”

  “Why the hell not? It could bring down his presidency easier than what we have planned.”

  “Then let it come tumbling down,” Robert said, “and we’ll forget about our plans. But in the meantime, we change nothing.”

  “That’s makes no sense at all to me,” Pratt said, crossing his legs. “They could charge him with murder---”

  “They aren’t going to charge him with murder,” Brightman made clear.

  “How do you know? It’s possible.”

  “It’s not possible. Come on, will you? At the most he’ll be condemned in the court of public opinion for cheating on his wife.”

  “Which if I know Dutch,” Robert said with that ever-present smile of his, “and I do, a little thing like a sex scandal won’t be enough to run him out of that White House.”

  “Unless,” Brightman added, “that little sex scandal involved his wife.”

  “And the evidence was irrefutable,” Robert agreed. “Which is my job.”

  “Is it going according to plan?” Brightman asked.

  “Exactly according to plan,” Robert assured him.

  “But why would the governor of Texas want to pardon Marcus Rance?” Shelly wanted to know.

  Brightman rolled his eyes. “He’s not going to pardon him, Shelly, have you been paying attention? That’s the line Robert fed to Gina Harber. The truth is, Governor Feingold is going to show up at that dinner in Montreal, meet with the First Lady, hear her plead for her brother’s freedom, and then go back to his life in Texas. And when his term in office is completed, he will receive from Robert a handsome, monetary gift for his trouble. That’s it. That’s all. He is not about to pardon some former drug dealing murderer. He already commuted that boy’s sentence from death to life. That’s enough.”

  But Shelly Pratt was still uncertain. He was staring at Robert. He didn’t trust him. “What’s in this for you?” he wanted to know. “Why do you hate Dutch Harber so much?”

  Robert smiled, because the Vice President, as usual, was well off base. Robert didn’t hate Dutch at all. In fact, he was one of the few rich and powerful people Robert actually liked. But he was in his way. Robert knew he wasn’t going to get to the presidency by the traditional way. So he had to create a non-traditional route. Dutch resigns, Shelly Pratt automatically would become president. Shelly would have a constitutional obligation to nominate a Vice President. He would nominate Robert. That had already been agreed to. And when Dutch’s term is up, Shelly would then announce that he will not seek to run for a full term as president, and Robert, as VP, would be strategically placed as the heir apparent. The best man for the job.

  As for Jed Brightman, he would be happy because he would maintain his speakership. Robert Rand would represent a strong candidate at the head of the Democratic ticket, ensuring down ballot votes that would keep the Democrats in the House of Representatives in power. It was elaborate and it was, to both Robert and Jed Brightman, entirely doable.

  Pratt, however, was the wildcard.

  But Robert had a cure for that ailment, too.

  “Besides,” Robert said, couching his words carefully, “this has to work. Everything has to go according to plan. Or your predilection, Shelly, will be exposed for all the world to see. And that will be the end of you politically. Won’t it?”

  Shelly Pratt stared at Robert. “What predilection?”

  Robert smiled. “You just stick with the plan, and there will be no need to ever so much as mention it.” Then Robert frowned, leaned forward so that he was clear. “You step outside of the plan, however, even an inch outside, and you will go down harder and faster than Dutch Harber ever could. You feel me, Shelly?”

  The Vice President could not believe the level of disrespect he often received from billionaire nobodies like Robert Rand. But money spoke as loud in Washington as power. And besides, he was in a tight fix. Rand claimed to have the goods on him. He didn’t even want to consider if it was true. Because if even a scintilla of it was true, and Rand did have the goods on him, Rand was right: he would be politically dead. He wouldn’t be able to retire in the sunset and rake in money in speaking fees. He wouldn’t be able to earn a living, if it were true.

  “I’ll stick with the plan,” Shelly said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  The doors to the Oval Office flew open and the president and First Lady emerged. Following them were a contingent that included Manny Levine, political director, Primrose Grier, Attorney General, Peter Bergmann, White House Counsel, and Crader McKenzie and Allison Shearer. It wasn’t Bergmann, however, or Primrose, who was the most vocal advisor to the president as they walked. It was Manny.

  “Don’t get into the weeds with those people,” he said as he worked to keep pace alongside the fast moving First Couple. “They’ll bait you, but don’t take the bait.”

  Dutch and Gina didn’t respond. They just kept on walking.

  “And about that night, sir,” Manny continued. “We really need you to obfuscate.”

  This stopped Dutch and Gina, which effectively stopped the entire entourage. Dutch looked at Manny. “Obfuscate?” he asked.

  “Yes. We need you to prevaricate, to---”

  “To lie, in other words,” Gina said.

  Many smiled. “No ma’am, that’s not exactly what I mean.”

  “Then what exactly do you mean?” Dutch wanted to know, staring at his political director.

  “What I mean is that this is not the time to go out there and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

  “Then what is he supposed to go out there and tell?” Gina asked. “Lies, whole lies, nothing but lies?”

  “No, ma’am,” Manny said, “but. . .” He then looked at Dutch. “Sir, you need to go out there and create what I’ll call an alternative reality.”

  ““I’m not hearing this conversation,” Primrose Grier said. “Permission to leave, sir?”

  Dutch looked at his tall Attorney General. He liked her spunk, her tenacity, and above all her strong moral core. That was why he selected her to run his Justice Department. But her formality annoyed him. “Just hold on,” he said to her. Then he turned, slightly, toward his wife. “You want to leave too, babe?” he asked her.

>   “I sure do not,” Gina said. “I want to know why Manny feels you can’t just get behind that podium and tell the American people the truth.”

  “Why is that, Manny? My wife asks a very good question.”

  Manny leaned back on the balls of his feet. “Alright, I’ll tell you why. If you place yourself in a hotel room with a dead woman, you’re dead politically. There’s no ands, ifs, or buts about that. There’s no two ways to look at it. And not just you, but the entire Democratic Party. It’s a fact, sir. You cannot have been in that hotel room with Liz Sinclair.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Crader said with a frown. “The police came to the hotel room. Dutch answered the door. Liz was dead in the bathroom then.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Manny said. “But no reports have yet been filed, and no comments to the media have yet been made.”

  Crader looked at Manny. “Oh, so you got to the cops already? They’re willing to play ball with us already?”

  “Don’t look at me,” Manny said, looking at Peter Bergmann. “Pete was the one in San Francisco. He was the one who ran interference on that end.”

  “All I did was asked them to give us some time,” Peter proclaimed. “That’s it. That’s all. The rest of this is all Manny.”

  “But I don’t get it. I don’t understand what you expect Dutch to say,” Gina said to Manny.

  “You say, sir,” Manny addressed the president, “that you spent the night elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere?” Dutch said.

  “Like where?” Gina asked.

  Manny didn’t skip a beat. “In Allison’s hotel room.”

  “Allison?” Gina said, floored. “But Secret Service agents were right outside his room door. They knew the president didn’t leave and go to Allison’s room.”

  “Let us handle that end,” Manny said.

  “Oh, so you got that covered too, do you now?” Crader asked incredulously.

  “That’s right, Cray, we do,” Manny responded petulantly. Then he turned to the president. “You spent most of that night with Allison,” he said. “And then you went back to your hotel room and went straight to bed. You never looked in that bathroom, not once.”

  “So how did Liz get in there?” Gina asked.

  “He allowed Allison to bring her there while he was still at the fundraiser. And then he and Allison went back to Allison’s room.”

  Gina could hardly believe it. “And they’ll think my husband spent the night with his press secretary?”

  Manny didn’t skip a beat. “Better they believe him an adulterer than a murderer.”

  Gina looked at Allison. She didn’t seem at all surprised by this cover up scheme, as if they’d already discussed it. In fact, none of them seemed surprised. Except her and Crader. With Dutch it was always hard to tell where he came down.

  Dutch began walking again, which caused Gina and the rest of the contingent to continue walking, too.

  “Anything else?” Dutch asked Manny.

  “Yes, sir,” Manny said. “And this one is vital.”

  Dutch and Gina stopped once more, with their staffers stopping too. “What is it?” Dutch asked him.

  “You don’t want Gina going in there with you, sir,” Manny said. “Her presence could turn your press conference in ways we don’t want to go. Just being on that stage with you will create a whole new discussion on why it is that troubled politicians always parade out their wives to stand by their man. If the discussion becomes about Gina, then all of those old allegations about her having affairs in the White House, and doing drugs, will all return. We can’t handle that right now.”

  Gina wanted to tell Manny where he could go with all of that rumor mill nonsense that never had any basis in facts. But Dutch beat her to the punch.

  “Come on, babe,” he said to his wife as he reached out his hand to her. Gina gladly grasped it. “And Manny,” he said, now staring at his political director.

  “Yes, sir?” Manny said, stepping forward.

  “You’re fired.”

  The First Couple kept walking. Crader, now smiling, followed too. Allison, Prim, and Peter, terrified that they may be on that chopping block next, hurried to keep pace with the president. But their decision to keep going effectively left Manny, their colleague and friend, alone in the corridor.

  The press conference was brutal. Every question seemed laced with accusation. But Dutch and Gina stood there, behind the podium in the Brady Press Room, and took it. Gina, in fact, was amazed at how Dutch was able to maintain his cool under fire.

  “Why did you tell Allison Shearer to take Liz Sinclair to your hotel room, sir?”

  “She said she needed to talk, so I agreed to meet with her later that night.”

  “But why did your press secretary have to take the woman to your room, sir? Why couldn’t you just leave her in that small office and talk to her there?”

  “Because I still had commitments and didn’t want her waiting that long in such an uncomfortable setting.”

  Gina wanted to look at Dutch. Why he didn’t just tell them that Liz was drunk as a skunk and he wanted to help get her sober?

  “But why couldn’t your people put her in a different room?”

  “Because she wanted to talk with me. So I put her in my room.”

  “What did she talk about?”

  There was a slight hesitation in Dutch’s response, which caused Gina to glance at him. “She discussed some personal difficulties she was going through.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not getting into what she said,” Dutch made clear. “But it had nothing to do with my job as president. It was personal.”

  “Did you hold her at any time, sir, while she was alive in your hotel room?”

  Dutch’s jaw tightened. Gina was beginning to see very slight cracks in his armor. “Yes, I held her.”

  “Why, sir, would you be in a hotel room holding a gorgeous single woman like Liz Sinclair?”

  “She was crying.”

  “Where were you when you held her, sir?”

  “On the sofa.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “There was a brief moment when she went to the bathroom to freshen up but ended up crying across the bed.”

  “Your bed?”

  “The bed, yes.”

  “And you got in bed with her and held her?”

  “Don’t twist my words around, Jansen,” Dutch admonished one of the reporters.

  “I apologize, sir. But are you saying that you at some point were in bed with her, holding her? Is that correct, sir?”

  “At some point, yes, she was crying and I held her.”

  “In bed?”

  “Yes, in bed. We were in bed. I don’t know why you insist on making some federal case out of the fact that a long-time, close, personal friend of mine was in trouble, she came to me, and I held her.”

  “Did you kiss her, sir?”

  Don’t answer that, Gina wanted to scream. But she knew it was not going to happen. Despite Manny’s wrongheaded advice, Dutch had made up his mind that he was going to tell the American people the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And she knew she had to stand by that decision. But she was an attorney. She’d already warned him about the minefield he was certain to be walking into.

  “I may have kissed her on the forehead or on the top of her head,” Dutch replied to the reporter’s question.

  “You may have? Well did you or did you not kiss her, Mr. President? That’s not a hard question to answer. You either did or you didn’t.”

  “I answered it. Next question?”

  “Did she take off her clothes, sir?” yet another reporter asked.

  “No,” Dutch replied.

  “Then why was she photographed at the fundraiser wearing a white jumpsuit, but she was found in your hotel room wearing a black dress? According to you, your press secretary took her straight up to your room from the fundraiser. So at some point she had to have taken off her clothes in
your hotel room, sir.”

  Dutch was flustered. Gina could see it now. He had forgotten that Allison had her take a bath and change clothes, he had forgotten all about that. Now he had to backtrack and fill, which was always a horrible sign.

  “Allison had a dress bought up to the suite for her to put on.”

  “Why? What was wrong with her pantsuit?”

  “Nothing was wrong with it,” Dutch snapped. “It was a question of Liz taking a bath and putting on something fresh.”

  “But why, sir? Everybody knows Liz Sinclair and she’s always been a maven of style. Why would your press secretary feel it necessary to put her in a tub and put her on a brand new dress?”

  “That has nothing to do with what we’re discussing here. Liz was found dead in my hotel room. It is a tragedy, I grieve for her parents and other family members, but I had nothing to do with her death. That’s the bottom line.”

  “But you do understand, sir, that the fact that your press secretary would have her take a bath and put on a brand new dress suggests that they were getting her prepped, sir.”

  “Prepped?” Dutch asked incredulously. “Prepped for what?”

  “Prepped to spend a romantic night with the president. Don’t you see that, sir?”

  “Oh, that is absurd!”

  “Have you slept in the same bed with Liz Sinclair before, sir?”

  Gina’s mind was on the previous questions. Dutch needed to go back and tell them how drunk Liz was, what state of mind she was in. That was why Allison helped freshen her up. It had nothing to do with any prepping her to sleep with Dutch. Nothing at all. But Dutch just let it slide. And Gina didn’t quite understand why.

  She understood how he wouldn’t want to tarnish Liz with lies, but this was the truth. But as she stood there, and he was extremely slow to answer the last question, a question she was certain would easily be a no, her mood changed. And the unquestionable truth that she thought was as obvious as him telling her what that truth was, suddenly became questionable to her.

  She looked at Dutch. Why hadn’t he answered yet? It was a simple enough question. Had you slept with Liz Sinclair before? All he had to say was no. That was all he had to say. But he was hesitating still.