And Robert killed a call that was already dead.
“Bad news,” he said as Gina, now fully alert, frowned. The doctor had warned Robert that she would initially be a little woozy, but also warned for him to ignore it. Don’t give her anything to be suspicious about, the doctor had said, and she won’t be suspicious.
“What’s the bad news?” Gina asked.
“That was Governor Feingold,” Robert lied. Feingold had phoned him hours earlier.
“What did he want?”
“He said he received a phone call from your husband.”
Gina looked at him. “From Dutch?”
“Yes. And Dutch told the good governor that he could attend the dinner, and meet with everybody in attendance there, if he so chooses. Except his wife.”
Gina immediately placed her head in her hands. She felt a little odd, and suddenly kind of sleepy, and now this. Dutch’s intervention.
“How do you feel about that?” Robert asked her.
“How am I supposed to feel about it? I don’t like it. Not at all. But . . .”
Robert considered her. What a good fuck she was, he was thinking. “But what?” he asked.
“But he calls himself looking out for my best interest.”
“Or his,” Robert said, prompting her to stare at him.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you want to help your brother. Not clear who he wants to help.”
“He wants to help me.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
“Yes, I say so, and you’d better be careful to say so too. I thought you were his friend?”
“I am his friend! I was just joking, Gina, gee whiz!”
Gina looked at him. Maybe she was a little uptight. “I was just hoping to get the ball rolling.”
“Understood,” Robert said. He’d accomplished his mission anyway. That meeting that wasn’t going to produce any results anyway was of no importance to him.
“Did he say if we could meet again at another time?” Gina asked.
“I don’t know about that. Dutch may have spooked him. But I’ll certainly look into it.”
“Thanks, Robert,” Gina said with a doubtful look on her face. Meeting Governor Feingold at another place and time would only create yet another round of arguments with Dutch.
“In any event,” Robert said, moving to leave, “we’d better get downstairs. The dinner is soon to start.”
Gina stood up. Felt only slightly woozy by now. Looked at him. “I’m surprised he didn’t call you, too.”
“He tried,” Robert said with a smile, placing his hand on the small of her back, “but I just didn’t answer.”
“Yes, that’ll work,” she said as he escorted her out of his hotel room. She felt what she could only describe as incomplete, as if she was leaving something behind. She even looked back, to make sure it wasn’t so.
And the thought of Dutch effectively cancelling a meeting she had carefully prepared for was undeniably upsetting. But in an odd, twisted way, she was kind of pleased. Something felt wrong inside of that hotel room. She couldn’t say what it was, or why she felt that way. But she did. As soon as she entered it, and especially as she was leaving it, something felt off.
Robert was pleased too. But for very different reasons. He had accomplished exactly what he had set out to do. He’d return to the room as soon as he had her downstairs and circulating with the other guests, to get his equipment, particularly his pictures, secured. But right now he was pleased. He had just made love to Dutch Harber’s wife. And Dutch Harber, he was certain, wasn’t going to stand for that. He’d resign in a heartbeat before he allowed the pictures that Robert, the Vice President, and the Speaker of the House all sanctioned, to go public in any way, shape, or form.
Robert was even grinning as they got onto the elevator, as he saw how those Secret Service agents were blanketing the First Lady as if they were actually protecting her. Another Dutch Harber order no doubt. But Robert knew better. That was why he felt like a kid in a candy store. He had just had himself an awfully good fuck, maybe one of the best he’d had in a long time. It was a fuck that would be the very reason why he was soon to be nominated as Vice President and, ultimately, President of the United States.
For a man like Robert Rand, who craved great power above all else, it didn’t get any better than this.
The President of the United States leaned back in his chair at the Asian-Pacific Economic summit as the interpreter translated the Japanese Prime Minister’s long-winded speech. After nearly twenty-five minutes into the speech, Dutch’s cell phone buzzed. He pulled it out, saw the number, and answered, removing the one-ear head phone.
“Yes,” he said in a lowered tone.
“Mr. President,” the Secret Service Agent said, “the First Lady has arrived.”
Dutch immediately killed the call and stood from his seat. The entire room of dignitaries and media stood too. He left the dais and headed offstage. Everybody sat back down. The Japanese Prime Minister continued his drawn out speech.
Dutch was surrounded by agents as he made his way up a back exit, up a back elevator, and onto the floor reserved for him and his delegation.
As soon as he entered the hotel suite, and saw Gina standing there, his heart felt caught in a balloon of emotion. He was certain that she knew about the phone call. He was certain she knew that he was the reason why the governor of Texas would not meet with her. And it had to be a jarring disappointment.
But he wouldn’t change a thing.
“I had to do it, Gina,” he said to her. “I could not allow you to get caught up in the schemes of power-hungry men like Robert Rand. Not my wife. Not you.”
Gina nodded. “I know,” she said, trying her best to balance her understanding of what he did with the disappointment that clung to her and wouldn’t let her go. “You helped me. I know you helped me. But I wasn’t able to help my brother. And that’s what’s devastating me.”
Dutch went to her, pulled her tightly into his arms, and kissed her long and hard and desperately.
THIRTEEN
Allison Shearer hurried down the corridors of the West Wing and didn’t stop until she was rushing into the Roosevelt Room. Crader was there, coffee cup in hand, reading over the tremendous amount of statements they wanted their surrogates to make regarding the success, or lack thereof more amply, of the Asian-Pacific summit.
“That one is out,” he said to his assistant as he grabbed one and tossed it aside. “We don’t want anybody mentioning abject failure. We are pleased with the results, more could have been accomplished, but we are pleased. That’s what we want the line to be.”
“Cray,” Allison said breathlessly as she made her way up beside him.
“Always end with how pleased we are,” he went on. “Not with the actual results. Hello, Al.”
“Tell your assistant to get lost.”
Crader looked at the president’s press secretary. She was never this rude to anybody. But the terrified look on her face caused him not to question it.
“Get lost,” he said to his aide.
The young woman hurried out of the room. Allison tossed a vanilla envelope on the table.
“What is it?” Crader asked as he sat his coffee cup down and began to open it.
“It’s the end of the Harber Administration as we know it.”
“Oh, Allison, are the dramatics really necessary?”
“Look at it. Then you tell me.”
Now Crader was worried. He pulled out what turned out to be a series of photographs, all in living color, of the First Lady and Robert Rand in various stages of love making. He staggered backwards.
“This can’t be,” he said, staring at the photos.
“This isn’t happening, Cray. Please tell me it’s not her, that they put her head on somebody else’s body, that. . .” But by the stricken look now on Crader McKenzie’s face, Allison knew it was happening: the end of the Harber Administration as they kn
ew it.
Crader grabbed the rest of the photos, and the envelope, and took off. Allison took off behind him. They didn’t stop until they were walking through the sanctum of the Oval Office and then directly into the office itself, without announcement or knocks.
Dutch, who was seated behind the desk eating a ham sandwich and reading a copy of the New York Times, looked up.
“Well my goodness,” he said, “you two look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Or two.”
Crader shoved the vanilla envelope toward him.
“What is it?” Dutch asked.
“Look at it.”
“What is it?” Dutch asked again.
“Photos, sir,” Allison said.
Dutch hesitated. Stared at Allison. “Of whom? Liz?”
“Liz?” Crader asked him angrily. “Do you think we would be standing here about to pass out over some gotdamn Liz Sinclair?”
Dutch stared at his friend. Of course he was right. Nobody would care but him, he guessed. Then he took the photos and leaned back in his chair.
The first one, of Robert Rand lying naked on top of Gina’s naked body, caused Dutch to sit erect again.
“What the hell,” he said with great puzzlement as he stared at the photo. But when he saw the next photo, of Gina’s naked body, alone on a bed, his heart began to hammer. He knew that body. He knew every curve, every little mark, the very skin texture of his wife’s body. And this was hers.
He jumped up from his chair so violently that his chair, a large, executive chair, fell backwards.
“Dear Lord,” he said, looking at the additional photos, because it didn’t stop there. There were photos of them kissing, of Robert’s mouth on her breasts, her hand on his penis, his tongue in her vagina, his penis in her vagina!
Dutch could hardly believe it. He looked on the back of the photos, as if they would tell the time, place, and that it was all a practical joke. Because he knew, with every fiber in his being, that those pictures were true pictures of his wife. But he also knew, with every fiber of his being, that it couldn’t be her.
He hurried from behind the desk. “Where’s Gina?” he asked them.
“In her office, sir,” Allison said, following behind him. “She’s entertaining some sewing circle group that helps the homeless.”
“Get her now and bring her to the Residence.”
“Yes, sir,” Allison said as the doors to the Oval Office flew open and Allison went one way, Dutch and Crader the other way.
And the peace they had enjoyed since their return from Japan, was shattered.
Dutch was seated in the armchair in the Residence while Gina, seated on the sofa, reviewed the stack of photographs. Crader and Allison were pacing the room, their nervousness only slightly more expressive than the disgusted looks on Gina’s face.
Dutch, however, had a laser beam focus on Gina.
When she finally looked up, after reviewing each and every one of the photographs, her face displayed an expression that Dutch could only describe as bewilderment.
“This didn’t happen,” she said.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Allison said. “How can you say that? It had to have happened.”
“That’s not you, Regina?” Crader asked with hope in his voice.
But Gina was so confused, so puzzled by this turn of events that she looked at Dutch. “Is it me?” she asked him. Nobody, not any one, knew her body better than he did.
“Yes, darling, it’s you,” he said.
Gina looked back at the photographs. “How can this be?” she asked, a frown enveloping her face. “I never did this.”
Allison stopped walking. “Were you or were you not in his hotel room at any time while you were in Montreal?”
“Yes, I was in his room.”
“But why?” Allison asked with a little bewilderment of her own. “Why would you, a married woman, be in that playboy’s hotel room, Gina?”
“Not because of what you mean,” Gina shot back. “I was there to meet with Governor Feingold.”
This gave Allison some hope. “So Feingold was there, too?”
“No, no,” Gina said regrettably. “He couldn’t make it.”
“Dutch scared him off,” Crader offered, in Gina’s defense.
Allison frowned. “What?”
“It’s a long story,” Crader said. “Look, we’re focusing on the wrong thing. Dutch says those photos are definitely Gina’s body, which means they are Gina. The question is what do we do about it? How can we control this damage?”
“We can’t,” Dutch said, and everybody looked at him. “But I can.”
“You?” Crader asked. “Sir, I wouldn’t advise you---”
“I want Shelly Pratt in my office now.”
Crader frowned. “Shelly? What does the Vice President have to do with this?”
“Get him in my office, Cray.”
Crader nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left.
“And Allison,” Dutch said.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, expecting an equally odd assignment as Crader’s.
“If you ever speak to my wife in the tone you just spoke to her in, you will be fired.” He looked her dead in the eye. “Am I making myself clear?”
Allison swallowed hard. Dutch Harber had a reputation for on-the-spot firing. She’d seen it herself numerous times. “Yes, sir,” she said. She turned to Gina. “I apologize, Mrs. Harber,” she added.
Gina tried to smile. “It’s okay, Ally. It’s shocking for all of us.”
Allison wanted to amen that, but was too terrified of the president. “Is there anything else, sir?”
“No,” Dutch said.
“What do I tell the press, sir?”
Dutch frowned. “You don’t tell those gotdamn vultures a gotdamn thing, what do you think?”
“Dutch!” Gina said, surprised by his harshness.
Dutch ran the back of his hand across his eyes. “Nothing,” he said with less animation. “You tell them nothing.”
“Yes, sir,” Allison said nervously, and then hurriedly left the room.
Dutch stood up, and began to pace around the room himself.
“What are we going to do?” Gina asked him, a plea now in her voice. “This didn’t happen, Dutch. I never had sex with that man.”
“I know that.”
Gina turned toward him. “You know?”
“Of course I know! Why would you lower your standards to muck around with that idiot?”
“That’s your only reason? Because he’s not you?”
Dutch looked at her. “Because you know what that would do to me. You’d never do that to me.”
Gina relaxed a little. But just a little. “That’s me in those photos. That’s me making love to him.”
Dutch stopped walking, his heart still beating irregularly. “What happened when you went to his room?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You had a drink?”
“Yes. And we talked a little about Feingold and his love of money or something and then he . . . he must have gotten a call from Feingold because he was talking to him on his cell phone.”
“What do you mean he must have gotten a phone call? You don’t remember him getting that call?”
Gina thought about it. “Not really, no. But I remembered he was talking to him and then he told me that he wasn’t coming. He said that you had told Feingold he couldn’t meet with me.”
“And then what?”
“And then we went downstairs, to the dinner. After I spoke, I got on the plane, and flew on to Japan.”
Dutch nodded.
“What are we going to do, Dutch?”
“You aren’t going to do anything,” he said, “but go back to your sewing circle ladies.”
“At a time like this?”
“Yes.” Then Dutch went to her, stood her up by her arms. “I don’t want you to worry about this. I’ll handle it. You’ve got to trust me on this, Gina.”
Gina shook her head. He
r face was a mask of worry. “Why do they keep coming up with this stuff? What have I done to them?”
“It’s not about you, sweetheart. It’s about what they can do to get to me. And not even to me, but to the power of the office I hold. That’s all this is about. You understand? Don’t personalize this nonsense. Don’t you dare.”
Gina nodded, allowed him to pull her into his arms, although she felt everything but reassured.
Shelton Pratt leaned down from his 6 feet frame and crossed his legs. Dutch sat behind his desk in the Oval Office and stared at his vice president. Gina and Primrose Grier were also there, with the women standing on either side of Dutch. Crader, however, who was seated on the front edge of the desk, handled the initial questioning.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been invited to the Oval, Dutch,” Shelly said smilingly to the president.
“Yes, it has been a while,” Crader responded. “I wonder why?”
Shelly balked. He and Crader McKenzie never got along, even when Crader was a loudmouth in the Senate. And the level of disrespect he always displayed irked Shelly no end. He ignored him. “How’s everything going, Dutch? Gina?”
“That’s what we want to know about you, Shell,” Crader answered for the president again, refusing to be ignored. “We want to know how everything’s going with you. We want to know what you’ve been up to lately.”
“Me? I haven’t been up to anything. Doing my job, that’s what I’ve been up to.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.”
Shelly shot an angry glare at the president’s chief of staff. He never understood why Dutch allowed him such liberties. “I beg your pardon?” he said to Crader in his best voice of censure.
“You beg my pardon? Now that’s a good one. Learned that, did you, at that country day school you attended all those years ago?”
“I beg your pardon?” Shelly said again, this time with umbrage in his voice.
“Cut the crap, Shelly,” Dutch finally said, and Shelly looked at the president.
“The crap? What crap?”
“What was the meeting about?” Dutch asked him.
And for the first time, Shelly hesitated. “What meeting exactly are you referencing?”
Dutch and Gina: The Power of Love Page 16
