by Claire Adams
But Jason had begun to laugh once more. I looked up toward him and watched how the fire flickered in his eyes. His teeth were so white, so bright. I could see his tongue lolling around in his mouth.
I stood there, stupidly, with the fire still burning between us. It had eaten the paper, and it had begun to char the interior tin. I held my hands over my stomach and blinked at him for several moments.
Finally, he spoke. He leaned against his hands, over the desk, and coughed. “Darling, darling. If you thought I didn’t have these digitally backed up, you’re a lot stupider than I initially assumed.”
My heart burned.
I realized how rash, how dumb I’d been. I was usually so certain of each of my actions, but I’d lost my head in the previous few weeks. I swallowed as he continued.
“No matter how many of these photos you rip up and burn in my trash can, these photos can still get out to the public. You’ll ruin our president’s life if you don’t cooperate with me. What’s more, you’ll be deemed the slut of the White House. No one wants to hear that the president’s been sleeping with his campaign manager. What a scandal.” He ticked his tongue against the top of his mouth, his eyes still glittering from the fire.
I spun around, then, feeling the tears running hot and steady down my face. I pushed through the door and began running through the familiar hallways, back toward my desk. A small girl—one of the campaign workers—rushed toward me with a phone pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide. “Amanda! I have a very important question for you—“
But I held up my hand, shaking my head. “I have a terrible migraine, Denise,” I whispered, placing my hand on my head. “Please. Give me—give me just a moment.”
Denise looked at me with a gaped expression on her face. She wasn’t sure what to do, I knew, but I wasn’t cut out for this anymore. Not now. I had done too much—I’d nearly ruined the entire operation.
I caught my cardigan around my bony shoulders and I grabbed my bag. In the dark hallway, back toward the Oval Office, I saw Xavier suddenly. He peeked out of his office, like he was watching me from afar. His shadow was so dark. I felt my body shiver with longing for him. But I knew—I knew everything had to stop. It had to stop dead. He didn’t know what was at stake.
I ran toward the steps, turning away from the president. I could still feel his eyes on me as I fled. The tears continued as I rushed into a taxi and told the driver to take me the fuck home.
Chapter Two
In the back of the taxi, I allowed the tears to fall fast down my cheeks. My long fingers clung to my cheeks. I could hear the taxi driver in the front seat, whistling away with such utter contentment.
“Miss? Are you all right?” he finally asked me, peering at the rearview mirror.
I nodded, choking a bit.
Truly, the anger was pulsing through me, throwing me off. I didn’t feel like my true self. Just the day before, I’d been so enraptured with the president. I’d been of the—albeit, strained—belief that he and I could be together, that nothing could stop us.
And yet this man, Jason, who I’d viewed as a friend before, turned on me. He’d given me to the dogs. And now, I was to be his slave.
No one had ever gotten the better of me. All the way through college, I’d won every campaign I’d come up against. I’d been wide-eyed and assertive; no one had ever dared to cross me. Even the men in my life hadn’t dared to keep up with me. They’d allowed me to pass, like a great ship through the night, beside them and then beyond them. Everyone knew that I was headed toward greater things. And I’d always known that, as well.
The taxi turned right, down my street. I pushed open the door of the taxi and handed the man several bills. I didn’t make eye contact with him, didn’t thank him. I didn’t want contact. I certainly didn’t want anyone to really, really see me cry—to see the desolation lurking behind my eyes.
I charged up my steps, toward my apartment, my former sanctuary. I dropped my things and began looking around the place with fury. I had to find the cameras—the cameras that were currently ruining my life. I had to get them out. I tried to imagine Jason in my apartment, placing the cameras in various places. I wondered if he had any others; of me sleeping on my couch, for example. Of me drinking wine. Of me simply getting undressed and preparing for the day. I shuddered. The invasion of privacy was something I couldn’t get over. What do people do when they don’t know they’re being watched?
Everything.
I wanted to report him so badly, but I felt like I was pushed against a wall with his hand against my mouth. I could cry out as much as I wanted, but he would press harder and harder until I couldn’t breathe anymore. He would stifle me, stifle me until both my career and Xavier’s career were dead forever.
I started at the top of the refrigerator, where I felt like the camera had been positioned that captured us atop the table. I ruffled my hand over the top haphazardly. I knocked a forgotten magazine onto the ground, allowing dust to scatter everywhere. I started to cough, grasping my throat.
I spun around, my hands on my hips. I sauntered toward the couch and plucked up the bottle of wine on the coffee table. I flung it back, toward my mouth, and allowed the full flavor to graze down my tongue. I felt the wine immediately alter my brain, making me feel a bit woozy. The dizziness cut through my disdain.
I flung back toward the kitchen and began to rifle through the cabinets, tossing things to the ground. Cereal fell to the floor: bowls, plates, everything. I heard a wine glass crash to the ground and fling itself into a million little glass pieces. I tugged at my hair, wondering where the cameras would be.
Finally, I swept back toward the fine armoire that sat on the other side of my dining room table. On the inside of the armoire sat all the fine china that had been passed down on my mother’s side, from my grandmother’s grandmother. It glinted in the afternoon light.
On the inside of the armoire, I found it: the camera. It was blinking at me in the darkness of the cabinet, as if it was saying hello. I sniffed at it, turning it this way, then that. I whispered into it, suddenly, muttering the words: “I’ve got you, here. Yes, I do.”
I suddenly flung the camera into the sink. I turned on the sink and allowed it to die there at the bottom, still blinking at me for several moments before finally giving itself over to death.
Breathing heavily, I was finally able to pulse through the rest of the apartment and find the remaining cameras. I found three in total, and I allowed each of them to die a very wet death at the bottom of my sink. I poured myself a very full glass of wine and drank it alone at my kitchen table, still watching the light from the lamp as it glimmered over the broken glass on the floor. I knew that this was representative of the terror of my situation; I knew that I was currently mid-repair. How long would this fucking situation put me back from my goals?
I would have to be careful in the future. I would have to watch my back. I couldn’t get bleary-eyed with adoration for that man—the President of the United States.
I was smarter than that.
Chapter Three
The rest of the afternoon, I drank heartily from the wine glass before drinking from the wine bottle. I wasn’t sure how to get out of the situation, but I knew I couldn’t miss another day at work. I called in at around 4 in the afternoon and spoke in a strained voice to Jason’s second-in-command, the man beneath both me and Jason—a man named Scott. “Scott?” I said, my voice a bit gruff, a bit strained.
“Amanda. We’ve been worried about you. Are you coming back in this afternoon?”
I shook my head into the phone, feeling frustrated. “No. I’m under the weather, I’m afraid,” I muttered. “Please tell the team I’ll be back with them tomorrow. Please apologize for me.”
Scott affirmed that he would. I imagined him telling these words to Jason; I imagined Jason’s ominous laughter once more—the sheer understanding that he’d put me in my place—that I couldn’t even comprehend going to work, to face that atmospher
e.
Ultimately, I fell asleep that night in the kitchen chair with my head on my hand, with my wine glass still half full. I felt the anger and anxiety of the day fall away from me, and I finally allowed myself just a few hours of sleep.
Until suddenly, at 6 in the morning, I stood up out of my slumber, blinking my eyes wildly at the surrounding arena. The kitchen light was still on, and it seemed so ominous above me. I shuddered, looking down at my now-ruffled work clothes. I knew I had to be at work a bit earlier that day because I’d missed the previous day. No rest for the campaign manager, I thought.
I rushed into the bathroom, allowing my clothes to fall to the ground as I walked. The water pounded upon me like a baptism. I closed my eyes beneath it, allowing the steam to calm me. This had been the worst experience of my life. But I was going to come out of it with flying colors.
I didn’t have another fucking choice.
I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my head as I exited the heat, allowing the water to evaporate from my skin. I shivered slightly as I brushed my teeth, allowing my elbow to rotate slowly at my side.
I chose a fine, prim, black suit—something that didn’t create any sort of sexuality, I was certain. It was even a bit bigger on me than my other suits, thus forcing my body to look a bit overweight. I nodded at myself in the mirror, sure that I could go to work, do my job, and then simply come home. Someday—maybe 10 years from now—I would allow myself to feel passion once more. But God. Not now.
I took a taxi back into work, preparing my mind for the day ahead. I didn’t want to see Dimitri anymore; I felt he knew too much about my situation. When I saw him at the entrance to the White House, I skirted my eyes away from him, saying a prim: “Good morning.” I was a ghost to these people, now. I had to be.
I tapped up the steps, toward the brimming West Wing. I could feel Xavier’s presence, even as I walked past the closed Oval Office door. I could nearly see him in there, tapping a pen against his lip (and perhaps thinking of me?) I wondered if anything had happened with his wife recently; I wondered if he had left my apartment only to go hold her in his own bed. The thought of this chilled me to the bone.
Suddenly, after I passed his office, I heard his door open. My very spine seemed to chill. I continued walking slowly, primly, hoping he wouldn’t call out to me. But I could feel his eyes on me.
Then, I heard him: “Amanda.” The word was so sensual from his lips. I wanted to smack him, suddenly. I wouldn’t have been involved in this debacle if it hadn’t been for him—if he hadn’t asked me out. He had the true power here.
I spun around, allowing my hair to wind around my neck. “What is it?” I asked him. I didn’t make eye contact with him, but I could feel his presence before me. His suit was cut so primly; he held his hands in his pockets with such subtle sensuality. His beard was growing in bit by bit on his chin. And he was looking at me with such a worried expression on his face.
“Amanda. I heard you fell ill yesterday at work.”
I nodded, swallowing. “I didn’t feel very well, no,” I murmured. I tried to smile, but the muscles didn’t work. I wanted to flee back to my desk, to continue my dutiful work. All I could think about in those moments was what I was meant to do: promote Jason. Tell the president, perhaps, that he would be a better campaign leader than I was. Tell him that I didn’t feel like I could take on the role anymore, especially after everything that had happened.
But I didn’t want to remind the president of what had happened.
Xavier stepped forward. His eyebrows had narrowed more starkly over his eyes. “Amanda, I need you to tell me if something is wrong. Do you want to talk in my office?” He ducked his head to the right, trying to catch my eyes. But I held firm.
I shook my head. “I have so much to do, Mr. President. I’ll have an updated explanation to you in the afternoon.”
“Explanation of what?” Xavier asked. His voice was leading, as if he were searching for something—an explanation for what was going on between us, instead of the campaign.
I cleared my throat. “Explanation of—of the campaign, of course,” I answered. I smiled at him, still looking somewhere far away from him, down the hall.
I spun back around and fled toward my desk. I passed by Jason’s, where I heard him speaking on the phone to one of our backers. It took all my strength not to spin toward him and pound his face with my fist.
I sat at my desk, feeling the chair dip beneath me. I cleared my throat, feeling such anxiety as I passed my eyes over my crew. This crew had been entrusted to me; I was meant to watch over it, to cultivate it.
Xavier appeared in the doorway, watching over all of us just as I was watching over them. I placed my hands onto my keyboard and began writing up a decidedly terribly email to another backer, something that I immediately deleted after I wrote it, my eyebrows still narrowed over my eyes. I had to get through the goddamned day.
Denise, from the previous day, approached my desk once more. In an uneasy, shaking voice, she tapped her pen against her portfolio and began speaking to me in what I was sure was English. I couldn’t understand her at all; the rushing in my brain was filtering out her words. I nodded as she tapped. Finally, I agreed to whatever she’d stated to me, and I watched her walk away with such stunning confidence. I had been her, only a few years before. I was only 29 years old.
And already, I was ruined.
I considered going into the president’s office and exposing Jason. I considered telling him what was going on, allowing him to arrest him. Before that day, Xavier had been someone I could trust. He had been more than a friend. He’d been someone I could laugh with over lunch, someone I was sure who held a comprehension of who I was and what I had gone through in order to get to the top.
However, I knew that if Jason didn’t hear wind of a promotion soon, he would expose the photos.
Suddenly, my computer bleeped at me, forcing my eyes to the screen. Suddenly, the computer showed an image of the president and I, both of us undressed and touching each other, our eyes closed. I saw such supreme desire on my face.
I snapped the computer closed before me, my face burning with such anger. I looked toward Jason, who continued to tap along at his own desk. However, his face reeked of guilt. He was teasing me.
I continued staring at him until he turned toward me and raised his eyebrows, mouthing the words:
“I’m coming for you.”
The words sent my heart directly into my stomach. I wanted to start crying. I brought my hands up to my forehead and felt my feet on the ground, bringing me up into the air. I sauntered toward the Oval Office, where I knew the president was sitting, waiting for me to approach him
Finally, I found myself at the door of the Oval Office. Outside, Dimitri stood, his face grim and long. “Amanda,” he said, nodding at me curtly.
“I require a brief meeting with the president to discuss his campaign,” I stated, my voice spewing with professionalism. I could turn it on when I needed it.
“Absolutely, campaign manager,” Dimitri stated. His voice held none of the warmth of the previous years of our friendship. He flung his hand toward the door knob and opened it, revealing the stunning, light-filled Oval Office before me.
I entered the doorway and found myself face to face with the president once more. When I thought about it, I could nearly feel his mouth over my nipple, our tongues grasping at each other as we made love in my apartment.
I cleared my throat. “There’s something I must discuss with you, Mr. President.”
Xavier stood. His eyes looked at me with such familiarity. I knew that he felt terrible about the morning; I knew that he felt that I was backing away from our half-hearted relationship, unsure. But he didn’t know why.
“Amanda. Hello. I’m glad you came.”
I opened my mouth, my mind spinning. My anger was spewing in my heart. If only Jason hadn’t spied on me, I would be in Xavier’s lap now, kissing him. Falling for him. Laughing with him. But
Jason had cut between us like a knife. I was so incredibly angry, because I’d planned to have this conversation with the president, anyway. I wanted to put Jason ahead. Not in my position, certainly. But I wanted him to succeed. At least, in that eternity that I would always call “before the photos” in my mind.
“I wanted to talk with you about Jason,” I said. I tugged at my oversized black jacket, nodding to him assertively.
Xavier sat down, gesturing forth to allow me to sit on the other side of his desk. “Please.”
I cleared my throat and sat, my eyes still peering over his shoulder and not toward his eyes. I could hardly look at him without being filled with desire. “I—“
“You don’t think he’s working out,” the president stated, interrupting me. “He seems much like a slimy snake to me. We can fire him immediately. I can have a whole series of interviewees to you in this afternoon.”
God, Xavier. Just shut up, I wanted to say to him. I couldn’t, of course.
I cleared my throat. “On the contrary, Mr. President—“ I spoke. There was such tension between us. I knew he wanted to fuck me in that moment; I knew he wanted to take me, there, on his presidential desk. “Jason is a true attribute to our mission here on the campaign trail. In fact, I would like to step down and allow him to move forward with the campaign. I’ll work beneath him; I wouldn’t abandon the campaign in a million years, of course.” I cleared my throat. I watched as his eyes lowered to the ground, disappointed. I knew that he felt I was doing this because of the other night, because I felt uncomfortable in his presence. I knew he felt he would never see me alone again. He was right.
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Amanda,” he whispered. His voice was so sad, filled with unhappiness. “I believe that you’re doing a fine job at the helm of the campaign. Suppose I didn’t allow you to quit?” His eyes turned up toward me, catching me for the first time. Our eye contact seemed to spew fire. I swallowed.
