by Claire Adams
I shook my head. “There’s no possible way I can move forward at the helm of this campaign. I am sincerely sorry, Mr. President,” I said as resolutely as I could muster.
I bowed my head toward him, reducing our eye contact. I wondered if he could tell that something was afoot—that I was being controlled, in a way. I wondered if he could smell it on me: the betrayal.
Even as I stood before the president, listening to the silence between us, I could feel Jason’s hand around my throat, forcing me to say everything I was saying. I’d never been in this position before: this position in which I was meant to be eternally at the mercy of someone else—in which I gave up my position of power so that another person could take over.
“I’m sorry to hear this, Amanda,” he said again. He bowed his head, bringing his fingers together. “Please. Send Jason into the office so that I can debrief him for his role.”
I nodded, spinning back around. I felt like I had just taken a bullet in the war, that I was being sent back to the hospital even while the war raged on. I exited the beautiful office, knowing that I wouldn’t spend much time there anymore.
Dimitri, on the outside of the Oval Office, sniffed at me as I exited. “How did it go in there?” he asked me gruffly.
I knew he thought I’d just fucked Xavier, that I was “that kind of woman” now.
Although, I suppose, I was.
I flung my head toward him and whispered harshly in his face. “Don’t you dare fuck with me.”
And then I walked back down the hallway, feeling enraged. I could feel Dimitri’s eyes on me. I felt terrible, truly. I knew that beyond anything else, Dimitri was one of the only people I could trust in the White House. He was a good ally, especially in the face of Jason’s terror over me. However, I felt too proud in these moments to do anything but spew hatred and anger toward him.
I was on the verge of a breakdown.
I sauntered back into the room that was spewing with such activity. The campaign trail was hot, and we were in the pit of the fire. I turned toward Jason, wanting to spit on him in that moment. His eyes met with mine, and there was humor lurking beyond there—like this was all some big, made-up joke.
“He wants to see you,” I whispered, gesturing with my head to the left, toward the Oval Office.
Jason stood, pulling at his shirt and subsequently yanking it from his belt once more. He sniffed and leaned toward me, kissing me on the cheek. “I knew you’d do the right thing,” he whispered, winking at me.
And then he walked down the hallway, toward the Oval Office, with such haughtiness. I watched as Dimitri opened the Oval Office door for him, looking confused. Dimitri turned toward me, his eyes dark, searching.
But I spun back toward my desk, nearly tripping on the chair of one of my employees. I righted myself, feeling my head spinning. I yelled at the man before me: “GET BACK TO WORK!” even as he began to kneel down and help me to my feet. I felt the anger growing in a million different ways and I wouldn’t allow anyone to assist me. I had to destroy this on my own.
I would get back to the top. I just didn’t know how, yet. I didn’t know how.
Chapter Four
I finished the remainder of the day answering emails, barking the occasional order. It was clear that Jason would eventually make the announcement that he was above me soon. But I didn’t want to make the announcement yet. I wanted to dwell in the remainder of my high status before everything came crashing down.
I ended my day rather early, however, wanting to get out of there. Again, I brought my cardigan around my body and scurried away from the White House—the very home in which I’d felt so sure of myself, just weeks before. When I’d interviewed with Xavier. When I’d wanted him, all the while knowing that I could never, in a million years, have him.
A million years had happened since then, of course.
I hailed a taxi and collapsed into it, still thinking about Jason. I hated that after a few days of thinking only about love, I was now rooted in the comprehension of hatred. I just wanted revenge on this man. I wanted to find my way through his terror and come out on top. But I didn’t know how.
As we zoomed away from the White House, I had a sudden idea. I called up to the taxi driver. “Sir? Could we stop at the monuments? I—I want to take a walk.” I swallowed. I hadn’t taken time to myself like this in years and years: time in which I was meant to reflect, to enjoy my life. In this moment of sheer rage, I knew I needed to take a moment to appreciate everything.
The taxi stopped at the outset of the great park. I paid him extra to wait for me, and I bounced into the open air. It was September, and summer was filtering away from us. I could smell the winter in the air. For some reason, I could taste Christmas cookies; I could imagine the holiday season.
I neared the Washington Monument then, shoving my hands into my pockets. I sighed before it, remembering that eternally, this monument gave me such promise. Now, it simply gave me peace from all the sadness lurking in my mind. The great spear reflected across the water, signifying all the history pulsing beneath the surface of this Washington D.C. earth.
I remembered that in the past, when I’d faltered—if only for a moment—I’d been able to turn to my roving brain in order to come up with a plan. But there, in front of the Washington Monument, I couldn’t feel anything in my mind but despair. I reached into my pocket and brought out a quarter. Washington’s face glinted at me, but nothing lurked beneath his eyes. I tossed the coin into the water, feeling at a loss for my future.
I turned back and ran toward the taxi, feeling such desire in my soul. For something. For what? I needed the president to love me, to want me. And in some ways, I knew he did. But I needed so much more, as well.
It was like I was meant to choose between evil and good. It was like choosing between my wants and needs. It was like I was pressed against the wall without any air pulling into my lungs, just grasping and gasping.
“Take me home,” I whispered to the taxi driver as I lurched into the great vehicle, feeling my body quivering. “Take me home.”
The following days at the office seemed to pass without notice. I began to get used to the feeling of being under someone’s thumb—something that I never thought I would think, truly. But I passed by Jason’s desk every day and began to grow used to his leering smile; I began to understand that he was just a man utilizing me as a pawn. This was something that had been done all throughout history, without fail. I was sure that George Washington himself had even used people as pawns in the past. It was a matter of course on your way to the top.
Three days after I’d recommended Jason for the higher-up position, I received a call on my desk phone.
“Amanda?” the voice said.
I realized I hadn’t seen Xavier in a number of days, not since I’d recommended Jason. I swallowed.
“Mr. President. Would you like me to alert the campaign leader?”
“No, Amanda. I’d like to see you in my office.”
I swallowed, peering at my computer. It was so bright before me. It was like I couldn’t hear anything anymore, like I was alone in this raucous world of politics.
“Amanda. Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” I whispered. But I could hardly hear myself.
“Please, Amanda. Come to my office.” The voice was nearly pleading. It was ringed with some sort of despair.
I hung up the phone without answering and stood, tugging at my dress once more. I began walking toward the edge of the room. I felt Jason’s eyes on me. He looked at me so in a snarky manner—revealing to me that he was my superior. I allowed my eyes to graze over him. I knew that the president’s call was about more than the escalation of Jason’s career. I knew it was about our relationship—about the undercurrent of our normal conversation. I still had so many, many feelings for him. My stomach turned and I quickened my step.
Another Secret Service agent stood outside the Oval Office door, standing tall. I stopped before him, withou
t speaking. The man turned the handle and allowed me to enter.
Outside, it was a grey September day. I sniffed and tapped in, noting that the president had turned the chair away from me, toward the window. He was looking at the rain.
Before I could speak, he interrupted my thoughts. “Quite a bleak day, Amanda,” he stated. His voice was gruff.
“Yes,” I quivered. “It certainly is.”
He swung around, then. His fingers were laced together. He looked very much like a cartoon version of a world leader. He gestured forward, offering me the seat before him once more.
“Is there something wrong with the campaign?” I asked him.
But he just waved his hand before his face, shaking his nose with an almost imperceptive movement. “There’s nothing wrong. Both you and Jason seem to be doing a stunning job. Truly.”
I sat, hearing my knees creak a bit. I knew that the stress was getting to me. I swallowed, feeling the strained sexual tension between us once more. “So. What’s the deal, then?” I was challenging him, trying to comprehend what was going on in his head.
Xavier brought his hands apart and placed them before him, on the desk. He flexed them slightly. “Well. The thing of it is, Amanda. I’m quite worried about you.”
I swallowed. “Worried about me?”
He nodded. “The woman I met all those weeks ago—the woman I came to grow fond of, let’s say, would never have quit this. Would never have given this position off to another man.” He shrugged, then. “She wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”
I shook my head vehemently. “I can assure you, sir. I can assure you that—“
But he interrupted me. His voice was soft. “Amanda. I want you to be happy; I don’t want what happened between us the other evening to interrupt your career. I told you before: your life is set here. You have a job whenever you need it. This path is yours.”
I bowed my head. “I understand that, Xavier. I’m just—I’m in shock about what happened between us. You have to understand that.”
He tipped his head to the right, trying to gage me. “You haven’t grown close to anyone recently, have you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course I hadn’t grown close to anyone. I’d been married to my career. My career was the only reason I’d gotten this far: all the way to the Oval Office, playing the part of the other woman. “I haven’t,” I murmured.
He nodded, then. “I understand how you must feel about all of this, of course. I understand that this is a lot to take in—that every day here must be filled with stress. Of course, you must understand that I feel the stress, too.”
I nodded. I gazed at his solid expression. His eyes locked with mine. He felt like home; he felt like the only person I had ever trusted.
“I had a great time with you the other night, regardless of the stress,” he began again. He looked at me with such passion. “I know that it’s awkward for you; I know that it might be too much to ask. But I’d love to get together with you again. It’s only with you—with you, Amanda—that I feel good about myself.”
My head was spinning. Was the President of the United States really saying this to me, right then? I didn’t know what to do.
He began again. “Know that I think about you all the time—that you are an essential part of my being. I want you to be with me, Amanda. Please.” He tipped his head forward once more. “Just one more date.” His smile skirted across his face, like he was playing a game with me. I wanted to laugh.
But then I remembered the photos; I remembered the sheer scandal. I knew that Jason could hold this higher and higher above my head, until suddenly I was dangling beneath it, killing myself.
I shook my head slowly, still feeling like I was about to tear up. I felt such passion in his presence, like I could find true happiness with him. But I needed to rid the thoughts from my mind. “Xavier. I appreciate the sentiment,” I began. My voice was strained. “I appreciate it a great deal. But I can’t—I can’t go with you.” His eyes looked so strained. “You have to understand that it’s not personal,” I continued. “You have to know that it’s just—it’ s just because there’s so much going on right now, you know. There’s the campaign—“
But he just waved his hand to the side, like he was brushing off the existence of his own campaign. He stood up, showing me that muscled, taut body. He ran his smooth fingers down his suit. “If that’s your answer for now, I accept it. But only for now.” He brought his hand over the desk and caught my hand in his, shaking it. I felt such tension between us. I half wanted him to grab me by the waist, to toss me on the desk before him. There, in the Oval Office, I imagined that we’d fuck on the desk, against the window—calling out to all the campaign workers down the hall with such passion.
But I shook his hand, instead, allowing the feeling to pass.
I spun around. My long, brunette locks coursed down my back. I knew that he was watching me, looking after me. I turned my head back, still feeling that bit of daring energy in me. “You know. Don’t give up on me, Xavier. You know where my office is.” I winked at him.
But suddenly, I felt it: the lurch, the fear in my chest for what was going on outside. As I exited the Oval Office, I could nearly feel Jason’s grasp on my neck. As I tapped by his desk, I could feel his eyes on me. I wanted to spit at him, to tell him he was not only keeping me from the man I felt such passion for, he was also keeping me from doing my job the way I pleased.
I shook my head at him as I passed, unperceptively beginning a war with him in my mind.
You will pay, I thought.
Chapter Five
The following few days, I found myself in a blur of anger and obedience. Jason had begun to call me on my cell phone often simply to check up with me, to allow me to understand that he’s watching me all the time.
One specific night, he called me on the phone while I sat at my kitchen table, a glass of red wine resting before me.
“Hello?” I heard my voice quiver, and I felt such shame. I drank the wine quickly, feeling the tang of it against my tongue.
“Well, well. How’s the biggest slut in D.C. doing?” he asked me.
My voice grew hot. “What do you want, Jason?” I tipped my head, knowing that I couldn’t be too angry with him. Not overtly. I had to let him know that I would follow his orders; I would do whatever he wanted, as long as he allowed me to get out of this mess, eventually.
“I’m sorry. Is that a bit of sass I hear in your voice? Because you know what I can do about that.”
I swallowed, trying to quell my anger. “I’m sorry, Jason. Just a hard day. How are you doing?”
“Just fine. Just fine. I’m actually swinging up in front of your apartment. You care to come out and see me?”
I panicked. I bounced from my chair and ran toward the window. Sure enough, down on the street sat a long, stretched black limo. “That’s you in the limo?” I asked him.
“But of course. You know I only do things with style.”
In that moment, I remembered his ridiculous, ruffled shirt and his continuous unkempt appearance. I wanted to laugh. But then I remembered.
“I can come down. But only for a moment,” I stated, turning back. I grabbed my coat and pounded down the steps, my heart racing. I tried to push myself out of fear. I tried to tell myself that soon the campaign season would be over. I tried to remind myself that as long as I did his bidding, I could stay involved in the White House proceedings. I wouldn’t lose sight of my goals. Not yet.
I stepped toward the stretch limo, hearing my heels against the pavement. I blinked rapidly, trying to tell myself not to cry. I couldn’t in the face of him. I swallowed and pulled the door open, placing myself just on the inside, far away from his languid body. He was smoking a cigar, and the cigar smoke emanated throughout the cab, making me cough.
“Amanda. I hope you are well,” he said. His voice was filled with such slime.
“And I, you,” I murmured. I placed my hand over my mouth, t
rying not to inhale the stench. “Can I ask you why you’re at my house?”
He smiled on the other side of his cigar. “You know I’ve been here before, Amanda.”
I imagined him placing the cameras throughout my apartment, tossing his grimy hands through my fine things. I grew so angry thinking about it that I placed my nails into my skin. I penetrated too deeply, then, drawing blood.
“Anyway. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you out here. I didn’t do it for no reason.”
“Sure, Jason. Not that it isn’t great to catch up.” I tossed him a raucous, sarcastic smile. This sarcasm seemed to please him.
“Ah, yes. Just a saucy young lady, aren’t you?”
I raised my eyebrow. I didn’t want to say anything else.
“All right. I have another request for you. Another assignment, shall we say. You do work for me now, after all.”
I tipped my head to the right. “Sure,” I murmured. I felt the words, so scratchy, coming from my throat.
“I need a private session with the president. I need you to get it for me.”
I raised my eyebrow, then. “I thought you had that authority already?” I didn’t mean this as an insult, you must understand. I truly didn’t comprehend that perhaps things weren’t going as Jason had planned in his relationship with the president.
He grunted. “Ah, yes. Well. You and the president, as those little photographs allow us to understand, have an incredible relationship. When I can’t meet with the president, you can arrange it. Is that clear?”
I nodded, swallowing. Was he—was he actually the campaign manager? I realized I had still been doing most of the responsibilities. Perhaps the president had given him a few more duties; but perhaps the president hadn’t turned to him for anything more. Perhaps their relations were strained.
