When he opened his eyes it was dark outside. He could smell food, something rich and aromatic had been cooked and it was making his stomach growl. He realized he was famished and pulled himself from the bed and staggered into the bathroom. He pulled his dirty clothes off and took a quick shower. He didn’t bother shaving, but changed into clean clothes. When he stepped out into the hall he saw that Lana was approaching. She looked completely different. She had washed the filth from her hair and it now shined with reflected light, each curl bouncing merrily as she walked down the hall. Her eyes were clear and bright; she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. There was color in her cheeks, and she looked genuinely happy.
“Oh, you’re up,” she said. “I was just coming to see if you felt like eating.”
“I do,” Daniel said. “Something smells great.”
“Thanks, I love the kitchen downstairs. It’s amazing. I used to cook for a living.”
“Really?” he said, smiling. “Then this should be great. I’ve been living on frozen dinners and sandwiches for the last four months.”
She smiled. “Well, you won’t as long as I’m around,” she said quietly.
They walked back toward the private dining room. Daniel found a round mahogany table centered in an elegant, formal dining room. There were two plates set on the table; each held a bowl of steaming soup. Daniel sat down and waited as Lana arranged herself at the table. When she looked up, Daniel grinned.
“This smells great,” he said.
“Go ahead, taste it.”
He dipped his spoon into his bowl and found the soup to be creamy and thick. He lifted it to his lips and tasted it. It was wonderfully warm and slipped down his throat effortlessly. The taste was like nothing he had ever had before. He could tell it was a tomato base, and that it had cream and cheese in it. There were spices, too, but he couldn’t tell what they were. All he knew was that it was delicious.
“It’s amazing,” he said.
The smile that flashed on her face when he spoke brightened the room considerably. He wondered how on earth he could be sitting in the private dining room of the White House, eating soup with a gourmet chief. It seemed impossible, but it was true.
After he had knocked the edge off his hunger with the soup, he decided it was time to talk.
“I was a speech writer,” Daniel said. “I’ve been living in D.C. for the last four months, ever since I graduated law school. I’m originally from Arkansas.”
He waited, watching Lana, whose eyes were staring down into her bowl of soup. She was stirring the creamy liquid, watching it swirl in the wake of her spoon. When she didn’t speak, Daniel continued.
“I came here a few days ago thinking that if anyone had survived they would probably be here. The White House was open, but the people inside were all…well…you know. I spent the next day making sure the place was secure and moving the bodies. I was exploring the bottom floor when you arrived.”
He waited again. The silence pregnant with the expectation of her voice, but when she spoke at last, it wasn’t what Daniel had hoped for.
“Time for the second course,” she said in a forced merriness that wasn’t lost on Daniel. “I hope you like braised lamb, my sauce is famous.”
Daniel smiled and tried to hide the disappointment he felt.
“I’ve never had lamb,” he said.
“Never? Really? You’ve led a sheltered life, Daniel.”
“Yes, I know. I grew up eating wonderful southern classics, but totally oblivious to anything else. I didn’t really have Italian food or Mexican food until I was in high school. I tried Chinese in college, but I can’t remember ever eating anything as good as that soup.”
“Well there’s plenty of soup and it’s even better left over. But right now, I need to educate your palette.”
Lana left the dining room and returned with plates that were steaming with freshly cooked food. The lamb was cut into small squares of meat with one curved bone protruding from each piece.
“These are lamb shanks, braised with rosemary and red wine.”
“It looks fantastic,” he said.
There were seasoned, creamed potatoes and fresh vegetables, too. After she had removed the soup bowls and positioned the plates of food, she went back into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“I hope you like it,” she said a little self consciously. She poured wine into the crystal goblets and set the bottle between them. “Bon appétit.”
“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” Daniel blurted out. He had felt good with his behavior up until that moment. He hadn’t realized how hard he was trying to make a good impression. Somewhere in his mind he was afraid she would leave him, and he realized suddenly that he wouldn’t be able to handle that. He was reminded of all the awkward first dates he had been on. He never seemed to have much trouble getting the first date, but his bumbling nervousness had made second dates quite rare. He swallowed the thick lump of shame that was forming in his throat and tried to make a better impression.
“What I mean is…I don’t really know the etiquette.”
“I’m not judging you,” she said, smiling. There was laughter in her eyes, the kind that hurt to look at. “It’s not like we’re on a date or something.”
Daniel tried to smile back, but it was a lame attempt. He knew they weren’t on a date, but he still felt as if they were. It was frustrating to know next to nothing about this woman and for her to act as if they were old friends. Still, he wanted her to like him; it was possible that she was the last woman on earth, and Daniel couldn’t help but be attracted. He knew deep down that she had been through something horrible with the gunmen who held her captive, but he felt so alone. His friends and family were gone, killed by an alien virus that had for some reason spared his own life. That aloneness pressed in on him now that another person was so close. He felt like a child wanting to be held; like a jilted lover, lost without his mate. He knew he had to shake off such feelings, but it was easier said than done.
He took the wine glass and raised it. “To hope,” he said.
***
The meal was pleasant after Daniel calmed himself. They talked mostly about the White House. Lana had explored the mansion after she had cleaned up, and they were both in awe at the historic furnishings, documents, and artwork. After the main course they had desert, Twinkies and ice cream. It was the kind of meal that makes you feel warm and satisfied and happy; the kind of meal that has less to do with the food than the feelings associated with the food. Daniel had enjoyed the braised lamb, and the wine had been a sharp, fruity blend that seemed to make his taste buds come alive. He barely finished his first glass, though, and noted silently that Lana had finished off the bottle. She seemed to be very happy talking about anything but herself.
After they had finished all the food, Lana cleared the table, claiming that she had another surprise for Daniel. He sat back in his chair and tried again to relax, but his feelings required too much control to truly let himself go. He stretched out his legs and sighed, his stomach completely full. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so much. He was tall and trim, with shaggy brown hair that needed to be cut. He didn’t have any idea how he would manage that now. What if all the barbers and beauticians had died? There were so many questions, but they all required answers that were much too big to be considered on such a fine evening. Looming in the back of his mind were the other rooms on the basement floor of the White House. He still hadn’t explored beyond the security room. What if more people showed up tonight? He couldn’t remember if he had locked the doors or not.
Lana banished all those thoughts when she poked her head back out of the kitchen.
“Go across to the living room,” she said.
“Alright,” he said, a little anxious about what she was doing. He walked out of the dining room and into the living room, where he had watched television his first night in the White House. He couldn’t help but wish he could
sit on the plush, leather sofa and turn on the Tube. Of course the television was a large, state of the art model. There was no picture tube, but rather a thin pane of glass with plasma or some sort of chemical substance that showed pictures so clear it was like looking through a window into another world. All his life he had finished his day in front of the television. He was an only child, and by his teenage years, his parents had adjusted their lives around his busy schedule. They had supplied all the necessary technology that a boy could have needed for school, friends, and personal entertainment. He had been a good student, a responsible son, and they hadn’t needed to impose stringent rules. If he wanted to stay up watching television, they wouldn’t tell him to go to sleep. Now, he ached at the thought that he would probably never be able to just relax at the end of a long day and watch a show before going to sleep. His lament was interrupted by Lana’s return. She had a large, wooden box in her hands as she approached the sofa where he sat.
“I found this in the Oval Office,” she said. She lifted the lid off the box to reveal a row of light brown cigars. They were shaped like torpedoes, about six inches long, with very plain little tags just above the area where the cigars began to taper down into a point.
“Do you know what these are?” she asked him.
“Cigars,” he said.
“Not just cigars, Cuban cigars. Incredibly rare cigars; you could get them pretty easily outside the States but that big hurricane a few years ago, what was its name, Dwight, I think, it wiped out the tobacco fields. This box is probably worth ten thousand dollars now.”
Daniel nodded, too embarrassed to say that he had never smoked a cigar before. Lana pulled one out and handed it to him. She picked one up and rolled it between her fingers and pronounced them perfect. The she placed it across her upper lip like a giant mustache and took a deep breath in through her nose. Daniel imitated her and found the smell of the tobacco to be pleasant. He was a little surprised that he wasn’t instantly repelled by the cigar.
Lana produced a little, silver tool and slid it over the tapered end of her cigar. With a quick snip it removed the point of the torpedo. She placed the cigar in her mouth and held out her hand for Daniel’s. Daniel tried not to smile but couldn’t help himself. She looked like a picture he had once seen of a group of bootleggers playing poker surrounded by flappers, one of which was smoking a cigar. The thin, elegant face of the flapper had sported a cigar and the resemblance was striking.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing, I’ve just never seen a woman with a cigar before.”
She snipped the end off his and handed it back, then took her own cigar out of her mouth.
“I picked up the habit in culinary school. Professional chefs are mostly men, and the guys in my class were hooked on cheese, wine, and tobacco. I haven’t had a good cigar in a long time. We used to go to this cigar bar just off of Times Square and…”
She trailed off, her memories becoming bitter in her mouth like an aspirin you don’t swallow fast enough.
“Let’s light ’em up,” Daniel said, trying to change the subject back to more comfortable topics. “Do we have a lighter?”
“You don’t use a lighter on cigars of this quality.” She pulled a small box of wooden matches from her pocket. “These are cedar matches. You will want to turn the cigar as you light it, just sort of roll it in your fingers. And puff lightly, you don’t inhale cigar smoke.”
“I know,” Daniel said, but actually he didn’t. He was relieved to know that he wouldn’t have to cough and sputter through the experience.
He struck his match and imitated Lana, the smoke was pungent, but quite pleasant. It wasn’t heavy or fake the way cheap cigars smelled when you were exposed to them. Nor did it smell sweet like pipe smoke. A satisfying feeling of masculinity wafted up through him as he drew on his cigar. He was in the lap of luxury and he felt good.
Lana rose and walked over to a small bar in the back of the room. She poured an amber colored liquor into two very big, curved glasses. Then she returned and sat on the ornate coffee table in front of Daniel.
“This is cognac,” she said, handing him a glass. “Take a sip of it.”
He hesitated, he had never been much of a drinker and he had already had a glass of wine tonight. Still, he didn’t feel tipsy or anything but a sense of satisfying relaxation. So he held the glass to his lips and took a sip. The liquid reminded him of cough medicine, only not quite so nasty. It burned all the way down his throat, but not in an unpleasant way. He could taste a woody flavor on the back of his tongue.
She smiled and said, “What do you think?”
“It’s alright,” he said and a smile sprang unbidden to his lips. He couldn’t contain the smile, even though he tried, so he took a draw on the cigar and closed his eyes.
For the next few hours they sat and smoked, sipping their cognac and talking lightly and enjoying long periods of silence. Daniel’s eyelids grew heavy as the cigar smoked down. When he finished his cognac, the smoke was beginning to take on a harsh quality, so he laid it in the ash tray and stood and stretched.
“Thank you for an incredible evening,” he said. “I think I’m going to turn in now.”
“Already?” she said, her voice sounding a little shaky. “You slept all day. I thought we might stay up a while.”
“Well, I guess I could,” he said. He half sat, half dropped back onto the sofa.
“I just…I really don’t want to be alone right now,” she said as she sat on the sofa. She had drunk quite a bit, and she leaned over, laying her head on Daniel’s knee. He felt a thrill shoot through him; it wasn’t the nasty shock of electricity when, as a child, you stuck your finger in the outlet, but rather the release of hormones dumped en masse into his blood stream. He felt the rapturous thrill as the feel good chemicals raced through his body. It was the perfect natural high, only, it was merely self deception. Lana hadn’t made a pass at him, she was silently crying. He could see her shoulders shaking softly, and he reached out his hand and laid it softly on her head. They stayed that way for nearly an hour, Lana fighting her inner demons, Daniel fighting his. He wanted desperately to take her in his arms and kiss her. To tell her that everything would be okay, to make love to her. But that was wrong and he knew it. There was no telling what kind of abuse she had suffered at the hands of those insane criminals who had tied her and gagged her. She might never be willing or able to love any man after treatment like that. For a moment his mother’s voice broke into his mind with a familiar phrase he had heard her say all his life, “Only God’s love can heal a hurt like that.”
He bit back the obscenity that flashed into his mind. He wasn’t ready to deal with the implications the last week had on his faith; it was shaky enough to begin with. For now he would content himself with the woman on the couch beside him, and the task of staying alive. It was those thoughts that carried him off to sleep, his hand nestled in the curly brown hair of the woman beside him, to dream dreams of a world full of people as an old Beatles song sang in his mind:
All the lonely people, where do they all come from.
All the lonely people, where do they all belong.
Chapter 5
When Daniel woke up it was the middle of the night. His back was aching and his neck was stiff. Lana’s head was still on his lap. He lifted her head and moved off as silently as possible, but once he stood up straight, his knees popped loudly. Lana stirred and opened her eyes.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.
She reached out and took his hand, and Daniel lay down on the couch behind her. It was a tight fit and he felt her body stiffen, but he was tired and had only sleep on his mind. He put his hand on her arm and went to sleep.
A few hours later he was awakened as she thrashed and cried out. He wanted to hold her to keep her from hurting herself or falling off the sofa, but he was afraid that holding her would make things worse.
“Lana, it’s a dream,” he said gently. It didn’
t seem to help, so he spoke louder. “Lana, wake up, you’re dreaming!”
Her eyes fluttered momentarily and then closed. She was crying again, and Daniel tried his best to comfort her, but it was hard. He really had no idea who she was or what had happened. He wasn’t sure if reminding her where she was would be comforting or threatening. So he settled for stroking her hair and murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
It didn’t take long and she was asleep, fatigue worked its anesthesia on her pain. Daniel followed quickly, drifting down the slow moving river of slumber. It was a wonderful feeling, to let go of the worry, of the fear, and not think about anything at all but merely open his mind to the dark nothingness.
Then there was light, a bright, gorgeous ray of sunshine found its way through the heavy curtains and onto his eyes. He was aching again, his whole side was hurting and he felt stiff, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to wake Lana, she was still curled on her side right next to him. She was relaxed and resting well. He tried to enjoy the moment, tried not to let his mind begin to wonder what was down the hall from the security office.
Lana stretched and sighed and turned over. She was facing him now and he looked down at her. He was taller than she was, and was lying straight along the couch cushions. She was curled a little below him, her face framed by her dark hair in ringlets. Her cheeks were a little hollow, her skin thin. She looked good, just really tired. Part of him wanted to lie there beside her all day, but he was hurting. His head was beginning to throb, his mouth was filled with a horrible nastiness, like an ashtray had been emptied into it. He wanted to stay but also needed to go, so he pushed himself up and climbed over her. She sighed again but didn’t wake.
He walked down the long hallway to the Lincoln Bedroom suite. He got in the shower again and stood in the steaming water. He opened his mouth and let the water fill it up. He gurgled, swished, spat and did it again, over and over. His head was still hurting, but not as bad, and he stretched his aching muscles. He took his time and scrubbed up slowly, enjoying the seemingly endless hot water. The water heater in his apartment had been so small he could barely get soaped up before it started getting cold.
The New World Page 4
