Authors: Claire Adams
The
taxi screamed across the city, toward my apartment. I knew I had to get some
more things out of there and take them back to Rachel’s apartment. Perhaps I
would offer to pay for rent; perhaps I would ask her if she could help me find
a new apartment. But it would all seem too suspicious. I didn’t want her to
think I was too needy; I didn’t want her to think that I needed her, after all.
But
god, I did.
I
rushed up the steps and burst into my apartment. I tossed my things on my couch
and screamed to the walls. “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, JASON, BUT YOU’RE
A FUCKING ASSHOLE!”
I
wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, feeling my heart beating so fast in my
chest. I would kill him someday, I thought to myself. He was as good as dead.
I
gathered my things and then I was out the door once more—a few suits and
dresses draped over my arm. I hailed a taxi and popped into it, directing him
toward Rachel’s apartment.
When I
arrived, she was already home, sitting outside on her balcony. She watched me
as I left the taxi, and she peered over the balcony, waving her long, thin arm.
“I didn’t think you’d be back today!” she called to me. Her voice seemed
hesitant. I couldn’t actually tell if she wanted me there, or if this was an
unfortunate thing for her—if she just wanted her free time, alone. Without anyone.
I
shrugged. “Can I take up another night on your couch? I’ll pay you a couch
surfer fee!” I called. She laughed and waved me up. I felt my heart beat
quickly with the thought of a friend, of companionship. I’d forgotten what it
was like to actually care about someone.
She
opened the door and helped me with my things, allowing me to collapse at the
table. I poured us both a glass of wine, and she laughed from the couch.
“Already? It’s only five-thirty!”
“Exactly,”
I said, my eyebrow raised. I took a sip and pursed my lips together, eyeing the
red liquid. “It’s good. In fact, it’s probably great.”
“It’s
from Napa,” Rachel explained. She closed her eyes as she sipped it as well,
shaking her head. “My brother brought it for me when he came to visit last
year. Delicious shit, isn’t it?” She sat at the table with me, then, peering
over at me curiously. “You seem a little off today. Are you okay?” She leaned
on her elbow and gazed at me. The gaze wasn’t penetrating or off-putting.
Rather, it was like a brush of support. Like a hand to hold.
I
shrugged my shoulders. “The campaign team,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a
bitch sometimes. You know?”
She
laughed, but her eyes said something else. I wasn’t sure she believed me. She
cleared her throat. “It’s just that. You’ve been through all of this before. I
know you have. I watched you work during the last round. And god, what a worker
you were. You were the reason that I understood I wasn’t cut out for this job.”
My
eyes widened. “No! I would have never wanted that to happen. I wanted you to
stick around! You were the best part of it for me!”
She
shook her head. “That’s certainly not true. You were out for blood, for guts.”
She brought her fist together passionately. “I could see it from you a mile
away. You knew what you wanted, and you fucking got it.” Her eyes were bright,
impressed. “Which was why I always felt honored to be your friend. I felt
like—if you respected me, then I was worthy of respect.”
My
heart lurched in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I brought my
hand over hers. “And here I was, always thinking you quit because of me.
Perhaps you thought I was too intense, or that I was a mean person. Or
something.” I shrugged, smiling at her.
She
shook her head. “The work was too much for me, sure. I wasn’t happy. Well. The
only time I was, I was with you.” She smiled and bit her lip, delivering this
treasure to me.
I
bowed my head, my heart beating fast. These kinds words from a friend—the only
friend I’d had in years and years—had made me want to give her some of my
baggage, allow her to understand my Jason predicament. I cleared my throat, and
I sensed that she was waiting for me to tell her things, for me to deliver the
news of my stress to her. But I couldn’t tell her everything, certainly. The
president’s very position was at stake.
“It’s
just. I’ve been doing something I shouldn’t be doing,” I whispered. I allowed
my eyes to glaze over, peering out at the window. I didn’t want to see her
reaction as I told her. “I’ve been doing something terrible, and someone found
out about it. It’s not—it’s not the worst thing. You know. No one is being hurt
by what I’m doing. But someone could be hurt—a lot of people could be hurt,
including myself—if anyone in the world found out.”
“And
someone did find out?” Rachel asked, her eyebrow coaxing into the air.
I
nodded. “Someone knows.” The words were so solemn, laced with regret.
“How
did this someone—I mean. Were you not careful?” Rachel asked. The words weren’t
offensive, and I didn’t take them as such.
I
shook my head slightly. “I was careful. I was so careful. I was—I was being
spied on.”
“God.
The bastards,” Rachel whispered. “They’re always spying, they always know
things about people’s personal lives. That’s why—that’s part of the reason—“
She paused, shaking her head.
“You
were being spied on?” I asked her in a hushed whisper, feeling that, for the
moment, I had a kindred spirit. I placed my hand on her knee, and I felt her
quiver. I shook my head. “You know you can tell me anything—you know I won’t
tell a soul.”
She
bit her lip and allowed her eyes to ramp up, back toward mine. “They had a
camera in my house to watch me undress. They didn’t care about anything—about
any information, nothing. They just wanted to know what I looked like beneath
my clothes.” She shook her head. Her face had turned a somber shade of red. “I
just. I couldn’t hack it after that. It felt like my life wasn’t sacred to
them.”
I
nodded emphatically, feeling like Rachel had finally hit the nail on the head,
with regards to my situation. “That’s exactly it. They don’t respect my life;
they feel no sense that it’s sacred, that I’m trying to keep it whole.” I
didn’t realize that a tear had dripped down my cheek, then, falling to the
table before me. Rachel brought her hand toward mine and grasped my fingers,
allowing me to shudder as I cried for just a moment.
I
couldn’t speak any more. I knew I couldn’t tell Rachel anything else—anything
about Jason, about the president. But I peered up at her with these incredibly
large, doe-like eyes. And I shook my head, as if I was at a loss for what to
do.
She
squeezed my hand once more. She reached across and grabbed the bottle of wine.
In the silence, we listened to the glug glug glug of the wine as it jostled
into our glasses. I took a sip and a sense of calm passed through me. We
clinked our glasses together—a bit late in our timing. And we smiled at each
other with red-tinted teeth.
She
shook her head. “Well. You know you can stay here as long as you like. You have
a safe place here, Amanda. I know that we aren’t in the same business, that
you’re in a great deal of pressure. And I want you to know that I will help you
in any way I can to get you through this. Whatever these people are doing to
you. It must be—it must be really bad.” She nodded with affirmation.
I
couldn’t believe the feeling of calm that passed through me. My friend—the only
person I could trust in the world, beyond Xavier—was allowing me to stay with
her. She wanted to be my protector, my person. I thanked her profusely, and
then we continued to drink wildly into the night. It felt like old times. It
felt like I had someone I could trust once more; it felt like I had someone to
lean my shoulder on, to ride out the storm with.
Finally,
I held a sense of peace.
Chapter 6
The
next morning, I rose early. A hangover glistened over my eyes. I hopped into
Rachel’s shower at around six and hosed my hair and my slim, naked body of all
the toxins from the previous day. I shivered, even in the hot water. I had so
much to do.
As I
stood in the water, I remembered what Rachel had told me the night before—that
other men on the campaign team had actually snuck a camera into her apartment
in order to watch her undress. What a sick joke that was. I wondered,
half-heartedly, if Jason had been involved. It had been years ago and he hadn’t
been at the height of his career. However, perhaps this was his natural
scheme—something he kept up year-in, year-out in order to inspect the glowing,
beautiful bodies of his female co-workers. I pictured him watching us—all of us
up on a screen—as he ate sandwich after sandwich, knowing that we were his
pawns.
The
rage of this forced me out of the shower and into my fine clothes once more. I
tugged at my hair and did my make up with fine strokes; then I stomped into the
kitchen. There, I left a note for Rachel: “Be home at six.” We were roommates
now; we had to look out for each other, be there for each other. I hadn’t had a
roommate in years and I was sure she hadn’t, either. Already, I sensed that we
needed each other more than we knew.
In the
taxi on the way to work, the thoughts were flowing through me freely. I had to
make Jason see my way; I had to make him notice that he was being a creepy,
backstabbing bastard. I had to make him understand that I meant fucking
business, that this wasn’t just a passing fancy in which he could look at my
naked body all the time, like some creepy, familiar porn.
I
marched into the White House. It was still early, and only a few of the
campaign workers tapped tidily away at their desks. I turned toward Jason, who
sat eating a donut at his desk. He was sitting with the phone cradled between
his ear and his shoulder.
I
placed my hands on my hips before his desk, standing like a statue. Formidable.
I cocked my head to the right.
He
placed his finger in the air, peering at me with curiosity. “I’m on hold,” he
whispered to me, waiting.
But I
just stood there. I allowed my eyes to burn holes intohim.
Finally,
he couldn’t take the pressure. He slammed the phone down before him and hung
up, glaring at me with these passionate, bulbous eyes. “What do you want?” he
hissed. A few of the campaign workers turned toward us, sensing animosity at
the top.
But I
just shrugged. “You know what I want.”
He
frowned, allowing his eyebrows to course over his eyes. “Shall we go talk in
the back office?” His voice was gruff.
“I
suppose we shall,” I whispered to him. My eyes were cat-like, daring him to
cross me.
He
followed me into the back office, stomping heavily on the wood floors. I
allowed my waist to saunter this way, then that. I imagined that he wanted me.
In fact, I knew he did. He would never have anyone like me. I was reserved for
people like Xavier—for the powerful men at the top. I, myself, was powerful; I
was at the top. I was sleek, refined—and in the face of this sad sack man
before me, I was everything.
I
closed the door and crossed my arms over my chest. I waited, listening to the
clock as it seemed to tick-tick-tick on the wall.
“All
right. What is it, Amanda,” he finally stated, tired of waiting.
“You
don’t get to talk,” I said, holding up my hand. “Not until I say.”
He
raised his eyebrow and leaned against the desk, waiting. The tension hung
around us, pushing at my shoulders.
I took
a deep breath. I directed my eyes with such menace toward him. And then, I
spoke. “You must destroy the files on your computer. The files of myself and
the president. There’s absolutely no other way.”
He
leaned his head back once more, like he was going to begin his laughter once
more. But my heart hurt with the sheer thought of it. I brought my hands forth,
exhibiting my palms—that tender part of the body, so pale. “Here me out. You
are blackmailing me so that you can get ahead. You. However, I was already
going to give you a leg up. Before this all happened, I thought you were a good
person, a good worker. I thought you were a lot of things. But not a
blackmailing asshole.” I regretted the words, but I bounced back, shaking my
head. “The point is. I’m going to keep giving you a leg up. I’ll keep helping
you if you delete those files—if you allow me to have my life back.” I
swallowed.
His
face grew broad with a close-mouthed smile. “Amanda, Amanda.” He shook his
head. “I’m so sick and tired of having this fucking conversation. You know
that?”
My
heart had already begun to sink in my stomach. Instinctively, I brought my arms
over my chest. “Jason. Listen to yourself,” I reasoned with him. “You can have
everything you want, and you can be a good person. People get to the top all
the time without ruining other people’s lives.” I felt a bit of chaos working
through my voice. I shivered internally, knowing that the words were bouncing
from him without care. He just looked at me with sad, dead eyes. He didn’t care
what happened to me.
“Amanda.”
He took a large, cumbersome step toward me. He placed his hand on my shoulder.
His grip was so heavy, so strong. The pain made my face pinch. “Amanda, Amanda.
If you ever come to me and complain about our little situation again, the
situation will explode in your face.” He nodded at me, his cheeks ruddy. I
wanted to hit him, to slap him until he didn’t look like anything anymore.