Authors: Claire Adams
I
brushed my teeth ravenously at the bathroom sink, listening as Rachel sang in
her own shower, down the hall. I felt like we were growing apart, in a way:
simply because she found herself rooted in a sort of happiness, even as I swept
along, floating in a sea of misunderstanding and sadness and threats.
I
brought my arms through my blazer and sniffed up toward the ceiling, smelling
someone baking bread, somewhere far off in the building. It could be a plain,
uneventful day, if I worked for it. I could make this day work to my favor. If
only I kept my head down. If only I asked only the appropriate questions and
didn’t push any topics further than they needed to go. If only I kept my clothes
on my body this time around, rather than falling into Xavier’s naked arms. I
could do this. I could be strong.
I
stood in the shadow of the White House, my heart beating only for Xavier—the
powerful man who had claimed this house as his own. In the back, I knew that
the rose garden continued to squirm in its brown and grey colors in this
near-November day. God, in just a year: we’d be weeks away from the election.
In just a year, I knew that so much would have changed.
But
where would our relationship be? What would we be to each other?
I
lifted myself into the shell of the White House, preparing myself for the ten o
clock meeting, at which I knew I would be faced with both Jason and Xavier. I
could get through it. I had my notes, my critiques for the way the entire
campaign was being handled. I knew how to work a room. I’d been doing so since
the age of eight, after all. However, something about having both of them in
the room at the same time—both of them with different utilizations for me, for
my body—made me queasy.
I sat
at my desk in the West Wing, casually making notes and dreaming about a
different kind of future—a future in which I would make political strides,
without worrying about anything that anybody held above my head.
But
being a woman, I knew, this would be an eternal struggle. Every woman I knew of
in Congress had struggled on their path to the top. Without masculinity,
without grey hair and those twinkling, age-old eyes, it was difficult to find
the trust of the American people. I knew I would have trouble, as well.
Suddenly,
a girl appeared before my desk, leaning down toward me and meeting my eyes. She
broke my reverie. I erupted up, bouncing in my chair. “Yes. What is it?” I
asked her, my eyes large.
She
blinked back. “I’m sorry to—um—interrupt you.” She peered down at the papers
before me, at the fact that I’d been gazing off into space. “I just wanted to
remind you that you have your meeting with both Jason and the President of the
United States in a mere—well. Five minutes ago.” She swallowed, blinking toward
me.
I
shook my head, unable to comprehend what she was saying. I grabbed my notebook,
realizing that two hours had passed, during which I hadn’t done a single thing
but glide on my thoughts, on my dreams. I didn’t have time to prepare myself
any longer. It was just me and the boys: me and my arch enemy, and me and the
man I loved—who was also, incidentally, another man who could ruin my life and
my career, completely.
I
pushed into the room, appearing before a long, wooden table. There, sitting on
either side of the table, I found both Jason and Xavier. I blinked toward them,
bringing my hand in the air. I held a pen, and it jolted starkly vertical. “I’m
so sorry,” I murmured then. “I was caught up in a phone call.” My lie hung in
the air, but neither of the men before me seemed to notice it. Instead, they
seemed to be glaring at each other. Xavier’s eyes were especially penetrating,
making Jason move this way, then that in his chair. He looked queasy.
“You
didn’t start without me, I hope?” I asked them, trying to make my voice bright.
I gulped as they didn’t say anything, as they allowed my sentence to die away.
Finally,
Xavier turned his head toward me. The awkwardness was building. “Jason here was
just telling me the great strides he’s been making with several congressmen.
Including some of the Republicans.”
I
nodded, knowing about Jason’s friendliness with some of the men we’d formerly
not counted on as allies. My eyes drifted toward Jason. “That’s essential,
Jason. Thank you.” I made a small note on my notepad, trying to waltz through
the tension without falling away.
But
suddenly, Xavier had begun to glare at Jason once more. This one, single
comment had paved the road toward nothing at all. I peered down at my notes, trying
to create a dialogue. We were meant to be in this meeting for a full hour. I
knew the press would be waiting outside—that they usually liked to know how
long each meeting lasted, for their records. If a meeting ran long or short,
they generally speculated about the issue at hand. Was someone disagreeing?
Were plans changed? Thus, we would have to remain there, in thr tension, for
another fifty-five minutes.
I
swallowed.
Xavier’s
eyes continued their terrorizing glare toward Jason. And all the while, I felt
Jason’s eyes toward me. They were creepy, strange—as they had been the previous
day beneath the tree. The moments seemed to pass with surreal tension.
I
remembered a different time—a time in which both of the men before me had
pretended, at least, to like each other, to appreciate each other. I longed for
that time once more. I cleared my throat, but this didn’t distract Xavier’s
uneasy glare. This didn’t detract from Jason’s creepy, near-grin that faced
ever toward me.
I
turned my face toward the clock. “Is there anything either of you would like to
get out of the way, regarding the campaign?” I began, my voice mouse-like.
“Personally, I believe it’s going rather well. Rather well indeed.”
But
neither of them spoke. The clock ticked along, leaving us there together. I
couldn’t believe that the man on the other side of the table was the man I was
supposed to be in love with—the man I had supposedly devoted myself to. And all
the while, it seemed that Jason challenged that love. His eyebrows were high,
seemingly asking the question: “You’ll give it all up for this sucker?” At the
same time, his belly protruded over his waist. His belt fell in around his
crotch. He was a mess of a man, an evil man.
Finally,
the clock struck. I jerked myself from the seat and thanked them both for their
time. My words were icy. I wanted to tell Xavier exactly what I thought of him
in that moment, but I knew that with Jason there, I couldn’t emit a single
peep. I spun on my heels and roped myself out of the office. The press began to
question us on both sides as we escalated from the room.
“How is the campaign coming along?”
“Mr. President, do you regret hiring
someone so young and inexperienced?”
“Jason, how does it feel to be by-passed
as campaign manager, and you having so much more experience?”
I
snarled at most of the people as we passed them, wishing I was anywhere else.
Just a few feet away from the West Wing offices, however, I suddenly felt a
firm hand on my elbow. I wheeled around, noting that the cameramen had roped
themselves around the president in the previous hallway. It was just Jason and
I, then.
“What
do you want?” I spat at him, my anger from the previous day growing in my
chest.
He
laughed for a moment, placing his hand on his stomach. “Oh, darling. I just
want to talk to you. Just the two of us.” Suddenly, he shoved me into a small
office, right off from the stairwell. I’d never been in the cruel, cold
room—with only a single desk off to the side. I shivered and grabbed at my
elbows, blinking up toward him.
“What
do you want?” I hissed. I could still hear the gruff voice of the president
down the hall, explaining his trajectory for education in the United States. In
the back of my mind, I congratulated him—this was precisely right for the
campaign. But god: if he could just come swiftly, come and save me!
Jason
took a step closer to me. His breath was riding hot and solid on my nose,
making me feel queasy. “I feel that we have an unfinished conversation from
yesterday,” he murmured. “I’m sure you went running to your little boyfriend
about it. I could just feel his hatred for me in that meeting. Couldn’t you
feel it?” Jason brought his fingers up to my cheek, then, and laced them down
my skin, across my lips. I shivered, hating him with every element of my heart,
my soul.
“Can’t
you imagine a world in which everything isn’t about you?” I spat at him,
shaking my head. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck, to make him feel as
frightened as he’d made me feel the previous day. But I knew it was impossible—that
that kind of fear was personal.
Jason
laughed, bringing his fat, sausage-link fingers to his belly. He shook his
head, wiping at the tears that protruded down his face. “I suppose not!” he
answered, his voice so honest.
Suddenly,
the door swung open, at the far end of the grey and stark room. I brought my
hands around my chest, worrying, for a moment, that Jason had brought back up.
However, my heart began to beat ravenously in my chest as I realized the truth.
There,
standing in the light of the doorway, stood Xavier. He wore a grimace on his
face; anger traced itself in his eyes. He turned his eyes toward me and didn’t
reveal a hint of passion, of lust. And then, he turned toward Jason.
“Jason.
I need to see you in the Oval Office.”
Jason
nodded, his smile bright. “Just as soon as Miss Martin and I are finished with
our meeting,” he said primly.
Xavier
turned his head toward me. “Miss Martin. Have you sufficiently wrapped up what
you want to say to Jason?”
I
swallowed, knowing that the words I actually wanted to say to Jason were crude,
were inspired by an inner anger that I’d never before seen. But I nodded my
head slowly, knowing that I was sending Jason off to a different kind of
punishment, to something that I—in my current, low status in the political
realm—could never understand. “I’m all done, Mr. President,” I said sweetly. I
blinked up at Jason, watching as his face fell before me.
Jason
spun his head back toward the president. My heart was beating so fast, telling
me alternately that I was doing the right thing, that I wasn’t doing the right
thing. I was allowing Xavier to take over my problems—for the first time. But
this entire situation had escalated out of my control. I couldn’t measure it
anymore; I couldn’t read it the way I was meant to. And thus: I needed to hand
it off to the man I loved, the only man I knew who was strong enough to take
Jason and bend him back, till he snapped.
I
tapped into the hallway and peered left, toward the Oval Office. Two Secret
Servicemen held Jason’s arms behind his back as they swept toward the office.
Xavier led the tide. A wave of emotion escalated over me, making me feel
that—finally—Xavier could take care of me. Finally, he understood that my
strength, my vitality only went so far. That this was what it meant to be in a
couple. That you were meant to support each other, through thick and thin.
Perhaps,
in a way, this rooted me further in my desire for him. Sure, my concerns for my
future rang true. But I righted myself and flung my brunette hair around my
shoulders, tapping back into the West Wing office. I smashed my hand against
the board at the helm of the room and announced to the great campaign team—the
campaign team that I’d earned, that I was in charge of:
“Listen,
team. We have one year to make this president stick. One solid year to make
everything count.” I paused, breathing heavily. The moment had become all too
much. “Make the President of the goddamned United States proud.”
Suddenly,
I flung my papers, my folders, my binders into the air. They soared high. The
entire campaign team skirted up from their desks and flung their hands together
in an enormous applause. Their eyes were wide toward me.
Chapter 7
In the
moments after I knew that Jason was in the Oval Office, speaking with the
president about god-knows-what, I sat at my desk, waiting. I clenched my hands
together, dreaming about this future in which I didn’t have to feel that Jason
was watching my every move, a camera in his hand. It all seemed too good to be
true.
I
attempted to work on the campaign. I brought my fingers to the keyboard, ready
to send out email after email; ready to push forward, toward my dreams of
becoming a successful campaign manager. However, my brain was dripping with
other thoughts. How could I feel normal?
I left
the White House and swept down to the Rose Garden, then. I felt my feet
tap-tap-tapping beneath me, and I felt my heart escalating when I passed the
Oval Office. I knew that the walls were far too thick, that I would never hear
the sounds of men screaming out presidential secrets.
I
found myself once more in the grey of the once-Rose Garden. I wrapped myself in
my coat and peered over the grounds, feeling a sense of solace. I wanted to do
something with my hands, then, and I turned toward the hallway, knowing that I
would find a Secret Service agent there. This one, I knew.
“Benny,”
I hissed. “Benny!”
The
agent darted his head toward me, surprised. He raised one eyebrow toward me.