Authors: Claire Adams
I strapped my black dress over my body and
shoved my feet into my black heels. I dried my hair swiftly, taking extra care
to make it look prim and precise. I knew all eyes would be on me in my new
position as lead of the campaign. Of course, I knew one pair of eyes in
particular were interesting to me. But I couldn’t think about it. Not yet.
I grabbed my bag and I fled down the
steps, finding my trusty friend, Dimitri, already parked out front. I jumped
into the back seat and Dimitri sent a small coffee through the small portal
between our seats. “Here you are, my lady.”
“Oh, god. Dimitri, I didn’t have time to
make coffee. Thank you.” I breathed in the beautiful aroma and felt my brain
waking. “How’s the mood at the White House?” I asked him.
“It’s anxious, of course. Everyone’s
waiting for the press release. It was sent to the news this morning.”
“Yes. Yes. Good,” I said, already deep in
thought. I sipped the coffee and leaned forward, feeling the blood beating fast
in my arms and legs.
I was smart to leave at 7 since traffic
was so bad. Finally, we pulled up in front of that White House, the very home
I’d been fearful of only twenty-four hours before. It seemed that so much had
changed. “I’ll catch you later, Dimitri,” I called to him, running from the
car. I wouldn’t give him time to frisk me; not today. I rushed through the
door, feeling my portfolio banging against my leg as I carried it, still
holding the coffee cup in my hand.
I flung myself into the West Wing. The
campaign workers were still aligned at their computers, as if they hadn’t left
the previous evening. Their eyes were bleak, working ever toward a future of
continuous phone calls, campaign work, and seemingly gray days. But I understood;
I had married my work years and years ago. I didn’t even understand who I was
anymore.
“It’s coming!” Jason called from the side,
yelling at the campaign workers and I. I knew he meant that the press release
was happening, then: that this was the very core that our cause relied on. This
needed to go well. I rushed toward the television and pushed people to the
side, knowing that it was up to me to save this re-election campaign.
The news anchor stood with a microphone
positioned near her face, her eyes bright. The White House stood far behind
her, almost looking like a model. It was strange to me that I stood in that
very building as I stared at it on the screen.
“The president’s re-election campaign has
released a statement regarding the drop in polls,” the woman began, her hair
rattling around her slim face with the wind. “It states: ‘The president’s
recent decision to enact positive change throughout the country’s education
system has been misconstrued by a variety of people—and that is not the American
people’s fault. Rather, our decision to make such change should be brought to
you every step of the way for your complete comprehension and to insure
absolute transparency. We are working day and night for a better, brighter
American future, and we need your involvement.’”
The news anchor went on from there, as
well, stating that this was good news for the re-election campaign and for the
president’s future. “A president that looks to the needs of the American’s
future is a president we can trust,” the news anchor finished.
The re-election campaign team cheered all
around me. I felt my heart grow in my chest; I felt so assured. I turned toward
Jason, who was shaking his head in amazement. “It seems we chose the exact
right words,” he said, his eyes wide in his head.
Suddenly, I felt something else: a hand on
my shoulder. I spun around and felt my heart drop into my stomach. There,
before me, was the President of the United States. He was wearing another one
of his dark, brooding suits. And his eyes seemed to tear into me with such
expressiveness. He smiled for only a moment. “Thank you for your hard work,” he
said. He spun around, then, and disappeared without a trace, around the corner.
I wondered what he’d be up to in the Oval Office, all by himself.
I wondered what he thought about in there.
But I shook it off and began clapping my
hands in front of my crew. “Attention, all!” I called to them. “Please. Know
that this was the first of many obstacles on our way to re-election. Get back
to your computers, and let’s get ready to promote some votes!”
Cheers rallied from all around. The people
swept back in their suits, their trim dresses. Faces spun back into
comprehensive work mode. I nodded primly toward Jason, as if to say: “That’s
how it’s done.” But I knew he already felt a bit too shitty, as it is: after
all, he’d been passed over as leader of the re-election team.
But something still lingered in the back
of my brain. What was going on with Xavier? Why was his touch on my shoulder so
intimate, so outside of our surroundings for some reason? It felt like when he
looked at me, we were the only two people in the room.
This, of course, was silly; we were two
people in outrageous exposure. We had no business looking at each other in any
manner beyond a quick, furtive glance and perhaps a nod. I was his employee, I
reminded myself. Nothing more.
I sat at my desk at the helm of the great
sea of workers and began analyzing the numbers. I buried myself in the work for
a few hours, allowing the sun to ramp up in the sky over the White House.
My phone started ringing, scaring me
senseless for a moment. I brought my hand to my heart as I answered it,
expecting to render another, short comment to a news source.
“Hello, Miss Martin.”
The words made my whole spine shiver.
“Mr. President,” I said. I tipped my
tongue to the top of my mouth after I said it, waiting in such apprehension. I
watched a frenzied girl in the sea of people before me as she tapped at her
computer keyboard over and over, her eyes anxious and wide.
“I’d like it if you come to my office. I
have something to ask you.”
I stood unsteadily from my desk, feeling
the world spin around me. I felt so many things when we were together around
other people; what would I feel when it was just us? Together in a room, alone?
My feelings from the day before had escalated greatly, I knew. Could I handle
it?
“I’ll be right there, Mr. President,” I
said. I placed the phone down timidly and tapped toward the door, leaving the
chaos behind me. I walked down the hallway, toward the oval office. I
remembered the sheer anxiety I felt before the initial meeting with him. I was
so sure I wouldn’t make the position! What anxiety—and all for nothing.
I found Dimitri outside the door. He
nodded at me, friendly.
“He called me,” I shrugged, making light
of it. “When the boss calls, you know.”
Dimitri nodded, laughing. “Right? A bit
scary when the boss is President of the United States. I suppose we’re united
on that front now.” He winked at me and let me into the room, opening the door
behind him.
I found myself back in the Oval Office
with the commanding president before me. He stood from his desk as I stayed,
staring blankly forward. “Mr. President,” I addressed him, politely.
He smiled in a small way and gestured
toward the couch in the center of the room. “Please. Make yourself
comfortable,” he said. It was a polite gesture but it felt more like a command.
I sat, obediently. I blinked toward him.
“Can I help you with anything?” I asked him coolly, not wanting to seem eager.
Truly, however, his entire ego, his beautiful smile, the stunning way he walked
toward me—it all made me crazy.
“You did something really incredible back
there,” he stated, bringing his hand through his dark hair. “You saved the
campaign. On your first day.”
I shrugged lightly, still allowing the
compliment to glimmer through me. “It was worth saving.”
He sat across from me, digging his hands
into his pockets. “Have lunch with me,” he suddenly said, his eyes still
faraway.
I swallowed. “Lunch with you?”
He nodded, almost half-heartedly. “I want
to thank you for turning the news around, for making today a triumph instead of
a disaster. Please. Say you’ll come with me. Just a private lunch downstairs,
near the kitchen. You’ll love the room.”
I felt the word come from my lungs so
swiftly, like I couldn’t stop it: “Yes.”
And from there, I felt my future forming
before me. Like I couldn’t stop it, suddenly. Like it wasn’t mine to create.
Chapter
6
The president led me downstairs. I felt my
hands shaking a bit at my side as I walked behind him, almost in his shadow.
I’d never been in anyone’s shadow before, but I knew this was my natural place:
he was President of the United States. That mansion was his home.
The various staff passed us and nodded to
him, not even looking at me. I felt invisible.
He led me through the kitchen, through the
bubbling soup pots, the fiery oven. I was amazed at the many workers who were
poised over the heat, spinning their spoons wildly over the water. One of the
chefs—a man with a white, poufy hat—turned toward me in an instant and winked
at me. He pulled back to his work so quickly that I almost didn’t believe I’d
seen the entire thing.
Xavier pushed the final doors open and led
us into a tiny nook with these incredible windows. The windows were open,
allowing the breeze to waft over the perfectly-set table. The white table cloth
seemed to glow in the sunlight.
“Wow,” I couldn’t help but say.
“I always have them make this table up for
me when I’m feeling a little low,” he said, pulling the chair out and allowing
me to sit. “I always come here to think. And eat, of course. But nearly no one
knows this room exists. It’s my secret hideaway, I suppose.”
I nodded, sitting across from him. I
couldn’t believe he’d brought me there. I couldn’t think about what to say, and
I sputtered: “Where do you see the campaign going over the course of the
re-election season?”
I almost wanted to bury my face in my
hands. My words lacked so much tact. I’d jumped too far. He wanted to be
friendly with me, and I’d stepped on his friendliness with formality. I bit my
lip.
But he took it in stride as he splayed the
napkin over his lap. “Honestly, I’m open to much of what you stated in your
interview. It seems that you have a good way of going about it—about the
election. You have enough vision that you could be my competition.”
The waiter came, then, and poured us both
a small glass of white wine. The president brought his glass toward me, and I
tipped my glass to his, offering a slight clink into the world. I shivered once
more, sipping the wine.
The president called back to the waiter.
“Hey! Grant! Might we start with some of that fine garlic bread Yvonne made
last week?”
“Very good, sir,” Grant responded, darting
back into the kitchen.
I looked at the president, taking him in.
“Anyway. I don’t know what you mean, running for the presidency,” I continued,
laughing a bit to myself. “I’m not even eligible at my age.”
He tipped his head to the right, eyeing me
serenely. “Ah. Yes. You’re twenty-nine, correct?”
I nodded, feeling my face grow hot. It was
strange that we were there together, so intimately in the secret room of his
mansion.
“And already you are chief of the
re-election campaign for the President of the United States. You must feel
pride in that, no?”
My face continued to burn as I searched
for what to say. “I am very honored to be chosen for this position, sir,” I
said, trying to project an air of confidence fitting of my job title.
A stagnation occurred between us, then, as
we searched for things to say. The waiter burst back into the room and placed
the garlic bread between us. “Enjoy,” he said, winking at me. What was it with
all these winks?
I turned back toward the president.
“Anyway. I just work too hard, that’s what my mother says,” I stated, digging
into the garlic bread. My stomach was eating me alive.
But the president laughed at this,
good-naturedly. “Yeah, my mother says that, too. You should be proud of all
you’ve worked for. I admire it, you know. I was backed by some very important
people when I was quite young, charging me into my future. But you: it seems
you’ve worked from the ground up. And look at you, Amanda.”
I felt so strange, like I was on display
in that moment. I turned my head down, gazing at my slim-cut power suit. I bit
my lip. “I don’t know. I had a great deal of support.”
Xavier placed his wine back on the table.
He positioned his fingers only a few inches from mine on the white cloth. “I
just want you to know, Amanda, that you have a future here at the White House.
Chief of Staff, maybe. Secretary of State. Even the presidency itself.” He
smirked
My eyes began to water as a mixture of
emotions welled up inside of me.
On one
hand, I felt pride in the fact that he could see great things in me.
On the other hand, I felt as though he was
playing a game.
Chief of Staff?
Secretary of State?
He could see me in those roles based on a
press release?
And that smirk—what did
it mean?
I felt so restless, so unsure. His eyes
seemed so focused on me; I suddenly wanted to burst from the windows and fly
across the green lawn, back to freedom. But this place, I knew, was where I
belonged.
I cleared my throat. “I appreciate your
assurance in me, Mr. President.” I said the words with sterility. “Of course,
you’ll understand that I’m not so sure of myself just yet. It’s only my first
day in the position. I think I should test myself a bit more before I go
entertaining such grand ideas.”
“But look at you. You’re here in my secret
lair, eating garlic bread—only one day into your job,” he laughed, bringing his
arms wide with a bit of charisma. “Surely you must be special.” I liked this
side of him: the playful side.
But I needed to change to topic, to find
another course. “So. Your wife. How is she doing, these days?”
He brought his hands down slowly, down to
his side. The garlic bread sweated before us, emitting such amazing smells
throughout the small breakfast nook. “Camille?” he asked.
I nodded, knowing that I had suddenly
touched on a sore spot. I felt terrible, knowing in my heart that I had asked
for inappropriate reasons. I wanted to know what was behind the curtain; I
wanted to discover the intricacies of their relationship.
I tried to tell myself I needed to know for
professional reasons, to manage his image.
“Camille and I, well. We met so long ago,
as you probably know.”
“College, right?” I asked him, reaching
for another piece of garlic bread. God, was it good. The bread melted in your
mouth, leaving a buttery sensation that sent me to the clouds.
The president nodded. “So long ago. We
were just kids. And even then, I knew there wasn’t something—well. I knew there
wasn’t something right about us.”
I felt the garlic bread dissipate in my
mouth. I allowed the crust to drop to the plate, knowing that he was about to
deliver something to me—information that was hardly confided in anyone, ever. I
leaned forward, craning my ears.
“Well,” Xavier began, tapping his fingers
on the white cloth beneath their plates. The table shook a bit, casting strange
sunlight through the glass. “Sometimes, what you see on the outside isn’t the
real picture. There’s the pretty picture, of course—the one everyone, the
precious voters, wants to see. But then there’s the at-home life. The troubled
life. The one you know you never really wanted.”
I nodded for a moment, pitying him in a
way. For so much of his life, everything had worked out in his favor: he’d had
his career, his marriage. The great country was at his feet. But then,
everything was complex, as well. He wasn’t happy in his marriage. He was stuck
sneaking around with me—this girl he hardly knew, telling her things he
shouldn’t tell anyone.
I wondered, in those moments that dripped
between us, filled with such tension, if he felt he could trust me. I wondered
if he delivered this information to be in a sort of sealed package, reaching
out to me as if to say: help me, please; I’m drowning.
I concealed a smile with my garlic bread,
then, feeling as though the winds of change were shifting in my favor. The
president was peering toward me, curious about me. And all the while, it seemed
I simply had to sit there, filled with such longing for his mind.
Chapter
7