Authors: Mallory Monroe
“She sleeps around with a lot of them?” Gina asked.
“Yes,” the Attorney General said.
“And here’s the kicker,” Peter Bergmann, the White House counsel, said.
“The Caswell siblings plan to prove that she was carrying on a torrid affair with you before and after her marriage to their father.
Which we’ve informed the children, if they will keep silent for now, that you yourself will acknowledge in your press conference tomorrow evening.
That way you’ll prove their point and also prove that you didn’t rape Jennifer as she claims, but that the two of you had consensual sex and you had it repeatedly.”
Dutch seemed hesitant.
But Gina wasn’t.
“Look, Dutch,” she said, “by admitting such an illicit affair you won’t look like a choir boy, no you won’t.
But at least you won’t look like a rapist either.”
“Right,” the Attorney General agreed.
“And that’s why we want you on that stage beside him, Mrs. Harber.
You are his most powerful weapon against the problem he has with that affair.
Because if what happened before the two of you married doesn’t bother you, how can it bother anybody else?”
Gina nodded her understanding.
Dutch, however, disagreed.
“No,” he said and they all looked at him.
“I will not parade my wife out in front of clicking cameras just to prove some point.
What I did with Jennifer wasn’t criminal, no, but it was still wrong.
And I need to take that hit alone.”
“Yes, you do,” Gina admitted.
“But this isn’t about your moral lapse.
This is about rape.
And to prove that you didn’t rape that woman I’d stand on a street corner beside you if I had to.
So don’t get it twisted, Dutch.
I hate what you did.
But I know you didn’t do that other thing, and that’s what my appearance will be all about.
We have to fight this charge or it can ruin you forever.
And that’s not going to happen.”
The Attorney General sighed relief.
“Good,” she said again.
“Mrs. Caswell can’t sue you while you’re a sitting president, but she can certainly get the pot boiling until you leave office.
That’s why, yes, we want your wife on that stage beside you.
To help nip this thing in the bud.”
***
The James S. Brady press briefing room was an unlikely place to hold what many journalists were calling the press conference of the century, but Max and Allison knew what they were doing.
The room was smaller than the East Room of the White House where the president normally held his pressers, which gave the feel of a pack of headline hungry journalists attacking a president already under siege.
And since he was the American people’s president, Max had argued, perhaps the people will themselves feel as if the press had them under siege too.
Dutch personally thought it was a load of bullocks, all of this stagecraft, but he didn’t argue with his chief of staff.
He had enough rotten meat on his plate to argue about the gravy.
Besides, the players on the stage proved in and of itself that this was no ordinary press conference.
Not only was Dutch on stage, but so was the First Lady, the White House Counsel Peter Bergmann, and Dutch’s private attorney.
Gina was so nervous standing there that she thought she was going to faint.
Especially after Dutch gave his opening statement, which consisted of clear, blanket
denials,
and the questions came like shots out of cannons.
At first the questions were all about the logistics.
Where, when, how.
But then a shift occurred when reporter after reporter started asking, not about the president’s innocence, but about whether he was going to resign or wait for Congress to draft articles of impeachment.
“
Impeachment
?” Gina said out loud before she realized she had said it, and immediately everybody in the room looked her way.
She knew Max had told her to just stand there and say nothing.
She knew the White House Counsel had told her to just stand there and say nothing.
But
impeachment
?
Where did these people get off?
“Do you believe the president’s actions,” a reporter quickly seized the moment and asked Gina, “warrant impeachment?”
“Of course I don’t,” Gina said, certain that Max and Allison Shearer, who were both standing against the side wall, were melting inside.
“Why don’t you, Mrs. Harber?
Your husband has been accused of rape.”
Gina looked at Dutch.
If he didn’t want her to say what she had to say, then she’d remain silent.
But Dutch, being Dutch, never cared to muzzle her.
He stepped aside and allowed her to come up to the podium.
Dutch glanced over at Max.
If the word ‘fuming’ was defined in the dictionary, Max’s picture would be the example underneath it.
“My concern about this talk of impeachment,” Gina said, utilizing her experience as an attorney and being careful not to over speak, “is that not one word of her allegation has even been proven yet.
An allegation has been made, a false allegation I might add, and you’re already talking about impeachment?”
“But this is a rape charge, ma’am.”
“I understand that.
But it’s a false rape charge.”
“If you were his lawyer, Mrs. Harber,” another reporter asked, “what would you advise him to do?”
Max waved his hand, as if to warn Gina against answering that tricky question, but Gina ploughed ahead anyway.
“If I was advising my husband,” she said, “I’d tell him what I’m telling you: to let the process take its course.
If there is to be an investigation, let the authorities investigate.
And then, once they find out that Mrs. Caswell’s allegations are nothing more than bogus, baseless lies, then I’d advise him to have her brought up on criminal charges.
And I’d also advise him to bring her up on civil charges for Defamation of Character, for starters.
Especially since she lied on him while he still was a sitting president, tarnishing not only his reputation but the reputation of the entire United States of America.
And then I’d sue her for those billion dollars she’s trying to weasel out of his estate.
She’ll never see a dime of that money when we get through with her.”
The press corps goes into frenzy mode as Allison yells “thank-you” and abruptly ends the press conference.
Max and Peter Bergmann pretended to be in a great mood as they cleared the Brady Room, but as soon as they stepped back into the West Wing, they were livid.
She just made it worse, Bergmann said.
“How’s that?” Dutch wanted to know.
“Because, sir,” the White House Counsel continued, “she just threatened lawsuits on a grieving widow.
A grieving widow, sir.
That may play well in Newark, but in middle America it looks tactless and ghetto.”
Gina wanted to roll her eyes.
That was always their stopgap: insult her by throwing in the word ghetto at every turn.
And she started to tell him about his nature self, but Dutch beat her to it.
“You may wish to coddle Jennifer Caswell,” he said, “but since she’s accused me of raping her, my wife and I have decided against that strategy.
And everything my wife said in that briefing room is exactly what needed to be said.
And it’s the truth. I will sue her pants off if she continues with this charade.
We’re playing hardball gentlemen, from here on out, so don’t try to make my wife the villain.
That blonde-haired, blue-eyed devil you’re trying to coddle is the villain here.
And don’t you forget it.
And Peter,” Dutch added as he and Gina were about to leave, “if you ever attempt to disparage my wife again by referencing the ‘ghetto,’ I will get ‘ghetto’ myself and publicly humiliate your ass.
Understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Bergmann said nervously.
“Sir, I didn’t mean---”
“Yes, you did, you meant it.
So don’t even try to front,” Dutch said and then he and Gina walked away.
Only Gina walked away smiling.
“
Don’t even try to front
?” she said incredulously to her husband.
“I’ve heard you use it beautifully,” he said, smiling too.
“So why can’t I use it too?
Even if I don’t quite know what it means.”
They both broke into laughter.
Max and Bergmann just stood there, in the West Wing corridor, wondering what in the world, at a time like this, could possibly be so funny.
***
Later that night, Gina lay on top of Dutch, her head on his bare chest, his penis sliding in and out of her naked ass.
His arms were tight around her as he fucked her, as their eyes were closed to the realities of the day.
That was why, when the secure phone rang, Dutch was almost hesitant to answer it.
But of course he did.
When he hung up, Gina’s head was off of his chest, and her worried eyes were staring down at him.
“That was Max,” he said, more of a shocked look in his eyes.
“Jennifer Caswell will issue a statement saying that she is withdrawing all charges against me.”
Gina sat up on top of Dutch, amazed.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.
According to this statement of hers, she will say that she was in shock following her beloved husband’s death and she therefore wanted to blame me and consequently misspoke.”
“She misspoke?
She calls accusing a sitting president of rape misspeaking?”
Dutch nodded, amazed too.
Then he looked at Gina.
“Before she will issue the statement, however, she wants assurances that I will agree not to pursue any law suits against her.”
Gina smiled.
“Seems your threats at that press conference tonight had a profound effect on the good lady.”
“Good lady my ass,” Gina said.
“One of the first things I’ve learned in this life, Dutch, is that money talks.
The fact that we threatened to take away any money she may or may not receive from that man’s estate is what’s driving her sudden change of heart.
Believe that.”
Dutch stared at his wife, admiring her even more.
“Well believe this,” he said, pulling her back into his arms, his dormant penis reasserting itself inside of her.
“I love you dearly.
Even though you can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he added with a grin.
“Oh yeah?” she said as his penis began to increase in its fluidity.
“Bet I’m no ass pain now.”