The World: According to Rachael (12 page)

I’m bone tired, but I can always discuss politics. “Sure.”

“I think the White House is going to have to address the issue. If it’s not President Jones, then it’s the next administration.” His words are like a knife in my heart. “Our country can’t afford to keep providing social services to illegal immigrants. Naturalize them so we can start collecting the revenue.”

“Graham, that argument doesn’t make sense.” I sit up straighter in bed and prepare to defend my position. “The amount of taxes that we would collect from the new citizens does not come close to equaling what we pay out in social services. Plus, you’re giving the green light to millions of people that it’s okay to enter our country illegally.”

“Rach—”

“Forget the economics. The financial models support my argument.” I swallow hard. “What this is really about is the safety and security of our citizens. There are health issues, like vaccinations, that must be addressed. And don’t get me started on border security and the smuggling of drugs and weapons into this country.”

His voice is strong. “So you agree with splitting up families when we send one or two illegal residents back to their home country, leaving the rest of the members here?”

“Wow. Don’t you sound like a bleeding heart liberal? They shouldn’t have entered the country here illegally in the first place.” I wrap one arm around my chest defiantly.

“Look. I don’t see that this issue has a one-size-fits-all approach to fixing it, and for the record, I’m not a liberal. What I do see as a solution is that if someone can prove that they’ve been working here in the U.S. for a defined period of time, and are in good standing with the law why not naturalize them. I mean, isn’t that how most of our ancestors started out here?” His voice rises as he finishes.

This is fun. I’m really enjoying our verbal sparring match, but it’s late. “Well, Coach Jackson. I see you can take the man out of politics, but not the politics out of the man. I say we table this discussion for tonight.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.” Then, he changes the subject. “When can I see you again?””

“During the week is really hard for me. You see what time I get home. I don’t know. Let me check my calendar tomorrow, and I’ll text you.”

“You know I didn’t get much sleep last night because every time I closed my eyes I saw how gorgeous you were when you got lost in me.” Graham drops that little grenade out there.

At just the reminder of our heated make-out session, my body flushes. “It was a nice kiss …”

“Oh, Rachael, there wasn’t anything nice about it. It was dirty in the best kind of way.” When he delivers this line, albeit a very good line, his voice drops a couple of octaves. I want to climb through the airwaves and kiss him again. I have to remind myself that we just met, and I am getting more comfortable with the idea that this may be more than sexual. But right now, as turned on as I am, my body is not very pleased with this waiting-and-getting-to-know-each-other nonsense.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes. Are you in bed also?”

“I am.”

“What are you wearing?” he asks, and then quickly corrects himself. “No. Don’t tell me. I’ll just spend another night not sleeping.” After a pause, he adds, “I think we’re going to need to speed up this getting-to-know-each-other business.”

I giggle—yes! Giggle. “First thing in the morning, I’ll check my calendar.”

“You do that. Now, let’s watch something on TV that’s very PG.”

We opt for
House Hunters International.
Graham and I spend a couple of episodes debating the house choices and talking to the couples that can’t hear us. I find myself laughing a lot. He’s so easy to talk to, and I wonder if this is what couples do at night. Besides having lots of sex, do married people lie together in bed and watch reality television, and laugh and talk about their day? I decide to ask Caroline next time I see her.

As we’re hanging up, Graham asks, “Can we do this again tomorrow?”

I yawn and look at the clock. “It is tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

Five hours later, I wake up fully dressed in my yoga pants and sweatshirt from last night. “Shit,” I mumble as I turn off my alarm clock. “I didn’t even bother to remove my sneakers.”

Dragging myself to my rowing machine in what’s supposed to be the dining room or breakfast room, I turn on the radio to listen to this morning’s edition of the Sons of Liberty.

“President’s last year in office begins today,” the voice of Revere announces.

I mumble, “No shit,” under my breath and pick up my rowing speed.

“He made some big promises on the campaign trail. Shall we review them, McDougall?” Revere asks.

“I just happen to have a list right here,” he replies, sounding like a game show announcer. “Here are a few the biggies.” He clears his throat. “Education reform. Less standardized testing, more funding for inner-city schools, and teachers paid based on parent and principal-review, instead of how well their students perform on a test.”

“And what has this administration done to improve our school system?” Revere asks.

“Well, if he was paid based on performance, he’d receive a check for…” There’s a drum roll sound effect. “Zero dollars.”

Then, some horrible sound effect is played that sounds like a toilet flushing.

I find myself rowing with such effort that sweat drips into where my cleavage would be, if I had any. They’ve left out that President Jones has tried to send numerous education reform bills to congress, but they keep dying in the House of Representatives.

“What about immigration reform?” Revere asks.

My ears perk up. This is what the president wants to focus on during his final year in office. I’m not sure why I care what the Sons of Liberty think about it, but I do.

“Roan Perez …” McDougall starts, but Revere cuts him off.

“We need to give this guy a nickname,” Revere says. “I have a feeling that we’re going to be talking about him a lot over the next fourteen months.”

“Anything in mind?” McDougall asks.

I find myself talking to the radio. “Was there a cartoon character who was a walking Venereal Disease poster? That’s Roan.”

“I just happen to have the perfect cartoon character …” Revere pauses adding a level of suspense to what he’ll choose.

Solomon says, “Don’t keep us waiting, ass-wipe.”

“Drum roll, please … Captain Caveman,” Revere announces.

“So Captain Caveman is banging Tinker Bell … Interesting,” McDougall ponders.

I scream at the radio. “What?”

Is that what people think of me? Just because Roan and I have been photographed together at events that we’re screwing? I throw up a little in my mouth as I run to turn the radio off. The Sons of Liberty disgust me.

Then, because my curiosity gets the better of me, I turn the radio back on. I reason that this is part of my job. I’m working while getting in my morning cardio.

Solomon’s voice booms through my home. “Captain Caveman is quite the man about town. Not only is he frequently seen visiting the White House, but one of our Betsy Ross girls says that he’s a regular at Pink Pussy Cat and likes the Latino ladies.”

It doesn’t surprise me one bit the he’s in to strip clubs.

McDougall adds, “Maybe he’s doing research for the White House’s immigration bill. You know, sampling the goods down south.”

I find that this is the Sons of Liberty’s MO. They talk about vulgar things while they weave politics around it. I must say that it’s effective. This is a whole lot more entertaining than watching the cable news show anchors attempt to deliver lame early morning jokes.

Revere brings them back to the debate. “If those women dancing for dollars are working under a fake social security number, then Captain Caveman is contributing to the problem instead of being a part of the solution.” He pauses for a moment and then continues. “Let’s say Betsy is working here illegally. She contracts a bad case of VD that leads to a baby in nine months. Tax-payers are funding her pregnancy, hospital stay to have the baby and then, we pay for healthcare for the baby, who is now an American citizen.”

“How about we make a law that says to have a kid you have to pass a test?” Solomon proposes.

“Good idea in theory, but the whole constitution seems to stand in the way,” Revere replies. “Better idea is to admit that we have a problem. Naturalize all twelve-million illegal immigrants in this country and let them contribute their tax dollars, like everybody else. This is the Sons of Liberty, and we’ll be back in a moment.

I row my last one-hundred meters and turn off the radio. Time to begin my day.

The first thing that I do when I arrive at the office is check my jam-packed calendar like I promised Graham that I would. I literally don’t have a spare second, which just frustrates me.

I grab my phone and send Graham a text.

Me:
Reason # 24 that boxing is better than MMA: There are fewer superstars in the sport. You’re able to fully watch a fighter mature and then cheer him on for decades. I’m booked solid. I might be able to have dinner with you next Wednesday.

Instantly, I get a response.

Graham:
Unacceptable. What do you have this weekend?

I pull up my calendar and read over my weekend.

Me:
Did you just concede that boxing is better than MMA? Dinner with a couple of senators on Friday, golf with the President on Saturday and charity dinner/gala thing on Saturday night. Sunday, I have an eight-hour workday of stuff.

He fires off a quick message.

Graham:
Concede? Never. I’m right. Need a date for the charity dinner?

My fingers fly over the buttons

Me:
I’m pretty sure that I just won. I’m going with Roan Perez.

Before I can take a breath, my cell is ringing.

“Hello?”

“Look, Rachael, I was under the impression that you weren’t seeing anyone else.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond and keeps plowing on. “Let me be clear. I don’t play second best. If you’re seeing Roan Perez, then consider this our last conversation.”

“Good morning to you too, Graham. I’m having a shitty morning. Thanks for asking. You sound like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Could be my lack of sleep,” he says with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Roan is my default date to everything. He’s pond scum, but it looks good politically for us to be seen together. Trust me. He’s not your competition.”
Oh Graham if you only knew that you’re the first guy since Aiden that has really gotten my attention.

“Then take me instead …” He lets the statement hang there for a moment, before he adds, “I know how to behave in public. I own a tux, and my mom taught me which fork to use.”

I consider it for a moment. Roan will be furious. That’s a positive. Graham and I will share a fixed amount of time together. That’s also a positive. I’ll get to watch him in a social environment to see how he’ll do at the White House Christmas party. The negative is that I’m bringing a political virgin into a shark tank. My world is not for the tender-hearted.

“Graham, this event will be heavily attended by journalist. There’s a good chance that we’ll be photographed together. Are you sure?” I ask letting out a deep breath.

“Even more of a reason for you not to go with Roan. I will be proud to be photographed with you, Rachael. You’re a brilliant, gorgeous woman. I’d be crazy to not want to go.” The conviction in his words makes me fill with warmth.

Is this guy for real?

“Okay. I’ll have my assistant send you the details.” Then changing the subject, I ask, “Aren’t you supposed to be enriching young minds?”

“Conference period. Aren’t you supposed to be running the White House?”

“Five minutes before my next meeting.”

His voice drops. “I loved falling asleep with you last night.”

“Oh yeah? Have pleasant dreams?” I ask.

“The best … Again tonight?”

“Deal. I have to go.”

“Bye, Rachael.”

“Bye, Graham.”

There’s a long pause where I can hear his lungs taking in deep breaths.

“Hang up!”

“No, you hang up …”

“I really have to go.”

“Until tonight then.”

Right as I remove the phone from my ear, he yells, “Reason #36 that MMA is better than boxing: There are more opportunities for guys to earn income. It’s an inclusive sport.”

“I didn’t hear that,” I yell as I hit
end
.

I’m laughing like a fool as I stare at my phone. I like him. I’m truly looking forward to talking to him again. We have a chemistry that I wouldn’t have believed possible.

I shake my head.
I have a year to focus on my career, then a relationship
. Maybe I should get that tattooed on my hand to remind me why we can’t be together.

Evan walks in my office, not bothering to knock. “You look all dreamy, or something ridiculous like that. Did you get to fire someone?”

He’s just baiting me. I know that he is. “Just heard that the cafeteria is serving Bambi’s mom for lunch.”

“Yum,” he says rubbing his hand on his stomach. “I love me some venison steak.”

I can’t help myself and stick out my tongue while I motion for him to take a seat across from my desk.

“What did you find out about the Sons of Liberty?”

He drops a file folder on my desk. “Here’s the official report, but I’ll give you the highlights.”

I take the file and place it in my to-be-read pile.

“They’ve been on the air a little over two years. Through an attorney, they approached Sirius Radio with their show idea. Attorney has never met his clients and calls them by their radio names. Guy swears he has no clue who they are.”

“Do we believe him?” I ask, studying Evan as he prepares to answer the question. He seems confident in the information.

“My people do. Look. He’s not a famous attorney or anything. He’s some guy who has an office in a strip mall. He doesn’t specialize in entertainment law. He’s more of an ambulance chaser. Honestly, I think he’s so glad to collect his monthly fee that he could represent Satan and he wouldn’t care.”