Chapter Six
The next morning, I rose early. A hangover glistened over my eyes. I hopped into Rachel’s shower at around 6 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 makeup with fine strokes; then I stomped into the kitchen. There, I left a note for Rachel: “Be home at 6.” 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 into him.
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 catlike, 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. “Hear 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 closemouthed 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.
I swallowed. “So that’s it, then?” I asked him. I felt my body shuddering. The fear was passing heartily through my chest.
“That’s it then. If you come to me one more time—or if you don’t do my bidding anymore—those photos will explode all over the internet, all over the news. Everywhere. That fine ass will be a celebrity.” He reached down then, and he smacked my butt, making me leap toward the wall in alarm. I brought my hands up to my face, feeling certain that I was going to cry. I felt my stomach lurch.
But then he just laughed, as he normally did. He reached toward the door and flung it open, turning out the light. “Why don’t you sit in here for a while and think about what you’ve done?” he asked me, his voice sounding so much like a kindergarten teacher’s voice. I slumped toward the ground, closing my eyes as I heard the door snap in place.
That had been my last chance. Now, I was doomed to exist in this terrifying reality. Perhaps I could move somewhere. Bermuda? Jamaica? Budapest? I could find a home and a hope for myself somewhere.
But then I’d have to kiss both my career and the love of my life goodbye.
And I wasn’t ready to do that.