Chapter Nine
The following day, we had a campaign meeting in one of the greater rooms of the West Wing. I’d prepared for it for many, many weeks, and I knew it was important: it was the day when we outlined the next several months of the campaign, when we really needed to catch voters’ attention, when we needed to rally as much support as possible.
Naturally, I was nervous. Beyond the fact that I was falling madly in love with the president, of course, I was also embarking on my first very important position as campaign manager. And God, I didn’t want to mess up.
I set up the meeting room in the early morning, placing packets carefully at each seat, arranging pens and pencils and pads of paper throughout just in case anyone wanted to take notes. I brought my hand to my forehead and felt a small bead of sweat dribble out, alerting me of my inherent fear for the following few hours.
Jason still hadn’t arrived for the day. I was dreading his involvement, of course. We were meant to be working together, to be aligned as a team. But instead, he’d been a sort of maniacal leader, a traitor to my very sense of self.
Suddenly, I heard the door open behind me. I froze, my elbows poised high up in the air. I swallowed, waiting. Waiting. Was this Jason? I heard the footsteps behind me, but still no words.
Suddenly, a hand went over my eyes. I lurched forward, frightened. My stomach clenched, and I thought for a moment that if I wanted to scream, my body wouldn’t let me.
“Ah—if you—if you want to take something—“ I sputtered, barely able to find the words.
But then I heard laughter. It was joyful, a bit incredulous. I felt a kiss on the back of my neck, near my ear. I recognized that cologne.
“Xavier,” I breathed. I spun around, removing his hand from my eyes. “You know you scared the shit out of me.”
“And for that I will be eternally sorry,” he said. His face yielded this incredibly bright smile. He leaned forward and caught my lips in his, wrapping his arms around me. The door, I noted, was safely closed; no one was watching. That I knew of.
“You’re here early,” I whispered to him as our kiss broke.
He shrugged. “I knew you’d be here. You little workaholic.” He winked at me, and I brimmed with pleasure. I wanted him to think that I was working hard for him; I wanted him to know that this was my top priority. Because, God: it was. My job was my life.
“You can have a seat in the front row,” I said, gesturing.
He stepped toward it and sat down, leaning toward me with such intensity. “So. Teacher. I have a question,” he said playfully. He lurched his hand in the air and waved it around a bit, trying to get my attention.
I scanned the room, a grin on my face. “Hold on, Billy. I think someone else might have a question—“
He started laughing. But all at once, the play was over. The door swept open, bringing a few of the campaign employees into the room. I nodded toward them and gestured toward the side wall. “We have bagels and coffee, if you like,” I stated to them. They looked at me fearfully. They were in their mid-20s. I was sure I looked like an old, corrupted shrew to them—only 29, and already at the top of the game. “Have a seat wherever you like!” I called.
They were no longer listening to me. I sighed, peering at the president. My eyes gleamed. He snickered at me and leaned forward. “Not the most popular girl in school anymore, are you?”
I shrugged my shoulder and leaned down. “I was always in chess club, anyway.” I winked toward him.
All at once, the remainder of the crew came in through the door, chattering and grabbing bagels as they flew into their seats. I stood at the helm of the room, my hands grasped together. I had my PowerPoint slides ready; I had my speech prepared. But one thing bothered me, in the back of my mind: where was Jason?
Suddenly, the door burst open one final time. Jason flounced in, still wearing his sunglasses. His hair was in an uproar and he was carrying a big, steaming cup of coffee. He dropped his suitcase by the door, and he strode up to stand next to me at the front of the room. His presence was so massive, so obtrusive, that many of the people in the room had turned toward him rather than me. I frowned.
Jason bowed his head toward Xavier then. “Mr. President.”
“Jason. How are you doing?” Xavier asked him, smiling. They pounded fists. I thought I was going to throw up. A part of me wanted to blurt out the entire story right then, right there—in front of everyone. But where would that get me? I’d be fired instantly; the president would be out of office. Our lives would be over.
“All right, everyone. Are we ready to get started?” I asked. My voice grew loud and it emanated over people’s heads.
A few people nodded, waiting.
“All right.” I clicked my clicker, bringing the first PowerPoint slide over the wall. “So. We’re in the beginning stages of the campaign.”
“That’s right; we are,” Jason spit.
I turned and glared at him, uncertain about his outburst. He was chewing gum and raising his eyebrows toward me in such a provocative, strange manner. I paused for a moment, my mind racing. Was he going to fuck this up for me?
“Right. Anyway. Here’s a map of the states we’re going to hit really hard this time around. As you know, we already won the election utilizing younger voters. However, we’re struggling, now, because the older voters are dropping in droves.”
A few people from the audience nodded their heads toward me, their eyes large. Jason, beside me, scoffed at these words. “They’re dying off, you mean,” he said. His joke rang false through my ears, but many of the campaign workers started laughing joyously, holding their gut.
I cleared my throat, searching around the room. Finally, my eyes latched on Xavier. He nodded toward me, frowning. He didn’t appreciate the joke either, I knew. But he didn’t understand the undercurrent of why Jason was trying to get me to mess up. There was so much at stake here.
“Anyway. As you know, Michigan currently has a very rocky economy because of Detroit—“
Jason raised his hand then. He stood right beside me and raised it, ready to silence me. “Please don’t be offensive about Detroit,” he said, his eyes glowing, so bright. “Some of us are from Detroit. Isn’t that right?”
One small girl in the very back of the room raised her hand. Everyone glared at her.
But Jason brought his hands together. “That is a girl who worked hard to get here,” he said, turning his eyes toward me. His eyes were evil, burning. “That is a girl who kicked and screamed her way in here. She didn’t sleep her way to the top or anything.”
The eyes were on me. They were accusatory; they were filled with hatred. I dropped my pen on the ground. I wanted to drop down and get it, but I didn’t want to look so flustered in front of my employees. I cleared my throat. “Anyway.” I continued on with my speech, feeling Jason’s eyes on me the entire time. His eyes were so wicked, so angry. Every time I felt them upon me, I heard myself mix and match different words; I felt myself stutter. Soon, I felt my face redden beneath my fingertips. I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown. I stopped for five seconds and stared at the wall, my fingers over my mouth. It was like I had no idea what came next.
I turned toward Jason. “I’m sorry. I will have to excuse myself for a moment.” My voice was hushed, unsteady. I didn’t bother to look toward Xavier, to make any sort of eye contact. Instead, I just rushed from the room and into the hallway. I closed my eyes and let out a small, helpless scream that I was certain no one would ever hear.
I rushed into the bathroom then. My breaths were coming in strange, scattered stages. I inhaled with my nose, exhaled with my mouth, trying to right my brain once more. I staggered toward the sink and thought I was going to get sick. I gazed at myself in the mirror, looking at an unsteady, insane person. The girl in the mirror was not Amanda Martin. She was a strained and haggard woman—someone who needed help.
I brought water over my face and padded my cheeks with my fingertips. I coughed into my fist and felt my body rattle. Who would help me? Who could I turn to? I didn’t know. I couldn’t know.
I turned back and leaned heavily on the porcelain, my mind racing. Xavier couldn’t know about this. He had so much on his plate; he couldn’t sit around, worrying about this man. And what would he do, anyway? Wouldn’t Jason discover what was going on and immediately release the photos to the public?
My mind was chaotic, strained. I turned toward the wall and pounded on it once, twice, three times. The tears were running heavy down my cheeks.
And then, suddenly, I realized that I did have a friend. Just one friend in the world. I had a bed and a home and a friend.
I spun out toward the door, knowing that I needed to go home, I needed to go see Rachel. She had been a part of this world, before she’d gotten smart enough to get the hell out. And because of her experience, she’d know exactly what to tell me. She’d point me in a reasonable direction.
I just wasn’t sure if I was actually ready to hear what this “reasonable” direction would be. Perhaps it would involve never seeing Xavier again. And just the feel of Xavier’s lips on my neck, on my cheek that morning had made me weak at the knees, ready to give him my all.
I shook my head, trying to clear the cob0webs from my head. I was on the curb, trying to hail a taxi. I was going home. And I could be my own woman—I could be someone beyond Xavier’s other woman.
If I had to give up this beautiful, romantic endeavor, so be it.
Right?