Chapter Seven
The taxi swept us back to Rachel’s apartment. We cackled all the way up the steps, feeling no strained anger toward each other for the previous conversation. She was watching out for me, and I knew it. The anger for Xavier was dissipating, as well. I felt calm, cool. Ready to take on the following few weeks.
I collapsed into my bed that evening, still wearing that slim, black dress. I laid on my side, feeling the way my body dipped into the mattress. The moon gleamed outside my window, and I brought my hand in front of it, noting the way the light made my fingers just shadowed outlines before my face. I wondered, in that moment, what Xavier was doing, whether or not Camille was with him. I wondered if he was thinking about me, as well.
I’d never stayed up at night, thinking about boys. I’d never kept my eyes open, staring ever out into the darkness, wondering about the man of my dreams. I’d never before assumed there was any one person out there for me. In many ways, I wished that my one person could have been anyone else.
With the anger dissipating from my body—leaving me with a shell of off-white sadness and interior loneliness, rather than madness—I now understood Rachel’s point wholly. I knew that Xavier’s reaction was warranted. But I still didn’t think that my reaction to his reaction WASN’T warranted.
Thus, I wasn’t ready to go back to work yet. I was happy to be away from the rushing office, so happy to be away from the prying eyes of the other campaign workers. I was ready to remain calm and cool before approaching Xavier, before apologizing to him for all that had happened.
I had spent the previous few weeks so resigned, so unhappy, so confused about everything. Xavier and I—for all intents and purposes—had broken up. He’d kicked me from his bed like a sad, tired dog, and I’d grown angry, filled with emotion. This emotion had blocked me from truly understanding what my next steps should be. I’d disappeared from work so often; I’d halted my work completely. And now, I was slowly but surely finding my way back toward an appropriate path.
I brought myself from the bed and removed my black dress, finally. I brought my hands over my breasts, closing my eyes and thinking only of Xavier. I wanted his arms around me once more. I wanted him to rip my tired clothes from my back, from my breasts. I wanted his hands on my pussy. I wanted to forget all the terror that had come between us.
I tapped toward the window and peered out, still naked. Washington D.C.’s Friday night was still in full swing, all these hours after midnight. I knew that every single one of the people, rushing to and fro in one of the many taxis that pulsed over the great expanse of the city, had worries akin with mine. We were all working toward greater understanding. We were all reaching toward final decisions.
As I lay back down, still naked in the bed, I knew that I was growing closer and closer to the decision that worked best for me. And that, beyond anything else, was beautiful.
The following morning was Saturday. I lifted my body from the bed, feeling the hangover rally against my brain. I sighed, feeling the aches and pains emanate throughout my torso. “Not so young anymore,” I murmured to myself. I brought a borrowed robe around my slim frame and wafted toward the kitchen, where I found Rachel sitting at the table, her own head in her hands.
“What happened last night,” she whispered to the table.
I felt the laughter bubbling in my stomach. But soon, those bubbles turned sour. I felt sick and collapsed in the chair beside her. I sighed into the words. “God. I don’t even know! I woke up naked!”
Rachel brought her hands over her mouth. “I would laugh,” she murmured. “But I don’t think it would result in anything good.”
“We need hangover food,” I muttered. I reached toward my cell phone, thinking of the greasy spoon down the road. “Do you think they deliver grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“Ugh,” Rachel said, flopping to her side on the table. Her legs cranked out from her on the wooden floor. She looked minutes from death.
Moments later, we’d both sprawled out on the floor before her living room television, ready to soak in whatever terrible Saturday mid-morning programs were running, full-color and full-scale. We had very low expectations for our day.
As a talk show host blared on about celebrity gossip, Rachel suddenly rolled toward me. She closed her eyes, working through her headache. “I’m sorry if anything I said last night touched any sort of nerve,” she murmured. “Oi.”
I shook my head into the carpet, closing my eyes as well. “Everything you said was honestly warranted. It made me realize another perspective of my situation. That, beyond anything else, is what I needed the most.”
“Do you think you’ll talk to him again? Do you think you’ll tell him? Or is it all lost?” Rachel asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders half-heartedly. “I honestly don’t know what to expect,” I murmured. “I think that—perhaps—the ship has sailed. But if I do decide to talk to him, I know that you have my back.” I reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly for just a moment. “Thank you for everything.”
Suddenly, there was a great rapping on the door. My eyes widened, and Rachel’s snapped opened quickly. No one had ever come over, not in the many weeks since I’d moved in. “Did you order food?” she whispered to me.
I shook my head, my heart thudding quickly in my chest. “No. Is someone coming over? Could it be the mail?”
But Rachel was lolling up quickly, bringing her hands to her head once more. “Goddammit,” she murmured. “Coming!” she called, as a hand rapped once more. “Better not be that neighbor again, complaining about the loud television. I’ll kill him!” She winked at me.
Finally, she reached the door. I sat up, leaning against the chair while on the floor. I brought the blanket up around my neck, covering myself into near invisibility.
Rachel caught the door open and didn’t say anything. I peered around the chair, trying to make out who it was. But Rachel’s head was blocking the figure.
There was a great, hanging pause. My eyes searched wildly around the room as I panicked about what was going on—who had come over? Did anyone know I was here? Why wasn’t Rachel saying anything? Rachel—who always had something to say?
Finally, the silence broke. “Hello,” the voice said on the other side of the door.
My heart dropped into the acidic sea of my stomach. I crunched myself into a ball beneath the blanket. The voice was so familiar, spoken in a near-bedroom voice. Xavier.
Xavier Callaway, the President of the United States.
Rachel tipped her head to the right. “Hello, Mr. President,” she crooned, a bit of sauce on her lips. I was glad that she was standing up for me, even if she thought this man was right. “Do you remember me?” she asked.
Xavier paused. “I believe I do, yes. On the first campaign trail. You were good friends with Amanda. I believe she’s our mutual friend, these days.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Rachel said, her voice haughty. Suddenly, she spun her head to the side, placing her hand over her mouth. I brought my chin to my chest, worried Rachel was about to hack all over the president’s shoes. This hangover was nothing to mess around with. “But what can I do for you?” she finally asked him, finding the words after her brief scrape with embarrassment.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her then. “You don’t look so good. A little green, maybe.”
“A friend and I had a good deal of wine last night,” Rachel said offhandedly. “She needed a pick-me-up after a hard few weeks.” Her voice, again, was a challenge.
I peeked further around the chair to see him.
Xavier paused for a moment, still standing in the doorway. He turned to his right and spoke to who I assumed was a Secret Service agent. “Could you wait out here?” he asked this before he spun back toward Rachel. “Rachel. I’m sorry if this is too forward. But could I come in, please?”
Rachel took a step back, uncertain of what to do. My heart was beating wildly in my chest. I wanted to grab Rachel, to tell her I wasn’t ready yet! My mind had been a whir of emotion all throughout the morning. I didn’t see how I was ever, ever going to be able to pick myself up from this hangover and deal with the president. God, this was a disaster.
But Rachel didn’t have a choice, really. She bowed her head and told him, “Certainly. But only for a moment.” She closed the door behind him. I jumped back behind the chair. I could hear his fine shoes tapping on the wooden floor. I told myself not to feel sick, but my stomach kept flipping over. I brought my fingers over it, shaking my head. I knew I was concealed from view by the chair in front of the living room floor.
“Quite a place you have here,” Xavier said politely.
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “It’s okay. All I can afford right now.”
“You left the political scene, I know,” Xavier offered.
Rachel seemed embarrassed. She searched for the right words. “I’m not altogether too upset about it,” she stated. “The stress was far too much for me.”
“I might join you very shortly, should I lose my campaign manager forever,” Xavier said. “Do you have coffee, by chance?”
Rachel paused before answering. The mere mention of me seemed to echo throughout the room. I heard her parse through her coffee filters and plopped one into the maker before filling it with water. I heard her hit the button and let the crackling begin.
“Thank you,” Xavier said again, bringing his voice into the mighty absence of noise.
Rachel grunted. “So. What is that you have there?” I peered around the chair once more, noting that Xavier had seated himself away from the living room, rather than toward it. In his left hand, I saw beautiful, brightly-colored tulips. My heart flip-flopped.
“Oh, it’s nothing. They’re just—they’re for someone, if I found her here.” He smacked the back of his neck with his free hand, looking a bit sheepish. “Doesn’t seem that I’m that lucky, though.”
Rachel didn’t say anything. She eyed me, and I skirted back, suddenly realizing that I’d been hidden for far too long to make anything happen. I would remain there, hidden, or be deemed a creepy spy for the rest of my days. My heartbeat quickened, and I began to shiver on the floor. There was no escape.
I couldn’t stop myself though, and looked around the chair again.
Rachel reached toward the cabinet filled with coffee cups and retrieved two. “You know. I think I know what’s going on,” she offered. “And if it’s any consolation, I don’t think it’s over.”
I frowned at these words, feeling anxious that she should deliver these words, not me. But she knew how strained and angry I was, all the time. She knew that sometimes, I didn’t have the words—that usually I just switched to a quick vessel of madness, rather than speaking out my emotions appropriately.
Xavier placed the flowers on the table and kneaded at the back of his neck. In so many ways, I longed to kiss that place between the two bones—that hollow. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and feel his hands over my arms, around my butt. I wanted him so near me.
She passed the coffee to him, and I could hear him lightly slurp it. I knew it would get in his beard, that he would have to wipe it away. This was so much a part of him, it nearly hurt me to think about it. “So. You’ve spoken with her? She hasn’t been at her house in weeks, I’m told. Actually, my agents have mentioned that she often stays here.” These words were a bit obtuse, a bit overreaching.
Rachel lurched her head back, a frown drowning over her normally chipper eyes. She shook her head. “You’ve been spying on me?”
Xavier shook his head slowly, knowing he’d fucked up. He placed his coffee cup on the table and sighed. “It’s just. I have agents watch out for her, sometimes. Just so I know she’s safe.”
Rachel sighed. “And they directed you here, this morning?”
Xavier brought the tulips into the air once more. “The reason I knew to bring this gesture,” he murmured. He spun the bouquet, gazing at the pinks, the purples, the yellows, the oranges. “A beautiful flower. Perhaps one of the strangest, as well. Like her, in many ways. So confident, so self-assured. And yet so starkly beautiful and unique—something you can’t keep your mind off of. You know?”
Graciously, Rachel didn’t say anything. She bit her lip across from him at the table and then took a long drag from the coffee cup before her.
“Anyway. She’s not here. So my search must commence.”
“What is it you’re planning to say to her? Just that—she’s unique? That you can’t stop thinking about her?” Rachel began. Her voice was soft.
“I wouldn’t pretend to know precisely what I would say, faced with the likes of her,” Xavier admitted. He messed with the flowers once more. “It seems I’ve never met anyone who made me both instantly so happy and so very, very angry. She fills me with emotion, you know?”
Rachel nodded. “It’s lucky, really. To find that sense of emotion. It’s like blood flow. It’s like oxygen.”
Xavier didn’t say anything. He sipped at his coffee and sat there with my best friend in peace, gazing at the walls around her apartment. Still, I sat strong, silent in the living room. Still, I waited for everything to fall apart.
Finally, after several more minutes, he stood up. He stretched his taut legs, and he brought the flowers back into his arms.
“You’re leaving?” Rachel asked, her voice a bit chipper. I was sure she felt awkward, knowing all she did about our situation.
Xavier sighed. “I am. I couldn’t take up any more of your time. I must get back to the White House, to figure out the wreckage that is my current campaign. Without Amanda, I’m lost. Jason has no idea what he’s doing. It’s a power struggle for him, pure and simple. He’s not trying to better the society of this country. He’s just trying to better himself.”
Rachel walked toward the door in front of Xavier. She turned the handle and allowed Xavier to exit, even as he chortled.
He paused for a moment, biting at his lip. I was sure that Rachel was about to break. “Please tell her I stopped by,” he said. With a flourish, he was gone from the doorway, bursting down the hallway. Rachel closed the door behind him and stood that way, her hand on the door knob, for what seemed like forever.
As soon as she heard him scurry down the first few steps, she flung herself to my side of the room. Her eyes were so large in her head. “Can you believe that just happened?” she whispered, her voice harsh.
I shook my head, bringing my hand over my cheeks. “I should have done something,” I whispered. “I should have told him I was here; I should have allowed him to understand that I still care about him. Life is too short, Rachel.” My voice staggered. I jolted up from my position on the ground and tore the sweatshirt from my body. I reached toward a dress that still hung, haphazardly, off the chair beside me. I wrapped it over me, and then, without thinking, opened the balcony door.
“No!” Rachel called, her voice hissing. “You haven’t prepared yourself! You don’t know what you want to say!”
But before I could think about it, I was standing on the balcony in just a dress. Beneath me, standing at his stretch black limousine, was the President of the United States. An agent had opened the back door for him, and Xavier was halfway into it, still holding the flowers in his left hand.
He brought his other hand into a wave then. His face lit up brilliantly. He called toward me. “I thought you weren’t home!”
I thought wildly. “Just got back!” I lied.
He nodded, his grin stretching over his face. He held the flowers up toward me, pointing them at me.
“What are those?” I asked him, playing dumb.
“You know what they are!” he called back, shaking his head. “You know!”
“How can I talk to you? I’m all the way up here!”
“Come down,” Xavier said, gesturing. “Come on! It won’t be long. And hey. It’s private. This isn’t business. Just to be clear.” His smile grew larger.
“As long as you’re sure,” I said back, spinning around and winding toward the back of the apartment. Rachel stood in the kitchen, a cup of coffee still in her hands.
“Remember what I told you,” she whispered, bringing her arms around me as I pushed toward the door. I halted, allowing her to hug me and feeling the warmth of her friendship.
“I will, mom,” I teased, bursting through the door. “I’ll be right back!”
I wound down the steps, toward the front of the apartment building. There, standing by the limo, stood the President of the United States. He held flowers in his hands, and his eyes were geared only toward me. I calmed my speeding heart and placed a cool, dispassionate smile on my face. “Hey,” I called to him, taking long strides.
“Hey,” he answered back. He handed the flowers toward me, nearly touching my hands during the transition. In this moment, my mind had begun to spin once more. I knew that I wanted to see him, that I wanted to be with him. But wasn’t this far too complicated?
“I didn’t think you were home,” he gestured.
I shook my head. “I wasn’t. I took the elevator. I went to the grocery store.” The lines were coming swiftly, coolly from my mouth. He had no questions, no qualms.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said, his eyes unsure. A few feet behind him, the Secret Service agents looked on, beyond us. “I wanted to—I wanted to tell you I was sorry once more. I’ve been a mess, a completely terrible friend. I want to make things right between us. And I’m willing to do whatever I can.”
I blinked up at him, unsure of what to say. Of course, he was offering me his world. He was offering a time in which we could love each other, be with each other. But did I want that life?
My voice was hesitant as I brought the words forth. “I suppose we could talk it out,” I stated then. “I’d love to be friends.”
His eyes lost a small edge, a small gleam. “Friends. Yes. Are you free at all this week? I know you said you were taking a leave from the office, but—“
I brought my hand up and waved it to the side. I paused before proceeding, knowing in my heart that this was the right move. “Xavier. I don’t want to quit. This has been my life dream, from the beginning. I’d love to meet you for lunch. Does Monday work well for you?”
Xavier nodded subtly, looking at me with such earnestness.
“You haven’t told anyone I’ve quit, have you?” I asked him, worried suddenly. My heart leaped into my throat.
He shook his head, nearly laughing. “I didn’t want to face that quite yet,” he murmured. “Too much has been on my mind lately.”
“Well,” I sniffed. “We can work that out on Monday. At least some of it. I don’t know about the Chinese government or what you have going on in Russia. But I’m willing to learn; I’m willing to be there for you.” My voice was filled with tenderness.
He nodded. “I know. And I want to be here for you, as well. Which is why I want to talk to you about dealing with our little Jason problem on Monday, as well.”
I closed my eyes, remembering, in a great blast of regret, that going into work meant that I would have to see Jason once more. I could see his stupid grin, his fat, smirking cheeks. I shook for a moment, remembering the threats he’d thrown at me. But I had to be strong.
One of the Secret Service agents approached us then, and leaned toward Xavier. He murmured something about being outside, out in the open like this. Xavier brought his hand up, nodding. His eyes darted toward me once more. “I think that’s my cue.”
“I understand. You’re called,” I said, my voice chipper. My heart wanted him to stay by my side. My heart wanted me to demand of him how the hell we were going to stay together, with so much up against us.
“I’ll see you Monday?” he asked. He shot toward the limo, his eyes toward me.
I nodded, bringing the tulips up toward my face. “Monday!” I called to him.
I watched as the limo sped out of the apartment parking lot, out toward the freeway. I wondered what Xavier thought about in that moment, as he leaned his head back onto the limo headrest. I dreamed of a future in which we could be together, in which we could each live with equal political power. I dreamed of a future in which I could feel safe in loving him, in which I could hold his hand and speak with him in the open about anything and everything.
I turned and fled up the steps once more, anxious for the coming meeting with Xavier, and incredibly anxious to get back to work and clamber back into my career woman status. After all: I had been away for a mere few days, and yet: I already had the itch to keep moving, keep driving. As my mother once said, I could never stop the success train. When I felt boredom and stillness shroud around me, I was bound to take action.