Chapter Ten
The next evening, I leafed through my closet, searching for the perfect gown for the evening with the president. I knew it had to be a professional dress—something that would be appropriate in the eyes of the Secret Service. Finally, my fingers traced the lace sleeves of the black dress I’d worn to a previous gala—something that was formfitting but not low-cut. Something that left a good deal of my body to the imagination. This, I knew, was essential.
I called a taxi and walked quietly out into the darkness. The night had come earlier each day since the middle of August, and already I felt that summer had passed me by too readily. I’d been hovered over a desk for too much of it, searching for the perfect solution to all presidential problems. Searching ever for the right career path for myself, as well.
The taxi sprung from the darkness up toward the sidewalk. I stepped into the back seat.
“Hello, beautiful lady,” the man up front spoke to me in a gruff, not unpleasant voice. “Where to?”
“The White House,” I answered primly. I actually never tired of saying it. The White House had become my home. I’d been a wayward girl from Philly, but now I was so much more.
The taxi wound its way to Pennsylvania Avenue, swerving through traffic. I steadied my shaking hand on my leg, trying to hum something to myself to put my brain at ease. I tried to tell myself that this was only a business meeting—that nothing was different about this meeting than the lunches we’d had together through the course of the previous few weeks.
But something in the back of my mind ebbed at me, allowing me to understand my lingering, wholehearted attraction toward the man at the other end of the taxi route. I shivered once more.
Suddenly, we arrived. The taxi driver rushed around to my side and opened the door for me, placing his hand out. I felt like Cinderella at the ball. I thanked him, leafing through my purse for the money I owed him. He accepted it, bowing to me a bit as he skirted back into the taxi, leaving me alone on the curb.
I stepped toward the White House, finding myself face to face with Dimitri once again. I smiled at him sheepishly, realizing he would suspect something was up. “Hello, stranger,” I called to him. I tried to play it cool.
“Well, well. Don’t you look ravishing,” Dimitri said, a twinkle in his eye. He reached behind him and grabbed the door, allowing me entrance. “Don’t play too rough in there, you hear?”
“What do you mean?” I asked him seriously. “I have a campaign meeting—“
“I know. And I know how you work,” Dimitri chortled. I now understood: he was joking with completely good intentions.
“Right,” I laughed, nodding toward him.
I walked through the halls, remembering that the president had said the dinner would be in the main, formal dining room. I felt my dress fly back behind me as I walked, tiptoeing through the great, echoing place.
Finally, I reached it. The great, double, floor-to-ceiling doors were wide open for me. I sighed, my mouth open with wonder. At the very center of the room stood a long table, set with a white tablecloth. At the door stood a Secret Service agent. He reached out and took my hand, shaking it. “Hello, campaign manager,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jacob.”
“I’m Amanda,” I said, smiling at him. I was glad he’d referred to me as that—allowing me to understand that this dinner was, indeed, a business meeting. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was a business meeting.
Jacob sauntered with me toward the table, pulling the chair out and allowing me to sit gracefully, flinging my dress out before me. I nodded at him as he left, stating, “Mr. President will be with you in just a moment. He’s taking a call upstairs.”
I sat alone in the echoing dining room, staring at the empty plate before me. I felt so strange, biting at my lip. A waiter entered the room and took my wine order—red, of course. He plucked a red bottle from the cellar and poured a glass for me, allowing the music of it to emanate through the grand dining hall. “Cheers, my lady,” he said cordially, retreating back into the ethers.
Finally, I heard the familiar trouncing of Xavier’s feet. My ears perked up, and I stood as he entered. Our eyes met in an intimate way—so pensive, so full of emotion. I swallowed as he came closer. His beard was so dark, making him look jagged, almost warrior-like, even in his presidential position. I liked feeling like this president could care for me, could look after me in times of crisis.
He approached me and reached out his hand, shaking mine formally. His words were cordial. “Thank you for taking the time out of your Sunday for this meeting.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. President,” I stated, sitting down. We were so many feet apart. I couldn’t imagine that our lips would ever come together in such a world as this.
Xavier suddenly sputtered into action, then, calling the waiter. “Yes. Yvonne will carefully explain the menu we’ve orchestrated for the evening,” Xavier began.
Yvonne cleared his throat. “We’ll begin with a divine Mediterranean platter, with a bit of antipasto. Afterwards, we’ll have a brief bread course, followed by the soup. Then, we’ll have a main dish—duck—followed, of course, with dessert.” He bowed before me, making me feel nervous—like I needed to clap. Instead, I just laughed, feeling like a fool.
“That sounds wonderful,” I said, bringing my hands together.
“The president and his work associate will dine momentarily,” Yvonne stated then, skirting back toward the kitchen.
I allowed the silence to hang between us for a moment before I said anything. “Yvonne is really excellent.”
“He’s wonderful. I enjoy all the people I have on staff.” He sipped at his wine, gazing at me. There was such intimacy in the air. “How was your weekend?” he finally asked.
I bit my lip for a moment, remembering all the lost hours I’d spent daydreaming about him. “It was nice to get away from work for a little while,” I whispered.
He nodded. “I hope the polls haven’t dropped too much since you went away.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You know I’m far too careful for that.” I raised my eyebrows, knowing that I was insinuating something else—an affair that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t go on.
The food swept in then. The first course. Then the second. The president and I busied ourselves with small talk—much of which put me nearly to tears with its hilarity. I slurped the soup and nearly squirted it out, yelling out, “Stop it, Xavier! You’re going to make me choke to death!”
“I can’t help that I’m the funniest president since Clinton,” he said simply, his eyes bright.
I bit my lip, feeling the soft candles as they glittered their light across my eyes. I searched around me, noting that the Secret Service was outside the door, 20 feet away. I leaned over the table and whispered toward him. “This dinner is really perfect, you know that?”
Xavier shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “I wanted things to be special for you. I don’t get out of my apartment or the Oval Office often. And I have a feeling that you don’t get out much, either.”
I shook my head, bowing it a bit. I didn’t like that Xavier could see through me so well. It was like he knew my every thought, my every need. I placed my spoon next to my bowl—the soup bowl I’d scraped clean. “Should we do a bit of talking about work?”
Xavier gave me that crooked smile once more—that dark, penetrating stare. “Why stop now?”
The main course and the dessert were, once again, completely perfect. I felt that my soul was rejuvenated after such a hefty few days of anxiety, of continuous daydreaming. I felt like Xavier was welcoming me back into the world. And it was a beautiful, luxurious one at that.
I tapped on my stomach and gazed around the room after the meal, as Yvonne took our plates away.
“What are you thinking about?” Xavier asked me, gazing at me through the candlelight.
“That I’ve never had a more perfect day,” I whispered, hoping no one in the world would ever hear those words. They were private, for him and I. For no one else.