Georgie
After Jameson left the embassy, Max pulled me into a quiet corner.
“What was that all about?” he asked, his gray eyes accusing me of something unknown.
“It was just a misunderstanding. I forgot to tell him about this meeting, that’s all,” I explained.
“Do you need to tell the president where you’re at all the time?”
“Yes, I do. There’s a security risk, but he’s also my fiancé.” I felt like both men were cornering me.
“Georgie, if you want to be involved with this effort to transform education in America, then I need you with me one-hundred percent. I need you to be completely focused.” I looked down to see that he had a firm grip on my bicep. I hadn’t noticed him take hold of me, but now I struggled to free myself. He relented easily enough, but only because I suspect he didn’t want to cause another disruption to our meeting.
“I am here, Max, working hard to make these reforms happen. But I’m also the first lady, and you need to respect the limitations that will put on my involvement.”
If he was going to push my buttons, then I was more than willing to push back. When were people going to finally understand that I didn’t appreciate being manipulated? More importantly, when were Jameson and Max going to realize this?
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a nod.
We returned to our meeting, which was extremely productive. I was surprised the ambassador was able to meet us on such short notice, and even more surprised that the director of the Finnish National Agency for Education was also in attendance. I learned so much from the ambassador and the director general and was inspired. I started taking notes and jotting down ideas to discuss with both Jameson and Max, and soon, I was lost in my own thoughts. It seemed like a happy accident, but it also seemed carefully orchestrated.
“Georgie,” Max whispered, tugging on my sleeve.
I looked up, startled to see that everyone was starting at me. I smiled sheepishly and felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I was so inspired that I just became lost in thought for a moment.”
“That’s wonderful to hear, Ms. Washington,” Ambassador Jokinen said with a pleasant smile. “We were just talking about a trip to Finland. You and Secretary Edison really need to come and visit our schools.”
“Secretary Edison has already been to Finland once. He told me all about it, and I would absolutely love to visit. I’ll talk to President Martin about it. I’m sure he’d like to visit as well.”
“Absolutely! We look forward to it. Please let us know when so we can make arrangements.”
I looked over at Max, who was scowling. I frowned and turned my attention back to the ambassador and the director. We talked for a little while longer, and I made note of some of the schools they said were of particular importance to visit.
“I hope you realize this trip needs to happen, with or without the president’s approval,” Max informed me after our dinner ended, and we were seated in the back of the limousine.
“I’ll talk to Jameson about it,” I replied.
“I need you to do more than talk, Georgie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flicked down to my legs.
“It means whatever it has to mean.”
Max left the car moments later when we arrived at his home, and I was alone with my thoughts. Jameson told me before the vetting process even began that Max was an asshole and bullied his way to getting what he wanted. And of course, his personal life wasn’t sparkling clean either. He was embroiled in a very contentious divorce, and when he mentioned his soon-to-be ex-wife, he didn’t speak highly of her. Was Max starting to show his true colors now that he wasn’t getting his way? And what exactly did he want from me? He was already the Secretary of Education. My thoughts stayed with me for the rest of the car ride, distracting me, making me squirm.
When I returned to the private residence, I was still feeling off. But one glimpse of Jameson asleep in a wingback chair, his long legs propped up on a matching ottoman, made all the uneasiness disappear. A tumbler with only a swallow or two of his favorite scotch sat on a table next to him, the large-screen television mounted to the wall silently projected the news, and his laptop sat open next to his feet. I squinted to see which news site and rolled my eyes when I saw some of the headlines. Conservative punditry at its finest. My father had a saying about opinions and assholes, and his voice was suddenly so clear in my mind.
“Georgie, opinions are like assholes. Everybody’s got one, and they all stink,” he would tell me when I came home upset over things people said about him.
That moment of memory made me chuckle. Some of the things people said about me and Jameson were real stinkers.
The world was quiet, which meant Jameson and I were in its scrutinizing vision. The network was currently re-airing a debate two pundits had engaged in earlier. However, since they both agreed, I wouldn’t call it a debate. Their topic? When Jameson and I were getting married and whether we were bringing shame to the country by living together as an unmarried couple.
Grabbing the remote from the table next to Jameson, I unmuted it and listened quietly to their commentary.
“It’s absolutely disgusting for the president to be co-habitating in the White House with a woman to whom he is not married! What kind of message is he sending to the country?” one pundit remarked, assailing us both.
“I agree wholeheartedly. The president is this country’s moral compass. What was America thinking when they elected him?” The other commentator, a woman with overly plumped lips, agreed. She shook her bleach-blond locks and batted her eyelashes in mock-confusion.
“And here she is again with Secretary Edison. Tonight, they were spotted outside the Finnish Embassy.” A photograph of Max and I walking into the embassy flashed onto the screen, and it just so happened that his hand was pressed to the small of my back. Cringe.
“She really is living up to the name ‘Prostitute of Pennsylvania Avenue.’” That was a new one. I had to give them credit for nice alliteration, but they were grasping at nothing, making up sensational shit to attract new acolytes to their cult of criticism. All it did was infuriate the far-right even more, which is exactly what they wanted.
That’s enough of that. I stabbed the power button with my finger and let out an exasperated sigh. Who were these people? What right did they have to judge me and my relationship? Who gave them that kind of authority? This was the 21st century; we weren’t the first people to live together before getting married, and we wouldn’t be the last. The only difference between us and “normal” couples were our titles.
The “news” website that Jameson had open in his browser shared the same opinion as the people on television. They freely used terms like “White House whore” carelessly as if the person they were referring to didn’t have feelings. Those words made me shudder, and I couldn’t shake them, no matter how hard I tried. It didn’t matter how many hospitals or classrooms I visited over the past few months, or the number of babies I held, or the dozens of people who I’d already helped; I was still a whore.
Jameson stirred to life in the armchair, stretching out his arms so wide, he could almost touch me. For a moment, I admired his handsomeness. It was one of my favorite things to do, just stare at him. Black trousers, light blue button-down, patent-leather Oxfords that hadn’t lost their shine, and the battered gold Rolex that never left his wrist. And he was all mine.
“I thought you said not to read that kind of shit,” I playfully scolded him.
From the corner of the chair, Jameson peeked his head around to look at me. He shot me a delicious crooked smile that made my heart race before leaning forward to close the screen on his laptop. He stood and stretched out the rest of his body, shaking loose the stiffness from his long, lean limbs.
“It’s been a slow day in the world,” Jameson replied, his voice rumbling across the room.
He turned, and in a few easy strides, he reached me. Running his large, warm hands up and down my arms, he pulled me toward him. He brushed his lips lightly over mine and then studied me for a brief second.
“Are you mad at me?” Jameson asked cautiously. He blue eyes constantly searched my expression for any sign of reassurance.
“Mad because you came to beg my forgiveness? Absolutely not. Apology accepted. Mad that you pulled your caveman bullshit in front of some really important people again? Maybe a little.”
“I did come to beg your forgiveness. I don’t want to fight with you, Georgie. I hate when we’re at odds. And I promise, I wasn’t trying to hurt you during our interview with Judy Mendoza. I had no idea that the wedding was so important to you.”
“It is important to me, Jameson. I want to be your wife.” I also wanted to add that maybe conservative media personalities would finally stop finding new and creative ways to call me a “slut” if we were married, but I kept my mouth shut.
“I want that, too. I know you don’t think that, but I do want to get married. Eventually.”
“Eventually, Jameson? Really?” My voice echoed my exasperation. Maybe it was time to stop dreaming about a wedding if it wasn’t going to happen for seven more years.
“We’ll discuss it. I promise.”
“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking for right now is a discussion.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved. Then his face transformed and his mouth widened into a devious grin. “Now let’s go to bed.”
“There’s, uh, something else we need to discuss first.” Sweeping past him, I kept my head down and headed straight for a plush sectional. I positioned myself in one corner and finally worked up the courage to look up at Jameson.
“Ambassador Jokinen wants us to travel to Finland and visit some schools. She thinks we need to experience their education system firsthand. Max agrees that we need to go. He’s already been a few times, but I haven’t, so the trip is more for my benefit. And we’d also visit other Scandinavian countries too.” Nervously, I was beginning to babble until I dared to meet Jameson’s expression, and then I became mute.
“No.” There wasn’t a moment of hesitation on his part, and I knew that word would come out of his mouth. This was going to be a difficult battle to win.
I sat up a little straighter in my perch and held his gaze as confidently as I could. “I need to go, Jameson. I feel totally out of my league when I’m with Max, reviewing reforms and budgets.”
“Then maybe you need a new pet project.”
“This isn’t some pet project for me! Education is my life, my passion. I told you this is what I wanted to do as first lady. If you had a problem with this, then you shouldn’t have hired me!”
Boom. Powder keg ignited. Jameson charged toward me, his nostrils flaring, and his breath heavy. “Don’t you ever fucking say that again!” he roared.
Jameson towered over me, his anger radiating off him in waves. I cowered slightly, shrinking back against the cushions of the couch. “I didn’t hire you. I fell in love with you. And now that you’re first lady, it’s like—”
“Like what?” My eyes narrowed slightly in his direction as I leaned forward.
“Like everything we fought for during the campaign doesn’t even matter anymore.”
“You promised me, Jameson. You said that I could start pursuing my passions, that they would no longer be a sacrifice.”
“I just don’t feel like a team anymore, Georgie. You’re so focused on all this education bullshit with Max. What about us, Georgie?” Jameson backed away but kept his eyes firmly on me.
“What about us, Jameson? You can’t even commit to marrying me. How important is our relationship to you?”
“I said we’d discuss a wedding soon. And I’m the president! I’m running a goddamn country.”
“Exactly! I can’t carry a partnership by myself, Jameson. Do you expect me just to follow you around wherever you go?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what do you want from me, Jameson?”
He ran his hands through his hair, tightly gripping the coal black strands. “I can’t fucking stand seeing you with him every goddamn day, Georgie! That should be me next to you. And it’s tearing out my heart knowing that I am not a part of that, but he is!”
“Who?”
“Maxwell Edison!” The howl of desperation that came from his lips startled me. His eyes locked on me, two wild blue orbs filled with the pain of defeat. Max made him feel jealous, an emotion that left him weak.
“Why do you have to be so involved with him?” he pleaded with me.
“He’s the Secretary of Education, Jameson.”
“Maybe that’s the problem then.”
“What are you saying? Are you going to fire Max because you’re jealous?”
“You’re damn right I’m jealous, Georgie! I’m fucking insane with jealousy. I walked into your office today, and I was blown away by the work you’re doing. But all I could think about was how he got to share all that with you.”
Jameson walked deliberately toward me and fell to his knees in front of the couch. He reached for my hands, which were balled into tight fists. The pained expression on his face had me ready and willing to surrender to him, ready to give up everything just to ease the hurt he felt.
“I want every single part of you, Georgie. And it’s killing me, knowing he’s getting a part of you I don’t possess.”
“Yet.”
Jameson’s expression instantly turned from hurt to confusion. I sat forward and slipped my hands from his tight grip and placed my palms on either side of his face.
“That part doesn’t belong to you yet, but it will.”
“That’s not good enough for me. I don’t want to share any part of you.”
“Then talk to me, right now, instead of being angry. Listen to those ideas you saw in my office.”
“But what if I don’t agree with them?”
“You don’t?” I was surprised by his question. I leaned away from him, falling against the back of the couch, stunned. Jameson scrambled up next to me and regained his hold on my hand. Mindlessly, he stroked the back of it with his thumb.
“There are some…problems with your proposed sources of funding. And a few other issues that need to be worked out.”
“Then help me figure out better solutions.”
For the rest of the night, we simply talked. He helped me understand some of the funding issues while I took diligent notes on all his suggestions. This was the partnership he desperately craved, and it was how Jameson and I thrived. But if he refused to trust my judgment and always had a knee-jerk reaction to every encounter with Max, then our partnership wouldn’t last.
“Does this mean I can go to Finland?” I dared to ask as we climbed into bed for a few hours of rest.
“I’ll sleep on it,” Jameson responded.