Chapter Eleven
I jumped out of the Oval Office then, and found myself in a continuous daydream about Xavier—about the evening in which we would gaze at each other, alone, without prying eyes. Of course I knew I couldn’t allow it to happen. I knew it was completely insane. But this was, in so many ways, what I wanted.
I rushed down the hall. As I spun into the great hall in which so many workers were flying through phone calls, creating such havoc, I smiled to myself for just a moment. What we were creating was truly wonderful. We were prolonging a beautiful presidency and the happiness of so many Americans.
Suddenly, I felt it: the hand on my shoulder. It grabbed the fine fabric of my blue and white striped blazer and tugged my back—literally like a puppet. I felt like a ragdoll as I was dropped into the seat in front of Jason. He unwrapped his grip from me and adjusted his own sloppy shirt. “My Amanda. How are you doing today?”
I felt my mouth open with such shock. I wanted to cry out, to attack him with ravenous nails. But instead, I simply stated, “I’m fine, sir. And how are you?” like the dutiful puppet I was.
Jason seemed pleased, entertaining himself with my discomfort. I cleared my throat slightly and watched as he brought his pen tip to his mouth, over and over again, while raising his eyebrow. He looked like he was in the midst of a massive twitch. “I wondered if you’d had a chance to talk to your little friend lately?”
“You mean the President of the United States?” I asked him, scoffing a bit.
He nodded, not acknowledging my snark. I bit my lip for a moment, trying to finagle my way out of the conversation. Behind me, a young girl—an intern—dropped an entire wad of white papers and allowed them to stream like kites throughout the office. Jason clapped his hands suddenly, forcing me into a state of shock, and yelled out, “CLEAN IT UP!”
I cleared my throat. “Anyway. I did speak with him, and he’s inclined to have a meeting with you. This afternoon, if you’re lucky.” I tipped my head.
Jason smiled. He looked like an oversized baby when he smiled like that: so gape-toothed and pulsing with fat. “You’re doing a swell job, Amanda,” he stated then. I felt like he was my teacher. “Gosh, you’re doing such a swell job. I don’t know what we would do around here if it weren’t for you.”
I wanted to spit on the ground. He was treating me with such disdain in that moment. I’d been dragged through the mud because of those photos; I’d been made to do ridiculous things. Most of all, I’d been made to fear for the career I’d worked so hard for. It hung like a string now. Would he allow it to break?
Suddenly, he brought his fingers into the air, pointing downward. He waved me off with them, forcing me up from my chair and back toward my sad, crooked desk in the corner. I felt like a piece of gum at the bottom of someone’s shoe. My only purpose was to cry to old friends, sleep on couches, and then come to work and do whatever Jason wanted.
I sat at my desk and stared at my computer screen for a while, blinking evenly and feeling more like a robot than a person. I knew that at 2 in the afternoon, we’d have our press release meeting. The president was declaring another few aspects of the education reform bill. It was his baby—the very reason he’d been elected in the first place. Now, in the second term, he would enhance it and restructure it to work out the kinks. It was a great plan—a wonderful wave on which to ride out the rest of the election.
I didn’t go to lunch, even as I watched the interns, Jason, and the Secret Service agents shoving salads and burgers down their throats. I shuddered at them, feeling the aching emptiness in my stomach. Would I ever feel normal again? I was continually feeling like I was having an out-of-body experience.
Suddenly, and all too soon, it was 2 in the afternoon. Xavier appeared at the far end of the hallway and he sauntered toward us. The room grew quiet and Jason stood, nodding his head toward the president—all but saluting him. I stood as well, as he entered. I held my hand over my stomach, listening to the way it was erupting inside of me.
I kicked into gear. The press release was still my main duty. “Hello, Mr. President.” I felt every person’s young eyes on me as I walked toward him, taking his arm and guiding him through the press release proceedings that I had outlined. As we passed Jason’s desk, Xavier leaned toward him, over the desk. They shook hands, and Xavier pointed toward the press release.
“What do you think of this?” he asked Jason. The entire room remained so quiet.
Jason looked beyond Xavier, toward my face. His face was actually leering at me, making me feel like I was only three inches tall. I felt my stomach drop out beneath me.
“Honestly, Mr. President, I think the press release needs a little work,” Jason spoke then. His voice was so light, so bouncy. He was saving his friendliest self for the president, I knew. All around us, the workers were poised, ready to get to action when we approved the press release.
Xavier raised his eyebrow at this, uncertain. “You think it needs work?” He turned to the paper. He nodded. “A bit, perhaps.” He handed it back to me, not unkindly. “Just a few minor tweaks here and there should be fine,” he stated, nodding.
Jason’s smile was so large. I held angry eye contact with him, even as the president turned toward the great congregation of workers and presented himself. “Hello, my campaign workers. Today, we’re rolling out the next step in my education reform plan, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have each and every one of you on board.” He sniffed for a moment. “When the television turns on tonight in homes all over the world, you know what they’re going to learn about? They’re going to learn about the ways in which we—we here together—are going to educate the nation’s children in positive ways.”
The people let out a great cheer. My heart had stretched itself in my chest. I brought my hands together and applauded with the rest of them, glancing over for only a moment to see that Jason had stood up and directed lewd motions toward me—motions that reminded me, of course, of the photos he had stockpiled at his home office computer, I was certain. I brought my hands to my stomach, feeling waves of disgust and anger. Would I ever feel normal again?
Xavier called me to Jason’s desk then, and the three of us—like some awkward threesome—worked through the outline, scratching things out and rewording. Jason had far too much say in the final product, and my blood was boiling. But I couldn’t say anything. Everything I suggested was automatically vetoed by the harsh voice of Jason—so authoritative in the rushing, chaotic room.
I bit my lip and looked up at the president, feeling Jason’s leering eyes on me. Xavier was completely enthralled in his work, patiently making notes in his small planner. I wondered if he’d written a small note for me—for me that evening, somewhere in the book. I wondered if it was written in code.
But I couldn’t linger on this. I held my hand over my stomach and I told the men that I was suffering from a stomachache. Anxiety pangs were eating my heart, my lungs, my throat, and my stomach, anyway. I couldn’t stand there a moment longer. I rushed from the room in a sort of haze, still feeling the determination in Jason’s face.
He wanted to destroy me.