She was so beautiful, had everything in the world going for her. Jesus,
what was wrong with him anyway?
THE Limo MOVED EASILY THROUGH THE DREGS OF POST-RUSHhour traffic. Past
seven o’clock on a weeknight, downtown D.C. was pretty much deserted.
Jack looked over at his fiance. Her light but very expensive coat
didn’t conceal the plunging neckline. The perfectly chiseled features
were covered by flawless skin that occasionally flashed a perfect smile.
Her thick auburn hair was piled high on top of her head; she usually
wore it down. She looked like one of those one-name supermodels.
He moved closer to her. She smiled at him, checked her makeup, which was
immaculate, and patted his hand.
He stroked her leg, slid her dress up; she pushed him away.
“Later, maybe,” she whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear.
Jack smiled and mouthed that later he might have a headache. She laughed
and then he remembered there would be no “later” tonight.
He slumped back in the thickly padded seat and stared out the window. He
had never been to the White House; Jennifer had, twice before. She
didn’t look nervous; he was. He tugged at his bow tie, and smoothed his
hair as they turned onto Executive Drive.
The White House guards checked them methodically; Jennifer as usual got
second and third looks from all of the men and women present. When she
bent down to adjust her high heel, she almost spilled out of her
five-thousand-dollar dress and made several White House staffers far
happier men for it. Jack got the usual envious looks from the guys. Then
they moved into the building and presented their engraved invitations to
the Marine sergeant who escorted them through the lower-level entry
corridor and then up the stairs to the Fast Room.
DAmMIT!” THE PRESIDENT HAD BENT DOWN TO PICK UP A copy of his speech for
the night’s event and the pain had shot up to his shoulder. I think it
nicked a tendon, Gloria.”
Gloria Russell sat in one of the wide, plush chairs with which the
President’s wife had decorated the Oval Office.
The First Lady had good taste if not a lot else. She was nice to look
at, but a little light in the intellect department. No challenge to the
President’s power, and an asset in the polls.
Her family background was impeccable: old money, old ties. The
President’s connection to the conservative wealth and influence segment
of the country had not hurt his standing with the liberal contingent in
the least, however, owing mainly to his charisma and skills at
consensus-building. And his good looks, which counted for a lot more
than anyone cared to admit.
A successful President had to be able to talk a good game, and this
President’s batting average was up there with Ted Williams’s.
“I think I need to see a doctor.” The President was not in the best of
moods, but then neither was Russell.
“Well, Alan, then exactly how would you explain a stab wound to the
White House press?”
“What the hell ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”
Russell rolled her eyes. He could be so stupid sometimes.
if ‘s
“You’re like a Fortune 500 company, Alan, everything about you is public
information.”
“Well, not everything.”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? This is far from over, Alan.”
Russell had smoked three packs of cigarettes, and drunk two pots of
coffee since last night. At any moment their world, her career, could
come crashing down. The police knocking on the door. It was all she
could do to keep herself from running screaming from the room. As it was
nausea continuously swept over her in vast waves. She clenched her
teeth, gripped the chair. The image of total destruction would not budge
from her mind.
The President scanned the copy, memorizing some, the rest he would
ad-lib; his memory was phenomenal, an asset that had served him well.
“That’s why I have you, Gloria, isn’t it? To make it all better?”
He looked at her.
For a moment she wondered if he knew. If he knew what she had done with
him. Her body stiffened and then relaxed.
He couldn’t know, that was impossible. She remembered his drunken