Page 51 of Presidential Bargain
I flopped onto a large, overstuffed armchair. It was just the three of us in the room; the stylists left after the red dress was vetoed. I guess what was happening was some form of girl talk. I needed to vent about Jameson and how I felt, and I needed to hear what Avon and Ruth had to say because I didn’t want to make the wrong decision. I was head over heels in love with Jameson and if I was imagining things, then I needed to figure that out now. But Ruth and Avon both said the same thing: something was there. I just had to wait for Jameson torealizeit.
Avon approached the clothing rack that had been left behind by the stylists. She wrapped her hand around a hanger and pulled out the garment. It was a navy blue skirt suit covered with bold, white polka dots. The jacket had short sleeves and flared out from the waist. “For the record, I think you shouldwearthis.”
“Oh! And I have the perfect monogram pin! And it’s made with rubies too,” Ruthadded.
“Watch out, Hester Prynne, there’s a new sinner in town!” I exclaimed, and our laughter filled the room. Our conversation melted into lighter topics and for the first time in what felt like months, I was relaxed andhappy.
It tooka lot ofconvincing on my part, but after everyone left that night, I managed to get Georgie back in my bed. I had two shitty nights of sleep and I wasn’t about to add a third, especially the night before the first debate. I didn’t lay a finger on her, even though I had the urge to stroke her soft, silky skin and bury my face in her strawberry-scented hair. Instead, I stayed away, reading over my notes while she slept quietly next to me. When I started to succumb to exhaustion, I sank down into the mattress and like a selfish bastard, reached out and pulled her tightly against my body. I was ashamed to admit how much I needed her but not enough to leave heralone.
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, but a glance at the clock revealed I had gotten eight hours of peaceful sleep. Eight whole hours! I couldn’t remember the last time I slept for longer than five. It was a matter of hours before my campaign descended on the house, so I slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of loose pajama pants, and went in search ofGeorgie.
She was seated at the round kitchen table, bathed in a shaft of sunlight. Her honey-blond hair sparkled like a halo around her head. She held a coffee mug in one hand while she studied a large, leather-bound book in frontofher.
“What’s that?” I asked, as I walked into the kitchen. There was still coffee in the pot and I poured myself a cup before walking over to thetable.
“Sierra Simmons sent it. It’s all of our photographs.” She held up a sheet of paper and I took it from her. “She sent a notewithit.”
I unfolded the paper and scanned it, taking in Sierra’s wordstous:
Jameson andGeorgie–
Thank you for letting me photograph you. I cannot tell you what an honor it was to not only meet you, but to witness your amazing relationship with one another. I have never met a couple quite like you. Your relationship is electric and the air in my studio crackled with so much energy, I thought we were all going to combust. I hope you look at these photographs and see exactly what I saw: the true power of love. I hope you will let me photograph youagainsoon.
Fondly,
SierraSimmons
I handed Georgie the paper back and then stood behind her to look at the photograph on display. It was a picture of just Georgie, her body stretched out in front of her like she had stood, only to quickly sit back down. She looked stunning with the skirt of her red dress fanned out around her. Her hair had been teased into a messy twist, and her makeup was practically nonexistent after being under the hot lights in Sierra’sstudio.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, planting a kiss on the top of Georgie’s head. Sierra’s words circled in my head, though. She thought she captured the power of true love, and I wished these images were more than just a half-truth. Georgie and I had a powerful connection, that wasn’t a lie, and Sierra definitely captured it. She didn’t capture love, though, with her lens. I took a sip of coffee to hide my grimace fromGeorgie.
“Did you decide on an outfit?” I asked casually, moving us onto a safertopic.
“Yes, but I’m not showing you until we have to leave. I don’t want you to veto it.” Her voice was firm but still held a bit of hesitation, like she wanted myapproval.
“It’s not the red dress, is it?” I sounded exasperated, hoping she didn’t decide to go ahead and pick the dress I refused to letherwear.
“No, it’s not the red dress. I promise!” She held up her hand in an ‘I swear’gesture.
“Okay.” A quick glance at the clock reminded me of the time. “Everyone will be here soon. It’ll be a madhouse, so enjoy the quiet whileyoucan.”
I turned and started walking from the kitchen, intending to work in my office because after the debate, I had to go to Washington for some crucial votes. But something halted me; athought.
“Georgie, I just want you to be prepared for tonight.” I stopped short, just before the hallway, and faced her again. She looked up from the Sierra Simmons book, a wistful expression on her face. “Governor Huntley may say some unkind things, not only about me, but also about you. I don’t want you to get offended by anything hemightsay.”
Georgie closed the book and leaned back in her chair. Then our eyes met and her gaze was filled with so much conviction I began to question if I needed to really warn her. “Jameson, you and I both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what Governor Huntley says tonight, or what he tries to get the American people to think about me or you, or even us. We know the truth and I’ll remember thattonight.”
Stunned. That was how I felt. I brought her into my world, into this ugly game of politics, and she responded like a pro. I was starting to doubt my feelings for her because if I couldn’t love this woman more than the Oval, then how was I going to loveanyone?
I felt like we wereall walking into the lion’s den. Even though I felt prepared and had prepped endlessly for the debate, the release of the video made me nervous for tonight. Suddenly, policy and my vision for the country didn’t matter because the entire world had seen me fucking my fiancée senselessly. My parents rode with us in a limousine to the debate venue, Boston College, and the ride was silent. I had fucking home field advantage and I was so jittery that Georgie had to hold tightly to my hands as we walked into thedebatehall.
The most important members of my campaign surrounded me as we discussed last-minute topics that might come up. What we didn’t discuss, what we avoided, was the sex tape. We didn’t know when, or if, it would even come up tonight and under what capacity. Would the moderator ask about it? Would the governor bring it up in one of his answers? It was hard to prepare for and it was so incredibly easy to avoid. Mentally, I rehearsed a few lines of response and ran them by Lewis and Jenkins, which they approved. I knew they were plotting out answers but wouldn’t offer any up unlessasked.
My little team stood backstage until the last moment. I needed their strength and energy. My mom nervously twisted and knotted a handkerchief and my dad’s forehead was scrunched up with tension. But Georgie looked calm. She looked perfectly polished in her suit, just like a First Lady. Her hair was loose and wavy, her makeup simple. I looked at the monogram pin on her chest and smirked. When I first saw it, I almost made her remove it. I didn’t want to give any asshole pundit reason to criticize her. But then I changed my mind and thought it was the perfect “fuck you” to everyone who said a disparaging word about us. About her. The pin belonged to my mother; it was a gift from my father after I was born. The bold red rubies that formed a “J” sparkled against the navy-blue fabric ofhersuit.
Georgie held out my ancient iPod and my earbuds for me, and I nearly kissed her senseless for this small act. I took them from her and we found a quiet corner with a few chairs. I slid the earbuds into my ears and shuffled through the selection of artists, looking for something to calm me. Georgie had added some new music, bands that were more modern but appealed to my classic rock tendencies. I picked a musician I knew she liked because she often hummed his songs. Hozier. I held out my hand for her and she grasped it between hers. We sat quietly together but, for the first time, we felt trulyunited.
A flurry of production assistants began scrambling around backstage, a signal that the debate was about to get underway. I slipped the earbuds from my ears and handed them to Georgie, along with the iPod. She tucked them in an outside pocket of my worn, well-loved leather messenger bag that she was guarding for me. We stood and the momentary disconnect between us was rekindled once I grabbed her hand again. We stopped at the threshold to the stage, just beyond the curtains. The moderators were going over the rules of the debate with the audience. Across the stage, I spied Governor Huntley. I looked away; he didn’t need any extra attentiontonight.
