“Listen, team. We have one year to make this
president stick. One solid year to make everything count.” I paused, breathing heavily. The moment had become all too much. “Make the President of the goddamned United States proud.”
Suddenly, I flung my papers, my folders, my binders into the air. They soared high. The entire campaign team skirted up from their desks and flung their hands together in an enormous applause. Their eyes were wide toward me.
Chapter Seven
In the moments after I knew that Jason was in the Oval Office, speaking with the president about God-knows-what, I sat at my desk, waiting. I clenched my hands together, dreaming about this future in which I didn’t have to feel that Jason was watching my every move, a camera in his hand. It all seemed too good to be true.
I attempted to work on the campaign. I brought my fingers to the keyboard, ready to send out email after email; ready to push forward, toward my dreams of becoming a successful campaign manager. However, my brain was dripping with other thoughts. How could I feel normal?
I left the White House and swept down to the Rose Garden then. I felt my feet tap-tap-tapping beneath me, and I felt my heart escalating when I passed the Oval Office. I knew that the walls were far too thick, that I would never hear the sounds of men screaming out presidential secrets.
I found myself once more in the grey of the once-Rose Garden. I wrapped myself in my coat and peered over the grounds, feeling a sense of solace. I wanted to do something with my hands then, and I turned toward the hallway, knowing that I would find a Secret Service agent there. This one, I knew.
“Benny,” I hissed. “Benny!”
The agent darted his head toward me, surprised. He raised one eyebrow toward me.
“Do you have a cigarette?” I asked him. I hadn’t smoked in years—not since college. But I needed something to calm me down, to keep me grounded.
Benny reached into his pocket and brought out a pack of Camels. He tossed them to me, and I caught them in my delicate fingers. I twirled a lighter. “Do you want one?” I asked him. I felt my words as they escalated—so sultry—from my mouth.
But Benny waved his hand. He couldn’t, he explained. This was his post. If he abandoned it, all hell could break loose.
I understood.
I twirled back to the Rose Garden and lit the stick in my mouth, taking a deep, penetrating drag. The nicotine seemed already to course through my body, to my fingers and my toes. It made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in many, many months. In that moment, I knew that I wouldn’t have to worry about Jason again. Ever again. I started taking tiny jumps, even in my heels on that muddy terrain. Yes. Yes. I felt my knees bend with each jump. Yes.
I stumped out the cigarette halfway through, not wanting the smell to course through my hair, my lips for the rest of the day. Something about the moment, there beneath the grey sky, reminded me of a different Amanda—an Amanda of my past. A girl who’d ached for success; a girl who was sure she knew how to get it. I had to do everything for this girl, I knew. I had to continue to stride forward, sure of myself (and of her), in order to please my internal self. I couldn’t let my past self—the one who had strained and worked and stressed continually—down.
After I stumped out the cigarette, I entered the White House once more. I nodded toward Benny with a secret smile, and he returned it. I scaled the steps knowing that I had several more hours of work left before I could return home, before I could think the events of the day through. I passed a member of the press as I walked down the hallway, and she nearly grabbed me with her excitement. “Is it true the president—”
But I didn’t allow my ears to hear her penetrating words. I was far too distracted. For suddenly, standing before me, looking wide-eyed, shocked, was Jason. His white business shirt was untucked all the way now. The tails swept around his knees. His tie was loose and crooked, and his face was red and splotched. My heart dipped into my stomach when I saw him. What had Xavier done to him?
Jason’s eyes darted down, below my eyes. I wanted to say something to him, in that moment—something saucy, something that initiated my win. But I couldn’t find the words. Instead, after a small moment’s hesitation in which we just half-looked at each other, with a reporter screaming into our ears, we went by each other like ships in the night.
I nearly shook with the intensity of the previous moment. I couldn’t believe how terrible Jason had looked. God, he’d tormented me in so many ways, both physically and emotionally. But it still hurt to see a man fall so far. Xavier must have said something to him, done something to him. He must have threatened him within an inch of his life. This Xavier, I reminded myself, was the same man who initiated drone strikes, who signed off on major wars. I shivered, thinking of our nation’s past—the things that Xavier COULD feasibly change as president, and the things he would never be able to. Not without incredible reform.
I paused at the doorway of the West Wing offices, looking out over the sea of heads, each of them busy with the impending campaign. I brought my fingers to my lips and wiped them, trying to think through this terrifying time. I knew that I didn’t want Jason’s reputation to be ruined. I didn’t want his life to be over. I wanted him to continue on in his political career. Certainly nowhere near me, of course. He hadn’t technically ruined Xavier and I, although he’d had his finger on the trigger the entire time.
I swallowed, feeling myself growing lost in my thoughts. I knew that the afternoon meeting was drawing forward, in which I would be required to address several members of our campaign team, alongside both Jason and Xavier. The men—who’d clearly fought like children in a playground earlier that morning—would be hard to handle. I knew they would be.
But beyond anything else, I knew that Xavier had won.
I knew that Jason would refrain from ruining us.
And I knew that I still had so much to maneuver, so much to discuss with the president.
As much as I just wanted him to wrap his thick, firm arms around me, to assure me that everything was okay, I knew I needed to cleanse my rushing mind and find a truth for our relationship—a path down which we could walk, hand in hand, while still meeting each of our personal, political goals.
In many ways, I knew that in this pending conversation, I had to assure Xavier that I was his equal. That I wasn’t to be thought of as less than. That my wants and needs were powerful—that I wouldn’t turn them away.
Finally, I watched as the relevant campaign team rose from their seats, ready to proceed toward the afternoon meeting. I clapped my hands, more trying to wake myself up than anything else. “All right, team. I hope you’ve all grabbed your statistics from the previous day?”
I turned back, feeling like I was leading an army toward the conference room. The campaign team that was following me was a smaller version—the leaders of the smaller “teams” in the greater campaign group. Each had its own subset, its own worries. We would address these worries with each campaign leader this day. I remembered that I’d been one during my time with Xavier’s first campaign. God, how I’d held my nose high in the air—just like these schmucks were doing now—just because I felt high and mighty, just because I felt that this was just one on the road of many steps that would ultimately propel me to high political power.
Perhaps I’d been right.