“How did this someone—I mean. Were you not careful?” Rachel asked. The words weren’t offensive, and I didn’t take them as such.
I shook my head slightly. “I was careful. I was so careful. I was—I was being spied on.”
“God. The bastards,” Rachel whispered. “They’re always spying, they always know things about people’s personal lives. That’s why—that’s part of the reason—“ She paused, shaking her head.
“You were being spied on?” I asked her in a hushed whisper, feeling that, for the moment, I had a kindred spirit. I placed my hand on her knee, and I felt her quiver. I shook my head. “You know you can tell me anything—you know I won’t tell a soul.”
She bit her lip and allowed her eyes to ramp up, back toward mine. “They had a camera in my house to watch me undress. They didn’t care about anything—about any information, nothing. They just wanted to know what I looked like beneath my clothes.” She shook her head. Her face had turned a somber shade of red. “I just. I couldn’t hack it after that. It felt like my life wasn’t sacred to them.”
I nodded emphatically, feeling like Rachel had finally hit the nail on the head, with regards to my situation. “That’s exactly it. They don’t respect my life; they feel no sense that it’s sacred, that I’m trying to keep it whole.” I didn’t realize that a tear had dripped down my cheek, then, falling to the table before me. Rachel brought her hand toward mine and grasped my fingers, allowing me to shudder as I cried for just a moment.
I couldn’t speak any more. I knew I couldn’t tell Rachel anything else—anything about Jason, about the president. But I peered up at her with these incredibly large, doe-like eyes. And I shook my head, as if I was at a loss for what to do.
She squeezed my hand once more. She reached across and grabbed the bottle of wine. In the silence, we listened to the glug glug glug of the wine as it jostled into our glasses. I took a sip and a sense of calm passed through me. We clinked our glasses together—a bit late in our timing. And we smiled at each other with red-tinted teeth.
She shook her head. “Well. You know you can stay here as long as you like. You have a safe place here, Amanda. I know that we aren’t in the same business, that you’re in a great deal of pressure. And I want you to know that I will help you in any way I can to get you through this. Whatever these people are doing to you. It must be—it must be really bad.” She nodded with affirmation.
I couldn’t believe the feeling of calm that passed through me. My friend—the only person I could trust in the world, beyond Xavier—was allowing me to stay with her. She wanted to be my protector, my person. I thanked her profusely, and then we continued to drink wildly into the night. It felt like old times. It felt like I had someone I could trust once more; it felt like I had someone to lean my shoulder on, to ride out the storm with.
Finally, I held a sense of peace.
Chapter Six
The next morning, I rose early. A hangover glistened over my eyes. I hopped into Rachel’s shower at around 6 and hosed my hair and my slim, naked body of all the toxins from the previous day. I shivered, even in the hot water. I had so much to do.
As I stood in the water, I remembered what Rachel had told me the night before—that other men on the campaign team had actually snuck a camera into her apartment in order to watch her undress. What a sick joke that was. I wondered, half-heartedly, if Jason had been involved. It had been years ago and he hadn’t been at the height of his career. However, perhaps this was his natural scheme—something he kept up year-in, year-out in order to inspect the glowing, beautiful bodies of his female co-workers. I pictured him watching us—all of us up on a screen—as he ate sandwich after sandwich, knowing that we were his pawns.
The rage of this forced me out of the shower and into my fine clothes once more. I tugged at my hair and did my makeup with fine strokes; then I stomped into the kitchen. There, I left a note for Rachel: “Be home at 6.” We were roommates now; we had to look out for each other, be there for each other. I hadn’t had a roommate in years and I was sure she hadn’t, either. Already, I sensed that we needed each other more than we knew.
In the taxi on the way to work, the thoughts were flowing through me freely. I had to make Jason see my way; I had to make him notice that he was being a creepy, backstabbing bastard. I had to make him understand that I meant fucking business, that this wasn’t just a passing fancy in which he could look at my naked body all the time, like some creepy, familiar porn.
I marched into the White House. It was still early, and only a few of the campaign workers tapped tidily away at their desks. I turned toward Jason, who sat eating a donut at his desk. He was sitting with the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.
I placed my hands on my hips before his desk, standing like a statue. Formidable. I cocked my head to the right.
He placed his finger in the air, peering at me with curiosity. “I’m on hold,” he whispered to me, waiting.
But I just stood there. I allowed my eyes to burn holes into him.
Finally, he couldn’t take the pressure. He slammed the phone down before him and hung up, glaring at me with these passionate, bulbous eyes. “What do you want?” he hissed. A few of the campaign workers turned toward us, sensing animosity at the top.
But I just shrugged. “You know what I want.”
He frowned, allowing his eyebrows to course over his eyes. “Shall we go talk in the back office?” His voice was gruff.
“I suppose we shall,” I whispered to him. My eyes were catlike, daring him to cross me.
He followed me into the back office, stomping heavily on the wood floors. I allowed my waist to saunter this way, then that. I imagined that he wanted me. In fact, I knew he did. He would never have anyone like me. I was reserved for people like Xavier—for the powerful men at the top. I, myself, was powerful; I was at the top. I was sleek, refined—and in the face of this sad sack man before me, I was everything.
I closed the door and crossed my arms over my chest. I waited, listening to the clock as it seemed to tick-tick-tick on the wall.
“All right. What is it, Amanda,” he finally stated, tired of waiting.
“You don’t get to talk,” I said, holding up my hand. “Not until I say.”
He raised his eyebrow and leaned against the desk, waiting. The tension hung around us, pushing at my shoulders.
I took a deep breath. I directed my eyes with such menace toward him. And then, I spoke. “You must destroy the files on your computer. The files of myself and the president. There’s absolutely no other way.”