Whispers on the Potomac_Room 312 Read online

  With all this swirling around in my head, I manage to put my campaign team together before heading into the primaries. To run my campaign, I only hire the best of the best, the brightest, and the most expensive. Vick Turban has overseen many campaigns in the past and doesn’t come cheap. Agreeing to take me on as his client as a favor to my mom, we click the first night. At a diner outside Washington D.C., he tells me, “I can hand this election to you if you want it, but you have to want the presidency more than anything. You have to want to win as much as you want to breathe.”

  “I want it,” I said, nervously running my hand through my wavy, prematurely gray hair. His aggressive attitude is a little intimidating; however, I’m intrigued. He’s going to fight as hard as I am, and his killer instincts and past accomplishments tell me I chose a winning asset.

  “You have to listen to me, Sebastian. Even when you think you’re right and I’m wrong. Remember, I’m always right. We’re going to hate each other most days, and I’m going to piss the shit out of you. Are you willing to do this? If you aren’t, tell me now before you waste my time, and yours. I have people hounding me nonstop to run their campaign. I don’t need to do this. I’m busy enough, however I see something in you, and I respect your mother.”

  “I’m ready, Vick. I know what I have to do.” The first bit of advice from him came that evening.

  “Okay. You’re dating Annalise Martinez, right?” I nod in agreement.

  “Let’s try to play that relationship up more. Attend more things together as a couple. America applauds a love story. Go out on a date occasionally, and let the photographers take your picture as a happy couple. Trust me; it will help the voters see you as a man that can commit.” Little does he know, the relationship with Annalise is strained, to say the least.

  It isn’t hard to decide; Vick is the man to lead me down the path to the presidency, and we agree with a handshake to begin this journey the next day.

  Other than Vick, I make sure my staff is young and energetic. My stylist, brought in from Hollywood, insists my constant appearance of looking miserable needs to change. Unknowingly, the quiet of my soul seems to show on my face for the past six years, and she informs me resting dick face isn’t a good look for a guy running for president. I’m forced to smile, change my facial features, and dress like a guy able to run the country.

  It doesn’t take long to have my team in place, my campaign in full swing, and my face on the news as much as possible. For months, I’m moving along, filming commercials, preparing for debates, and making speeches. The candidacy for my Party is out in front of me to claim. I’m the candidate the country needs now. I’m hope, promise, and stability for a country hit with a recession, a lingering war, and an increasing threat of terrorist attacks. I’m the young face to an old Party that needs a little shaking up and I’m ready to shake it up like never before.

  However, there are days when I don’t know why I’m putting myself through such a voyage of one of the most stressful activities someone can embark on. Unyielding stress and uneasiness encompass me stronger than ever in my quest for the White House. I become a robot, walking on a stage, giving a speech, shaking hands, and kissing babies. Every day is the same and all the people are similar, no matter where we stop. My life as I know it is totally unrecognizable, however, I knew this going in. Attempting to stay optimistic and greet voters with enthusiasm and determination can be a struggle some days. I try not to let things rattle my chain. I stay confident and poised and ready to take on whatever someone throws at me. That is, unless that someone is Garrison.

  Since I haven’t been asking, Garrison feels it’s his job to voluntarily inform me how Daria is every time we speak. Not sure why, other than he thinks I need a play by play. While traveling on the campaign bus, Garrison calls me to report he’s back in Paris and ran into Daria.

  “Hey big brother, it’s Garrison.” I wasn’t going to answer his call; however, from past experiences, he’ll call all night until I do. It’s best to get the call over with early and be done with it. He’s slurring his words a bit more than usual.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I try to put some enthusiasm in my voice. In need of a hot shower and something to eat, I long to be off this bus.

  “Just wanted to see how you are. You’re all over the news here. Seems these Parisian broads love the shit out of you.” Spoken like a true class act. I glance at my watch to see it’s late in Paris.

  “That’s great. Is everything okay? Sounds like you’re out somewhere.” I can hear commotion in the background and I shouldn’t have engaged him. That’s an invitation to listen to him bitch about art, Mom not getting him a check fast enough, or someone he’s dating.

  “Yeah, I went out tonight and ran into Daria. She was on a date with some French businessman or government big wig, I don’t know. They seemed pretty into each other and left early, so I’m finishing up my drink and heading home. I wanted to tell you I might be coming home for a while.”

  The sound of her name makes my chest tighten, and before responding, I swallow the lump in my throat. An aching familiar numbness tears through me. Some Frenchman with a title is taking my place, and they left early, pounds in my head like a flashing neon sign. Someone else is touching what should be mine. I know it happens, she dates. Why not, she’s beautiful. It’s hearing confirmation from Garrison that’s like a blow to the gut. Instinctively, I loosen my tie, feeling nausea taking hold.

  “Hey, are you still there?” he asks. I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m here. We’re pulling into Cleveland, Ohio for another speech tonight. Is there anything else?” I wanted to get his ass off the phone.

  “No, I’ll probably be seeing you soon. I don’t know when exactly I’ll be home, but Mom is going to remodel my house for me, and I may have to stay with her for a while. Not looking forward to that.”

  Of course, she is. She mentioned him wanting his house remodeled to help with his creativity, and she once again gave in to him.

  Quickly stating I need to get off the phone again, we end the call and I throw my head back on the seat, closing my eyes. That bastard fucked up my night by mentioning Daria.

  My Communications Director and Press Secretary, Curtis, notices my new mental state. Still on the bus, waiting to unload and get into our hotel rooms, he slides in next to me.

  “Hey Boss, you’re looking a little squirrely. Are you getting enough rest?”

  I manage to fake a smile, lift my head, and open my eyes.

  “If squirrely is exhausted, then yes, I’m a lot squirrely.” I contemplate how much stress a person can endure before they snap. I must be close.

  “You need a woman. What can I do? I can find one in a half hour for you.” I shot him a look. There’s only one woman I need and she’s four thousand miles away; I doubt he can deliver her in a half hour.

  I weigh how best to respond to his ridiculous comment. “No Curtis, I don’t need a woman. What I do need is to get something to eat that isn’t from a drive through, a hot shower, and sleep.”

  Out of all the candidates interviewed, Curtis Whitman had everything to make a well-rounded Press Secretary. Curtis is intelligent, quick thinking, and has experience from being chief representative for a defense secretary and a senator. He knows his shit and doesn’t take mine. His sense of humor is uplifting and keeps us all sane. Both of us are about the same age, he’s not married, and loves the ladies. Not one to back down from a one-night stand, and be on his game the next morning, he has had his dick in someone in every state we’ve been through, and offers his womanizing services to anyone in need.

  Throwing up his hands, “Okay, Okay. You’re not on your game, Boss, that’s all, and I want to help you out.”

  “I can assure you, I’m always on my game, Curtis.”

  “You’re not yourself. You’re pent up and I haven’t seen Annalise around too much this week.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “That’s a little too personal.” Offering
me a piece of gum, I wave it off. Curtis chews that stuff obsessively.

  “I think we’re past ‘too personal’ after spending months on a bus together. I see you naked a lot - believe me, it’s not by choice - and you caught me with that woman on the bus last week. In case I haven’t told you, I’m sorry about that, man.” Caught him is an understatement. Thinking everyone is asleep and in our designated hotel rooms, I’m in my office on the bus, working late. Hearing a noise coming from the front, I walk up there to find him and some chick humping like two rabbits. I clear my throat and both jump, pulling up their pants and scrambling as fast as they can. It wasn’t a big deal and we haven’t addressed it since. Curtis works long and hard, so a fuck up here and there is fine.

  “Thanks for the concern, Curtis. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. And as for last week, I didn’t see a thing, and I hope to not see anything like that again.” I wink and get up to leave.

  Prior to our visit to Cleveland, my staff reserve an entire floor in a hotel. Hours before we arrive, my security detail sweeps in and secures the location. By the time we pull in, all I want is a couple of hours of peace, so I head up to my room. My campaign team decides to check out some local attraction by the lake, and have dinner. They need a few hours of downtime to regroup. Though my appetite crashed after my brother’s call, I order room service, hoping I can choke down something before my speech. When the food arrives, the smell makes me nauseous, still unable to shake the call from Garrison. Seltzer water with lemon is all I want. Sitting down on the sofa, I attempt to enjoy the peace. It’s not five minutes later that someone comes pounding on the door. I reluctantly stand up, open it, and Vick races into my room.

  “Your numbers are looking good, Sebastian.” The pain in my ass at all times sits down with me, wanting to discuss numbers, when all I want is to be left alone.

  “So, I’ve heard,” I growl.

  There is concern on his face as he places his iPad down, looking at me.

  Grabbing a french fry off my uneaten plate of dinner, he asks, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Can’t a guy be left alone for a few hours. Fuck, I’ve seen your face more than anyone’s, for the last six days.” We’ve been on the campaign trail, hitting Ohio hard. I’m leading in Ohio; however, that can turn as fast as the weather.

  Eyeing my sandwich with a ravenous look in his eye, he ignores my comment. “Are you going to eat that sandwich?”

  “No, it’s all yours.” I stand and pace the hotel room with my seltzer in hand.

  “We can talk about it later. I have your speech here to go over.” My shitty mood needs to be gone before speaking to the people that have been waiting hours to see me at a jam-packed rally. My head’s in another place and I don’t answer.

  “Sebastian, can you at least acknowledge that you heard me.”

  I exhale deeply. Throwing back the rest of my seltzer, I snap back, “I heard you, Vick. I already know. Leave the speech there. I’m going to take a nap for ten minutes, get a shower, and look at it.”

  Departing with the rest of my dinner, he lets himself out and I sit back down on the couch. The silence hurts my ears, yet is a welcome relief, even for a few minutes. Opening my wallet, I take out the picture of her and stare for a while. The strength I need to keep powering through the night absorbs in me. Seeing that smile eases my mind and I make a promise to myself, if I become President, she will be the First Lady.

  5

  Daria

  I would’ve never dreamed I’d come back to Paris so quickly. I had intended to stay in D.C. for a couple of weeks and spend time with my family and old friends. However, the day after seeing Sebastian, I find myself on a plane to France. Barely having time to process our reunion I know I should go. I can’t let this reverse everything I’ve worked towards and accomplished over the past seven years. The need to stay in control and not fall apart is more important. The past is the past, and with restored confidence, I decide this is the best thing for a while. Not wanting to bare myself to him again, or answer questions as to why I left years ago, the best place for me is four thousand miles away. My reason for breaking up with him is still buried deep inside me, and that’s where it needs to stay.

  Now, it’s been three hundred and ninety-two days since speaking to him. I follow him on social media, the news, and magazines. Each one shows him with Annalise at different parties, rallies, and campaign events. The sight of his pictures besieges me with mixed feelings. Sebastian with his sleeves rolled up, his tie undone, and standing onstage, is an instant aphrodisiac. Seeing him with Annalise, dancing at a party, holding hands and whispering, sends a shot of misery through me and, I must admit, a slight bit of jealousy. Everything I read says he’s winning in most of the primaries and is predicted to be the candidate for the Democratic Party. Knowing he’s so far away campaigning is a sure bet I won’t run into him here in Paris.

  I’m successfully working on my residency as a psychiatrist in a mental hospital. Sainte Anne Psychiatric Hospital is a hidden sanctuary of nature and art. My job keeps me busy and I don’t have time to think about him most of the day. However, it’s at night when thoughts of Sebastian ambush me. No one knows about the nights I pull up his picture on my phone and cry myself to sleep. Would this need for him ever subside?

  As the year progresses, I become more adjusted to the single Parisian lifestyle and get out more socially. Through my best friend Lilly, I reluctantly agree to go on a date with the assistant to the Ambassador of France. He’s close to my age and Lilly thinks going out will help me get my mind off Sebastian.

  “He’s perfect,” Lilly says with a wicked smile. The wind is blowing slightly as we sit outside on a sunny day at a café, sipping coffee and eating choux a la crème.

  “Perfect? No one’s perfect,” I quickly respond. That’s not entirely true. I know one man who’s perfect.

  “Go out with him on one date. He’s anxious to meet you. That French accent alone will have you in his bed in minutes.”

  Licking chocolate from my lips, I try to come up with some excuse to shoot down this idea. I haven’t been in bed with a man in quite some time. I’ve only had a brief relationship with another resident at the hospital where I’m working. Fulfilling my lonely horny nights was his only job, but it didn’t last and he wasn’t Sebastian. Sadly, my love life hasn’t been much of anything for the past seven years.

  “I’m pretty busy, Lilly. I have work and I may start teaching ballet again at night. I don’t have time for a date. Why don’t you go out with him?”

  “That’s bullshit. Look at his picture.” She slides across the bench, showing me what she’s raving about. Wow, yes, he’s good-looking. Tall, muscular with dark features, he’s smiling in the picture and looks charming. Lilly scrolls through more pictures on the internet; one with him playing soccer, another he’s in a suit, and one where he’s with a small child.

  “He has a child?” I ask with trepidation. Though it’s one date, I’m not looking for a ready-made family.

  “Well, just one. He’s newly divorced.”

  I hand the phone back. “I thought you said he’s perfect. A divorced father is not perfect. No, Lilly. I’m not ready.”

  “Just dinner, please. If you want, Bruce and I can go too.” Bruce is her latest boyfriend. They’ve been dating for three weeks and she’s already tiring of him.

  I sit in silence and weigh the pros and cons of going on this date. What could one dinner hurt? It would get me out of my apartment, keep me from sulking, and who knows, maybe someone else will finally rid my mind of Sebastian. No, what if he’s a creep? What if I end up falling in love with him? That won’t happen. I reluctantly agree, hoping he cancels before the evening arrives. He doesn’t.

  All four of us meet for dinner at one of Paris’s trendiest restaurants, L’Avenue. Excellent atmosphere, good wine, and a great place to be seen. I’ve wanted to come here for quite some time. We have a pleasant dinner and Dax Markez is polite
and easy on the eyes. He carries himself well, pulling out a chair for me to sit, and is inquisitive about my life in D.C. Lilly and Bruce lighten the mood with their playful joking and making fun of each other. After Lilly sees that I’m more comfortable, she and Bruce go home, leaving me alone with Dax. We talk about everything, taking our conversation out to a nightclub later in the evening. More drinks push the thought of Sebastian out of my head, and I’m determined to have a good time.

  Later, as the night begins to turn into the wee hours of the morning and I dance my legs off, Dax walks me home and succeeds in kissing me. It’s soft, yet powerful, and could be very arousing under different circumstances. My stomach twists, though I ignore it and accept another kiss. His mouth lingers on mine and he meets my gaze. Flushing with embarrassment, I pull away. Confusion for what is happening tears through me. The kiss is enjoyable and I’m ridiculously turned on. It has to be all the wine I’ve consumed, and nothing more.

  Standing outside my apartment building, he asks, “Can I come in?” Hell. The dreaded question I didn’t want to hear when I’m vulnerable to say yes. For a split-second, I let the wine tell me what to do, and I almost agree. Then, the image of Sebastian flashes through my head, and my senses are restored.

  “Dax, I’m sorry. I had a wonderful evening. It’s just, I’m not ready for anything right now.” Whatever ‘anything’ is, I’m not ready for it. As horny as I’ve been for the past year, a night of unbridled passion with a gorgeous man sounds like a good idea. However, I don’t want that. Not with him. Not with anyone, but Sebastian.

  “I understand. It’s a little strange for me being out with someone other than my ex-wife.” We stand facing each other, not knowing what to say.