Whispers on the Potomac_Room 312 Read online

  I offer him a compliment. “I really had a good time tonight.”

  “I did as well. I want to take you out again. Will you go out with me sometime?” Surprisingly, I agree to another date and give him my number.

  A couple of weeks go by and he calls to ask me to dinner. This time, we go out alone, taking me on a dinner cruise on the Seine. The all-glass boat is magnificent, as the lights of the city illuminate the water and the Eiffel Tower is lit up in the distance. With the right person, it would be the most romantic night of my life. With Dax, I have a wonderful evening, yet the cruise torments my heart in a slight way.

  In the quietness of my thoughts, I can’t help but to imagine Sebastian with me, and how much I want to be with him. In the year we were together, we could never go out to dinner, be in public, or be seen by anyone. We never had the chance. Upsetting me to the point of tears, I make an excuse to Dax that the beauty of the city is making me emotional.

  The entire evening, I try to come up with something to talk about, make a joke, or look as if I’m having a wonderful time. I fail horribly. After staring at my fake smile for most of the evening, Dax takes me home. Sitting in the car, he turns to me, speaking in a French accent that would melt any woman’s panties off.

  “Thank you for the date tonight.” He grabs my hand and kisses it.

  “I had a good time, Dax. Thank you for dinner.” Pulling my hand away, I reach for the door knob.

  “Come on Daria, don’t do this. You were miserable.”

  “Miserable? I had a wonderful time.”

  “I know about him.” Silence surrounds us as I search for something to say.

  “Him?” Him who?” Turning to look at Dax, I’m shocked he knows.

  “The guy in Washington you can’t seem to get over. Lilly told me.” Fuck her. I confided my deepest secret, trusting her not to tell anyone. What, were they having secret conversations about me?

  Collecting my thoughts, I look down. “That’s not true. I’m very emotional right now. I’m living in a different country, my job is stressful and, to be honest, you’re only the second guy I’ve officially went on a date with since… him.” Talking about Sebastian to anyone left me feeling uneasy. I plan on letting Lilly know I’m upset she mentioned this to him.

  “Hey, I get it. I haven’t dated anyone since my divorce. It’s hard.”

  The tension eases in my shoulders as I realize I’m not alone with the pressures of dating. Thankfully, he knows where I’m coming from and doesn’t pressure me.

  “I’m sorry. Until I get him out of my system, I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now. Please know it’s not you. You are wonderful and if it was a different time, this would have been amazing.” I look him dead in the eyes.

  “Don’t. You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there. Call me if you need to get out; have dinner, or grab a coffee and talk, as friends.” My face lights up with elation, knowing he understands. Leaning in, I kiss his cheek.

  “Thank you. I’ll call soon.” Parting ways, I don’t see Dax again. The rest of my time in Paris is spent alone, working, and longing for someone I would never have.

  6

  Sebastian

  The Iowa Caucus is the first true test to see if my message hits home with the voters. While I’m there, I become one with the people attending the Iowa State Fair, shaking hands, walking around, and helping cook the World Famous Iowa Pork Chop. I eat in greasy diners with truckers and welders, housewives, and the unemployed. Iowa is where I don’t bullshit on promises that can’t be delivered, unlike my opponents. My dad always instilled in me that you tell them the truth and they will suck it up. Speaking at a high school gymnasium one night, we’re shocked twelve hundred people come to hear what I have to say. My speech is strong, I tell a few jokes, and my confidence is raised to a new level. The roar of the crowd has my adrenaline pumping, and after the first speech, I can’t get enough.

  William Webb, an old Establishment Democrat, still holds the Democratic lead prior to Iowa. However, after my appearance, people stop and take notice of me and my message. The media is reporting I’m a breath of fresh air America needs, and a new young and energetic face of America. Webb seems to hold onto the older vote and the hard-core Democrats, who are fine with the way the government is being run. My campaign is all about the first-time voter and those that think their vote doesn’t count. I hit home with my age and the youth of my campaign team.

  The press interviews me nonstop on the campaign trail. I’m bombarded the night I lose the Iowa caucus and decide to answer their questions instead of running and hiding.

  “Are you upset you lost this caucus?” This reporter is jamming a microphone up to my mouth.

  “I don’t like to lose because I’m a winner and second place isn’t for me. It’ll make me work that much harder for New Hampshire.”

  “What if you come in second in New Hampshire?”

  “I won’t.” I knew after Iowa, my goal was to win every state. I’m determined to win and refuse to lose again. I place all my frustration and determination into my campaign and work harder than ever.

  The first primary is in New Hampshire. Annalise wants to come with me to campaign and I agree. Vick has been on me to start showing up with her more, and now is the time. With her political pull and beauty, she’s an asset to me onstage. Deciding to make the best of it, I urge her to come along. My Communications Director wants me to go on NPR to push harder against my opponent. I didn’t even know people still listen to NPR. I do the interview, and I’m asked repeatedly if Webb is the winner, will I support him. “Of course, I’ll support him. I’m a Democrat and I’ll support anyone from my party; however, that’s not going to happen.”

  At this time, Webb is favored to win and I’m a long shot. After the interview, I decide to work that much harder. Going into the first primary, I stay positive and keep working, not letting the news or polls pull me down. I know I have a tough fight ahead of me, but I also know I won’t lose.

  With immense surprise, I beat Webb, my toughest competitor by 320 pledged delegates and 700 delegates overall. The first primary proves I’m a serious contender with a lot of media attention and campaign funds. To everyone’s surprise, and mine, I win with fifty-five percent of the vote. It’s an amazing night and my mom flies in to be by my side as I give my speech thanking the state for voting for me. The crowd is much bigger in New Hampshire, and for the first time, I notice people wearing buttons and holding up signs that say Reed. My campaign is real and the path to the presidency is looking brighter and more obtainable. That night, when I ride back to D.C., a gaggle of reporters come along to interview me on my bus. The reporters are inquisitive, mostly about my personal life.

  “When are you going to marry Annalise Martinez?” Oh, how I despise that question. Annalise hasn’t backed off hinting towards marriage lately. She doesn’t bring the word marriage up, however there are still subtle hints I try to avoid when we’re together. Making comments about other wives and their huge diamonds, she’s constantly rubbing her ring finger on her left hand. This reporter isn’t helping the situation and I want to open the door and throw him off the bus. Annalise is with me and she smiles, raising her eyebrow, a clear indication she’s waiting for an answer as much as the reporter is. How the fuck am I going to answer this? Of all the questions, they could ask me and this moron must bring up my dating life.

  “We haven’t agreed on a date yet. Annalise is waiting to see if I win, I think.” Trying to make light of the question, I smile and wink, as I grab Annalise’s hand and kiss the top. Thankfully, a reporter changes course and we talk about my first win. I breathe and try to relax, not letting my uneasiness show.

  “What’s your strategy to keep winning?”

  “To work harder than any guy out here. People might not know me yet, but they know my parents and I grew up in politics. America is angry right now. They’re tired of the old establishment that doesn’t want change. We need change, and we need to
face the real issues bombarding America today, like an increase in minimum wage, more jobs, equal rights for all Americans, and education. I want to be that change.”

  “What if this is the last win and it’s downhill from here?” The moron again, with another question. I make a mental note to get him off the press pool before the night’s over, I look at Vick so he knows by my expression I’m not happy with this guy.

  “I won’t lose. I refuse to lose.” Excusing myself from the interview, I stand up and walk to the back of the bus to my private room, with Annalise following.

  Once inside, Annalise shuts the door behind us and steps toward me for a kiss. I pull back and she flinches.

  “Listen, I want to be alone for a while.” Her expression hardens. I’m too pissed to explain and frankly, just annoyed with everyone.

  “Really?” she mutters, clearly aggravated by my distance.

  “It’s not you, Annalise.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. “How well I know it’s not me, Sebastian.”

  Christ, not now.

  Before I can answer, Annalise informs me of her plans. “I’m going home for a while. You’re just not mentally with me right now, and maybe we need a break.”

  “You don’t need to do that.” A sense of relief spills through me, though, and I hope it isn’t evident on my face.

  “I do. I need to get back to my job and I’ll see you soon. I will meet you if you need me. Right now, you’re right. You need some time alone. Get yourself together, Sebastian. You have a lot of people counting on you.”

  I don’t beg her to stay and if that’s what she’s looking for, I’m not in the mood to play the game. Relief washes over me, knowing that I don’t have to pretend anymore for a while, and I let her go when we get back home. We simply tell everyone she needs to get back to work and no one questions it.

  During the night of my first debate with my Democratic opponents, each one thinks they can derail me with questions about foreign policy, interest rates, and terrorism. Well prepared by my staff, I come out swinging. I take each one of them down, one by one. The five of us battle for two hours with combative exchanges on issues of gun control, the environment, and Wall Street reform. When they see I’m prepared and on my game, Webb, the leading contender, tries to cast doubt on my lack of experience. Firing back with a vengeance, I read all my accomplishments since being in Congress and school him on a few things.

  “Senator Webb, thank you for bringing my lack of experience up. Though I’m young and have been a congressman for many years, what I have done with my time has been worthwhile. I have my name on several policies that have passed, to help women, minorities, and immigrants. Things you refused to be a part of. I’ve read where you have only been to work twenty-two days last year. You have the worst voting record in the Senate. I know you have experience, and you claim to be the voice of the Democratic Party. Somehow I don’t see how you can be the voice if you never show up.” The crowd applauds and the fact checkers go to work. Nothing I say is a lie and later it’s proven he has the worst record in the Senate. That smashes his confidence and his followers start questioning his integrity.

  When we hit the South Carolina primary, Webb and the others ream me hard on my inexperience and bachelor lifestyle. He may have beat me until he decides to shake things up a bit, becoming desperate. In his speech, he refers to me being single and hints to the fact I may be a closeted homosexual. He accomplishes pissing off both me and the gay community. After that comment, they come out in droves to protest what he said. The Human Rights Campaign question what he meant and feel he thinks a gay person isn’t qualified to run for president. Trying to backpedal and shift his ground with no success, Web decides to suspend his campaign before Super Tuesday. Republicans and Democrats take notice when I sweep Super Tuesday. I’m unstoppable, winning seven states and not looking back.

  I soar in the polls, kick ass at the debates, and I’m so far ahead of the other guys, they can’t catch up. I campaign my ass off, without a break. Running to what seems like every state and city in America, I’m becoming extremely popular with the millennials and, of course, the women voters. I have a camera in my face constantly and every news channel interviews me. When my numbers begin to come in, it proves America is serious about me becoming the next Commander-in-Chief.

  I’m swimming in campaign donations and overflowing with volunteers. The campaign is costing a shitload of money, and most of the money goes into media advertising and paying my staff. I have an enormous budget and my campaign funds are increasing with each primary I win. After I win Super Tuesday, I take California by a landslide. When we started off, there were five us, which then whittled down to three. Two of the other guys are holding on, thinking they can beat me and push the fact that I have no true experience. When I clench enough delegates needed to be the nominee, they suspend their campaign. In summer, I’m ready to head into the convention and officially be nominated as the Democratic candidate.

  To celebrate my win in the primaries, my mother insists on having a party. She wants me to invite everyone who is currently working for me and who worked for me in the past, hoping they can be persuaded to volunteer. My staff is in charge of sending out invitations to all of my past and present employees. Holding out hope Daria will show up, I have a new spring in my step.

  With the party a week away, Garrison arrives at his house the Monday before. Temptation to ask him how she is, and if she’s coming, bombards me. He doesn’t bring her up, though, and on the night of the party, I’m still unsure she’ll be here.

  7

  Daria

  Standing outside the Blue Basil Ballroom, the brisk night air brushes my bare shoulders. I shudder from the breeze, angry with myself for not bringing a wrap. Upon entering the elaborate restaurant, I notice the ballroom in the back and people filing inside. Nervousness makes me unsteady in my heels as I hesitate before going in. Didn’t I tell myself the last time this wouldn’t happen again? Didn’t I run back to another country the last time I saw him?

  Taking out my compact to make sure my lipstick is in place, I wish I’d worn cover-up under my eyes. They look so tired. No use worrying now; I’m already here. Pulling out my cell phone, I want to text Lilly and tell her I arrived. After letting her have it for informing Dax about Sebastian, we quickly made up. She explained to me that she didn’t give him a name, only that I was in love with some older man in D.C. that I couldn’t get over. Accepting her explanation and letting it go, we are still the best of friends and she plans to visit me soon. Before I hit send, someone begins speaking to me.

  “If you’re calling for an Uber to bail out, you might as well forget it.”

  I turn to face a distinguished-looking man with slate blue eyes and blond hair cut in a military style. Very tall and muscular, he’s flawless and noble, with a touch of mystery. Stars and medals adorn the front of his black suit.

  “I find it hard to believe you would know anything about calling for an Uber.” I laugh at him.

  “Oh God, never. I heard someone say that this party is too crowded and they wanted to leave, but getting an Uber is impossible. I’m sorry if I was being nosy.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m texting my friend in Paris. I hate walking into these parties alone, and she is my encouragement.”

  “Well, if it helps, I’m alone too. We can walk in together; at least, until you get in the door. Though, I don’t know how anyone that looks as beautiful as you could be nervous about anything, or be alone.” I admire his approach; however, it causes my cheeks to flush the color of scarlet.

  “Thank you. My name’s Daria Stewart.” I stick out my hand to shake his.

  Reaching for my outstretched hand, he doesn’t shake it. Instead, he kisses the top of it, letting his lips linger longer than I’m accustomed to. “Very nice to meet you, Daria Stewart. I’m General Patrick Fitzgerald, also known as Snake.”

  “Impressive. Would you prefer General Snake or General Fitzgerald?” I try not t
o laugh. This guy is the real deal and those medals tell the story. However, as nervous as I am, holding back laughter is impossible.

  “I find it more intimidating to be called General Snake, but you can call me Patrick, since I see this is humorous to you.” Beginning to laugh with me, a smile spreads across his face and his eyes light up.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just General Snake is hilarious.”

  Standing there with a self-assurance that is on the verge of arrogance, I find him amusing.

  “Are you friends with Mr. Reed, or do you work in government?” he asks, changing the subject.

  I smile. “Yes, I’m acquainted with him, and I was also one of his interns when he was elected to Congress. And you?”

  “Old friends from way back when we were teenagers in the Hamptons.” Sebastian has told me about his time in the Hamptons. The wild summers with his brother, partying and having access to anything and everything. Somehow, I can’t picture the General being a part of that. The line to get in moves up, and we step inside the door of the ballroom. Arriving back home from Paris yesterday, there was no time to unpack, so I ran out and bought a new dress and shoes. With not much time to do anything else, I wear my hair straight. All my makeup is packed away, except for a bright red lipstick and some shimmering lotion I have tucked in my purse.

  “Ms. Stewart. You have a wonderful evening, and I believe you got through the front door just fine. I hope we can talk later.” The moment he says that, someone calls his name and he walks away after turning to me and giving me a smile again. I slip inside and let my eyes skim around the room. Immediately, I notice why I’m here. Goose bumps rise on my body, but I’m no longer cold from the outside. In fact, I’m extremely warm.

  Surrounded by a group of people, he’s utterly beautiful standing by the bar in a black tux. His back is to me, but I can pick him out of a crowd anywhere. His tall muscular shoulders, the gelled back hair, and lean body commands the room. Hoping he will turn around so I can see his face, he throws his head back in a loud masculine laugh. The crowd moves around and someone blocks my view of him.