Aftermath (25 page)

"Oh." Yasmin pushed out her bottom lip. "We had a bit of a fight."

"I could guess that. About?"

"Well, it began when he learned of your authorization for me to travel to the syncope facility. I wouldn't—couldn't—tell him why I was going. I said it was no business of his. So he started making guesses. I didn't respond, and he became upset because he thought you were sending me on some special secret mission. I told him that wasn't true. He didn't believe me. He accused me of having an unfair advantage dealing with you because I'm a woman. I told him it wasn't my choice, Nature did that."

"That's all you said to him?"

"Well, no. I kind of told him—"

"Kind of? I'd rather hear it exactly."

"Yes, but I wouldn't rather say it." When Saul remained silent, she went on, "All right. I told him that he'd fuck you himself if he had half a chance. I knew the cussing would annoy him as much as the thought—especially since it's true. He got madder than ever."

Saul shook his head in disbelief. "What did you expect? That after he heard that he would back down and apologize?"

"I wasn't thinking. Especially after he told me that I now occupied the most senior position I would ever have in my whole life, because I'd used up all the black-Hispanic-woman cards."

"And you of course, to avoid further argument, agreed."

"No, sir." Yasmin emptied half a glass of wine in one gulp and poured herself more. "I told him that I would go a damn sight farther than he ever would, and I didn't see why I couldn't be President someday." Her nostrils flared, and emotion thickened the air between them like hot, strong syrup. "I'm going to be the first female President, I told him, the way Saul Steinmetz is the first Jewish President. And to get there I'm going to jiggle and wiggle my sexy black-Hispanic-woman's ass any way I have to, with anybody I feel like. A damn sight more men will chase me, I said, than will ever go after you, Auden Travis. You should have seen his face when I told him that. He'd have murdered me on the spot if he could." She looked up at Saul, who was sitting with head bowed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not suggesting that I really do—well, you know. I was just mad at him. But you did ask for it exactly."

"I did, didn't I?"

"What happens now, sir?"

"Now I'm thinking that alcohol is not a traditional Jewish vice, but maybe I ought to give the wine another try." Saul raised his head, and their eyes locked. "Actually, I'm thinking that in a couple of days, you and Auden Travis will have to work together again—or one of you will be leaving. Maybe both of you. Do you want that?"

"No, sir." Her voice was a whisper. "I don't. I really don't."

"I thought not."

"I love my job with you."

"So there will have to be apologies, won't there? On both sides."

"Yes, sir." Her face was pale. "There will be apologies."

"Very good." Saul stabbed savagely at a piece of fish with his fork. "I know this was hard on you, Yasmin; but it was necessary. There's nothing wrong with ambition, but I insist on civility between members of my personal staff. Otherwise working together is impossible. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. End of that subject. Let's return to our previous topic." From the miserable expression on her race, he was not sure that she remembered what it had been. He prompted: "I've been confined to the White House. I receive a ton of reports every day. And everything that I hear or see has been filtered."

That got through. She sat upright in her chair. "Not by me, sir."

"By you, and by everybody else. This isn't just Saul Steinmetz complaining. The same thing happens to every President. People tell a chief executive what they think he wants to hear. Rosy economic reports, high popularity figures, promising international changes, you name it. There's a competition to be the first with good news. Anyone who tells bad news tends to get weeded out—even if all the real news is bad."

"I don't hide bad news from you, sir."

"You try not to. And I love you for it." Saul wondered about that choice of verb, but Yasmin perked up visibly. Anyway, it was too late to change what he had said, and he went on, "I need inputs that tell it straight. Before the gamma pulse, I thought I had a way through the shield of people around me. My office was wired for direct data feeds. I could switch from space cameras to farm country to undersea to almost every state and city in the world. When I lost that service I felt I'd been blinded. Until it comes back there's only one answer: I have to get outside the White House and see for myself. Inspecting places like this is important. And I need help—I can't be everywhere. I'll give you just one example. The Q-5 is listed as a 'small' facility for extended syncope, but over eleven thousand prisoners are there—including murderers, human monsters, and a number of the country's most dangerous convicted terrorists. I have seen not one word about the condition of Q-5 in any report. When you go there to find your brother, I want you to keep your eyes open and give me a briefing when you get back to Washington. Something is happening at Q-5, but I don't trust my military advisers to understand what. They see everything through their own filters."

"I'll do my best. It will be difficult with Raymond to worry about, but I'll try to be objective."

Saul nodded and became quiet. He remained that way for a long time, slowly eating. So long that at last Yasmin, restored by wine, time, and silence to some of her natural sassiness, felt curious enough to prompt him.

"Sir?"

Saul looked up at her. She smiled, a warm but tentative smile.

"You said you had another reason for coming here to see me, sir. A personal reason. If you would like to tell me about that, I'd very much like to listen."

16

You heard talk of electrical power returning to the whole city, but so far there was no sign of it. The candles, flickering low, turned the long basement room to a maze of shadows. Auden Travis didn't see where Nick Lopez came from, but suddenly the Senator was smiling at his side.

"No rush, Auden, but it's thinning out." Lopez gestured to the door, where half a dozen men were putting on their coats. "Jeremy and Raoul would never dream of saying anything—we could stay here 'til dawn if we wanted to. But it's close to two o'clock."

"It can't be that late." Auden looked at his wrist, where of course there was no working watch. "It feels about ten o'clock."

"Believe me, it's not." Lopez took Travis's elbow. "They have to get up in the morning for work—and so do you."

"I suppose so." Auden moved toward the door at Lopez's gentle urging, but before he arrived there he turned his head for a final look down the room.

"Enjoy it?" Lopez asked quietly.

"I had a wonderful time, Senator."

"Nick."

"Nick." Travis took a deep breath. "I know this will sound corny, but I haven't enjoyed an evening as much as this in my entire life. It makes me feel almost guilty, having such a great time when the city and the world is such a mess."

"It is a mess, but not because of anything we did. I'm glad you liked it. I hope you'll come again."

"I'd love to. If I get invited."

"Oh, come on, don't be silly. Couldn't you see you were the hit of the evening?"

"I thought it was my imagination. Everyone was so
friendly
to me."

"And why shouldn't they be? You are gorgeous. And you deserve a few hours of pleasure. You work much too hard, you know. I hope Saul appreciates you."

"Oh, he does." But Travis couldn't erase the memory of the President running off after that whore, Yasmin Silvers. He wanted to pour out the truth to Lopez, but he couldn't do that. "The President entrusts me with a great deal of information," he said at last.
Except why he sent her to the syncope facility, then went running off after her. Though the last part isn't hard to guess.

"He trusts you because you can be trusted," Lopez said. "I trust you already, and I don't know you well."

They retrieved their coats in silence and went to thank Raoul and Jeremy in the kitchen, who both gave Auden a hug and said, "Be sure to come again."

"He will," Lopez said. "I'll talk him into it. And now let's see what the weather is doing out there."

They left the apartment and started up the steps from the basement to the ground level. At the top the Senator patted the pockets of his overcoat.

"Uh-oh. My hat. I put it on the entrance table when I came in. Wait here, I won't be a second. Maybe you can take a look and see if it stopped snowing."

When he returned Auden was standing at the top with the outside door cracked open an inch. He had his eyes closed, but he turned when he heard Lopez's footsteps.

"It's not nice at all out there, sir. Freezing cold and deep snow."

"For God's sake, Auden, are you trying to make me angry? I'm not
sir,
I'm
Nick.
I'm your friend, not your superior officer."

"I'm sorry. Nick. It's hard to get used to it. You've been Senator Lopez in my mind for so long."

"Like some crumbling relic?"

"I didn't mean that at all. Nick."

"I believe you. Just what
is
it doing outside?" Lopez opened the door wide, and a blast of air and flurry of snowflakes blew in. "Jeez. Not nice doesn't begin to describe it. It's hell out there. Dangerous, too, without our security escort."

"Do you have far to go?"

"Me?" Nick Lopez stared at Auden. "I don't have to go anywhere. I live here. I have a big apartment—on the second floor, fortunately, since we don't have elevators now. But it's you I'm thinking about."

"You don't have to worry. It's only a few blocks."

"It's a good half mile. A five-minute taxi ride to the White House—except that now there are no cabs anymore. Auden, you can't possibly walk in this weather, in the middle of the night."

"I'll be safe enough."

"Don't bet on it. It's a zoo out there. But even if you don't get mugged, you'll freeze to death. And it's so unnecessary. You can stay at my place."

"I need to be at my job in the morning."

"And so do I. But you told me yourself, the President has gone off someplace downriver. He won't be at the White House in the morning. There's not a reason in the world why you have to be there before, say, nine o'clock."

"I don't know."

"Well, I do." Lopez closed the door firmly. "I'd be pleased and honored if you accept my hospitality for the night. And I'll be mortified if you refuse."

Auden hesitated. He had heard Nick Lopez's explanation, that everyone in Washington had a bad reputation and that he was no exception. Auden knew this to be at least partially true—he had heard scurrilous stories about almost everybody, from the President to eighty-seven-year-old Lucas Munce.

But inside every story there was likely to be a kernel of truth. Auden had heard wildly conflicting reports about Senator Nick Lopez. He was the finest man in Washington. He was a slave to his own sexual urges. He was a loyal friend who offered his friendship for life. He took young men, made them crazy about him, and dropped them without a second thought.

Auden should not stay overnight in Nick's apartment. Not because there was the stigma of illegality to the relationship—the brave gay men who stormed the barricades fifty years ago had forced those changes. But legality was insufficient to remove all stigma. Not every part of America was urban and cosmopolitan. Plenty of small-minded and small-town religious bigots would express open outrage if they learned that an aide close to the President was not heterosexual. One published word, and both Auden and the President could suffer. That was why since joining the White House staff Auden had been celibate for so long.

But tonight it was more than so long. It was too long. Auden felt wonderful, relaxed and giddy and amorous all at the same time.
Your loyalty does you credit,
Nick had said.
Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?

It seemed like he never stopped. But if Senator Lopez—Nick—felt free to take things easy for a few hours, why should Auden be any different?

"Well?" Nick Lopez was smiling, patiently waiting. "I'm telling you, I'll be heartbroken if you say no."

"If you put it that way . . ."

"I certainly do." Lopez put his arm around Auden's shoulder and steered him toward the staircase. "We'll go upstairs, have a drink and talk. We need to get to know each other—you were so popular tonight, I couldn't get near you. And there's one other thing."

"What's that, Nick?" Travis shivered slightly at the pressure of Lopez's arm, but he did not draw away.

"It's what we were talking about this afternoon, before we came here. My 'reputation,' as you put it."

"Oh, that." Auden laughed. He was no longer nervous. "I'm not worried about that anymore, now that I've seen how you are with your friends. I'm not worried about anything."

"Good. But I want to say one thing more. I value our friendship highly, for what it is now and what I hope it will become. So you have my promise: nothing will happen tonight that you don't absolutely want to happen."

"I know that, Nick. You don't have to make me any promises. I'm an adult." Auden nestled a little closer. He wasn't merely a career, he was a man, too, with his own needs. "I think I knew how things would turn out with us even before we set out for the party."

17

Art woke rested and curiously at peace. He had slept through the whole night, rare for him in the past few years. It took a few moments to realize that he had been awakened by the disappearance of the warm body next to his.

It was already full day. He turned his head, opened his eyes, and stared wearily at the dark shape outlined against the window.

"You're a blanket hog, d'you know that?" Dana sounded as lively as he felt comatose. "I had to fight for my share half a dozen times."

"Sorry." Art's throat and mouth felt dry, and his voice was gravelly.

"I bet. But there are worse bedtime sins."

"Like what?"

"We'll talk about it some other time. You can stay put for a while if you want, I'm going to boil water."