THE PRESIDENT'S GIRLFRIEND (23 page)

     When they were gone, Dutch stood Gina up, sat down, and put her on his lap.  “I’ve missed you terribly,” he said, kissing her on the lips. 

     “Are you okay?” Gina asked him, seeing the tiredness in his eyes. 

     “I am now,” Dutch said, rubbing her arm.  It had been nearly two weeks since Frank’s brutal act and he’d only just had a chance to touch her like this.  “I wish I didn’t have to get back.”

     “You have to leave?”

     “Unfortunately, yes.  Meetings and more meetings.  But I’ll get over here as often as I can.  No-one knows you’re here, no press.  And my security people will continue to see to that.  That way I can slip away and come see you, although it’ll usually have to be when the press is fast asleep.”

     “Just when they were playing up that Marcus
Rance
nonsense, I get into more trouble.”

     “You didn’t get into anything,” Dutch reassured her.  “You didn’t do this to yourself, that asshole did this to you.”

     “How’s the press playing it?” Gina asked.  “I refused to watch any coverage.”

     “The official story is that you had a tumble in your home.  The mainstream media is running with that story.  The tabloids, however, are claiming you were badly beaten by a jealous boyfriend.”

     “Oh, great,” Gina said.  Then she looked at Dutch.  “But if the official story is that I fell, then does that mean Frank will get away with what he did to me?”

     “That bastard isn’t getting away with anything,” Dutch said heartfelt.  “I assure you of that.”

+++

In Cleveland, Ohio, as the night turned into morning, a car swerved into an alley, dumped Frank
Roselli
from out of its backseat, and sped off.  Frank got on his knees, his face so bloody, so swollen, that both of his eyes were swollen shut.  He tried to stand up, but fell back down.  Crawled some more through the smut and grim of a back alley, and then passed on out.

+++

Nearly a month after the attack, Dutch arrived at Gina’s Georgetown residence in the dark of night, three am, after a long dinner party for a Saudi prince.  He got naked, tossing his clothes on the back of the chair as if he lived there, crawled into bed, and lay behind her.  Gina didn’t know he was in bed with her until she felt his naked body against hers, and his warm arms encircle her.

     “Oh,
Montel
,  be quick before Dutch gets here,” she whispered with a smile.

     Dutch slapped her so hard on her naked butt that she nearly slid out of the bed, laughing all the way. 

     “I’ve got your
Montel
,” Dutch said as he began kissing her neck.  She tried to turn around to face him, but he began sucking the first breast that came into his view, stifling her.  The thing Gina knew about Dutch was that he always touched her where she ached, so she never tried to steer him or suggest he move in any direction when he made love to her.  He always moved in the exact direction she needed him to move into, and tonight was no exception.

     She lifted her head, revealing that long, beautiful neck he loved so well.  He moved from her breast to her neck, his mouth searing her with every kiss. 

     He moved her on top of him, and entered her, sucking her beasts as he fucked her, squeezing her ass as she bucked him.  Her breasts, taunt and full, were flapping as she rode him.  And when she came, it felt as if she was being filled up with warm, sweet liquid that poured into her.  She tightened, laid down on top of him in a feeling too intense for her to bear, as his penis penetrated her to the very edge of his balls.

     The next day, Dutch had made up his mind.  He was in the Oval Office and Max and Allison sat in front of his desk.  And although he thought it was a good idea, they thought it was madness.

     “We’re finally turning a corner,” Max said.  “Marcus
Rance
is no longer on front pages, Regina’s past arrest or whatever it was is barely mentioned.  We’re now focused on what we should be focused on, and that’s getting you reelected.  But for you to erase all of that progress with one false move, and it will be a bad move, is a bridge too far, Dutch.”

     “Let her be a guest at the state dinner,” Allison said.  “Let someone be her escort even.  But don’t join her to you.  Not now.  This event is too high profile for that.  All those old stories will start right back up again.”

     Dutch heard their arguments.  He leaned back in his chair and heard them repeatedly.  But they could save their
breath
.  Last night, when he was making love to Gina, when his penis was entering her in a slow, gradual draw-in, he realized the depths of his love.  There was no other woman on the face of this earth that he would rather be with.  No other woman.  And he was tired of hiding her from the world.  Say what they want, protest all they pleased, but come tomorrow night, when the Prime Minister of Great Britain got out of that limousine at the White House, Gina was going to be standing right beside him.

     And that was exactly what happened.  At a state dinner in honor of British Prime Minister David Bellamy and his wife Rebecca Bellamy, the limo drove up and stopped at the North Portico of the White House.  Standing on the
portico
to greet the British couple were President Walter Harber and Regina Lansing, the president’s girlfriend.  It was official now.  No parsing of words, no
she’s just a friend like so many other of his female friends
.  She was the bona fide girlfriend of the President of the United States.  Press rooms and news rooms all across America went haywire.

+++

It wasn’t a news room, but a bedroom.  And Kate
Marris
was lying in the bed, her latest boy toy lying beside her.  And as soon as the reporter announced that the state dinner was hosted by President Harber and his girlfriend, Regina Lansing, she took the remote control she had in her hand, and tossed it through the television screen, shattering its glass.       

     At that same time in Cleveland, Ohio, in a nursing home, Frank
Rotelli
was watching the news reports up front in the TV room.  He was blind and wheelchair bound, but was listening to every word.

     “What’s happening now?”  he asked aloud.

     “Who cares?” somebody else yelled back, and then they changed the channel.  Frank slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair, slammed it until an aide had to be called and wheeled him back to his room.  It was nothing unusual.  They were accustomed to his outbursts.

+++

Two days later, on a typical work night, Max arrived at the Oval Office with Kate
Marris
in tow.  Dutch, who had been reviewing additional national security risk assessment reports, was about to kick them both out, when Max spoke up.

     “You have to hear what she has to say, Dutch,” he said.  

     Dutch could hardly believe it.  Max had nearly lost his job behind his other Kate
Marris
stunt.  Now he was at it again?  “It better not be any bullshit like that night at Mirth,” Dutch warned him.

     “This is no bullshit,” Max said, looking flustered.  “I wish it was, but it’s not.”

     This caught Dutch’s attention.  And that look in Max’s eyes concerned him.  “What is it?”

     “May I sit down?” Kate asked, hurt that he would treat her so insensitively.  She used to rock his world, now he behaved as if she never meant anything to him.

     Dutch stood slightly and motioned for her to sit down.  He always hated it when girls like Kate, who made no secret of dating guys only for their looks and power, wanted to be taken seriously.  “What is it this time?” he asked as soon as they were seated.  Max continued to stand.  He, in fact, began to pace the circular room.

     Kate removed her gloves.  Why she was always wearing those gloves, Dutch thought, was beyond him.  “I won’t beat around the bush,” she said.  “I know you have more important things to do.”

     “You’re beating around the bush,” Dutch said.  “Get to the point.”

     “I’m pregnant with your child and if you don’t marry me I’ll go to the press with this golden information.”  Then she stared at him.  “Is that pointed enough for you?”

     Dutch sat stunned.  “Pregnant?”

     “Yes.  Four months.”  She opened her purse, pulled out a medical statement from her doctor.   “Care to see the proof?”

     “How do we know it’s his?” Max asked her, although he asked it with little reassurance.

     “It’s his,” Kate said.  “Four months ago, he was the only man I was sleeping with.”

     “You had gone your separate ways four months ago,” Max said, although he knew that wasn’t true.

     “We went our separate ways ago, not four,” Kate said.  “Just before he latched onto the murderer’s sister.”

     Dutch continued to sit there.  Kate and Max both waited for a response.  For Max, it was a two-edged sword.  On the one hand, if Dutch married Kate that could immediately put an end to their Regina Lansing baggage problem.  But on the other hand, eliminating Regina Lansing could alienate their base, especially African-Americans and progressive whites. 

     But Dutch just sat there, taking his own counsel.  Then he seemed to come to some decision.  “Is there anything else?” he asked Kate.

     Kate glanced at Max.  Then looked at Dutch.  “No.”

     “Then you’re excused,” Dutch said.

     “Now wait a minute,” Max said but Kate cut him off.

     “You think I’m lying?” she asked as she stood up, flapping her gloves together.  “You think I won’t go to the media if you don’t marry me?  Well, watch me,
dammit
.  Just watch me, Dutch!”

     “Kate, just,” Max said, hurrying to her side.  “Just give us some time, all right?  You just sprang this on us, for crying out loud!  At least give us a few days.”

     “You have two days,” she said, putting back on her dainty gloves.  “If I don’t hear an affirmative in two days, I will go public.  I promise you I will.  And don’t even try that
she’s a slut, it’s not my baby
Maury
Povich
shit.  You know and I know, too, Dutch, that four months ago I was sleeping with you and you alone.  Nobody gets fucked by you and then get in bed with some other man.  That’s an impossibility.”  She looked at Dutch, remembering what it was like in bed with him, regretting losing that kind of love, and turned to leave.    

     When she was gone, Max looked at the president.  “If she goes to the media, Dutch,” he said, “this story will make Marcus
Rance
look like Little Red Riding Hood.”

     Dutch leaned back, suddenly constricted with fear.