The World: According to Rachael (18 page)

“Oh my God. I remember that club. Caroline and I wanted to go so bad. We talked her older sister Chelsea into taking us. It was super fun.” I love that we have shared memories.

“It was closed by the time I was old enough to go.”

Without missing a beat, I say, “That’s because you’re a baby. You missed out on all kinds of cool stuff. I saw
Goonies, Top Gun,
and
Star Wars
in the movie theater. You had to watch it on some tired VHS tapes.”

He kisses my cheek. “You win. I’ll never mention our age difference again.”

Then, he brings us back to his story. “Anyway, Kelly and I arrived at James’s house and his parents had one of those big-screen TVs that was the size of, like, a crate. It was the coolest thing that I had ever seen. Kelly, James, and about ten other teenagers watched this new thing called UFC. Because I was taking martial arts, I knew a lot of the moves and techniques.”

He pauses and when he speaks again, I hear the smile in his voice. “I was only ten, but I was the coolest kid in the room of teenagers because I knew about MMA. And that, Rachael, my dear, is why MMA is better than boxing.”

I wiggle my behind against him. “I love that story. Don’t agree with the conclusion. What happened to James?”

“He married my sister and contributed half of the genes that make up my perfect niece. Thank goodness she snuck into Cars, huh?” He kisses my temple and pulls me tightly to him.

“You talk a lot about your niece. Do you want kids?” It’s a logical question, and one that’s way too early in our relationship to discuss, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

His answer is immediate. “Yes. I absolutely want kids. But I’m in no hurry to be a dad. Make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“You?” His muscles tense ever so slightly.

Unlike him, I don’t reply quickly. I need a moment to formulate my answer correctly. Finally, I say, “I hate to point out the age difference again, since you said that you’d never bring it up, but I’m almost thirty-nine. I’m not sure that having a baby is really in my future. Up until just recently, I would have said that I didn’t want kids, but now I’m not so sure that’s still my feelings.”

Graham doesn’t respond. He relaxes against me as we let silence fill the air. The white noise of passing cars lulls us to sleep, or maybe it’s exhaustion from all the sex, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of this man cradling me to him as if I’m the most cherished possession in his world.

“Rach … Rachael … What’s that sound?” Graham asks through a scratchy voice.

I sit up straight in bed. “That’s my emergency pager,” I yell, as I desperately try to remember where my purse is.
Oh yes! Downstairs on the chair.

I jump out of bed and fly down the stairs, hitting the landing as I hear two loud knocks on my front door.

“Oh God,” I groan. “I’m naked.”
I smell like a cheap whore and have evidence of our night crusted onto the inside of my thighs.

“Just a second,” I yell to whomever was sent to fetch me.

“Mrs. Early,” the deep baritone voice says through my wooden door. “The President requires your presence immediately.”

“You’re going to have to give me ten minutes,” I yell back.

I dig out the archaic device and read the screen. Sure enough, in typical fashion, I get no information on what the emergency is, just that I’m being summoned to 1500 Pennsylvania Avenue. I quickly punch in on the old keyboard. “Be there shortly.”

Turning around, I walk back up my stairs and into the bedroom. The hottest man in the universe is naked with a raging hard-on. “God,” I groan. “That looks good enough to eat,” I say with a devilish grin. “But can you give me a rain check? I’ve been paged.”

“Paged?” he asks, his eyebrows meeting his hairline in confusion.

“Yes, paged,” I walk out of my bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. No time for a shower. I’m going to have to take a whore bath, as my roommate in grad school called it.

When I walk back into my bedroom, Graham is doing nothing to make this easier on me. He’s lying on top of the covers in all of his morning glory. His morning scruff looks damn sexy, and I long to nuzzle against it, feeling the tickle on my face. His eyes are bright and expecting. He’s fisting his very engorged penis. Momentarily, I lose my train of thought before I shake myself back to reality. Job. Emergency. White House. Go.

“Pagers are very hard to trace. I carry one for … well … emergencies,” I explain as I wipe the inside of my thighs, tossing the washcloth on my dresser.

“Is this an emergency?” he asks, stroking his dick, knowing full well that I can’t indulge.

But before I can stop myself, I run my tongue over my lips and feel my lower stomach flood with warmth.
How big of an emergency at the White House? Five minutes … Real quick …

No, Rachael. Job first. Then cute boy.

“Unfortunately, as appetizing as that is,” I drop my chin and lick my lips suggestively, “I have to go. I’ll ask Lou to drive you home.”

“Any chance of me spending more time with you today?” His dick begins to deflate, mimicking my emotions.

“If history holds true, probably not. I’ll call you when I have a chance.”

I throw on a pair of comfortable jeans and a Gap sweatshirt. I dig in the back of my closet and pull out a pair of Ugg boots. Next, I make my way into the bathroom to remove the remnants of last night’s makeup, and slick my hair back into a ponytail. Seven years ago, would I have gone to the White House looking like this? Not on your life. Today, it’s just going to have to do.

I walk back into the bedroom. Graham already has his underwear on.
It’s a crying shame to hide that man’s body in clothes.
I watch him turn away from me and bend over to pick up his slacks. I feel bad for the guy. He’s having to do the walk of shame in a tux.

Then I spot something on the back of his calf muscle. “Graham, what’s on your leg?” I ask as I walk towards him.

“What? My tattoo?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at his calf.

“Yeah. I guess. You have a tattoo?” I bend down to examine it and burst into laughter. “Oh my God! It’s Greek letters. Is that the frat you were in?”

He reaches down and grabs me under my arms, pulling me to my feet. With amusement in is voice, he says, “As a matter of fact, it was and is. And quit laughing. All my fraternity brothers have the same tattoo.”

I bite my lip to try to stifle my laughter. It’s just so absurd. How can a thirty-year-old still have the college frat letters on his body? There’s a laser that can remove stupid tats from college.

He cups my chin and says, “You might not understand it, but it’s important to me. Okay?”

I nod. “I’m sorry for laughing.”
Not really.
“I’ll let you draw on me with a permanent marker if you’ll forgive me.”

He drops my chin and sits down on the bed to slide his pants on. “I don’t want to scribble on your beautiful skin. I like tattoos. That doesn’t mean that I want another one. But the tat on my leg marks an important time in my life. Think of it as a battle scar.”

Now that makes sense to me. I nod. “Lou will come back and get you after he drops me off.”

Graham buttons his pants and gives me a kiss on the tip of my nose. “No need to waste tax payer dollars. I’ve called a cab.”

“L … Look,” I stammer. “I’m really sorry about this, but this is my life for the next year. If you can’t hang with the constant job interruptions, I understand.” I do understand, but damn I’ll be sad if this is a deal-breaker.

He walks over to me with a very serious look on his face. “Not even for a moment would I consider not seeing you again. Now, go save the world, cowgirl.” I even get a slap on my behind.

I meet Lou with a goofy grin on my face. I feel like a girl who’s just won the lottery.

“We’re watching
This Week
,” President Jones announces when we’re all convened around the conference table in my office. I’m assuming my office was chosen for this early Sunday morning get-together because his office was too junky for all of us to fit. The Vice-President is sitting next to Evan, who is next to Carl. Carl is also an advisor, helping to form the immigration reform bill.

“Mr. President,” I start before I clear my throat. “It’s really early on Sunday morning after a late Saturday night. With all due respect, is it really necessary that we watch this together?”
Please let the answer be no …
I also would like to add that seriously, this is not a reason to call an emergency meeting on a Sunday.

“Tell her, Evan,” the President says, looking toward Evan, who had a great night, if the bags under his eyes are any indication. I bet we got about the same amount of sleep, which is next to none.

“Roan is going to float some of the immigration reform ideas that we’re toying with, and two of the three Sons of Liberty are doing a live interview with Greg Kanes in,” he checks his watch, “about thirty minutes.”

I stand up and make my way to my Keurig. It’s my default when Maggie isn’t here to brew the coffee. It’s definitely a two or three-cup kind of morning.

I must admit that I’m still a little annoyed that we have to watch this together. Normally, Evan and I watch the Sunday morning political shows from the comfort of our living rooms, and discuss them on Monday. In the seven years that the president has been in office, we’ve never all convened on a Sunday morning to watch television.

“Can you grab me a cup?” Evan calls.

“Me too,” the Vice-President chimes in.

I prepare two more cups and bring them back to my conference table.

Evan turns on the television, and we all settle in to watch the fireworks.

Roan is the first interview. He looks polished as always, in his Armani suit. His name flashes up on the screen with the title
Presidential Advisor
underneath it. Roan’s stock just went up twenty points.

Even I have to admit that he does a good job of selling some of the ideas that we’re going to include in the bill. His aura on-camera is completely different than how he comes off in person. He really does seem just like a concerned citizen, trying to make a difference.

The President is pleased. He’s got a huge goofy grin and keeps glancing at me with a look that screams, “I told you so.” When the first commercial comes on, I make huge, exaggerated eye rolls and announce, “He’s doing a fine job.”

“I told you he would, Rach. He’s a pompous little prick, but he knows how to sell ice to Eskimos.”

“Mr. President, and I mean this in the kindest way, but gloating gives you wrinkles.” I try to hide my smile as I deliver my line, but I can’t.

“I’ll remind you of that the next time you’re making bets with my son.” He has a twinkle in his eye this morning that I’ve missed seeing. Sometimes we all get so caught up in the fast-paced, swirl of crisis that surrounds us on an hourly basis that we forget to just have a little fun. I attribute that revelation to a particular dark-haired boy with an interesting tattoo that I left half-naked in my bed.

Yes. It completely sucks to be called away from Graham this morning, but my heart warms to a see a bit of Langford Jones as he was before he became president.

“Touché, Mr. President, touché.”

Roan kills it during the next segment also. The questions he’s asked are tough. Greg does a good job of presenting the counter-side of the debate, and Roan is prepared with his answers.

The whole time he’s speaking, I question if he’s one of the Sons of Liberty. The theory thrown out last night mixed with my own thoughts about Roan’s maybe secret identity has stuck in my crawl. It would make sense why there are only two of the radio commentators instead of three appearing in the next segment. I don’t get a chance to think about the implications on the White House if he is indeed a member because at the next commercial break, Evan pauses the program and fills the President, the Vice-President, and Carl in on what we know about the Sons of Liberty. They already are very aware of their impact in Tuesday’s election, so we’re all curious to hear what these guys have to say when they’re the ones in the hot seat.

Evan catches us up to the beginning of the segment featuring the Sons of Liberty. Greg announces that only two members were scheduled to come on, but a last-minute change in plans allowed Revere to join them. He explains that all three are being interviewed from a remote location, and have altered their voices. Greg makes it clear to the viewing audience that he doesn’t know who these guys are.

Well, that essentially eliminates Roan as a member. He wouldn’t have had time to get to the secret location.

The camera pans to a video screen behind Greg. There are three men—I think—dressed like the cast of
Duck Dynasty
. They all have on Halloween costume-worthy beards, camo shirts, dark green baseball hats, and black sunglasses. They each introduce themselves, and their voices match the voices I’ve come to recognize from listening to their clips and past shows.

After the greetings are out of the way, Greg wastes no time asking the question that is foremost on every viewer’s mind … Why have they kept their identities a secret?

Solomon seems to be the spokesperson for the trio, and he responds, “Let me be clear before I answer this question that it’s not because we don’t believe passionately in what we debate on our radio show. We’re in disguise so that we can exercise our First Amendment rights without having to worry about the repercussions of our views on our families.”

Greg tries to interject, but McDougall cuts him off. “I’d like to elaborate on what Solomon said.” They give each other a nod that suggests that they’re very comfortable with each other. I can tell that these guys are close. Maybe brothers? There are lots of unsaid words that pass in that nod. “We’ve witnessed good people speak their minds politically, and their words are twisted in negative ways. They’re audited by the IRS, and shunned in their communities. We aren’t calling for anarchy, or any other silliness like that. We love our country. All three of us believe that this is the best place in the world to live. We just want to educate twenty and thirty-year-olds who don’t watch the news channels twenty-four seven, or listen to A.M. talk radio stations, about the issues that directly affect them.”