“What did he say?”
He asked if Wilks was serious about the tort reform compromise.
“I don’t remember. Help me, Baji. I’m dying here.”
Repeat after me.
Jill launched a rather eloquent defense of Wilks’ tort initiative and how he felt that addressing that issue along with campaign transparency would have a trickle-down effect on all of government. Then she continued with how cap limits of contributions would hurt Gastigone’s party much less than hers.
“Baji, Wilks won’t touch tort reform with a ten foot pole. We can’t sell this to Gastigone.”
You mean we are going to lie? Oh, the travesty.
“You’re writing checks I can’t cash.”
We will cross that bridge when we get there.
At the very end of the meeting, she received his lukewarm support, which didn’t leave her with any fuzzy feelings about their chances.
“Will you be attending the Exxon Gala tonight?” he said as he stood to leave. “I would like to discuss this further.”
Jill cursed. She yearned for an early bedtime. Marco had gleefully informed her about a particularly grueling session tomorrow and she wanted to rest for it.
“Of course, Senator,” she smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Do you have a date?” he asked, a bit too coy. “My wife couldn’t make it from Kansas.”
“I do,” she replied hastily. Her heart panicked at the thought of being his date. An entire night sitting next to Gastigone might end up with one of them dead. She just hoped Marco was available.
Of course he is. His job is to protect you. You will have a wonderful time. I know the perfect dress for you to wear.
“Quiet, you. Stop trying to set us up.”
Imagine how dashing he would look in a tuxedo. You would have such beautiful, intelligent children.
“I swear if you’re calling my son ugly and dumb, I will never speak to you again.”
Jill made a polite exit and hurried back to the office. If she had to attend this gala tonight, her day was just cut in half. She crossed Pennsylvania Avenue, her eyes wandering to the White House as she passed. She reminded herself to make sure Marco’s background check went through alright. It usually took Secret Service weeks to clear someone. Paula had ordered him cleared expediently. Hopefully there weren’t any problems, or she’d end up with Gastigone all night.
Speaking of the devil, Marco miraculously materialized next to her, strolling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He kept looking straight ahead and murmured just loud enough for her to hear. “Your bangle blipped, showing an elevated heart rate. Is everything alright?”
“I got asked out on a date,” she growled.
Marco’s mask of smug confidence was momentarily shattered. He laughed. “That cad,” his voice quivered as he covered his mouth. “Tell me… did he offer to buy you dinner as well?”
Jill scowled. She wasn’t in the mood for his patronizing. “Your job is to protect me, not give a running commentary on my life.”
“Oh, come now, Jill,” he said jovially, “why so peeved? You’re a beautiful single woman. You have to know men would come calling.”
Jill crossed 14th Street and cut through Freedom Plaza. She might actually get to have lunch today at a decent hour. She stopped near one of the food trucks parked on 13th and ordered bibimbap tacos.
“You want one?” she asked, already stuffing half a taco in her mouth.
“Oh, no, thank you. I have a delicate palate.” He grimaced at the heavily fermented kimchee. Jill dropped the other taco into her purse. She’d have to eat on the go. Wilks had a conference call in ten minutes and she had to be there to babysit. “I’m not going to make it,” she said, raising her non-taco hand to hail a cab. She turned to Marco. “I’m heading back to the office. Do you have a tux?”
“I am a gentleman,” he exclaimed, lifting his chin as if that were all the answer she needed.
“I must live in a country of Neanderthals,” she muttered. Neither Roen nor her father owned one. “Wear a tux tonight. We have a dinner function. Six thirty.” She got into the cab and stuck a finger out the window. “Don’t be late. I want to be in bed by ten, so we can do your stupid monkey jumping thing tomorrow.”
“It’s called dash vault,” he called out as her cab pulled away. “And we’re going to do hundreds of them. It’ll be fun!”
Jill paced nervously on the corner waiting for Marco, who moments earlier had notified her that he was five minutes away. She was wearing a strapless black dress that showed off a bit more of her figure than she was comfortable with. She had originally bought this dress before she had had Cameron. Some of the fitting here and there was tighter than she liked.
Tonight would be something different. This would be the first time she brought a date other than her boss to one of these gatherings. People would talk. The Hill was a small place and just as bad as any high school in America. Everyone in town knew everyone else. And tonight, Jill was bringing a new player to the party. There would be talk.
Her separation from Roen wasn’t a secret, and it was perceived as a weakness in many political circles. If you can’t even keep your marriage together, how do you expect to run the country? Something bad and underhanded must have happened to break up a family with children. The real reason aides separated was much less salacious than the gossip. People here at the capital just worked too damn much.
Four minutes after Marco called, she caught eye of his silent little toy car zipping up. He got out and jogged around to open the passenger side door. Jill hid her smile. Having the door opened for her never grew old.
Polite and punctual. There are just some manners that one cannot teach.
“They just don’t make them like they used to anymore.”
Marco was dressed like a model in one of those catalogs. He wore a custom-tailored gray charcoal tux with a blue tie that suited him perfectly. One could always tell when a tux was made just for the man. He was also clean-shaven, and while she hadn’t minded his manly five o’clock shadow, he cleaned up nicely. She had to check herself from staring.
“You look lovely as always,” Marco said as he held the door open.
“You look alright, I guess,” she sniffed with an exaggerated air of indifference. She got in and they sped off toward the party. On the way, she reminded him that they were in her world now. She showed him a hand signal for him to step away, and more importantly, another to rescue her from an unwelcome conversation. Then he refreshed with her the signs she should use for help, follow, danger, flee, kill, and a dozen others. By the time they got to the party, they had built an entirely new sign language of their own. To be honest though, Jill only remembered help and bathroom, the two she considered most important.
“Why can’t we just use the military ones?” she said as they parked four blocks from the party.
“Because then our secret sign language will be known by probably a dozen others in the room,” he said. “How am I supposed to profess my undying love with ten complete strangers eavesdropping?”
He held out his elbow, and they strolled to the party leisurely. She cursed her high heels. As was standard practice, he had parked his car several blocks away. If something went down, it would give them space to maneuver. Wearing flats would have been a glaring and gossiped about mistake. Still…
“Could you have parked a little closer?” she grumbled.