It Had Been Years (7 page)

But back in the morning Donna barely stirred as her alarm went off.  She was tired and not at all in the mood for a Monday morning.  Without exception her entire body was stiff and sore.  From the arches of her feet to the top of her pounding head it hurt, it all hurt …and not in a good way.  Her hamstrings were in knots, her back so tight that it hurts to be doubled over with a sour,
crampy
stomach.  She was covered in sweat and shaking, it simply put was not a good day; she had the flu.

And so the day went as it usually
does,
the Husker read and met.  He listened, and discussed.  He was pitched to and pitched to others.  Vincent thought and he thought, he probed and pushed.  He was courted, cajoled, and romanced.  In the evening he was wined
and dined.  The day was like so many others, one thought logically led to another, nothing unexpected, nothing shocking both side were well postured and protected.

Donna, she moped, sweated and slept, her fever broke by early afternoon and she felt almost human albeit slightly dehydrated but almost human by mid evening. 
Nadrea
on the other hand was particularly curt, and her temperament was bordering on a sadistic dictators level of cruel.  It was a typical day for her except for the rage burning inside of her.  Each time there was a few seconds of silence, a moment to breath she told herself that Thursday was out of the question. 
The arrogance and stupidity of that stupid man.
  How dare he call her “Nod”!  His gentlemanly bullshit of jousting with her and just when she was convinced he was about to make an advance he ignored hers.  She told herself that he probably had a dick like a little boy & that the silly impotent schmuck probably left his erectile dysfunction drugs at home.  Without them he probably couldn’t get his tiny little
stiffy
to work at all.

Our all American Husker was dressed in a crisp white shirt, a dark blue Hickey Freeman suit tailored to his classically lean frame and a solid grey blue tie and classic black cap toed dress shoes by Cole Hahn. While striding down the hall on his way to a “Governor’s Breakfast” meeting, he reached into his left inside jacket pocket, the opposite of where he normally carries things since he was right handed. 

“What’s that?” the ever present Christy inquired.

“It’s a phone” he calmly responded.

“I didn’t get you a new phone.” She pressed.

“I’m well aware of that, I got it.” He coolly replied. 

Her mind was racing, he didn’t keep secrets from her, she was pushing looking for signs as to why in his manner and his answers. 

“So, you have the same number?” pressing further, looking for a sign, a pause a flinch.  Perhaps she was putting entirely too much meaning on something
so
trivial as a phone.

“On the old phone
I
do.” the Husker replied “This one has a different number.” 

Had she lost control, was she being replaced, what could possibly make him do such a thing, the paranoia creeping up her butt?  In a city of whispers that she was so keenly attuned to, had she missed one of them?  “AND WHEN WERE
YOU
GOING TO TELL
ME?” 
Christy’s tone was pressing, wearing in place of her fear an appearance of anger and distrust.  

The Husker was far more astute than his charming looks and pleasant demeanor indicate.  It was getting
dicey,
he had no intention of telling her that it is a cash only prepaid, number blocked, untraceable, and completely anonymous phone.  The type used by poor college students, drug dealers, bookies and married men hiding mistresses from their wives. 

“I just got
it,
my other phone is state provided, public property, so technically all my calls are a matter of public record.  Remember the problem it caused for that state senator from Springfield, Illinois?” he paused while she rifled through her extraordinary
memory, she wasn’t coming up completely blank but when instant recall didn’t occur he continued.  “The one Jones told us about a while back?”  The words were gentle prompting but said in complete candor and unwavering confidence.  Her mind was like a steel trap, there were at time passing minor details that she couldn’t immediately recall, her guard being up might have impaired her recall, looking for signs of some untold event had her thinking less than usual about past facts and more on what the meaning of this really was.  The public record part of it did ring a bell.  Looking him square in the eye “I remember something along those lines.” She tentatively admitted.

“Well,” the Husker continued “ a rival got a hold of his call records, did a look up on who the numbers were registered to and then went to the press with a leak about him calling & getting calls almost daily from a 19 year old college girl. Which was in fact the
case,
he was calling that young woman very often and all kinds of crazy hours.  They got the story to run and did a lot of damage, he lost a lot of funding and more votes than he should have based “moral outrage”.  Turns out the girl he was calling was an intern of his wife who had been working as her handler and make shift admin. The phone was in her name and they reimbursed her for the business calls made on it but it was his listed official phone bill that caused the problems.” He paused to catch his breath “Because he used a tax payer provided device there was a sense of impropriety and retractions after the fact never really un do the damage caused by rumors.”

She was listening, still looking for a crack in the armor, none, not even a scratch, a pause or an awkward
breath,
maybe he had thought this through, maybe.  “You don’t have a wife.” She stated rather coldly, she had no more of a life than he did and she wanted them both to stay that way. 

“Exactly, if I was talking to 19 year old on a regular basis that would be news.”
  He says laughing. 

“You don’t even date.  Do you?” Christy couldn’t resist taking a shot at him and at the same time trying to figure out where he was Sunday morning, why he missed a brunch that he never misses when he’s in town. 

“See that’s why I have the phone, so my mother can call me twice a day to complain about me not dating and it’s not a matter of public record.  Have you been talking to her again?”

His playful banter had just turned the tables on her.  She had talked to his mother, it was something she did every Thursday, maybe he didn’t know it, the thought crossed her mind that maybe he looked at her calls and found out that she had called his mother twice yesterday.  Did he know? She had to answer and quickly, “No more than usual.”  It was at best a half truth, of course they had spoken, but then again both agreed that that they didn’t need to talk again on Thursday unless the other had figured out why he missed brunch.  Mother was a neb and wanted to know, but not as desperately as Christy.  His mother wanted him to find a nice girl and preserve the family legacy, perhaps even build it into something greater.  This was not a concern of his.

“So do I get the number?” 
she
asked.

“No.” he replied very matter of fact “it’s a 30 day trial, I’m not sure if I’m keeping it. It’s a new company for me and I’m worried about the service” this was in fact a blatant lie, spoken as gospel truth, he was after all a trained professional.  It was her one chance to pick up on a slip, a generic statement, a slight of hand or slip in tone or delivery.  It
was  reloadable
with more minutes, Christy didn’t need to know that, it was in fact from a new company, a foreign one, that when they were American based firms he could have chosen but didn’t  it was honest about the coverage,  those problems are not at all unheard of by many cell phone users so no alarm goes off in her head.  He obsesses about such things, a detail that would not at all be out of character.  But she was too worried about the mother thing to catch
an
hint of a change, a tip or a clue as to the completeness of his honesty. 

The phone wasn’t for calling a 19 year old or another man’s wife, not for a bookie or a drug dealer.  It wasn’t even for calling a lobbyist or special interest group it was for calling Donna, for in many people’s eyes this was consorting with the enemy.  Which
was
worse, ones supporters could easily forgive vices, temptations of the flesh and mind and spirit.  Addictions could be forgiven, even beneficial in making a leader more in tune with the common
man.  Would and could constitutes and supporters forgive him for literally sleeping with the enemy?  Donna had the same phone for much the same reason, he was for her is also an occupational hazard.  This was where many powerful men and women made mistakes.  They choose a liaison, a tryst and interlude with someone who has little or nothing to lose if it becomes public or the relationship goes south, why would they keep it a secret? Here they both would lose, one their parties trust, and both could lose their jobs, while not equal in stature both have significant roles in life that would not easily be replaced.

So as the same day wears on Donna goes for a lunch time run and upon returning to the office & checking work email she dipped into her personal account and there it was staring at her, all but telling her what she had once been.  The benefits of a nice hour long run were typically a clear mind, a refreshed body and very few remaining worries.  Instead she felt tired, weak and her thoughts were cluttered with more worries.  Had she run too soon after feeling ill, what hadn’t she caught up on before her break that would flare up as an emergency when she got back?  Fatigue and health aside she just couldn’t clear her mind, sitting there knowing that nothing had passed her by.  The world didn’t suddenly stop because of her short absence.  But then again there was this thing just staring her right in the face.  Sure it was something she had
started ,
a thing and thoughts long since dead that she went out of her way to breathe life into.  Not all of it was bad, Donna thought to herself.  There were good memories, however faded and tarnished by the rest.   She could of course simply ignore it, not respond, she could over book herself, make other commitments, there was always the possibility that she could find a reason to travel, for business or pleasure.  It really didn’t matter, a half truth, a mistruth or blatant lies, for a million different reasons, all plausible, all unverifiable by the other party taken at face value even if there were doubts.  She could say, “No, not interested or I’m flattered but I don’t think we should.”  It  would be so simple, but like many long lost nights to get where she was, the ability or desire to say no didn’t exist and she simply continued on hoping to find whatever pieces of herself that were missing. 

Paul’s email read:

“
D,

I’ll be in town the 9-15
th
next month, a combination of business and pleasure.  If you have time lets grab a drink. 

Let me know,

Paul”

So much dread and fear over something so simple, so common.  They have spoken several
times,
she wondered why he didn’t just call.  So as Donna picked up the phone to call Paul,
Nadrea
was finishing lunch in the shadows of another part of DC, nothing like a little Sushi and salad with ginger dressing to fulfill on the most basic needs.  Four pieces of tuna, 2 salmon and 4 pieces of spicy crab roll.  As always
Nadrea
was worried about who else was there, not only at her own table, but in the rest of the establishment and at times even who might be passing by outside.  She worried about who she might see, as if by simply willing it she has dominion over some piece of the universe as a whole.  She worried about her own couture, was she blending in appropriately with the décor of any given establishment, while not going unnoticed by those around her?  The chance of her going unnoticed was virtually nonexistent even if she was in a room full of gay men.  Her looks alone assured that, the way she carried herself was just icing on the cake, such confidence and purpose with each long flowing stride.  Each shift and gesture, movement and expression was measured and purposeful as if the world was watching, mesmerized by her and only her. 

Nadrea
could enter a room in the same manner as any other person, and old men would be stealing glimpses & dreaming of younger days.  Wives would scowl and while not bearing their teeth like dogs protecting their young, they would reach for their husbands.  Young men and boys would make eye contact, holding her gaze
until it was uncomfortable and they would look away.  It was like they were drowning willingly in her deep dark eyes, all the while she held their stares, much like a tiger looked at a crippled animal as an easy meal,
she
was never the first to look away unless she was being playfully demure.  Girlfriends and lovers will desperately try to distract their suitors from her prevue.  She was not a classic
beauty,
her looks were more exotic, not once will she be mistaken for the red blooded all American girl next door.