'Pam would never say anything.'
'How do you know that? Has she trusted you with any of her stuff?'
I know what he's driving at when he asks that question. He may only be a twenty-six-year-old staffer, but when it comes to figuring out where to step, Trey knows where all the land mines are.
'I'm telling you,' he says, 'if Pam doesn't share it with you, you shouldn't share it with her.'
'See, now you're being too political. Not everything in life is tit for tat.'
'This is the White House, Michael. It's always tit for tat.'
'I don't care. You're wrong about Pam. She doesn't have anything to gain.'
'Please, boychick, you know she loves you.'
'So? I love her too.'
'No, not like that, Magoo. She doesn't just love you.' He puts his hand over his heart like he's doing the Pledge of Allegiance, then quickly starts drumming against his chest. 'She wuuuvs you,' he croons, rolling his eyes. 'I'm talking the pretty pink dreams: teddy bears . . . ice-cream shakes . . . happy floating rainbows . . .'
'Get over yourself, Trey. You couldn't be further from reality.'
'Don't mock me, boy. It's just like what the President does with Lawrence Lamb.'
'What do you mean?'
Instinctively, Trey leans back in his chair and cranes his neck to check the rest of the reception area. He shares an office with two other people. Both of his officemates' desks are by a window, sectioned off by a few filing cabinets. Trey's is by the door. He likes to see who's coming and going. Neither of his co-workers is in today, but Trey can't help himself. It's the first rule of politics. Know who's listening. When he's satisfied we're alone, he says, 'Look at their relationship. Lamb sits in on all your meetings, he's in on all the final decisions, his title's even Deputy Counsel, but when it comes to actual legal work, he's nowhere to be found. Now why do you think that is?'
'He's a lazy, toothless bastard?'
'I'm serious. Lamb's there to keep an eye on you and the rest of your office.'
'That's not--'
'C'mon, Michael, if you were President, who would you rather have watching your back: a group of strangers from your staff, or a friend you've had for thirty years? Lamb knows all the personal stuff--that's why he's trusted. The same goes for us; it's been almost four years since I first spoke to you on the campaign, but this place moves in dog years. Yet with Pam . . .'
'I appreciate the concern, but she'd never say anything. She's from Ohio.'
'Ulysses S. Grant was from Ohio and he had the most corrupt administration in history. It's all an act--those Midwesterners are ruthless.'
'I'm from Michigan, Trey.'
'Except for the ones from Michigan. Love those people.'
Shaking my head, I say, 'You're just mad because I told Pam first.'
He can't help but leak a smile. 'I want you to know, I'm the one who kept your name out of the papers. I didn't tell anyone you found the body.'
'And I appreciate that. But right now, I want to talk about Nora. Tell me what you know.'
'What's to know? She's the First Daughter. She's got her own fan club. She doesn't answer her own mail. And she's severely yummy. She's also a little bit of a headcase, but, now that I think about it, that actually turns me on.'
He's making too many jokes. Something's wrong. 'Say what you're thinking, Trey.'
He runs his hands down the length of his cheap maroon-striped tie. With his scuffed tasseled loafers, knockoff John Lennon glasses, and his stiff navy jacket with the gold button covertly safety-pinned in place, he's a few dollars short of the model young prep. It's amazing, really. He's got less money than anyone on staff, and he's still the only one wearing a suit on Saturday.
'I told you before, Michael: You're in trouble. These people aren't lightweights.'
'But what do you think about Nora?'
'I think you better be careful. I don't know her personally, but I see her when she comes in to find her mom. In and out: always quick; sometimes upset; and never a word to anyone.'
'That doesn't mean--'
'I'm not talking about courtesy--I'm talking about the underneath. She may let you touch her cookies, and she may be a braggable girlfriend, but you know the rumors--X, Special K, maybe some cocaine . . .'
'Who said she's doing coke?'
'No one. At least not yet. That's why we call it a rumor, my friend. It's too big to print without a source.'
I stay silent.
'You don't know her, Michael. You may've watched her throw Frisbees with her dog on the South Lawn, and you may've seen her go off to her first sociology class at college, but that's not her life. Those're just press clippings and fluff for the nightlies. The rest of the picture is hidden. And the picture's huge.'
'So you're saying I should just abandon her?'
'Abandon her?' he laughs. 'After all you've done . . . no one could accuse you of that. Not even Nora.'
He's right. But it doesn't make it any easier. When I don't respond, he adds, 'It's really starting to get to you, isn't it?'
'I just don't like how everyone automatically paints the target on her.'
'On her? What abou--' He catches himself. And sees the look on my face. 'Oh, jeez, Michael, don't tell me you're . . . Oh, you are, aren't you? This isn't just about protecting her . . . you're actually starting to like her now, aren't you?'
'No,' I shoot back. 'Now you're reading too much into it.'
'Really?' he challenges. 'Then answer me this: Sexually speaking, when you went out that first night, what actually happened?'
'I don't understand.'
'You want me to ask in Latin? The two of you went on a date. Before you left, you swore you'd give me every last detail. In fact, I think the quote was, 'I'm gonna check out the underwear on the First Daughter.' You were all primed for the locker room debriefing--so let's hear it. What actually happened? How'd she kiss? Throw me some play-by-play.'
Once again, I'm silent.
'Don't hold back,' Trey adds. 'Was she good or tongue-sloppy?'
My mind is flooded with images of her in my arms . . . and the way she slid her hand across my thigh . . . Oh, man, Trey would die if he heard tha--I stop myself and look down at the muted blue industrial carpet.
'So?' Trey asks. 'Tell me what happened.'
I'm sure every guy who's ever dated her has been put in this position. My answer comes in a whisper. 'No.'
'What?'
'No,' I repeat. 'It's no one's business. Not even yours.'
Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms against his chest, Trey leans back in his seat. 'Just because you've seen her on the TV in your living room, doesn't mean she's been there, Michael. Besides, even if the whisperings are wrong, first and foremost, she's Hartson's daughter.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means she's got politics in her blood. So if the two of you get pinned against the wall, well . . . she'll be the one slithering away.'
Chapter 11
The first thing I do when I get home is open the tiny metal mailbox for apartment 708, collect my newest pile of mail, and head over to the front desk. 'Anything down there?' I ask Fidel, who's been the building's doorman since before I moved in.
He looks below the counter, where they keep the packages.
'Can you also check for Sidney?' I add.
He stands up holding a cardboard box with a FedEx sticker on it and slaps it on the counter. It rattles like a
