“So, Mr. Senator,” Cate begins, a little nervous, wavering between personal and professional, “we need a statement from you in light of what’s happened with the president’s chief of staff.…”
A long pause, while Doug gathers his thoughts.…
“We need to get this out as soon as possible before a replacement is announced later this afternoon,” she persists. “People want to know where you stand on this issue.” Doug is completely unfocused, his eyes locked on Cate; despite his lust for her, there’s a kind of vacancy to his intense gaze that Cate notices but doesn’t acknowledge.
“What issue?”
“Domestic violence…”
A moment before he snaps back to it. “Oh, right, right, well, reprehensible, of course.”
Cate waits for him to finish, assuming he has more to say.… He does not. Cate knows that part of the job is thinking on her feet. Swift. She must prove her worthiness over and over. She won’t admit it because the chemistry between them is too blinding for her to see that she is in a vast ocean, alone, treading just to keep her head above water, all while smiling and making sure her hair looks great and the office’s public relations strategy is bulletproof.
“How about this: ‘I was shocked to hear of the allegations released against White House Chief of Staff Tom Derby. There is no place for domestic violence anywhere. I look forward to a prompt and orderly resignation.’ ”
Doug thinks hard for a moment. “Were you a journalism major at UCSD?”
Cate smiles and lifts an eyebrow. “Mr. Senator…” Doug smiles back at her, exuding the kind of charm that makes all the southern women swoon over him no matter how shiny his bald head might be. “I have to finish this.”
“Excellent, publish it,” Doug replies, removing his arms from behind his head, repositioning himself at his desk as if he is ready to get to work.
Cate takes a few steps forward. Doug, regretting having just flirted with her, tries to take an action, any action, to stop her from getting too close to him. He grabs the newspaper, shuffles it around, and throws it on the corner of his desk as though he were a childish boy trying to throw something at his kid sister to keep her away from him.
Cate stops Did I misread him? She looks down at the strewn newspaper.
WILDWOOD DRIVE MASSACRE: WEALTHY FAMILY SLAIN.
“That’s not far from where I live. When did this happen?”
“Oh, umm”—Doug glances at the headline—“last night, tragic, just tragic, a classmate of one of my daughters.”
“Oh God.” Cate moves a little closer but notices Doug is not engaging; his personal cell phone lights up.
Tim Cell. Doug looks at his phone, trying not to believe that this is God’s way of telling him he has a problem.
“Ah, I’ll let you get that.” Cate runs her hands through her hair again, disappointed. “Got to get this statement sent out.” She waves her cell phone, where she has written notes, then turns toward the door. Doug’s eyes revert straight to her butt, staring at it as if staring into an abyss, losing himself completely. Cate glances back, catching him in the act. She smiles, she loves it, bites her lower lip, validated, then spins around to shut the door ever so gently behind her.
Doug’s personal cell phone is now violently vibrating on his mahogany desk.
“Hello? Tim?… Yes, yes, all was fine last night, it was my wife, Betsy. I felt terrible, I had to get back, you know, with everything that’s happening right now, it’s never been a more important time—it really made me realize how much Betsy loves and supports me, it just threw me into gratitude.…”
He listens to Tim. Then interrupts: “I really appreciate the concern, I really do, and you know, she was just in my office, and it was professional. Last night was the last slip, you know, or… I just don’t think, Tim, that I’m an addict. It’s not like I’m grabbing women by the pussy! Look at my life; I couldn’t have made it this far if I was so self-destructive. I appreciate the concern, Tim, but I’m just not one of you.”
Doug hangs up and sets his personal cell phone next to his work cell phone. He bobbles back and forth in his chair and locks his arms above his head again. He stares at the framed vintage original print of Ronald Reagan with a gun in his pants and a cowboy hat on his head. The film: Law and Order. The tagline: His Guns Were the Only Law!
Doug picks up his phone—the brilliance, the control he has! He searches for Cate’s personal number; without a thought, he texts: Did I tell you how sexy that dress looks on you ? He puts the phone down with a sense of relief, a rush of excitement!
He waits for her response.
Ten minutes pass. He waits. For Christ’s sake—more crises than the Hill can handle, and Doug hasn’t looked at one goddamn e-mail.
He waits.
He picks up his personal phone and goes to his messages. There’s no text thread with Cate. But he just texted her, how can this be?
Oh no.
In this utterly blasphemous moment, Doug freezes. He quickly gropes for a reason, any reason, to justify why he has texted her from his work phone and not his personal phone. He prays, Please, please, do not let her respond on my work phone. You can’t expense sexting with taxpayer money!
His work phone lights up. A text message. His heart falls to his feet.
He opens the text. It’s the agriculture commissioner from North Carolina confirming dinner next week. Relief. As Doug wipes the sweat from his upper lip, his personal cell phone lights up.
Naughty texting from your work phone. Asking for trouble, Mr. Senator?
Doug chuckles at the screen—he
