Page 63 of The Press Secretary's Passion
I went back to my office and back to herding the cluster of cats—both house and feral—who make up the associated press. They were a wild bunch after my lunch date with Ryan. Wanting to know how long we’ve been going out, if he’s the one, and if there are hearts and flowers in the future for us. What they did not ask about was House Bill 2250. A fact that I find most alarming, since Congressman Grissom has since reintroduced it to the House floor, knowing the president has every intention of vetoing it if it goes for a vote.
After my last press briefing, Cara, Grace, and Carter ambushed me in my office, slamming the door behind them.
“So you’re meeting the kids tonight?” Cara asked. “This is a big deal.”
“This is huge!” Carter agreed.
“Meh, you’ll be fine,” Grace downplayed the terror coursing through my body. “They’re good kids.”
It was then I told them about my post Ryan being shot meltdown in the hospital in front of his ex-wife and children. I told them everything. How his son cottoned on really quickly to the fact that his dad meant something to me and how I should have been there, but they didn’t know about me to call me to tell me that he’d been injured. When in reality, Ryan and I were not officially a thing then, and my lying to the hospital staff, claiming to be his girlfriend, was more about getting intel than it was actual fact. And how I was afraid to meet them in a normal setting.
“Yikes,” Carter said under his breath and Grace sent her elbow back into his gut with a savage smile on her face. My bestie is actually kind of terrifying.
“It’ll be fine,” she repeated her previous statement.
“What if they think I’m crazy?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Carter mumbled, and Grace went to elbow him, and he blocked her, but her body, rounded with pregnancy, was throwing off her balance, so when she went down, he moved to catch her and took her elbow to the balls, crying out as he did. It was kind of like watching one of those ESPN slow-motion replays during a boxing match where one fighter takes a right cross and their head swings to the side as spit and sometimes teeth come flying out, and we can see the flesh of their cheeks press in on one side and swing out on the other. Only it wasn’t cheek flesh that took the impact, but man parts.
“Ouch,” I cringed.
“Children!” Cara snapped. “Stop this nonsense. We have more important things to discuss.”
“We do?” we all asked in unison.
“Yes!” she snapped.
“Like what, dear?” Grace asked with an encouraging smile on her face.
“Like what she’s going to wear.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“What?” they all asked in unison.
“What am I going to wear?” I shouted.
“I got this,” Cara said in a “bitch, hold my beer” tone of voice.
“Yeah, you do,” Grace said.
“Get it, girl,” Carter added at the same time as Grace, encouraging Cara to do her thing. She is a professional stylist, after all.
“Your blush-pink button-up blouse with the cuffed sleeves, your light wash skinnies with the distressing up the legs, and your bone-colored Louboutins with the pointed toe,” she says. “Normal jewelry, soft makeup, bone-colored suede moto jacket.”
“Jesus, she’s good,” Grace muttered.
“God, I think I just came,” Carter said, making us all laugh, but then again, he wasn’t wrong.
After they left, I grabbed my purse from my desk drawer and made my way through the halls of the offices, smiling at those who smile at me. It surprised me, even though it shouldn’t have, that most of the people who knew me and worked with me in the industry for years, or even those who worked with me at the White House for the last few months, know what kind of person I am and stood by me through the sex tape scandal.
It’s still available on the internet with millions of downloads per minute, but who cares? It doesn’t change who I am and what I stand for. I didn’t make it, and it does not define me. I’m just a woman who was a victim for whatever reason. The public thinks it’s a classic revenge porn case, that I dumped the guy in the video, and he got mad and took it to the internet. That story couldn’t be further from the truth, but then again, who would believe the story of unknown sources trying to blackmail the President of the United Stated and his inner circle? I wouldn’t if someone would have told me it was a possibility a year ago, or even a month ago.
So it is what it is, but the people closest to me stood by me. My family, not so much. Even Gil has been surprisingly absent, but then again, in one of my mother’s voicemail tirades, she announced that Gil cannot be associated with trash like me, because it would hurt his political career. That is, unless I decided to marry the president’s father and let his people spin my current public crisis.
I had my finger in the air and was getting ready to press the Delete button, when the answering machine was swiped out from underneath my hand and ripped from the wall, cords still dangling. I stood there with my jaw dropped as Ryan hurled the entire thing at the wall, where it smashed into a million pieces. Then he just looked at me and said, “Problem solved.” And we never talked about it again.
I drove to my home in the suburbs and parked in the driveway. I waved to the last remaining media crews on the lawn. Ryan and I being in the love bubble is not as exciting as a sex tape, so the crowds are thinning. I let myself in and then began my preparations. Cara was right. The outfit was stylish enough to impress but casual enough for dinner at a pizza place.
