Page 9 of The President's Passion
Something to make mefeel.
And hell...do I feel things now. I’m being pulled left and right, up, down and then warped into a knot. Kramer doesn’t recognize me anymore. Neither do I.
Minutes later, a file is dropped on my desk and I open it. A mugshot of Jackie is the first thing I see and its obvious tonight wasn’t her first rodeo. My fists clench, crumpling the paper when I want to ruin the life of every cop handling her that day even if they were just doing their job. In my eyes, Jackie is above the law, a divinity that needs to be idolized and not bogged down by everyday life.
How did even something as salacious as her get involved in this dirty business?
I continue reading, finding out that her full name is Jaqueline Kimberly Joss and that she’s twenty-one years old. She looks younger and I thought she was younger but I’m pleasantly surprised. Additionally, I find out that she’s a professional gymnast and that she has a brother who was convicted of a heinous crime and sent to death row...
Frowning, I keep reading. At the age of eighteen, Jackie joined an underground group calledDead Roses,that fight for those they believe are innocent and unfairly sentenced to death. Flipping through the pages, I find out that the Dead Roses were founded in the 90’s by a figure only known as Thorn.
The founder is still unidentified to the FBI and CIA, despite them having clear records on the rest of the members. I flip through the rest of the pages and my heart dips when I find letters written by Jackie.
Dear Mr. President...please help....
There are many more of them. So many letters, asking for her brother to be pardoned. I’ve never seen them before and the guilt is intense. She reached out to me so many times and never received an answer. A girl with hope in her eyes, waiting for the man with all the power in the world to acknowledge her pain.
“Jackie...,” I pant and drag a breath, “why didn’t you tell me...?”
Deep in thought, I turn on the TV and watch the breaking news for a moment. They’re showing me and Jackie coming out of the theater and my intentions with her have to be obvious for any person over sixteen watching this at home. She stumbles after me and my heart clenches at how much smaller she is.
How powerless she is compared to me.
The news switch to a panel discussing the change in the President and what this means for the country. I turn the TV off and stab my fingers through my hair. I need to find Jackie.
I’m going to pardon her brother to make her happy. Become the hero in her life instead of the monster and besides... I don’t have any brothers and our children may want an uncle.
****
Jacqueline
Alone in the shower, I close my eyes and let the water trickle down on me. I’ve been given a suite of my own and it’s not just any suite. It’s the First Lady’s suite. My lashes flutter because I have no idea how I could’ve gotten so lucky in the midst of this whole mess. Things could have so easily been different.
The President could’ve taken one look at me and decided to unleash his entire wrath and the wrath of the people but instead, he’s taken me under his wings and that’s such a shock to my whole system. That a man so stern, so professional could be so unpredictable when it comes to his emotions for me...I never would’ve guessed.
It makes me feel special, as if I’ve been kissed by the wishing star and I feel something fast and exciting spike my blood. Maybe I’ll even be able to save my hotheaded brother, due to my newfound relationship with Went. Trying not to start weeping in gratitude at the thought, I reach for the shower gel and they got that expensive Oudh smelling stuff. I moan as I lather it all over because this experience is something different to the dump I live in.
As a gymnast, I don’t exactly enjoy luxury on a daily basis but I’ve been a trained gymnast since I was four years old, so...it’s not about the dough but about what makes my heart beat a little extra. Playing around with the other showerheads, I squeal when I get attacked from all directions and I wince when I realize just how sensitive my body is. It almost feels as if it’s starting to accommodate to something, something new and big and utterly...addictive.
Face flushing, I dry myself off and reach for the world’s fluffiest robe that obviously must’ve been created by cherubs and I shudder when I put it on. Wow...does this luxury feel good. I could get used to it. Walking out into my room, I make a stop when I notice the dozen bouquets. The flowers seem to be coated in pure gold and I gulp.
Mr. President...you sure know how to court a girl.
I bury my nose in one of them, then take note that there’s a small package next to the bouquet with a message that says;I want you to chug these down...Went.
Huh? Not understanding anything I open up the package, only to find different kinds of supplements. Iron, folic acid, b-vitamins...My mouth pinches. Golly, isn’t this the kind of stuff they want you to shove down your throat when you’re trying to grow a bun in the oven? Inhaling in frustration, I want to throw it all into the trashcan.
Went can’t even see the forest for the trees. He barely knows me, we’re not married and how am I supposed to stand on my head and flip if I have a gigantic belly in the way?
He just hasn’t thought this stuff through. Luckily for him, I have and when I see him next time I’ll plead for him to be more reasonable. I go lightheaded when I realize it’s not every day that a girl has to talk sense into a President.
Dropping my robe, I rummage through the closet on the hunt for some ripped denims and huge cowl necks but I only find dainty, designer made stuff in tweed or boucle or satin. Exactly the kind of thing a snobby lady would wear. Letting out a groan, I decide to put on a pale blue set in tweed and strangely it fits me better than I thought.
I get an image of myself getting out of bed in the morning, putting something like this on and then accompanying my husband to one of his important events. Pinching my lip, I slide a hand down my new clothes and catch myself in the mirror.
Well...trying to see how it would look can’t hurt. Feeling as if I’m doing something outrageous, I snatch a pillow from one of the chairs and shove it under my little suit jacket. My jaw slacks at the sight of myself, at the way I look with a protruding bump and I straighten my shoulders.
Hands sliding down the bump, I flash a smile when the door flares open and there’s Went with a maddened look in his eyes. It’s as if he could smell it, as if he could smell that I was toying with the idea of being expectant and he just had to seize the moment.