The First Councel

I reach over and take her hand. As softly as possible, I pry open her fist. This can’t be about the party-she’s a pro at the staged stuff. “You nervous about the interview?”

“No, Michael, I love being judged by the whole damn country. I love when ten thousand letters flood in telling me I don’t wear enough makeup and that my lipstick sucks. And the fact it’s live? Ain’t that the rotten cherry on top-one bad answer away from my very own Saturday Night Live sketch. I mean, my parents asked for this crap-I was just born into it.”

She stops to catch her breath and I don’t say a word.

“You have to understand,” she adds. “I mean… I can live with all the other bullshit-I just don’t like being the issue.”

“Who says you’re the-”

“Please, Michael, they send me the poll numbers too. There’s a reason they want the whole family there.”

“Nora, that doesn’t mean you-”

“Whatever you’re about to say, Romeo, I got a hundred million voters who disagree with you. And every vote counts.”

“It may count, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a difference.”

She looks up and stops. “You really think that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah, well, that’s you.” With one last glance at her watch, she pushes herself away from my desk and heads for the door. “Torturous or not, I gotta be there. Press Office asked me to wear a dress; they’re lucky they’re getting underwear.”

In a blur, Hurricane Nora blows out of the office and leaves me alone in the wake of silence. Still, I know where I am. I’ve been here plenty of times before. The roar of absolute quiet. The calm before the storm.

***

“Anyone here?” I call out as I step into the anteroom. No one answers. I tap a loud knuckle on Julian’s door. “Julian, you in there?” Still nothing. At Pam’s door, I knock even louder. “Pam, you there?” No response.

Convinced I’m alone, I move toward the main door that leads to the hallway. With a flick of my wrist, I twist the lock above the doorknob. A loud deadbolt thunks into place. All three of us have the key, but it should buy me at least a few seconds of warning time.

As I head toward Pam’s office, I tell myself this isn’t a violation of trust; it’s just a necessary precaution. It’s not a great rationalization, but it’s all I’ve got. “Pam, are you there?” I call out one last time. Again, no one answers. I press my sweaty palm against the cold doorknob and slowly push open her office door. “Pam? Hello?” The door swings into the wall with a dull thud. The scent of her apricot shampoo still lingers in the air.

All I have to do is step in. The thing is… I can’t. It’s not right. Pam deserves better than that. She’d never do anything to hurt me. Of course, if she did… if she was being blackmailed and then realized my Nora stuff gave her an alibi and an easy out… I’d be in trouble. End-of-my-life kind of trouble. In truth, that’s the best reason to get in there. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to take anything. I just want to look around. For Caroline to have her file, Pam must’ve had something big to hide. Leaving hesitation at the door, I step into her office. My eyes go right to the red, white, and blue flag over her desk. Saving my own ass. It’s the American way.

Approaching her desk, I take a quick look over my shoulder and recheck the anteroom, just to be safe. I’m still alone.

I turn back to the desk and feel my heart pound against my rib cage. The silence is overwhelming. I hear the ebb and flow of my own labored breathing. It’s a steady ocean tide. In… and always out. Just like that first night watching Simon. Across the hall, my phone starts ringing. I spin around in a panic, thinking it’s someone at the door. It’s okay, I tell myself as it continues to ring. Just stay on course.

Trying to be systematic, I ignore the pile of files on her desk. She’s too smart to leave anything in the open. Luckily, there’re some things you can’t hide. Heading straight for her phone, I hit the Call Log button and keep my eyes on the digital screen. In an instant, I have the names and phone numbers of the last twenty-two people who called her.

Scrolling through the list, the first thing that jumps out is how many Outside Calls she has. She’s either getting called from a lot of pay phones or a lot of bigshots. Neither one is good. When I’m done with the list, there’re at least five people I can’t identify. I search around for a pad and pen to jot them down. But before I can even get near her “Ask Me About My Grandchildren” pencil cup, I hear a key in the main door of the anteroom. Someone’s there.

I race out of Pam’s office as fast as I can, bounding into the anteroom just as the main door swings open.

“What the hell’s going on?” Julian asks. “Why’d you lock the door?”

“Nuh… Nothing,” I say, out of breath. “Just straightening the anteroom.”

“I get it,” he says with a laugh. “Straightening the anteroom.”