The First Counsel

* * *

Ten minutes later, Nora and I have returned to downtown D.C. and are heading straight for the White House. The adrenaline bath with every spigot open is now finally over. The cut on my forehead hurts and my stomach's churning, but all I really feel is numb. Numb and out of control. My eyes are locked on the road, while my thumbs are shaking as they tap against the top of the steering wheel. The casual repetition is a vain attempt to fight fear, but it's not fooling anyone. Including me. Being nailed with the cash, I'm not only known by the cops--I'm officially, on paper, tied to that money and whatever it was paying for.

Neither of us has said a word since the cops left. Watching me, Nora sees the pace of my thumb-tapping quickly increase. Finally, she breaks the silence. "You doing okay?" she asks.

All I do is nod.

"I appreciate what you did for me back there," she offers.

My eyes stay glued to the road. "It's okay," I say coldly.

"I'm serious."

"I told you, it's okay. It's not that big a--"

"It is a big deal. It really is--that's not something that happens to me every day."

"I would hope not," I blurt angrily.

She pauses for a moment, sensing I'm about to boil. "You know what I mean, Michael. The way you acted . . . it wasn't just for you. You did it for--" She once again stops--this doesn't come naturally for her. "Thank you, Michael. It meant a lot to me."

An hour ago, I would've done anything to hear those words. Right now, though, I couldn't care less.

"Say what you're thinking," she says.

I brake to a sharp stop at a red light. Turning to my right, I take a long, hard look at her. "What do you think I'm thinking? Why the hell'd you take the money?"

She crosses her arms and lets out that little girl laugh.

"You think it's a joke?" I shout.

"Not at all," she says, suddenly serious. "Not after what you did."

I'm not in the mood for compliments. "Just tell me why you took it."

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I ran up, grabbed the flashlight, and saw the envelope. Part of me thought we should take it as evidence, so I went for it. I thought it'd be an easy way to prove Simon was there--but after the first ten grand, I got scared and ran."

It's not a bad explanation, but it comes too easily. For Nora, it's too rational. "So all you wanted was some proof?"

"I'm telling you--that was it."

I keep staring at her.

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Are you kidding? Give me one good reason why I--"

"Michael, I swear to you, if I could take it back I would. There's no easier way to say it." Her voice cracks, catching me by surprise. Right there, her guard drops--and the gnawing feeling inside my chest subsides. "I'm sorry," she cries, leaning in next to me. "I'm so sorry I put you in that position. I never . . . I should've just left it there and walked away."

In the back of my brain, I still picture that brown vial of aspirin . . . but in front of my eyes--all I see is Nora. The look on her face . . . the way her thin eyebrows rise and wilt as she apologizes . . . she's as terrified as I am. Not just for herself. But for me. Glancing down, I notice her hand tightly clutching my own. From there, the words come out of my mouth almost instantly. "It was an impulse. You couldn't have known."

"You still didn't have to do it," she points out.

I nod. She's right.

As we once again start moving toward Pennsylvania Avenue, I have a perfect view of the White House. When I make a left on H Street, it disappears. One sudden move and it's gone. That's all it takes. For both of us.

"Maybe we should . . ."

"We'll take care of it first thing tomorrow," Nora promises, already two steps ahead. "Whatever he's up to, we'll figure it out." Despite her confidence, I can't stop thinking about Simon. But for Nora, as soon as she sees her big white mansion, she's back to her old self. Two people. One body. As I make a sharp right turn, she adds, "Now pull over."

I stop the car on 15th Street, around the corner from the Southeast Gate. At this hour, all of downtown is dead. There's no one in sight.

"Don't you want me to pull up to the gate?"

"No, no--here. I have to get out here."

"Are you sure?"

At first, all she does is nod. "It's just around the corner. And this way I save you from a confrontation with the Service." She looks down at her watch. "I'm in under two hours, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to get my head ripped off."

"That's why I always leave my bodyguards at home," I say, trying to sound half as calm as my date. It's all I can do to keep up.

"Yeah, that's why I picked you," she laughs. "You know how it really is." She's about to say something else, but she stops herself.

"Everything okay?"

Moving closer, she again puts her hand on mine. "People don't do nice things for me, Michael. Not unless they want something. Tonight, you proved that wrong."

"Nora . . ."

"You don't have to say it. Just promise me you'll let me make it up to you."

"You don't have to . . ."

She runs her short nails up my arm. "Actually, I do."

I see that look in her eyes. It's the same one she gave me in the bar. "Nora, no offense, but this isn't the time or the place to--" She wraps a hand around the back of my head and pulls me toward her. Before I can argue, she grips my hair in a tight fist and slides her tongue in my mouth. There are probably ten heterosexual men in this world who would pull away from this kiss. Again, I'm not one of them. Her smell . . . her taste . . . they instantly overwhelm. I reach up to touch her cheek, but she lets me go.

"Doesn't taste like pumpkin to me," she says.

"That's because I have five more minutes."

Well aware of the time, she sneaks out a grin. "So you're ready to move past the foreplay?"

I look out the front window, then back at Nora. "Here?" I ask nervously.

She leans forward and snakes her hand along the inside of my thigh. Still going, she brushes up the front of my pants. Just like Rolling Stone. She's going to do it right here. But as our lips are about to touch, she stops. "Don't believe everything you read, handsome. That stuff'll rot your brain." She pulls her hand away and gives me two light slaps on the cheek. My mouth's still agape as she opens the door.

"What're you--"

She hops out, turns around, and blows me a kiss. "Later, Cookie Puss."

The door slams shut in my face. Out the front window, I watch her run up the block. I put on my brights. The entire time, my eyes stay glued to the curve of her neck. Eventually, she turns the corner and disappears. I reach into my pants and rearrange myself. It's going to be a long ride home.