Capitol Conspiracy

18

Ben stumbled home as tired as he ever remembered being in his entire life. Since five a.m., he’d been with the president’s advisors, preplanning every aspect of the press conference. They considered the proper tone to strike, the common themes, what Ben and DeMouy would say so they didn’t contradict each other. For that matter, they considered tie colors, makeup, and who would walk forward in which order. The president’s media experts left nothing to chance. And in the end, the entire conference had taken less than twenty minutes.

But it was viewed, he had been informed afterward, by more than twenty million Americans, despite the fact that it aired in the middle of the morning. Millions more would see excerpts on the evening news or the 24/7 cable news outlets and the Internet. Ben wondered which excerpts would prove most popular. He hoped it wasn’t his lame invocation of “the American way.” He always claimed he wasn’t really a politician-where had that come from? Some vestigial memory of the Nixon administration? Or maybe The Adventures of Superman with George Reeves? He had no idea. Somehow, when the klieg lights went on and the reporters started slinging questions at you, your mind traveled to a different dimension, one where everything you had planned to say was forgotten and weird stuff like “the American way” came out of nowhere.

And to think that, once upon a time, he had thought speaking in a courtroom was difficult.

At any rate, he had survived that round of questioning. Would he survive the next? The one that was bound to begin the moment he opened the door?

Christina was already home-he saw her coat on the hook. Fine. Gird the loins, take a deep breath, and try not to pass out. Christina made that woman from The New York Times look like a lightweight.

He heard water running. Apparently Christina was in the bathroom, probably showering. He took a few tentative steps forward.

“Christina?”

All at once, the water stopped.

“Christina? It’s Ben.”

“I should hope so,” said the voice, reverberating with a bathroom echo. “If it were anyone else, I’d be dialing 911.”

“Christina, I think we should talk. I did something-”

All at once, the bathroom door opened. Christina stood there, a towel wrapped just under her arms, her hair still wet. She looked lovely.

“Christina,” he said, licking his lips, “I did something today. I wanted to tell you about it. I-”

“Don’t bother. I saw you on television.”

“Oh.” Well, that simplified matters. Maybe. “I just wanted to explain-”

“Don’t bother.”

“But I wanted to tell-”

“Frankly, Ben, at the moment, I don’t care to hear anything you have to say.”

“But I wanted to explain-”

“Then you should’ve done it before you told the rest of the Western world on national television!” And with that, the door slammed between them.

Ben dropped his briefcase, his shoulders sagging. He had thought a moment ago that he felt more tired than he could ever possibly feel. He had been wrong.

They had never even taken a honeymoon. But now he had a distinct feeling that the honeymoon was over.