Memorial Day

Seventy-Five

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Peggy Stealey found herself seated at the singles table in the corner furthest from where the president and his esteemed guests of honor were seated. She was joined by her quasi-date, DNC Chairman Holmes, Chief of Staff Jones, Press Secretary Tim Webber, and four other people who she didn't know and didn't care to meet. These were the cheap seats, where they put the hired help and political devotees. She should have been happy for simply being invited to a state dinner, but she found herself a bit tanked and in a bit of a foul mood.

She knew why she was tanked. It was once again the festival of Pat Holmes. He had everyone at the table laughing. He remembered everyone's name, engaged each person in conversation, and entertained all with his endless supply of witty stories. He'd even gone so far as to arrange for a tray of shooters to be brought to the table. Before dinner he'd ordered vodka and green apple schnapps, and asked all ten of them to drink to the Democratic Party as he hoisted his own glass of chilled vodka. No one dared disobey. Not in front of Valerie Jones. Not if they wanted to keep working for this administration.

Stealey also knew why her mood had soured. It was the little five-foot-nothing brown-eyed mouse sitting at the head table next to the British prime minister of all people. Her boss and his wife were basking in the bright light of their lofty dinner companions. Stealey held her head up high and caught Stokes trying to get a glimpse of her. She would always have that hold over him. He desired her far more than he had or ever would desire his wife. If he became vice president, she would sleep with him, but only once. They'd have to do it on some overseas trip where she could really work him over. An all-nighter that would leave him exhausted.

Then she'd cut him off and wait to see if he ever got the top job. That was the key to controlling Martin. She'd give him a little taste and then if he became president in four and half years, she'd give him another night to remember. What a rush it would be, to tie up the most important man in the world and dominate him.

For tonight, though, she'd have to settle for Holmes. She'd make him forget little Libby Stokes. She didn't want to go to his place, though. That would give him too much control. Her place was also out of the question. She wanted to do the leaving, not wait around for him to slide out of bed in the morning and disappear. Then she would have to deal with the obligatory note or even worse, flowers sent later that day. No, she'd have him get a nice hotel room, and if he brought up Libby Stokes again she would make him pay. In fact she knew just the move. It would take a chiropractor a year to fix him after she was done with him.

The ringing of her cell phone brought her back to the moment. Stealey opened her beaded clutch purse and extracted the phone. She was more than a little surprised to see who it was. For a moment she considered not answering, but then decided it too delicious of an opportunity to pass up. It would be oh so nice to tell the infamous defense attorney Tony Jackson that she was at the White House for a state dinner with the president of Russia and the prime minister of Great Britain.

She pressed the green send button and put the phone to her ear. "Peggy Stealey here."

The confident smirk on her face vanished almost immediately, as she listened to an absolutely apoplectic Tony Jackson explain to her in great detail, and with horrendous profanity, what he was going to do to her personally, and to the Justice Department in general.