Long May She Reign (40 page)

“Stop being such an asshole, Susan,” Jesslyn said.

Okay. This was now
officially
an alternate reality.

And it certainly got everyone's attention.

“She didn't know,” Jesslyn said. “And even if she had, if you didn't see this coming, you're a much bigger asshole.”

Susan frowned at her, but didn't respond in any other way.

“You could have said no,” Jesslyn said. “I mean, shit, Angela did. And so did Lori. You could have, too. It's not like the frakkin' White House was going to
make
you do it. But, you said yes, and you're the JA, so just suck it up.” She started towards her room, pausing only long enough to glower at Meg. “That doesn't mean that
you're
not an asshole, too. If you didn't know, you should have, but no, you're too busy being a fucking frail princess, and so, sorry if I don't cry big old tears for you, either. And the
President's
an asshole for thinking it was a good idea to send her fucked-up anorexic kid away to college in the first place.” She turned to point at Susan. “You're the JA.
Act
like it.” Then, she went into her room, slamming the door so hard that the sound seemed to echo repeatedly in the hallway.

Jesus. Meg was pretty sure she wasn't the only one who blinked.

“Look out, Internet gamblers,” Mary Elizabeth said. “There's a tornado a comin'!”

And how. An astonishingly profane tornado, too.

Susan looked in the direction of Jesslyn's room, then nodded a few times. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” She stood up slowly. “Look. We all got a little shook up last night, and yeah, I'm not handling it very well so far. But, it's no one's fault, particularly no one who lives on this floor.” She looked pointedly at Juliana. “Okay?”

Juliana shrugged without making eye contact. “Okay, whatever. I got it.”

Oh, yeah, she was
definitely
on board. Feeling tears come into her eyes, Meg abruptly turned away. “I, uh, I really am going to stay up here, I think—” Oh, Christ, was she actually going to start crying right in front of them? In broad daylight, as opposed to the dimly-lit and otherworldly aftermath of nightmares? “I'm sorry. Excuse me, please.” She started towards her room, her knee so painful that it was an effort not to stagger.

Mikey leaped dramatically up to the landing. “Madame,” he said to Susan, whipping off his Cardinals cap and bowing. “Your escorts await.”

Susan smiled at him, looking like her regular easygoing self for a second. “Well, vanity being what it is, there's still some primping to be done here. Would the escorts be willing to give us another ten minutes?”

“Your wish,” he said, “our command.” He vaulted down the steps. “Fire the game back up, boys! We're not heading out yet.”

Meg kept her face averted while she opened her door, mortified to be crying, but not sure whether she was going to be able to stop anytime soon.

“Oh, come here,” Susan said, and—to Meg's shock—hugged her.

Meg tried to pull away. “No, I—”

“Shut up,” Susan said, and kept hugging her. “And if you feel like crying, for God's sakes, go ahead and cry. Nobody's watching.”

Meg laughed weakly.

“Okay, point taken,” Susan said. “Several people are watching.” She released her, then went past her inside the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Slumped, really.

Her knee hurt horribly, and she was very tired, so Meg sat down next to her, just as heavily, and reached for a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. “How much sleep have you had in the last couple of days?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Susan said, and dragged her hands back through her hair. “About twenty seconds.” She glanced at Juliana, who was standing in the doorway, with a black scowl on her face, Mary Elizabeth and Tammy waiting uncertainly behind her. “Juliana, you can help, or you can make things worse. Your call.”

“I'm helping by being pissed off for you,” Juliana said. “Since you're not doing it for yourself.”

Susan just looked at her.

Juliana lifted her hands in defeat. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

Yeah. That was convincing. Meg let out her breath, realizing that she had had almost no sleep herself for the past two days. Which might explain why she was having such a hard time thinking clearly. “If you've got something to say, Juliana, just say it to my face. No point in putting it off.”

“Okay.” Juliana put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, it probably would have come out eventually, but it never would have happened this way if you weren't so fucking impersonal all the time. I mean, maybe we don't know much about you, but you don't know anything about us, either. I don't even think you're
interested
. And now, Susan gets hurt because of it.”

“That was—” Susan flashed her an extremely sarcastic “okay” signal— “really helpful, Juliana. Thank you.”

It also had a distinct ring of truth. But, she probably wasn't impersonal, or even self-obsessed, so much as just plain dispassionate. And she knew damned well where she'd inherited
that
tendency. “I don't know,” Meg said, meeting Juliana's eyes steadily. “Maybe I was afraid that if I opened up, and anything ever went wrong, one of you might—oh say—
turn
on me, in about half a second.”

It got so quiet that Meg could actually hear every single one of them breathing.

“And, that was also very helpful,” Susan said. “Thanks, Meg, I knew I could count on you to de-escalate the situation.”

There was a longer, and uglier, silence.

“Maybe you should try the hugging again, Susan,” Tammy suggested—and seemed to be perfectly serious. Either that, or fiendishly disingenuous. “That was working better.”

They all stared at her.

“You could hug Meg,” Tammy said, “and then, you could hug Juliana, and I could hug you, and—”

“God, is it just me, or is the estrogen getting incredibly thick in here?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “I've got to go find someone really butch to talk to.
Fast
.”

That shouldn't have broken the tension, but for some reason, it did, and they all laughed—even Tammy, who appeared rather flustered by the idea that someone would drop the word “butch” in casual conversation.

“Just promise me that you all aren't suddenly going to get your periods simultaneously,” Mary Elizabeth said. “I don't think I could bear it.”

“That actually happens, you know, when people live together,” Tammy said. “Women, I mean. It's a scientific fact. They've done studies.”

The rest of them laughed again—and Tammy looked offended.

“All right, all right.” Susan stood up with an effort. “Let's go find our noble escorts, and we'll have some breakfast together.”

Given the tenuous détente which had just been established, Meg wasn't about to argue, so she reached for her Kevlar jacket, her sunglasses, and her cane—which one of her agents had gone out and retrieved from the snow the night before.

Susan—apparently back to being a die-hard, dedicated JA again—focused on her knee at once. “Jesus Christ, Meg, do you have a basketball stuffed under there?”

Since she didn't want to irk Preston any more than he was already going to be, she wasn't wearing sweatpants, for once, and it was much harder to disguise the noticeable swelling under straight-legged Levis. “No,” Meg said. “I'm just happy to see you.”

Mary Elizabeth actually guffawed, and even Juliana smiled a little.

Susan, however, went straight out to the security desk. Damn near
marched
. “Martin, can you please make sure Mr. Fielding knows that Meg's going to have to get down to physical therapy early today so that she can have her knee checked out?”

Martin nodded, and made a note in his log.

“And you're not taking the stairs,” Susan said to her, “so don't even try.”

Swell. But, it was still the better part of wisdom just to keep her mouth shut and try to be cooperative, so Meg confined herself to a couple of vehement, but unspoken, expletives. As she limped towards the elevator, she saw Martin make a quick visual assessment of her knee, look alarmed, and then write himself another note, which he underlined twice.

“Enjoy your ringside seat to our girl-talk session?” she asked, not giving a damn if she sounded arch, and maybe even belligerent.

“Didn't hear a thing,” he said quickly.

Yeah. Sure.

There was quite a large group of escorts waiting for them, a few of whom looked taken aback to see her, but they also seemed to be getting their cues from Susan, who got off the elevator with her quite chummily, and no one said anything.

But, before they went outside, Meg stopped.

“I'll catch up,” she said to Susan. “Okay?”

Susan shook her head. “Nope. I'll wait.”

Which meant that they would
all
be stuck waiting—giving them sufficient time to form still more negative opinions about her.

“It's going to take a few minutes,” Meg said. “I'll be right there, though. You can hold a place for me in line.”

Susan obviously didn't like it, but she nodded. “If you don't show up, I'm coming straight back here, which will
really
irritate the hell out of me.”

An outcome very much worth avoiding. Meg nodded, and made her way up the very short flight of steps leading to the main security room, where Garth and a couple of other agents were conferring in the back by the windows, while Kyle sat at the desk, not looking thrilled to see her.

“Do you know if Hannah Goldman's still in town?” she asked.

Kyle nodded, and gestured in the general direction of the Williams Inn. “I think so. I saw her in the bar last night.”

No surprise there. They'd all probably closed the place. “Pretty crowded?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his jaw rigid. “And not a lot of camaraderie, either.”

Presumably, there had been a bunch of media people stationed on one side of the room—and a gang of angry Secret Service agents on the other. As far as she knew, it was one of the places where her agents sometimes hung out when they were off-duty. “Still mad at me for completely ignoring your advice?” she asked. More precisely, his
orders
.

He nodded.

“I'd do the exact same thing if it happened again—but, I apologize,” she said. “I know it made your job more difficult.”

His nod seemed somewhat more mollified this time.

“Okay if I borrow your phone for a minute?” Meg asked. “I left my SATCOM upstairs.”

He hesitated.

“I know,” Meg said. “It's a really bad idea, and Preston's going to be just that much more annoyed when he gets here.”

He nodded, but punched the numbers in and handed her the receiver. When the front desk picked up, she asked to be connected to Hannah Goldman's room.

“Hi, this is Meg Powers,” Meg said, when she answered, sounding a little worse for the wear—indicating that it had, indeed, been a long night in the tavern. “Any interest in meeting me in front of Goodrich at—” she checked the clock on the wall— “nine-thirty?”

There was a brief pause. “Sure,” Ms. Goldman said. “I can do that.”

“Thought you might be able to clear room in your schedule, yeah,” Meg said. “See you then.”

As she hung up, Kyle's expression was nothing if not censorious.

“She was the only one who walked away, Kyle,” she said. “That's worth something in my book.”

He frowned. “None of my business, but you're
asking
for trouble.”

No argument there.

When she got outside and started across the quad, a couple of dozen reporters and photographers hanging around on the street side of the cast iron gate all tried to move into more advantageous positions. They were asking questions, and snapping pictures, but Meg didn't even look at them, concentrating on getting down to Mission with as little interference as possible, her agents forming a tight, protective circle around her. Keeping her balance in the slush was something of a challenge, especially since her knee kept locking every few steps, and she hated the idea that this latest bout of infirmity was being captured on film and videotape for one and all to see, but there wasn't much she could do about it, other than try to limp less obviously.

In addition to more agents being on duty than usual, there were enough campus security people, Williamstown police officers, and even a few Massachusetts State Police troopers around to discourage them from following her—or attempting to barge onto college property.

Other than the fact that Juliana made a point of sitting as far away from her as possible, breakfast was uneventful. Susan registered her position just as blatantly, by frowning over at Juliana and taking a seat right next to her.

And so, the Sage E psychodrama continued.

For her part, Meg kept quiet, and ate a few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, along with half a piece of bacon and a glass of orange juice. There were many more stares than usual being sent in her direction—some just curious, the rest of them openly unfriendly. Until this morning, Susan might well have had no idea how genuinely popular she was.

The people remaining at her table—several of them had already drifted off to go to various classes—seemed relieved when she finally made her polite excuses and got up to leave.

“See you later,” Tammy said, sounding timid—but, she'd made the effort, which was in her favor.

Meg's mobility was becoming increasingly difficult, and it took all of her concentration to make her way across campus, towards Goodrich. If she could manage to be sufficiently verbally adroit, her meeting with Hannah Goldman would be very short, and then maybe she'd have time to take a nap before Preston and the others showed up.