THE PRESIDENT'S GIRLFRIEND (22 page)

     Gina was mortified when she realized Frank was kissing her.  She jerked away from him and then slapped him hard across the face.  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked him, astounded.

     But Frank was not to be denied.  “You know what I’m doing, bitch,” he said, grabbing her again, “and you know you like it!”

     He began kissing her again.  This time Gina’s strength was no match for his and she was unable to break free.  She, instead, kneed him in the groin.  He turned her loose then, bent down to absorb the pain, and then looked back up at her.

     “Get the hell out of my house and get out now!” she demanded.

     “You bitch!” Frank shouted and took his fist and hit her, as hard as he could, across the face.  And he didn’t stop.  He couldn’t stop.  He pounded her, as if he was pounding on a punching bag, blood spewing from her, beating her until she was on the floor, begging for mercy.     

     Gina tried to fight back, she kept swinging at him and screaming and doing everything she could to stave him off.  But he was too powerful.  And too out of his mind with that maniac’s strength.  And then the little strength she did have was gone.  He hit her one more time, and she was down and out and unmovable.

     Frank at first felt triumphant.  He just taught that bitch something.  He even ripped off all of her clothes and pulled out his penis ready to ram it in and get what he’d been wanting since the day he first saw that beautiful black body walk into his office and asked if his company would support BBR.  But then he realized, seeing her lifeless body, seeing the blood, what he had just done.  He backed up, falling down to his knees, and began to cry.  What had he done?  He never meant for this to get so out of control!

     He began to run, but realized again that the evidence, his briefcase, his portable DVD, were still sitting on her coffee table.  He ran back, grabbed both, and stopped at the foot of Gina’s naked body.  He fell to his knees again.  Tears were once again in his eyes.

     “You should have loved me,” he said.  “None of this would have ever happened, if you would have loved me!” 

     Then he stiffened his resolve.  Stood up and stood taller.  Zipped up his pants.  “Got exactly what you deserved, bitch,” he said defiantly, angrily.  But then he started to cry again, and then moved right, then left, and then dropped his briefcase and DVD and fell down.  He took her in his arms, hugging her body to his, crying
oh, Gina
, over and over.  And then he slung her away from him, his mind reminding him that he wasn’t holding Gina, but was holding a dead woman, a woman killed by his own hands, and he grabbed his briefcase, his portable DVD once again, and hurried out of her front door. 

+++

The phone kept ringing and Dutch hung up.  It was his third try to reach her in the past hour.  He was seated on the edge of his bed, in his robe and slippers, amazed that reputable cable news channels wouldn’t see through Kate’s act and dismiss it.  Instead, they were calling it breaking news, showing that little Academy Award caliber performance by Kate at the restaurant, and was running it in loops over and over.  He could only imagine what Gina could be thinking.

     He phoned her once again.  This time, however, he didn’t hang up when the voice mail picked up.

     “Regina, answer your phone,” he ordered.  But there was no pick up.  He hung up again, certain that she had seen the same footage he was viewing and was purposely avoiding his phone calls.

     He’d already warned Max that if this nonsense caused Gina to leave him, he would live to regret ever picking up any phone and calling that vamp Kate
Marris
.  And within seconds, he was picking up his own phone, and calling Gina yet again.

     This time, however, there was an answer.

     “Gina?” he said.

     “No, sir, it’s Dempsey.  Dempsey  Slater, sir, Gina’s friend and business partner.”

     Dutch frowned.  “Where’s Regina?”

     There was a sigh.  “We just found her, sir.”

     “Found her?  What do you mean you just found her?”

     “She was. . . She’s in bad shape, sir, real bad shape.  Lord have mercy!  I’ve never seen so much blood.”

     “Blood?” Dutch said, standing to his feet, his heart beginning to pound. 

     “We just got here.  We just . . . She wouldn’t answer her phone and . .. we, me and LaLa, that’s her best friend, came over.  She’s been rushed to the hospital, sir.”

     Dutch’s heart stopped.  “How bad is it?” he managed to asked, resuscitating himself.

     “Sir,” Dempsey said, “it’s bad.  It’s real bad.”

+++

The hospital doors flew open and Dutch entered in a hurry.  Secret Service agents fanned out, and a team of doctors stood on the ready for the president, including Dr. Cyril Clyburn, one of the foremost surgeons in the country and a Manhattan physician who was able to get there as quickly as the call came out.  He was handpicked by Dutch’s people when Dutch insisted that the best they could find consult on the case.

     “How is she?” Dutch asked, without breaking his stride, and Cyril and his team hurried to keep up with him.

     “She’s out of surgery,” Cyril said.  

     Dutch looked at him.  “Any complications?”

     “None.”

     “Thank God Almighty!” Dutch said, relieved.

     “All of her signs are stable,” the doctor went on, “she’s responding well to commands.  We expect a full recovery, sir.”

     Dutch thanked God for that, too.  He had wanted to get there sooner, but preparing to fly the president on a moment’s notice, without there being any national security emergency, wasn’t as simple as it would seem.  “Is she awake?” he asked the doctor.

     “Yes, sir, she’s awake.  But in and out, of course.”
     “Understood,” Dutch said.

     When Dutch arrived at her hospital room, he paused, exhaled, and then went inside.

     Gina was lying in bed, going in and out of sleep, when the door of her room opened and Dutch appeared before her.  Although her face was heavily bandaged, and she felt like hell, she was beyond glad to see him.  

     Dutch knew it too because her eyes lit up as if she, too, had just seen the most wonderful sight she could have ever hoped to see again.  And he hurried to her, and gently, but definitely, held her in his arms.

     He, in fact, would spend that entire night at Gina’s bedside, sitting in a chair holding her hand, watching her fade in and out of consciousness, praying continually for her full recovery.  And when he did return to Washington, he left Christian at her bedside, and his own personal physician at the ready, to ensure that she had everything she needed, and he meant everything, at her fingertips.

FIFTEEN

The SUV was a part of a convoy of identical vehicles, with two of them there to obfuscate and redirect in case some crack journalist had gotten wind of the fact that the president’s girlfriend was no longer at the hospital.  The purpose was to transport Gina from Newark to be near Dutch in DC. 

     The SUV drove onto the driveway of a Tudor-style Georgetown home, around a long curve, to the garage in the back.  Once inside the garage, and the garage door down, Gina could see more security in the garage, talking into their wristbands.  And she sighed.  It all seemed so elaborate, so unnecessary to her.  But what could she do?  She wanted to be with Dutch, Dutch wanted her with him, something had to give.

     “We’re home,” LaLa said jokingly as they stepped out of the SUV.  In addition to Christian, who remained in Newark during Gina’s entire week of recovery, LaLa and Dempsey were also with her, on Dutch’s insistence, and the running of BBR was left to a professional staff of Dutch
Harber’s
business allies. 

     And when she found out that these business allies included major CEOs, etc, even she had to admit that BBR was probably in better hands with them than it had ever been with her.  That appropriations bill was dead, and a new bill was being reworked by Congress, but even with the stall BBR was getting back on sound footing.  Donations were pouring in now that major hitters were offering their helping hand.

     But that still didn’t stop her from finding this all too taxing.  “I still don’t see why I can’t recover at my own home,” she said as she and her friends entered the home through the side door.  “And to insist that the two of you babysit me is ridiculous.”

     “We’re glad to be here,” Dempsey said, “so stop whining.”

     Gina smiled.  He and LaLa were good friends indeed.  But just thinking about Frank, and what he did to her, made her blood boil.

     They entered the home through the side door, walking down a corridor and then into the living room.  When they entered the living room and saw Dutch standing there, LaLa and Dempsey smiled. 
Chrisitan
moved past them to stand by the president’s side, happy to see the man he loved almost as much as Gina did. 

     And Gina, however, just stood there and considered him.  He wore a Red Sox baseball cap with jeans and a light green polo shirt,  and what struck her was how that didn’t seem like much of a disguise at all, if that was his point.   But her heart began to pound at the sight of him, and she had to sit down, in the first chair she came to, before she fell.

     Dutch hurried to her side.  “Are you all right?” he asked.  There were still tenderness to her face, but the bruising was down and almost completely gone.

     “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, smiling.  “I’m just glad to see you.”

     Dutch touched her on the nose.  And then he stood and looked at Christian. 

     “Let me show you folks where your rooms will be,” Christian said as if on cue, and LaLa and Dempsey, understanding too, hurried behind him.