He shrugs and looks away. “Nothing, right?”
“That’s it,” she says. “Nothing at all.”
As my car leaves the parking lot and bounces along the path of the dirt road, Nora and I each have a hand out the window. We’re throwing parade-float waves at my father, who’s frantically waving back after us. “Goodbye, Dad!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.
“Goodbye, son!” I reply. He saw the name reversal in an old movie and immediately fell in love with it. Since then, it’s become our customary way to say goodbye.
Pulling back onto the rolling roads of Virginia, I check the rearview mirror. Harry and the tan Suburban are right there.
“Wanna try to lose him again?” Nora asks, following my gaze.
“Funny,” I say as I turn onto Route 54. Over my shoulder, the sun is finally starting to settle into the sky. Nothing left to do but ask. “So what’d you think?”
“What’s to think? He’s wonderful, Michael. And so’s his son.”
She’s not one for compliments, so I take her at her word. “So you’re okay with all of it?”
“Don’t worry-you have nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I’m not ashamed. I just… ”
“You just what?”
“I’m not ashamed,” I repeat.
“Who else have you told about him? Trey? Pam? Anyone?”
“Trey knows-and I told him he could tell Pam, but she and I never had the conversation ourselves.”
“Ooooooh, she must’ve been plenty mad when she found out.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Are you kidding? The love of her life holding back on her? It must’ve broken her little heart.”
“The love of her life?”
“C’mon, handsome, you don’t need X-ray specs to see this one. I saw how she was holding your hand at the funeral. She’s dying to put the smoochie on you.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“Let me tell you something-I’ve met her type a hundred times before. Small town predictable. When you walk into her bedroom, she’s already got her clothes picked out for the next day.”
“First of all, that’s completely wrong. Second, it doesn’t even matter. We’re just friends. And good friends at that, so don’t pick on her.”
“If you’re such good friends, why weren’t you the one to tell her about your dad?”
“It’s just the way I deal with it. Whenever I bring it up, people get self-conscious and they suddenly have to prove they’re sensitive.” Keeping my gaze locked on the power lines along the road, I add, “It’s hard to explain, but there’re times you just want to let it go. Or maybe grab them by the face and shout, ‘Back off, Barnum, it’s not a sideshow.’ I mean, yes, it’s my life, but that doesn’t mean it’s out there for public consumption. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but… ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I get a quick look at Nora. Sometimes I can be such a dumb bastard. I actually forgot who I was talking to. She’s Nora Hartson. Just reading USA Today, you’d know who she was named after, her college major, and the fact that she spent her last birthday climbing Mount Rainier with the Secret Service. Turning my way, she raises a single, trust-me-on-this-one eyebrow. To Nora, it makes perfect sense.
“Hiya, Vance,” Nora says to the guard at the Southeast Gate of the White House.
“Good evening, Ms. Hartson.”
“Nora,” she demands. “Nora, Nora, Nora.”
With a loud click, the black metal gate swings open. He doesn’t need to see my blue pass or my parking permit. He just needs to see Nora. “Thanks, Vance,” she calls out, her voice sounding lighter, more open than I’ve ever heard her.
Pulling up to the South Portico at the base of the mansion, I’m having a hard time containing myself. It’s so different than last time. No panic, no hiding, no posturing. No fear. For a few hours, Simon, Caroline, the money-the whole nightmare lowered its voice from a scream to a momentary whisper. All that’s left is us.
When we reach the awning that covers the South Portico, I hit the brakes.
“What’re you doing?” she asks.
“Aren’t I dropping you off?”
“I guess,” she says, suddenly losing the confidence in her voice. She’s about to get out of the car, but pauses. “Or, if you want, you can come upstairs.”
I look up at the shining white facade of the world’s most famous mansion. “Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious,” she says as the confidence floods back. “You up for it?”
I was wrong before. Questions don’t come any easier than this. “Where do I park?”
She motions to the expansive South Lawn of the White House. “Anywhere you want.”
CHAPTER 18
You ever been in this way?” Nora asks, heading for the south entrance under the awning. We follow the red carpet into the oval-shaped Diplomatic Reception Room, where FDR used to hold his fireside chats.
“I’m not sure-I keep confusing it with my apartment and the red carpet that leads to my futon.”
“That’s cute. Never heard that one before.”
“Before? How many guys’ve you taken on this tour?”
“What tour’re you talking about?”
“Y’know, this tour. The inside-my-Beltway tour.”
She laughs. “Oh, is that what you think you’re on?”
“You telling me I’m mistaken?”
“No, I’m telling you you’re in full delusion. I’m giving you a cup of coffee and kicking you out on your bee-hind.”
“You do what you want, but idle threats aren’t the way to get lovin’ outta me.”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, we’ll definitely see.” I do everything in my power to make sure I get the last word. It’s the only time she’s excited-when the outcome’s out of her control.
Passing through the Dip Room, I’m swinging my shoulders with a strut that tells her she doesn’t have a chance. It’s such a bad lie, it’s pathetic. As we leave the room, we make a sharp left into the Ground Floor Corridor. Across the pale red carpet, there’s a guard on the left side of the hallway. I freeze. Nora smiles.
“And you were doing so well there, weren’t you?” she teases. “You had the strut going and everything.”
“It’s not funny,” I whisper. “Last time I was here, these guys… ”
“Forget about last time,” she whispers in my ear. “As long as you’re with me, you’re a guest.” Up close, she blows me a taunting kiss.
It’s amazing how she can pick the worst moments to turn me on.
As we pass the guard, he barely looks up. He simply whispers three words into his walkie-talkie: “Shadow plus one.”
Once we’re through the doorway, we can get upstairs by taking either the elevator or the stairs. Knowing that there’re guards waiting at the next landing, I head for the elevator. Nora darts for the stairs. She’s gone in an instant. I’m left alone with no choice. Shaking my head, I take off after her.
As we reach the next landing, two uniformed officers are waiting. Last time, they stopped me. This time, as I turn the corner of the stairway, they step back to give me more room.
Taking two stairs at a time, I close in on Nora. She leaves the stairs at the next landing and, following her lead, I head into the Residence’s main corridor. Like the Ground Floor Corridor, it’s a wide, spacious hallway with doors running along every wall. The difference is all in the decor. Painted a warm, pale yellow, and lined with built-in bookcases, half a dozen oil paintings, and plenty of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century antiques, this isn’t a tourist trap. This is a home.
Wandering down the hallway, I scan the paintings. The first one I see is a still-life of apples and pears. “Cézanne rip-off,” I almost blurt. Then I notice the signature at the bottom. Cézanne.
“Got it at a flea market,” Nora says.
I nod. Across from the Cézanne, I notice an abstract de Kooning. Time to slow down. Taking a deep breath, I get back in my zone.