The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,33
his mistake. He isn’t acting as her lover, her friend, her man. He is responding as a politician, trying to minimize a mistake. Not trying to take care of a woman he loves. Shit.
“I … I just wanted to see if you said anything to them. Or if they said anything to you. It must have been rough.”
“No, Harry, I didn’t say a word … I mean … what could I say?”
He rubs at his eyes. This isn’t going well, damn it.
“That’s good. I’m … sorry, I know you won’t say anything.”
Tammy says, “Harry … what am I going to do? What are we going to do?”
“You … take care of yourself, first and foremost,” he says, thinking rapidly. “Call in sick tomorrow if you have to. Or work from home. And we’re going to fix this.”
“We?”
“Parker Hoyt … he’s working on it right now.”
“By doing what?”
“He’s … doing a lot of things. And he’s working on … doing what’s right.”
God, he thinks. Another close miss with Tammy. He was about to tell her that Parker Hoyt is looking out for him and his reelection, which, of course, would lead to the question, well, what about me?
What about Tammy, indeed. He can’t tell her what his advisers told him not more than ten minutes ago: dump her, and dump her publicly.
“Is there … anything I can do for you?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.
A bitter laugh. “Arrest the reporters outside my condo?”
He manages to laugh back. “If I could, I would …”
A pause, and she says, quietly, “When can I see you, Harry?”
“Not for a while,” he says. “You know how it is.”
Her voice is sharp. “For at least four weeks, right?”
“Tammy …”
He rubs at his eyes again, and she says, “How are things with Grace?”
A jolt of surprise. In the months they’ve been together, she’s hardly ever asked about the First Lady.
“Angry. Upset. You can imagine.”
“I can,” she says, voice soft, full of understanding. “Where is she now? In her office, practicing throwing lamps?”
He turns in his chair, peering out at the three greenish-tinged glass windows, floor to ceiling, which are green because they are bulletproof.
“She’s … in the East Wing,” he says, speaking quickly. “Trying to gather her thoughts together.”
“But is she going to speak to the press? Is she still going to keep her public schedule?”
He can’t do this anymore. From the very beginning, he’s always been straight with her, never making promises he can’t keep, always being upfront as to when he can see her and when he can’t.
But now?
“She’s … ah … look, Tammy, I have to go. All right? Hang in there … we’ll get through this together. Honest.”
And he hangs up the phone, disconnecting the secure call, swivels his chair once more.
What a rotten conversation.
And what was that all about, her asking about Grace?
Then he realizes something else.
For the very first time, he’s lied to the woman he loves.
Tammy is stunned as the President brusquely cuts her off.
Of course he’s under pressure, and of course the news of their … relationship is on his mind, especially with the election so close.
But never had he been so short with her and never had he …
Lied?
She recalls what Amanda Price told her, just a few minutes ago.
The First Lady can’t be found.
But her Harry—the President of the United States—just told her something else, that Grace Fuller Tucker was in the East Wing, definitely not missing.
And when Tammy tried to press him on that …
He hung up on her.
Her phone rings and she’s startled, and she checks the caller ID.
CBS NEW YORK.
She switches off the phone.
Curls up in her chair.
Waits.
For what, she doesn’t know.
But the hard core inside of her, that took her from a dumpy three-story tenement building in South Boston to Beacon Hill and Boston College and then Harvard and then to the center of the world—the District of Columbia—knows she won’t wait forever.
His phone rings, and Harrison Tucker waits a moment before picking it up.
Tammy’s news about her car accident has caused a memory from his political past to surface, from back when he was running for reelection as a state senator. It had turned into an unexpectedly close race, until his opponent—a retired university professor—had gotten into a serious crash one rainy night outside of Toledo.
And he remembers Parker Hoyt smiling at him, when he told him the news the next day: “Accidents do happen … especially at the right time.”
Harrison had laughed it off then, thinking Parker was just joking.
But