Journey (8 page)

“Am I getting a ride, or do you want me to walk home?” she asked him and he smiled at the question, in spite of himself. He was still angry at her, but he knew it couldn't go on forever.

“I'm going to have you run behind the car for the
next six months, to atone for your sins, and what you may cost me.”

“Phyllis Armstrong doesn't think he'll sue us.”

“I hope she's right. If she isn't, will the President foot the bill? It'll be a big one.”

“Let's hope it never happens,” she said quietly. “The commission was terrific by the way. There are some great people on it.” It was the first real conversation they'd had since Tuesday, and she was glad he was finally unbending a little.

“I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes,” he said quickly. “I have to wind some things up here.”

And when he came downstairs to the lobby ten minutes later, he didn't look happy to see her, but he looked less ferocious than he had for the past three days, since her “transgression.” And they were both careful not to mention it on the way home. They stopped for a pizza, while she told him about the commission meeting that afternoon. But she didn't give him the personal details either, just the rough form, and what they hoped to do. She felt protective of the people she had met there.

“Is there a common bond among you, or are you all just smart and interested in the topic?”

“Both. It's amazing how violence touches everyone's life at one time. Everyone was very honest about it.” It was all she could tell him, or would.

“You didn't tell them your story, did you?” He looked concerned, as he watched her face.

“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. We were all pretty candid.”

“That's stupid, Mad,” he said bluntly. He was still annoyed at her, and wasn't pulling any punches. “What if someone feeds that to the press? Is that the image you
want out there? Bobby Joe kicking your ass down the stairs in Knoxville?” He sounded critical, and she didn't like it, but she didn't comment on what he'd said.

“Maybe that's okay, if it helps someone else realize that abuse happens to people like me too. Maybe that's worth a little exposure if it saves someone's life, or gives them hope that they can escape.”

“All it'll give you is a headache, and a trailer park image I've invested a fortune to get rid of. I don't understand how you could be so stupid.”

“I was honest. So was everyone there. Some of the stories were a lot worse than mine.” The First Lady's certainly wasn't pretty and she hadn't held back either. They had all been very open, which was the beauty of what they had shared. “Bill Alexander is on the commission too. He told us about his wife getting kidnapped.” It was public knowledge so she could say that much to Jack, but he just shrugged his shoulders in response, and was clearly unsympathetic.

“He might as well have killed her himself. It was a damn stupid thing to do, trying to negotiate for her himself. The whole damn State Department told him that, but he refused to listen.”

“He was desperate, and probably not all that rational. She was held hostage for seven months before they killed her. He must have gone crazy, waiting.” She still felt sorry for him when she thought of it, but Jack was unmoved, which annoyed her. He seemed to have a total disregard for the man's feelings and what he'd been through. “What do you have against him? I get the feeling you don't like him.”

“He was one of the President's advisers for a short time, after he taught at Harvard. His ideas go right back
to the Middle Ages, and he's a stickler for principles and morality. The original pilgrim.” It was an unkind way of describing him, and it irked Maddy as she listened.

“I think there's more to him than that. He seems very sensible, and intelligent, and a very decent person.”

“I guess I just don't like him. Not enough life to the guy, or sex appeal or something.” It was an odd thing for him to say because Bill was a handsome man, but there was something very straight arrow and sincere about him. He was the exact opposite of the jazzier crowd Jack Hunter liked to hang out with, but Maddy wasn't sure she minded Bill's style and ideas. Although he didn't seem glamorous enough to her husband.

They were home by ten o'clock, and out of habit, she turned on the news and then stopped dead in her tracks when she saw that U.S. troops had led another invasion on Iraq. She turned toward Jack, and saw something odd in his eyes as he watched the broadcast.

“You knew about this, didn't you?” she asked him directly.

“I don't advise the President on his wars, Mad. Just about media issues.”

“Bullshit. You knew. That's why you went to Camp David last week, isn't it? And why you're going to the Pentagon this weekend. Why didn't you tell me?” There had been times when he shared top secret information with her, but this time he hadn't. For the first time, she felt as though he didn't trust her, and she was hurt by it.

“This was too sensitive, and too important.”

“We're going to lose a lot of boys over there, Jack,” she said, sounding worried. Her mind was whirling. It was going to be an important story for her too, on Monday.

“Sometimes that's a sacrifice you have to make,” he said coolly. He thought the President had made the right decision. He and Maddy had differed on that subject before, and she wasn't as convinced as her husband.

They watched the last of the news as the anchor said that nineteen marines had been killed that morning in an exchange with Iraqi soldiers. Then Jack switched off the set, and she followed him into their bedroom. “It's interesting that President Armstrong let you in on it. Why, Jack?” She looked suspicious as she asked him.

“Why shouldn't he? He trusts me.”

“He trusts you, or he's using you as a spin doctor, to make the American public swallow this without hurting his image?”

“He has a right to get advice on how to handle the media. There's no crime in that.”

“No crime, but maybe not very honest either, to sell the public something that might be a very bad idea in the long run.”

“Spare me your political opinions, Mad. The President knows what he's doing.” He dismissed her summarily, which annoyed her, and it intrigued her that Jack was developing such a position of importance with the current administration. She wondered if that was partly behind his fury over her story about Janet McCutchins on Tuesday. Maybe he was afraid of some embarrassment that could upset the delicate balance of power for him. Jack always kept his eye on the ball, and what it could potentially cost him. He made calculations about everything he touched and even more so about the things that might touch him. But when he climbed into bed with her that night, he was warmer to her than he had been in days, and when he reached out and
pulled her closer, she could sense that he was hungry for her.

“I'm sorry it's been such a bad week for us,” she said gently, as he held her.

“Don't do it again, Mad. I won't forgive you next time, and do you know what would happen if I ever fired you?” His voice sounded hard and cold. “You'd be dead in the water the next day. You'd be finished, Mad. Your career depends on me, and don't you ever forget it. Don't fuck with me, Maddy. I could snuff out your career like a candle. You're not the star you like to think you are. It's all because you're married to me.” The way he said it made her feel sick and sad, not for what she might lose if he threw her out, but for the way he said it to her. She didn't say anything in response, and he pinched her nipples hard, too hard, and then without another word, he grabbed her, and showed her who was in control. It was never Maddy, always Jack. She was beginning to think that power and control were all that mattered to him.

Chapter 5

O
N SATURDAY, WHEN MADDY GOT UP
, Jack was already dressed and about to leave for his meeting. He told her he'd be at the Pentagon all day, and not to expect to see him until dinnertime. “Why are you going there?” she asked, as she watched him from their bed. He looked handsome and well dressed, in a pair of slacks and a blazer and gray turtleneck sweater. It was warm outside, but he knew he'd be in an air-conditioned room all day, and it would be chilly.

“They're including me in some of their briefings. It helps us get a better perspective on what's happening over there. We can't broadcast what I hear, but it's useful information, and the President wants advice on how I think he should translate it to the media. I think I can help him on that.” It was exactly what she'd suspected the night before. Jack was becoming the President's spin doctor.

“Telling the American people the truth might be an interesting way to go on it. It would certainly be new
and different,” she said, looking at her husband. Sometimes she didn't like his willingness to massage the truth, in order to put the “right” spin on things. He had a way of doing that which unnerved her. Maddy was much more of a black and white person. It was either true, in her point of view, or it wasn't. But Jack saw a rainbow of opportunities and subtler shadings. To him, the truth had a million hues and meanings.

“There are different versions of the truth, Mad. We just want to find the one that people will be most comfortable with.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. This isn't PR, it's about the truth.”

“I guess that's why I'm going to be there today and you're not. What are you doing today, by the way?” He glossed right over what he had just said to her, and the implications of it.

“I don't know. Hang around here, I guess. Relax. Maybe I'll do some shopping.” She would have liked to go shopping with a friend, but she hadn't done that in years. She never had time to cultivate friends anymore, Jack monopolized all her spare time and kept her too busy, and the rest of the time she was working. And the only people they saw socially were somehow related to business, like having the McCutchinses to Virginia for the weekend.

“Why don't you take the plane and go to New York for the day? You can shop there. You'd like that.” She nodded as she thought about the suggestion.

“That might be fun. There's an exhibit at the Whitney I'd like to see too. Maybe I can squeeze it in. You really don't mind if I take the plane?” It was a fantasy life, and she never forgot that. He provided luxuries
and opportunities for her that she would never have dreamed possible while she lived in Knoxville. It reminded her of what he had said to her the night before, that she'd have no career at all if it weren't for him. It was painful to hear him say it, but she couldn't deny it. Everything good that had ever happened to her, she was sure, was because of Jack.

He called their pilot before he left, told him to expect Madeleine there by ten o'clock, and to get clearance for a flight to La Guardia with a return that evening to Washington. “Have fun,” he said with a smile as he left, and she thanked him. It made her realize again that there were small sacrifices she made for him, but in exchange, he gave her so much. It was hard to justify ever being annoyed at him.

She arrived at the airport at ten-fifteen, with her hair neatly pulled back, in a white linen pantsuit. Their pilot was waiting for her and half an hour later, they took off and headed for New York. They landed at La Guardia at eleven-thirty and at noon, she was in the city. She went to Bergdorf Goodman and Saks, and then walked up Madison Avenue, stopping at her favorite shops. She skipped lunch and arrived at the Whitney Museum at three-thirty It was a golden life, and she loved it. Jack took her to Los Angeles too, New Orleans, San Francisco, Miami, and now and then to Las Vegas for the weekend. She knew she was spoiled, but she was grateful to him for it. She never lost sight of the many benefits of her life with Jack, or the career he had given her. And she knew that what he said was true, that it was all because she was Mrs. Jack Hunter. She utterly believed what he said, that without him, she'd be nothing. Believing that gave her an odd kind of humility,
which others found both ingenuous and appealing. She took nothing for granted and had no sense of her own importance, only his. He had even convinced her that the awards she'd won had been his doing.

She was back at La Guardia at five o'clock, they were cleared to leave at six, and she let herself into their house on R Street at seven-thirty It had been a perfect day, and she'd had fun. She had bought a couple of pantsuits, some bathing suits, and a great new hat, and she was in good spirits as she walked in with her trophies, and saw Jack sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, watching the seven-thirty broadcast. It was full of news of Iraq again, and Jack seemed intent on what he was hearing.

“Hi sweetheart,” she said comfortably, the animosity of the past week seemed to have dispelled between them the night before, and she was in better spirits. She was happy to see Jack, and he turned to her with a smile at the first break in the broadcast.

“How was your day, Mad?” he asked, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“Fun. I did a lot of shopping, and I went to the Whitney. How was yours?” It was a thrill for him to play spin doctor to the President, and she knew it.

“Terrific. I think we've got a handle on things.” He looked pleased and as though he felt very important, which he was. No one who knew him was ever unaware of it, and certainly not Maddy

“Anything you can tell me about, or is it all top secret?”

“Pretty much.” She would know it from what they gave her to report on the news. What she would never know, nor would anyone else, was the reality, or the
original, undoctored version. “What are we doing for dinner?” he asked as he turned off the set.

“I can whip something up if you want,” she said, setting down her packages. She still looked impeccable and beautiful after her long day of shopping. “Or I can order something in.”

“Why don't we go out? I've been locked up all day with a bunch of guys. It might be nice to see some real people.” He picked up the phone and made reservations for them at nine o'clock at Citronelle, which was the most fashionable restaurant in Washington at the moment. “Go put on something pretty.”