"Secrets"
With the amount of noise we were making, we never
heard her coming down the hall. Not that I'm
surprised by that; this particular activity usually
gets pretty loud. And tonight was a banner night for
some reason. For as much tension is usually released
at these little sessions, the others could have been a
Sunday school picnic compared to tonight.
We were in the middle of our second bottle of wine and
some very energetic teasing about Carol and Brian from
the GAO when Ginger slumped down in her seat and
groaned, "God, how can we be this single?"
"Because we're married to Sam and Toby, that's how," I
replied dryly.
The quiet knock startled us all, mainly because Mrs.
Bartlet had once given us a scary surprise. Thank God
it wasn't her, although I was still not expecting the
intruder. "Congresswoman," I said quickly, standing
up just . . . in case. "I didn't know you were here
tonight."
Before either Ginger or I could apologize for
forgetting a meeting, Congresswoman Wyatt smiled and
leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah, I was trying to
fly under the radar. Turns out I did too good a job."
"Yeah, he left about an hour ago," I said
apologetically.
"It's fine," she replied, looking suddenly tired.
"I'll catch up with him eventually."
"Want to join us?" Carol asked, waving the wine
bottle.
Congresswoman Wyatt smiled at me then, a real,
mischievous smile and not the C-SPAN version. "I
don't know, I've already been married to Toby."
As my face started to get hot, Carol saved me by
asking again, "Come on, we still have a bottle left."
The Congresswoman frowned just slightly, considering.
Tiny lines appeared around her eyes, making her look
thoughtful without seeming old. Her dark eyes darted
around at all of us, as if wondering whether she would
really be welcome. She lingered on Ginger's face and
then rested momentarily on mine - because of Toby? I
don't know, but eventually she said, "Okay," and
sidled into the office.
Donna pulled an extra chair between her and me, and
Congresswoman Wyatt dropped into it as I retook my
seat. "Do you do this often?" she asked as Carol
passed her an extra cup.
"About once a month," Donna replied.
"In Josh's office?"
"That way we can blame the noise on him," Ginger said
cheerfully, and we all laughed.
Congresswoman Wyatt turned her eyes on Donna then.
"Doesn't he ever wonder why you don't leave when he
does?"
"I am full of excuses," Donna grinned, waving her cup
in the air.
"Congresswoman," Margaret said, handing the bottle
across the table.
"At least Andrea, okay?" Congresswoman Wyatt asked as
she took it. "It's way too late for that many
syllables." She poured a glass for herself and
carefully set the bottle back in the middle of the
table, asking, "So what's this about Carol?"
Carol groaned and tried to hide her face in her
blazer, while Margaret and Donna caught Congresswoman
Wyatt - Andrea - up on the conversation. This was a
side of her - of Andrea - that I didn't usually get to
see. Generally when she came into Toby's office she
had an agenda, either a serious policy issue or
something Toby had done to piss her off. Tonight she
was relaxed and friendly - not that she had ever been
rude to me. Well, not on purpose, anyway. There were
times when you did *not* want to get between her and
Toby, and if you did there was a high chance of you
becoming collateral damage.
"I still don't even know if he's interested," Carol
was moaning when I finally tuned back in to the
conversation. "But at this point I would be willing
to jump the first new warm body - of either gender, I
think - that I set eyes on."
"Please tell me that's not why you wanted me to stay."
Five pairs of eyes turned in semi-disbelief toward
Andrea before we all burst out laughing. "I don't
know," Carol teased. "You're looking pretty good to
me right now."
I could barely believe Carol joking like that with a
member of Congress, even considering it was Andrea,
but the distinguished Congresswoman just laughed.
"I'll keep that in mind as an option, Carol," she
said.
The wine wasn't particularly good, but there was
always a lot of it at these little get-togethers.
Andrea was going to take a while to catch up to the
rest of us, but she had no problem warming up. I was
surprised, actually, at how comfortable she seemed
falling into this random group of White House
assistants. She must just be one of those people, I
figured.
Sometime during the dissection of Carol and Brian's
daily interaction, Andrea reached up and pulled the
clip out of her hair, and for some reason I turned to
watch it fall down her back. She had television
commercial hair, long and thick and glistening and
that impossible shade of red that made her skin look
like porcelain.
I sat staring, probably because of the novelty of
having her there and because of the buzz that had
thrown a haze over my mental processes. My eyes were
drawn down from her face to the sculpted line of her
jaw, her long neck and the curved accents of her
collarbone. Her shirt was open at the neck, forming a
delicate v from her shoulders to the little shadow
between her breasts. When she leaned forward a
curtain of hair fell over her face, and she brushed it
back with long and graceful fingers.
I was pulled back into the conversation when Carol
pointed out that we'd finished the second bottle and
suggested moving the festivities out to a bar we
sometimes liked. We had done this many times before,
but this time I felt weirdly nervous about going.
Carol explicitly extended the invitation to Andrea,
and it seemed odd to go trooping to our usual smoky
bar with a United States Congresswoman in tow. But
then, working at the White House had taught me that
people in office really are just people - and by this
point there was little mystique left about Andrea.
Or there should have been. After all, I'd known her
for four years. She and Toby had been very recently
divorced when we met, and she was still a presence in
his life. As she was now, still. I'd heard their
battles over the phone, in his office, and refereed a
few of them very unwillingly. I'd heard her joking
with C.J. and Sam in the halls. And now I knew,
thanks to Margaret and Carol, that she hadn't dated
anyone in over a year and that she had her wedding
ring in a drawer next to her bed.
Yet there was still a mystique. I honestly didn't
know whether it was the hair in her face, the dark
eyes, or the fact that a couple thousand Bostonians
elected her to the House.
Probably more than a couple thousand. And it occurred
to me to wonder how a woman who looks younger than my
sister got that many people to send her to Congress.
And so far has gotten reelected once. It looks pretty
good for her this year, too. But I digress.
Andrea followed us calmly into the bar, although I did
notice that she stuck carefully between Margaret and
Donna, who were tall enough to obscure her from prying
eyes. We slid into our usual dark corner booth,
quietly letting Andrea closest to the wall with her
back to the room. I wound up between her and
Margaret, with the other three across from us.
Once drinks had been ordered the conversation went
downhill again, fast. I had a feeling that when
Margaret sobered up she was probably going to regret
detailing her sexual frustration for a member of
Congress - but on the other hand, maybe I was making
too big a deal of this. Andrea was just a woman like
anyone else, and she wouldn't have been there with us
if she was shocked by our conversation.
So I loosened up enough not to stiffen nervously when
Andrea nudged my shoulder, laughing at something
Ginger had said. After a drink or two I finally
stopped apologizing every time my knee banged into
hers, although after a while I developed a bizarre
fascination with the way our nylons rubbed together
when that happened. Then I offered to help Margaret
refresh drinks, and without thinking I laid my hand
over Andrea's wrist.
The ensuing spark sent a surge of warmth through my
body and a cold chill up my spine, because that hadn't
happened in a very long time. The spark, I mean. The
one born not of masculine cologne and good muscles but
of soft skin and long hair. It hadn't happened since
college, actually, when it first occurred to me that I
was sober when I kissed a sorority sister at a party.
I grabbed Andrea's glass and hightailed it after
Margaret.
By the time we returned to the table it became clear
that there was not a benevolent God, because the
conversation had turned to the clichéd "have you ever
kissed a woman" discussion. Donna hadn't, big
surprise there, nor had Ginger. Margaret rolled her
eyes and said, "Not one that counts," but Carol
grinned and said that she had - which didn't surprise
me either. I gave my yes as casually as possible.
Andrea paused and smiled at all of us slyly, before
saying, "After all, I do have to go out and make
friends with the people."
"CNN answer," Carol scolded.
The next thing I knew Andrea was kissing me on the
cheek, softly, letting her lips linger against my
skin. I think I was still in shock when she sat back
and said, "Okay, yes."
"That does not count," Carol replied.
"I think the people deserve an honest answer,
Congresswoman," Ginger added. She was getting bolder
as the night progressed.
Andrea looked at me and then looked back across the
table. "Not in public, Ginger," she said. They
laughed, but there was something underneath her tone
that made my face burn.
A moment or so later we all noticed that Donna had
gone silent and was staring out at the dance floor.
Before anyone could ask, she said, "Russell Crowe
lookalike, four o'clock."
Four heads swiveled in the direction she'd indicated -
Margaret stopped to ask, "My four o'clock, or your
four o'clock?" - and Carol gasped appreciatively,
"Damn, his friend is cute too."
"Are they gay?" Ginger asked. Just then the friend
grabbed a passing woman's ass.
"Okay, bastard, but not gay," Donna said.
"Third one!" Margaret yelled in triumph, pointing.
"Time to dance, girls," Carol announced, dragging
Donna from the booth with her. Margaret and Ginger
stood as well, but my eyes flickered over to Andrea
sliding into the corner. "Guys, I'm gonna pass," I
said quickly.
"Bonnie . . ." Carol started to complain.
"Just don't have the energy," I pled. "Besides, there
are already four of you and three of them."
"And one's a bastard," Donna reiterated. "We'll be
back in a minute."
"Sure," I muttered as they headed off. Margaret
turned and gestured toward Andrea, but Andrea shook
her head and moved closer into the corner.
"Want me to move across from you?" I asked after they
had gone.
"No," Andrea replied. "You're better where you are."
In the dark she looked as if she were blushing,
although it seemed impossible. "I don't mean - it
would probably be better if I weren't conspicuous."
"I understand," I said hastily. We were silent
together for a moment, and then I said lamely, "So -
come here often?"
Andrea laughed and picked up her glass, swirling the
remaining liquid around in the bottom. "How are you,
Bonnie?" she asked out of the blue. "We never really
get a chance to talk."
We don't? I mean, we don't, but it never would have
occurred to me that she would want to. "No, I guess
not," I replied, my voice betraying my confusion.
"I'm - fine, I guess."
"Overworked?"
I sighed. "Always."
"How's Toby?"
"He's - fine. He's Toby." The conversation was so
far the usual strained pleasantries you generally
exchange with strangers, although Andrea and I were
not strictly speaking strangers to one another.
There was another moment of quiet, and then she said,
"It's weird, I - I know it's funny for me to miss him,
but . . ."
I was surprised at this revelation from her, but
attributed it mostly to the alcohol. Plus I was too
buzzed myself to wonder very much why she was telling
me this. "You do anyway," I guessed.
"Yeah." She sighed heavily and set her glass back on
the table. "Toby and I were - we probably never
should have been married in the first place. No, I
take that back. I think we should have gotten married
ten years later than we did."
It occurred to me that she had few female friends who
knew Toby well - few in DC, anyway. C.J. was probably
too close to Toby, and the vibe I got was that she and
Andrea were speaking friends, but not close. There
was an odd tension between them. "Why?" I asked
Andrea gently.
"We . . . Did he ever - did you ever hear about why
we, why we separated?"
Andrea doesn't usually stammer - her speech is very
direct and almost formalized, whether she's speaking
on the House floor or yelling at Toby behind the
closed blinds in his office. I shook my head. "No."
She had started twisting her hands together in her
lap, and she studied them as she began to speak. "We
were - I was really young, you know. *Really* young,
when we met." Her eyes drifted out over the dance
floor. "Younger than Donna. I was working at EMILY's
List . . ."
"Did you know C.J. there?" I interrupted, thinking I
had found one piece of the puzzle.
"No, she was there after I left," Andrea continued.
"I quit right after we got married and went to work
with Toby on a gubernatorial campaign."
"He lost."
"Yeah," she said, her voice heavy with irony. "And
then . . . we moved to Boston, and I ran for city
council, and Toby found more campaigns."
"And?" I prompted.
"And more campaigns," she said, smiling a little. "He
was gone a lot - it's a total cliché, you know. The
older husband who's always off on business, the young
wife left home alone, bored . . . except I wasn't
bored. I was just as busy, I was just lonely."
"So you left him?"
"Eventually." Her smile grew more ironic as she met
my eyes. "We tried, you know, but I - I needed
someone who would be there. And it wasn't really his
fault that . . . he wanted to run my Congressional
race, you know. Before the divorce, he did all the
preliminary work, calling papers, making sure I got
exposure for everything I did in the city council.
Even though half the time he was doing it from out of
town. He asked me if I wanted to wait, to stay
married until after the election so I wasn't running
as a brand-new divorcee." She took a deep breath. "I
said no." Our eyes met and she grinned. "And now, of
course, we both lead completely settled lives in the
same city and I've been mostly alone for the last four
years."
I laughed quietly with her and asked, "Do you want to
get back together with him?"
"I don't think it would work," she said, the sadness
seeping into her tone. "I love him, a lot. And I
think he still loves me. But he hasn't changed a bit.
I mean, he's in town now, but . . . he's only just
beginning to see me as anything but the
twenty-five-year-old neophyte."
"I understand," I said meaningfully, and we both
chuckled again.
"So," she said, sighing quietly. "Sorry."
"For what?"
She didn't answer, but instead asked, "So how about
you? Anyone manage to break through the firewall of
White House scheduling?"
"Hasn't really been a problem," I replied dryly. "I
haven't met anyone that I cared enough about to make
the effort, you know? Some perfectly nice guys, but
no . . ." I'd been about to say "spark," but
something about the word bothered me.
"I know the feeling," Andrea said, and her hand
dropped casually onto my thigh. She couldn't possibly
have meant anything by it, but her touch burned, and I
had to fight to keep from stiffening so that she
wouldn't think I was reading anything into the
gesture. Apparently I wasn't entirely successful,
because my thigh clenched and she felt it. Instead of
removing her hand immediately she let it drift over
the side of my leg, stroking for a moment before
letting go. I didn't react, simply because it was not
possible that she had just done that.
Okay, I didn't react immediately. But I looked away
and felt my eyes widening as I took a long sip from my
glass, tasting mostly melted ice but needing something
to do.
When I raised my head Andrea was looking at me.
It lasted for just a second or so too long, and then
she turned back to the table and traced her fingers
through a ring of condensation on the wood. "I'm
really, really tired," she said quietly.
Taking it as an excuse, or maybe just a topic change,
I readily agreed. And I was, after all. The kind of
tired that hits your mind almost more than your body,
sapping any energy you might have.
"Not just tired," Andrea continued, "but - frustrated
tired. Like I just want to sink into something
without having to figure it out first."
When I nodded I discovered that she was looking at me
again. I spent a few moments looking back. Really, I
knew deep down that I always looked at her when she
came into the office, and not just because she was a
Congress-person. Because she was beautiful, and lit
up even when she was pissed, and because she was so
much brighter than most things in my day. Kind of
like Donna, but different.
So it was in fact possible that I had a tiny crush on
Congresswoman Wyatt, which would have been a
completely innocent long-distance crush on a public
figure had she not been right next to me.
And, you know, my boss's wife. Ex-wife.
So naturally, because Andrea was gorgeous and
well-known and formerly married to my boss and a
political figure, and because I was a White House
employee and in public, I decided to do the smart
thing.
Except my hand didn't listen, because while I was
deciding to do the smart thing it reached out and
covered hers on the table.
Andrea deliberately didn't look at me - I could tell
it was deliberate because there was a tension, a wall
between us, as if she were dying to turn her head and
look but was choosing not to. Instead she watched our
hands as she turned hers over and clasped my fingers
lightly. Then she looked at me.
Her hair was falling over her face again, and before I
could stop myself I brushed it back over her shoulder.
Little lines appeared in her forehead and she said
quietly, "Bonnie - I don't want you to feel like you
have to . . ."
"I don't feel that way," I said.
She opened her mouth to take in air, as though she
needed more than she could get any other way. She
reached out and tucked my hair back behind my ear, and
asked, "How tired are you right now?"
"I could fall asleep on this table," I said honestly,
feeling some of the tension break at the opportunity
to say something less loaded.
"Want to fall asleep - not alone?" she almost
whispered.
"Yeah," I replied simply.
She nudged me out of the booth and we slipped through
the crowd to find the others. I leaned in and shouted
in Carol's ear that Congresswoman Wyatt and I were
tired and were going to go catch a cab. She gave me a
thumbs-up as I left. Carol, if you only knew.
Andrea had left her car at the Capitol, so she did
indeed flag down a cab when we left the bar. She gave
an address in Georgetown, which I could only assume
was hers, and sat back against the cold leather with a
casual reach for my hand. I let her take it, watching
the contrast of dark and light in the flickering
shadow of the cab as she twined our fingers together.
"You know," she said softly, probably so that the
driver couldn't hear, "I don't do this a lot. Or,
really, at all."
"Pick up strange women?" I asked, copying her tone.
"Or men," she replied. "And you're not a stranger."
"I know," I said. "But we haven't . . ."
"I know," she said. "But - it's okay, though?"
"Yeah," I whispered back.
Her building was an old townhouse, and she kept her
hand at the small of my back as she ushered me in.
She flipped on a foyer light as she took my coat and
hung it in a closet, but she left the rest of the
apartment in darkness. I glanced around briefly,
curious about what the place looked like, but soon my
attention was drawn back to Andrea in front of me.
We both took a while to make up our minds. It was
possible, after all, that she hadn't had anything more
. . . intimate in mind than sleep. As she looked at
me her forehead wrinkled again. She looked as though
she were trying to decide whether I wanted to be
there, so I very simply put a stop to that. My hand
brushed over her forehead, trying to smooth it out.
She mirrored my actions with a hand on either side of
my face, stroking over the planes as if trying to
memorize it. My hands dropped to her shoulders, hers
slid around to the back of my head and neck, and we
stepped into each other awkwardly - not quite
embracing, but standing with the side of my face
touching hers and her chin on my shoulder. Then we
both pulled back and leaned in for a kiss.
The first thought that hit my mind was "this is so
much better than I remember." Her lips were soft and
gentle, and my nose was immediately filled with her
soap and light perfume smell. Her fingertips on the
back of my neck tingled as we stepped closer together.
The kiss started out tentative, but escalated rather
quickly. The first taste of her mouth set me reeling,
and before I knew it I had dropped my hand to her
waist to pull her into me.
She moved as well, and I felt her warm hand pulling my
blouse from my skirt to slip under it, caressing my
back. By the time we broke apart, gasping, our bodies
were firmly pressed together. She lowered her mouth
to the open neck of my shirt, kissing along the
juncture between my neck and shoulder. I hissed at
the instant jolt through my groin and gasped,
unfortunately, "God - Congresswoman Wyatt -"
Before I could apologize, Andrea collapsed in giggles
against my shoulder. I could feel her stomach muscles
tighten with her laugher, even as she unbuttoned my
blouse, pushed it off one shoulder, and pressed her
lips to the revealed skin. "Do you think," she asked
between kisses, "that under the circumstances we might
at least work our way up to 'Andrea?'"
"Andrea," I gasped softly as she trailed one fingertip
up the center of my torso. She pulled back and
unbuttoned her own shirt, without ceremony, shrugging
it off and tossing it onto a nearby couch. She
reached her arms out for me and I stepped closer,
allowing her to wrap me in her embrace and return her
mouth to my neck.
I could do little but hold on, clasping her shoulders
and whimpering quietly as she kissed me. Then she
made her way to the little indentation at the base of
my throat and stopped, leaning her head against my
chest, and I understood what she was doing. She was
reversing the power dynamic. Because she was my
superior in the political power structure, I
understood her as my superior here as well. I was
afraid to take initiative, afraid to touch her, afraid
of going too far. She was telling me not to be.
I wrapped my arms more tightly around her and held her
close, leaning my face into her hair. We stood still
for a pleasant few moments, and then she bent down and
pressed a kiss to the top of my breast, and that was
pleasant too. I tightened my grip on her and unhooked
her bra.
It landed somewhere behind the couch, but by then we
were moving back into a hallway and I didn't get the
chance to touch her the way I wanted to. My bra
landed next to her bed and was followed by her skirt,
which she stepped out of with a characteristic
straightforwardness. It was while she was kissing my
collarbone and I was cautiously filling one hand with
her breast that I whispered, "I haven't really done
this, before."
"It's okay," she murmured, directing me toward the
bed. She crawled on top of me to kiss me as I laid
back, and at that point I stopped all coherent thought
and decided to let go. The rest of our clothes made a
sloppy pile next to the bed and my hands roamed with
abandon all over her body. Her mouth closed over a
nipple and I gained a great deal of practice calling
her "Andrea" - in a gasp, a sigh, a groan, a plea, a
cry. Sometimes the whole thing didn't even get out,
and when her hand parted my thighs I finally cried,
"Andi!" into her shoulder.
If she minded my using the nickname she didn't show it
- although how she could possibly mind while we were
making love on her bed was beyond me anyway. I had a
flash of realization, of how surreal it was that I was
lying naked with my boss's wife with her hand buried
between my legs, but it didn't last long. She slipped
her fingers inside, rubbing me with the heel of her
hand, and I jerked against her body as I came, hard.
I was a little embarrassed, afterwards, but it didn't
last long. Her lips on mine eased the tension, and
soon I was eagerly exploring her body. The slope of
her back particularly fascinated me, and I nudged her
onto her stomach so that I could have better access.
My fingers and my mouth traced the lines of her
shoulder blades, her spine, the little places where
her ribs showed through when she stretched.
She rolled onto her side and kissed me deeply, sighing
into my mouth when my hand searched out her soft
breast. By the time I nudged my hand under her thigh,
my nervousness was gone. I found her wetness and
moved slowly, building speed as she began to whimper
deep in her throat. Her hand clenched into a fist
next to my face and when she called my name it sounded
oddly the same as when she said it in the office - she
always gave it more consonants than other people did.
We settled down to sleep curled into a warm swirl of
bodies and long limbs. My head rested in the soft
pillows but leaned against her shoulder and I felt her
kiss my temple, several times. She was, I thought,
exactly what I needed: warm, and gentle, and *present*
- not just physically, but really. I was absolutely
intoxicated by her softness, her smell, her taste, the
curves and angles of her body, the unique sound of her
voice. She had turned a crush into an addiction.
I had to know, though. My hand sought hers under the
covers and I asked quietly, "Andi?"
She was still mostly awake, and answered with a small
sound.
I cleared my throat. "Why me?" I laughed a little to
dissipate the seriousness of the question - and
realized eerily that it was something Toby would do.
Does, in fact, often.
Andi's free hand drifted up to my hair. "You mean,
why you and not - Carol, or Ginger?"
"Yeah."
She craned her head and pulled my face to meet hers,
giving me a long, sweet kiss. When we separated she
fell back against the pillows and said, "Because it
wasn't them I wanted."
"Okay," I replied, thoroughly satisfied. I sank
deeper into her arms, feeling her surround me. I was
safe, and cared for, and sheltered. My senses were
full of Andi and her name was on the tip of my tongue
as I fell asleep.
The next morning was Saturday and we could allow
ourselves to awaken slowly. A breeze drifted through
the bedroom, making it pleasantly cool everywhere but
under the covers. I nuzzled closer to Andi, my nose
full of the smell of her skin, the fabric softener on
the bedclothes, and sex. We lay quietly, occasionally
shifting to be closer, until finally she had to get up
and go to the bathroom. I watched her cross the room,
her hair shining in the early sun and her skin glowing
- she was golden, and coppery, and very, very white.
We made love gently in the shower, which gave me the
opportunity to see that her pale chest flushed red
when she was aroused. Very red. She grimaced and
wrinkled her nose, looking down. "Like a sunburn,"
she said, leaning against the shower wall.
"It's cute," I said, smiling. She just laughed and
pushed my wet curls back from my face.
In jeans and a baggy Smith sweatshirt she could have
passed for a grad student. She lent me clothes so
that I wouldn't have to go home in my suit from the
day before - between the clothes and her soap I was
going to smell like her all day, which was not a bad
thing.
At her door she stopped and stroked my face, saying
softly, "I'd like to see you again."
"Okay," I replied with a little smile.
"Not just for sex," she clarified, her voice deep and
laughing. "I mean, I'd like to spend time with you."
"I'd like that," I said, reaching out for her arms and
holding them gently.
"Bonnie," she said, her forehead wrinkling again, "I
can't - you know I can't really - in public . . ."
"I know," I said quietly. "I can't, really, either."
"And it would be awful for you at work, wouldn't it,"
she said, not really asking. "With Toby. I mean if
he ever . . ."
"Yeah."
"I really want to see you again," she repeated.
"You will," I said, giving her a reassuring look - or
what I hoped was a reassuring look.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." I reached up and smoothed her forehead
again. "For me, having a secret is not a bad thing.
It's kind of nice."
She hugged me close. I kissed her neck and her hair
and said once, with a rasp in my voice, "Andi." Our
lips brushed quickly as we separated, and then she
opened her door for me.
Outside the sun was shining much brighter than through
her window, and I bounced a little more than usual as
I walked down the street. Andrea Wyatt, I said to
myself. Andi. It was hard to believe, but I enjoyed
the dark, secret sense that as much as she might
belong to other people, in this way she was mine.
The End.