The Call ©

The call came around midnight.  Genevieve had been in bed and asleep for an hour.   It took her a few minutes to first realize her cell phone was ringing, then another few to determine where her cell phone actually was.   She answered it on the last ring. 

“Hello?”  No one called her this late except one of her kids when they were in “crisis”.

“Genevieve?  This is Frank”.   His real name was Francisco and he was originally from Madrid.  Frank had been in the US since he was 16 and his father was transferred here; you had to listen very carefully to hear the accent.

“Frank?  What’s wrong?  Why are you calling so late?”  Frank and Genevieve were colleagues.  They had known each other for 10 years and considered each other friends, but rarely did anything outside of work together.

“Can you come over?  I really need to talk to you” he said this with just a hint of desperation. 

“Frank, I was already in bed and asleep.  Is it that urgent?”

“Please?” again a slight pleading in his voice.

“Umm, give me at least 40 minutes, but you will get me looking like I just crawled out of bed, which I did.  AND I am not putting my contacts back in, so deal.  What’s your address?”

“12565 Whispering Pines Dr.”

“Ok, 40 minutes”

Genevieve got up, grabbed her glasses off the side table, flipped on the bedroom light and stood there for a minute trying to get her bearings.   Yawning, she padded into her bathroom.  She flinched as she turned on the bright bathroom lights.  Looking at herself in the mirror she shuddered.  Her long auburn hair was in a ponytail that she had caught up again in the same covered rubber band so that it was not hanging down and wasn’t really a bun.  She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and quickly washed her face.  She grabbed her mascara and put just a hint of it on.  She wanted to look presentable, but not like she was making an effort for him.   She was 50, but looked 40 and she knew it.  Both her parents had looked much younger than their real age.  “Good gene’s “, she muttered smiling.  She brushed her teeth, pulled the rubber band out of her hair and bent over to run a quick brush through her hair.  As she stood up she whipped her hair back.  Another quick brush through and she was satisfied.  She padded back into her bedroom and tried to decide what to wear.  It was mid-summer so even at midnight it was still in the mid to upper sixties.  She settled on a pair of green capris and black t-shirt.   She had to dig for her black flip-flops but found them kicked half-way under her bed.  She unplugged her phone and brought up Google.  She punched Frank’s address in and squinted at the screen to figure out the best route to his house.  Her cat Poser gave her a puzzled look as she grabbed her purse and keys from the living room coffee table and headed for the front door.  “What are you looking at?”  she growled at him.  He gave her an indignant swish of the tail and laid back down on the top of the couch.

She had just bought her car two weeks ago, a 2013 Ford Fusion Hybrid.  She loved that car.  Crawling into the car she pushed the start button.   Her radio blasted making her jump and she quickly turned it down.  Shifting into reverse she backed out of the driveway then into drive and turned left at the corner.  Fifteen minutes later she was pulling into his driveway.  Suddenly she was nervous.  That was not an emotion that she would have ever associated with Frank.  She chalked it up to having been woken up in the middle of the night and not really understanding why Frank had called her.

Frank was 8 years younger than Genevieve, married with two kids.  In the ten years that she had known Frank, she had never actually met his wife Ann.  She had never really thought about it.  She had been to one party at his house a few years earlier, but Ann had been out of town.  Now she started to panic, was something wrong with Ann, or one of the kids?  As she got out of her car the garage door opened and Frank stood at the back door.

“Hi.  You found it”

“The miracle of Google” she quipped then quickly added, “Are you alright?”

“I’m good now”

“So what was the urgency?”

“Come in, we’ll talk.”    “I like you in glasses” he added quietly.

She entered his house through the garage door which led into the kitchen.  He guided her through to the living room and motioned for her to sit on the couch.  

“Ok, it’s late and you woke me from a dead sleep.  What is going on that it is so urgent you needed me right away?”

“I’m sorry.  Ann left me”

“Oh my god!  Are you ok?  Did she take the kids?  Where did she go?  What can I do to help?”

“She left last month.  She walked out on me AND the kids.  I have no idea where she is at, but I can guess.  I’m just glad you’re here.”

The Incident©

“Sir, I think you should take this call”.

President Baker took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Please, not again’ he pleaded silently.

“Baker here”

“Sir, this is General Myers.  We have another incident.”

‘Oh god no!’, he screamed in his head. “Do we have details?”

“It’s still sketchy sir.”

“Get me those details as soon as possible.” Baker demanded. “Situation Room in 15 minutes”, he shouted to his Chief of Staff.

The room burst into action, energy spilling out into the hallway and down into other offices.  Soon the whole West Wing was buzzing with chatter, faxes and phone calls.  Press Secretary Angie Leventhall scrambled to get on top of the story.  She had exactly 10 minutes to pull something together and then revise as soon as the President came out of the Situation Room.

Phones started to ring off the hook.  Nikki Chang, the President’s personal secretary, began fielding calls and running interference.  Josiah Whitney, Communications Director, and Jamie Valencia, Deputy Chief of Staff strode into the Oval Office, arguing as usual.

“Sir, this is the 6^th attack in as many days, Jamie feels that it is domestic.  I feel that it is the work of an outside extremist group.”

Jamie frowned, “It just feels like a domestic extremist group, although we can’t determine what the motive is.  They are being very specific as to their targets, but we are not seeing a reason to the pattern.”

“They appear to be non-discriminatory”, chimed in Dennis Joblanski, Chief of Staff. 

“Republicans, Democrats, white, brown, black, Senators and Representatives.  The Situation Room is ready, Mr. President.  I suggest we get this meeting started.”

They all gathered in the Situation Room, anxious, waiting for further instructions.

“Sir, we understand that it was Senator Joe Jackson from Illinois.”

“Yes, and we are still no closer to determining who is responsible.  Do I need to put a security detail around all Legislators until we get to the bottom of this?  I need answers and I need them now.  What is Homeland Security getting on this?” demanded the President. “Is there any chatter here or abroad? Are we working with the other agencies?  We can not afford to lose another legislator.  At this rate our government will be crippled in two weeks.”

“Sir, we are not hearing any chatter abroad.  We believe this to be the work of an extremist group within our borders with no ties to other groups”, stated General Johnson.

“Mr. President, this group is not making any claims, nor are they leaving any messages as to their motive or demands.  Homeland Security is working with every agency possible” Secretary of Homeland Security James Calhoun said looking fatigued and frustrated.

“I want you to turn over every rock; you find me the person or persons responsible.  I don’t care if you deliver them to me in pieces, just catch these bastards!”  Calming down a bit, the President continued, “I need these people caught.  They are single handedly destroying our government.”

The group remained in the Situation Room as the President left to prepare for the press briefing.  As he leaves the Situation Room Angie and Josiah fall in step with the President, briefing him on what they know and handing him a one-page speech. 

“Sir, it is important that you be brief,” said Angie.  “I’ll field the questions; I need you to make the statement and leave.  Do you understand, sir?”

“Yes, read speech, leave”.  The President looked drained.

Jamie came running at a full sprint, and breathlessly exclaimed, “Sir, we have another incident, it’s the Vice President”.

The Cabana Boy ©

It started out as a playful joke.  She was not happy that he had put her in charge of a project that was half done and a complete disaster.  To show her disdain she had told him when she brought the project in on time and on budget he would owe her a trip to the Caribbean.  Not only the trip to Caribbean, but she wanted a tall, dark, handsome cabana boy waiting at the hotel with an umbrella drink in his hand when she arrived.  She was emphatic about the cabana boy. He had laughingly agreed. 

Recently it had morphed into just a cabana boy.  The sexual innuendos were there, just below the surface. Nothing overt.  It was an odd, artful dance around the subject, staying just this side of PC.

He teased her about finding one for a bargain, she was not amused.  “I am worth so much more than that”, she exclaimed with mock indignation. 

He somehow instinctively knew how to push her buttons, what drove her crazy and how to use that to his advantage.  What he didn’t know was that she found this endearing, sweet and as he revealed pieces of himself to her she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.  She was careful to never allow him to know this, to see her labored breathing whenever he got too close.  She was being silly and allowing a “school girl crush” to drive her hormones crazy.  She was much too old to allow her vivid imagination to run amuck.  Yet they did.  Oh how she wished that he would be her cabana boy. How she fantasized about going to collect her reward and having him pull her close, then in a very sensual voice, with just a hint of a Caribbean accent, telling her that he was her cabana boy.  And then reality sets in and she is snapped back to the real world.