Twenty-Four
An hour later, just as I’ve managed to slightly calm my nerves, I see the glittering lights of Washington appear below us. As we fly over the Mall, which is still crowded with people from the day’s events, my anxiety returns in full force, but with it comes a burst of excitement. I tap my foot nervously as the plane takes what seems like an excruciatingly long time to land.
There’s a black towncar waiting for me on the runway. As I race toward it, I barely recognize the fact that Ilse’s shoes are starting to leave blisters on the blocks of ice that are my feet. The driver ushers me into the back, then walks around to the front and climbs in.
As we’re pulling away from the airport, he turns to me and says conversationally, “So, you’re going to the White House, huh?”
I nod, an excited grin spreading across my face.
“You going to that inaugural ball?”
“Yup,” I reply happily.
He turns around again and smiles at me, then studies my face carefully.
“Say, aren’t you—” he begins.
“Yes,” I sigh, anticipating the remainder of his sentence.
“Then why are you—”
I cut him off again. “It’s a long story,” I assure him.
“Hey, we’ve got time,” he replies.
Normally, I wouldn’t dare share the most personal details of my life with a complete stranger, but he’s got a point. Plus, telling him the story sure beats staring nervously out the window for the next half hour or so. So, with a shrug, I launch into a dramatic re-telling of the entire saga.
“And so, as it turns out, Jake had nothing to do with what Chris did to me,” I finish up just as we’re pulling through the White House gates. “Now I’ve just got to find him and hope that it’s not too late to make things right.”
The driver nods as he pulls the car to a stop. He turns around and gives me a wink. “Go get ‘em!” he says.
“I will!” I reply, beaming. “Thank you!” I call back as I jump out of the car.
I race to the entrance of the East Ballroom. When I’m a few feet from the door, I stop and take a deep breath. Slowly, I walk toward the entrance, which is being guarded by two stoic-looking Secret Service agents, both of whom are wearing sunglasses even though it’s pitch black outside.
I smile nervously at one of them and hand him my invitation. He nods, almost imperceptibly, and motions to his counterpart with a tiny flick of the wrist. The other agent pulls open the door, and I venture through.
The hallway I walk into is dimly lit, but I can hear the sounds of music and laughter echoing down the corridor. As I gaze at the ominous portraits around me, I’m momentarily stunned by the realization that I’m actually walking through the White House. I shake off my amazement, quickening my steps as I make my way to the end of the hall, where light is spilling out of the ballroom.
When I arrive at the entrance to the ball, I’m once again taken aback, this time by the elegance of it all. Ladies in jewel-toned satin gowns and diamonds the size of large pebbles mill around, laughing gaily, while men in tuxedos shake hands and slap each other on the back. I scan the periphery of the crowd for Jake, but I don’t see him anywhere.
Smiling gracefully, I push my way into the mass of people, darting my head left and right. Finally, when I reach the edge of the dance floor, I spot him. He’s in the middle of the floor, spinning around with…Skylar Williams. My face falls as I watch the two of them laugh and joke, their faces so close they’re almost touching. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I watch Jake lean down and whisper something in her ear and see her respond with a tinkling laugh, gazing at him adoringly. I feel tears welling up behind my eyes.
Suddenly, I become aware of the murmurs that are rising around me. I hear my name called once, then twice, then by several different people all at the same time. I turn around to find at least a dozen cameras trained on me, and several reporters waiting with notepads poised and microphones outstretched. My acknowledgement of them unleashes a barrage of questions, but I manage to push through them and, tripping my way through the rest of the crowd, run out of the ballroom.
Afraid I might be followed, I slip into the first door I see. The room seems to be filled with historical artifacts from various presidents, all backlit in glass cases. I stand in the center of the room, my back to the door, wiping the tears that have started to dribble down my cheeks.
A few moments later, I hear the door open. I stand perfectly still, afraid to turn around and see who’s standing in the room with me.
“You came,” a voice says. Jake.
I turn around slowly and see him walking toward me, the hint of a delighted smile creeping onto his face.
“Yeah, well, that was a mistake,” I reply. “I never should have come here.”
“Oh,” he says, his face falling.
“I hope you two will be very happy together,” I continue haughtily.
“Who?” he asks, confused.
“You and Skylar,” I respond derisively. When Jake says nothing, I add, “I saw the two of you dancing. It’s obvious you’re in love with her.”
“I’m not in love with her,” he insists. “God, Julia, you’re as bad as a tabloid reporter,” he says as I walk past him to leave the room.
My hand is turning the doorknob when he blurts out, “I’m in love with you.”
I freeze. With my back still to him, I ask carefully, “What did you just say?”
He waits until I turn around, then repeats quietly, “I said I’m in love with you.”
I can only stare at him.
“I have been since the first time I saw you, at the Vogue photo shoot,” he continues. “You put me in my place, wouldn’t let me get away with anything. I loved that. Other girls don’t act that way around me. They fawn all over me, thinking they have to stroke my ego to make me like them. But not you. You challenged me, and you inspired me, more than you’ll ever know.”
Jake looks at me expectantly, apparently finished with his declaration, but I’m still at a loss for words. Actually, that’s not true. I know the words I want to say, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to say them.
“Well…” he prompts.
“All right, fine!” I exclaim at last. “I’m in love with you, too. It just took me a lot longer to realize it.” I give him a defiant look. “There. Are you happy?”
He strides across the room and folds me up into his arms. “Very.”
This time, his kiss is expected, but it still somehow catches me off guard, sweeping the breath from my lungs and the blood from my head. As his lips play against mine, I feel my knees start to buckle, and he tightens his grip around my waist to steady me.
When we finally pull back, we look at each other in amazed silence for a moment.
“Wow,” I breathe at last.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Wow.”
We grin happily at each other, and he asks, “Julia, will you dance with me?”
“It would be my honor,” I reply, and, hand-in-hand, we walk back to the ballroom and push through the crowd to the dance floor.
Jake leads me to the middle of the floor, then whispers, “Stay right here,” and darts off. I feel my cheeks flush as I stand alone among the whirling dancers, most of whom have now started to stare at me while whispering to one another.
As Jake returns and sweeps me into his arms, I hear the band begin to play a familiar tune.
“‘Hallelujah’?” I ask knowingly, a smile dancing across my face.
Jake nods.
“What?” I ask with a gleam in my eye, cocking my head to one side. “Did they not know any Britney Spears?”
“Shut up,” Jake tells me, shaking his head and gazing at me adoringly before bending down to kiss me again.
And though I can feel the eyes staring and the flashbulbs flashing and the mouths whispering, for the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t care at all.
There’s a black towncar waiting for me on the runway. As I race toward it, I barely recognize the fact that Ilse’s shoes are starting to leave blisters on the blocks of ice that are my feet. The driver ushers me into the back, then walks around to the front and climbs in.
As we’re pulling away from the airport, he turns to me and says conversationally, “So, you’re going to the White House, huh?”
I nod, an excited grin spreading across my face.
“You going to that inaugural ball?”
“Yup,” I reply happily.
He turns around again and smiles at me, then studies my face carefully.
“Say, aren’t you—” he begins.
“Yes,” I sigh, anticipating the remainder of his sentence.
“Then why are you—”
I cut him off again. “It’s a long story,” I assure him.
“Hey, we’ve got time,” he replies.
Normally, I wouldn’t dare share the most personal details of my life with a complete stranger, but he’s got a point. Plus, telling him the story sure beats staring nervously out the window for the next half hour or so. So, with a shrug, I launch into a dramatic re-telling of the entire saga.
“And so, as it turns out, Jake had nothing to do with what Chris did to me,” I finish up just as we’re pulling through the White House gates. “Now I’ve just got to find him and hope that it’s not too late to make things right.”
The driver nods as he pulls the car to a stop. He turns around and gives me a wink. “Go get ‘em!” he says.
“I will!” I reply, beaming. “Thank you!” I call back as I jump out of the car.
I race to the entrance of the East Ballroom. When I’m a few feet from the door, I stop and take a deep breath. Slowly, I walk toward the entrance, which is being guarded by two stoic-looking Secret Service agents, both of whom are wearing sunglasses even though it’s pitch black outside.
I smile nervously at one of them and hand him my invitation. He nods, almost imperceptibly, and motions to his counterpart with a tiny flick of the wrist. The other agent pulls open the door, and I venture through.
The hallway I walk into is dimly lit, but I can hear the sounds of music and laughter echoing down the corridor. As I gaze at the ominous portraits around me, I’m momentarily stunned by the realization that I’m actually walking through the White House. I shake off my amazement, quickening my steps as I make my way to the end of the hall, where light is spilling out of the ballroom.
When I arrive at the entrance to the ball, I’m once again taken aback, this time by the elegance of it all. Ladies in jewel-toned satin gowns and diamonds the size of large pebbles mill around, laughing gaily, while men in tuxedos shake hands and slap each other on the back. I scan the periphery of the crowd for Jake, but I don’t see him anywhere.
Smiling gracefully, I push my way into the mass of people, darting my head left and right. Finally, when I reach the edge of the dance floor, I spot him. He’s in the middle of the floor, spinning around with…Skylar Williams. My face falls as I watch the two of them laugh and joke, their faces so close they’re almost touching. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I watch Jake lean down and whisper something in her ear and see her respond with a tinkling laugh, gazing at him adoringly. I feel tears welling up behind my eyes.
Suddenly, I become aware of the murmurs that are rising around me. I hear my name called once, then twice, then by several different people all at the same time. I turn around to find at least a dozen cameras trained on me, and several reporters waiting with notepads poised and microphones outstretched. My acknowledgement of them unleashes a barrage of questions, but I manage to push through them and, tripping my way through the rest of the crowd, run out of the ballroom.
Afraid I might be followed, I slip into the first door I see. The room seems to be filled with historical artifacts from various presidents, all backlit in glass cases. I stand in the center of the room, my back to the door, wiping the tears that have started to dribble down my cheeks.
A few moments later, I hear the door open. I stand perfectly still, afraid to turn around and see who’s standing in the room with me.
“You came,” a voice says. Jake.
I turn around slowly and see him walking toward me, the hint of a delighted smile creeping onto his face.
“Yeah, well, that was a mistake,” I reply. “I never should have come here.”
“Oh,” he says, his face falling.
“I hope you two will be very happy together,” I continue haughtily.
“Who?” he asks, confused.
“You and Skylar,” I respond derisively. When Jake says nothing, I add, “I saw the two of you dancing. It’s obvious you’re in love with her.”
“I’m not in love with her,” he insists. “God, Julia, you’re as bad as a tabloid reporter,” he says as I walk past him to leave the room.
My hand is turning the doorknob when he blurts out, “I’m in love with you.”
I freeze. With my back still to him, I ask carefully, “What did you just say?”
He waits until I turn around, then repeats quietly, “I said I’m in love with you.”
I can only stare at him.
“I have been since the first time I saw you, at the Vogue photo shoot,” he continues. “You put me in my place, wouldn’t let me get away with anything. I loved that. Other girls don’t act that way around me. They fawn all over me, thinking they have to stroke my ego to make me like them. But not you. You challenged me, and you inspired me, more than you’ll ever know.”
Jake looks at me expectantly, apparently finished with his declaration, but I’m still at a loss for words. Actually, that’s not true. I know the words I want to say, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to say them.
“Well…” he prompts.
“All right, fine!” I exclaim at last. “I’m in love with you, too. It just took me a lot longer to realize it.” I give him a defiant look. “There. Are you happy?”
He strides across the room and folds me up into his arms. “Very.”
This time, his kiss is expected, but it still somehow catches me off guard, sweeping the breath from my lungs and the blood from my head. As his lips play against mine, I feel my knees start to buckle, and he tightens his grip around my waist to steady me.
When we finally pull back, we look at each other in amazed silence for a moment.
“Wow,” I breathe at last.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Wow.”
We grin happily at each other, and he asks, “Julia, will you dance with me?”
“It would be my honor,” I reply, and, hand-in-hand, we walk back to the ballroom and push through the crowd to the dance floor.
Jake leads me to the middle of the floor, then whispers, “Stay right here,” and darts off. I feel my cheeks flush as I stand alone among the whirling dancers, most of whom have now started to stare at me while whispering to one another.
As Jake returns and sweeps me into his arms, I hear the band begin to play a familiar tune.
“‘Hallelujah’?” I ask knowingly, a smile dancing across my face.
Jake nods.
“What?” I ask with a gleam in my eye, cocking my head to one side. “Did they not know any Britney Spears?”
“Shut up,” Jake tells me, shaking his head and gazing at me adoringly before bending down to kiss me again.
And though I can feel the eyes staring and the flashbulbs flashing and the mouths whispering, for the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t care at all.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home