LOCATION: The WHITE HOUSE, 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington D.C.
TIME: 11:21 AM.
It was a chilly fall Sunday in D.C. The leaves had begun to change colors, offering a brilliant array of golds, reds and orange. There was a freshness to the air that was a pleasant change from the suffocating swamp-like air quality of the past summer. The town was at peace, save brunches and breakfast meetings. If one was a smart political wheeler and dealer, St. Peter's on Capitol Hill was the place to be.
That is if you did not mind a security check and shiny armored vehicles parked around the block.
The First Family, in their Sunday best were sitting front row, taking in the church
service. It was unusual. Washington National Cathedral was normally the scene of political faith-posturing. It was the cite of many state funerals, weddings and President Grant's Presidential prayer service after his inauguration.
That would be it for him. He was a Catholic, to the core. He had even been an altar boy. During his Senate years, he would go to confession prior to committee hears. So an Episcopalian church would not do, particularly when members of the Washington elite tried to network with him in the communion line.
A few backbenchers in Congress had taken the hint and begun attending St. Peter's (much to the President's chagrin). The First Family enjoyed the diverse parish and the freedom outside the "bubble." He liked greeting the parishioners on his way out of the service. He listened to their stories, kissed babies and took in the splendor of being amongst the people.
At least until he heard the homily.
"What was that all about?" Dad inquired grumpy as the limo pulled up to the South Portico. Blythe giggled. They all noticed him becoming more and more intense as the morning went along. She shared a pointed look with Avery who lifted his brows and rolled his eyes. This happened every once in a while. They were used to it.
"Baby, I hardly see what the problem is? It was a perfectly lovely selection for the homily." Mom pursed her lips as she pulled the pacifier from Juniors mouth and bounced him on her knee. He always got a bit antsy whenever the car pulled up. He did not have much time for the Secret Service detail machinations. He wanted food and would let everyone know.
"Mom-ma! I'm hungry!" Junior squealed as he wrapped his chubby little fist around her pearl set and tugged. Mom grimaced, but luckily Dad intervened.
"Hey, Junior, stop pulling on Mommy's pearls." Dad intoned, taking Junior from Mom and giving him a stern look.
The little toddler wilted under his father's sterling stare.
"Seriously Dad, you can't critique homilies like they are movies. Two thumbs down on 'love your enemies' is kinda harsh." Blythe snarked.
"Yeah, tell him." Mom said bemused to Dad who had jumped out the limo, Junior in tow, when Agent Larsen finally opened the door. The sharp wind suddenly hit as they piled out behind and made their way inside.
Avery pulled off his black leather gloves as they made their way down the tiled halls and walked up to the Residence. His parents, baby brother and sister were walking ahead while he took his time. He hardly wanted to listen to them go back and forth about the homily. Normally, yes. However not today.
"Seriously, Fitz you are being immature."
"Am I? Its election season! Midterms are right around the corner, for crying out loud and he thinks its a good idea to wheel out the ol' 'love thy neighbor' crap?"
"Right, because Father McCoy is really tailoring mass to suit the political tone of the time!"
"Oh, don't give me that, Livvie. See this is why I prefer the 8am mass. Father Louis knows to keep his nose out of my henhouse.
"Really? Henhouse?"
"'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'This is the first and greatest commandment? 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments.' That was his passive aggressive way of telling us to cool it on the Democrats." Dad huffed as Junior babbled happily at all the talking and commotion
"Honestly, Dad. Mom is right, not everything is a political move."
"Blythe, trust me honey, when you get older and you run for office, you will understand. "
"Dad, I hardly think I'm the Grant kid most likely to run."
"That's what your father used to say when we were dating. Imagine my surprise when he turned into a politcal grouch who thinks the homily is about bipartisanship."
"Ha!"
Avery's stomach growled with hunger and yet the whirling thoughts of his mind was acting as a block. His mind had been clouded with thoughts of Ella all morning. It felt surreal, how it happened.
LOCATION: The Residence, Family Dinning Room.
Brunch had been a typical family affair. A lot of talking and laughter yet Fitz had noticed his oldest was noticeably withdrawn. He normally would be on his side when it came to debates like the one had in the car and all throughout their meal. He loved their Sundays. Just them, brunch and memories.
Yet Av played with his food, smiling tightly. He had noticed his demeanor a bit yesterday at dinner and had chalked it up to a long week and a difficult basketball game again Georgetown Day that was fast approaching.
"Hey, bud, you okay?" Fitz asked from the head of the table. Av looked up from his eggs benedict, a tension in his jaw becoming more apparent.
Olivia placed a hand on his, the cool metal of her ring set pressed against his fingers. He pulled his eyes away, and looked at his wife, whose eyes were wide with concern. The room was silent except for Junior's delighted yelps from his high chair.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
"Sweetie, when people are talking, you can't interrupt." Olivia said softly to their youngest. She tried to appease his restlessness with cutting up pineapple pieces for him but he would not budge.
Av rolled his eyes and took a sip of grapefruit juice from the crystal goblet.
Unexpectedly, Blythe stood up, removing the napkin from her lap.
"How about I take Jun up to the nursery?" Her freckled face looked anxious as if she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the antiquated walls.
"Thanks babe." Olivia said rubbing off any trace of ketchup from Junior's little face and lifted him out of the high chair.
"Are you going to be okay changing him? You know how he gets when anyone but me does it?"
Blythe giggled as she took her little brother and bounced him.
"I got this Mom."
The silence became deafening when his younger children left the room.
Av's dark eyes avoided eye contact as he loosened his tie. Olivia breathed in deeply, playing with her golden brooch.
"I take it this is about Ella?" She asked tentatively.
The light bulb suddenly went off in his head. Of course...
He knew of his son's romance with their goddaughter. It was cute, how they thought they were being discrete. He had given another version of "the talk" the last time Ella had spent time in the Residence when Cyrus had a heart attack. He could have sworn he saw her leaving his room one morning.
His relationship with his children was open and honest. There were boundaries, yes, but they did maintained an open line of communication about mostly everything. Yet, for some reason Av had been hard pressed to talk about it. Olivia tried to pry through Blythe, but their daughter kept tight lipped on the situation as well.
"Something like that." Av mumbled.
Fitz and Olivia exchanged a look. It was time.
Here goes nothing.
"Av, I know you two care about each other and young love hits hard. But you have your life ahead of you to-"
"Ella is thinking about going to boarding school. She's been talking to her dads about it. Her therapist apparently thinks this is a good idea so..." He trailed off his voice cracking.
They did not know what to say. It was hard enough for the kids to be living in this fish bowl. It was another when the only things tethered to a normal teenage existence were fading away.
Olivia got up and went over to Avery taking him into a hug. Much like him, Avery was proud. He did not do tears. Fitz walked over to his hunched over son, rubbing his back in support.
Olivia was heartbroken. She had never been so gutted. Especially when it came to this. This was foreign territory. Her baby's first heartache was something she did not know how to deal with. Speeches before the UN and W.U.C are easy but this...
"We can't let him haul himself into his room and stay there." Fitz said softly. They were sitting on their bed, discussing how to move forward.
Life for Ella was hard. She could relate more than she would like to admit.
"Just let him have a moment to himself. Between school, basketball and all his other extracurriculars, I don't think he has had time to decompress."
Fitz nodded, shrugging his shoulders. "I knew they were serious but this is..."
"Intense. I had no idea kids could even feel that kind of stuff at their age." Olivia sighed, feeling overwhelmed.
But Fitz stared at her incredulous.
"What?"
"Why would you not think teenagers could fall in love?"
He seemed so genuinely concerned by her confusion that she could not help but chuckle.
"I don't know. When I was that age, I did not know what love or commitment was? I thought love meant sneaking joints into my dorm and flirting with the cute Tanzanian prince who was visiting his sister."
Fitz hung his head, laughing. She moved to hopped off the bed, but Fitz grabbed her arm, pulling her down into a cuddle.
"Oh come on, I'm just teasing. But seriously, you had quite the childhood."
"So did you." Olivia snarked burying her face in his neck as they enjoyed each others presence.
"Mmm." He moaned as she rubbed her hand up and down his chest. "True but I had the stereotypical rich prep school experience. Pure Americana. You, on the other hand , you are what Danielle Steel novels are made of."
FLASHBACK
The party scene in Geneva had gotten stale. The foreign expats and aged movie stars were hardly exciting.
She had hooked up with Pierre, a French heir to a champagne fortune for most of the past semester. He was kind with his golden hair and golden manners but she was royally bored with him. Europe was boring. It almost did not help that Surval Montreux was an all-girls school. She had been able to get her kicks during summer breaks, traversing Europe and its great wonders. Beaches of Greece, Ibiza and E had been nice. She was tired of being reprimanded by the 'veilleuses de nuit', who made it their mission in life to put a damper on her fun. Especially the dutifully snobby Euro princess who sneered at her because of her skin and her sexual appetite.
Yet she was bored. She packed up her antique luggage and took the first thing smoking back to the States as soon as summer dawned.
She had arrived to Dulles, exhausted, her pretty brown eyes hidden behind her signature Ray Bans.
A black town car had eased her back to the familiar elite enclave of Fairfax, the Pope house looking ever so appealing thanks to the summer weather and the beautiful lawn.
When she finally settled in, the empty house began to mock her. The portraits of a once happy family felt weird. Her mother's expansive smile staring at her from the den as she snuck into her father's cigar collection was quietly admonishing her. She had no idea where her father was. Judging by the fridge, he had not been home in a while. Even if he had, he never cooked, opting to eat dinners at L'Auberge Chez Francois with the boys from the Agency.
She knew her mother was staying in Prague this time around, but did not know her number.
Olivia sat by the pool, inundating her small petite being with sun, Cognac and her father's stogie. She did not have any friends State side. She had spent so much of her youth in Europe. Her "friends" from school were hardly friends. They were accessories. Distractions with fabulous summer homes and made for good drinking buddies. Her poor little rich girl blues was none of their concern. No one understood the loneliness of her life. Absentee parents, living out of a suitcase...
The clawing of loneliness led her that night to a bar on Connecticut Ave, where she ran into the broad shouldered Edison Davis. They had known each other through Jack and Jill from their youth, before she had been shipped off. Their mothers bonded over being sorority sisters, both pledging the same year, though at different institutions.
She took him back to the house that night where he gawked over her father's shiny Porsche, which he never drove. He seemed so impressed with things. The lifestyle, the pictures of Presidents like Reagan and Bush on the wall. She took delight in the childlike wonder of his eyes whenever he stumbled across the physical manifestation of the Pope's status.
As gratitude for his brown nosing, she fucked him. She fucked him, sucked him the best way she knew how in her old childhood bedroom. Not because she wanted to, but because she needed validation. She needed to know she was special. She needed to feel anything but the hollow feelings of loneliness.
Poor little rich girl...
Three Months Later...
LOCATION: Phillips Academy Andover, Log Cabin.
Ella Novak-Beene was huddled under the sweaty arm of a lacrosse player. Damon? Raymond? She was not sure she had caught his name but he was fine. Six feet of chocolate and muscles that helped her take her mind off the aching of her heart.
📶 10:50pm
So her phone read. In addition, were all the unanswered text messages from Av...
📨 Ells, please return my calls.
📨 I miss you. Can't wait to see you at Thanksgiving, if you come back.
She put her phone down, closing her eyes to prevent the tears. Here she was soaking in the sweat and cheap vodka while Avery was aching miles away. She was not taking her antidepressants and her grades were mediocre.
It was better this way. She could not stand lying to him. It was a big mistake to come here but the numbness of this life was safer than the intense searing passion of being in D.C
Poor little rich girl...
Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye- The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison.