She didn't know where to go. The only thing she knew was that she had to get out of here. It was all too much. She would love to go home now, home to her bed and not leave it for the foreseeable future. The only problem was that while her bed was in her house, he didn't want to see her, any more than she wanted to see him. She considered accepting Mike's offer from this morning, but then decided against it. "Watergate Hotel," she squeezed out between clenched teeth as she ducked her head and climbed into the waiting SUV. She saw Fred give Simon a significant look, signifying to him that he had better keep quiet and leave off the usual greetings. She turned her head away. She would prefer not to have to see or hear anyone now.
The hotel was barely a mile and a half from the Truman Building, so the car came to a stop again after barely 6 minutes. She sighed. Now she would have to face the fact that she would have to spend this night alone again. She pulled herself together and nodded gratefully to Fred when he held the door open for her and made an effort to escort her inside. Just like every other time before, he would book a suite for her under his name and without having exchanged a word with her first.
She sat down in one of the chairs in the lobby and waited for him to walk past her, as he did every time, and unobtrusively press the key card into her hand while he said goodbye and wished her a pleasant night. This time was different. Fred approached her, but when she tried to take the card from him, held fast. She looked up and into his eyes. "Ma'am, if I may." He paused before continuing. "Is everything all right?" "Yeah yeah, I'm just exhausted." Elizabeth waved it off quickly, hoping he wouldn't see the tears that had once again formed in the corners of her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow." Fred hesitated briefly, but then probably decided against saying anything. He let go of the card, nodded goodbye to her, and disappeared out the door. She took a breath. The very first thing she would do now was to take her bag upstairs and then see what the rest of the day had in store for her.
She found herself later at the bar of the hotel, just ordering her fifth drink. She seemed to mind her argument more than she would have liked, after all. She wondered if she should call him again, ask him to talk to her again. Or to give him another good talking to.
She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and tried to find Andrew's number through her alcohol-clouded vision. That turned out to be harder than she thought. She resolutely pressed a number and held the phone to her ear. No sooner had she noticed the click that could be heard when the person across answered the call, she launched into it. She cursed and insulted him, threatening to make his life a living hell and to sue him. She shouted through the phone that she was entitled to the houses and that he could stay where the pepper grows. Meanwhile, she didn't care that several pairs of eyes were staring at her in irritation and that some older gentlemen were threatening to choke on their beers. She let her anger run wild, disregarding the fact that she was loudly berating her husband on the phone in a not-quite-empty bar, as Secretary of State, even though she was the oh-so-happily-married wife in a television interview not 12 hours ago. She didn't give a damn, which was due to the alcohol. It made her tongue loosen and her inhibitions drop.
And then the first tears started to flow. She was angry, disappointed, desperate, and alone. Her voice shifted and she started sobbing unintelligible stuff. She didn't want to be alone at all. She wanted her old Andrew back. In between tears, she said that she would miss him and that he couldn't leave her alone. She begged him to give her another chance. With her head on the table, voice choked with tears and twitching uncontrollably, she finally whispered into the phone until she had no voice left. Very slowly and seeming to come from far away, she heard a voice from the receiver. But she could not make out what it was saying. Her brain, clouded by alcohol, grief and tears, was slow to process the information. After a while, she managed to make out individual words.
"Elizabeth? Slow - Where - Happening - Elizabeth?" She wiped her eyes with her blouse sleeve and pulled up her nose before breathing into the receiver in a tear-stained voice. "Yes?"
„Elizabeth?" „Yes?"
"Thank God, Elizabeth! Where are you?" She looked up, trying to get her bearings. "I, I don't know." She must have looked helpless, or maybe it was her previous showmanship, which is why the bartender leaned over to her. "Watergate Hotel, 2650 Virginia Ave NW." She tried to give him a grateful smile, but failed, and passed the address through the phone.
"Okay, I'll be right there. Hold on." The beeping sound suggested that he had hung up. She closed her eyes. Her mind was buzzing with nothing but the thought that he would come. He's coming.