Chapter three
As she sat in the limousine Hal had provided for her, along with Charles' address, she began to think back to her parting words to Aaron. She knew that what she had said sounded harsh, at least to her ears. But she couldn't involve him in her mess. And this was her mess -- she had stayed married to a traitor for years, and she was the one, the only one, who could clean things up. Looking out of the window at the grey sky, she sighed as she thought of his face when she had told him he would not be accompanying her to see her husband. He had looked so hurt, so confused. Of course, he had tried to be nonchalant about the whole thing, but Martha was starting to be able to read him and she knew he was hurt. She could understand; she would have felt the same way, but she just couldn't seem to vocalize to him what she was feeling. If truth be known, she wasn't sure herself what she was feeling. Maybe she should call him. Just to hear his voice. Reaching for the car phone, she held it in her hands for a few seconds. What would she say? Hey, Aaron, it's me. I know we have just started something wonderful together, but I have to visit my husband without your being there for my own sanity. For my own piece of mind. I know he is a murderous bastard, but you don't mind if I drop call in for coffee, do you? Putting the receiver back, she resumed her gaze out of the window. No, she couldn't explain it to him when she couldn't explain it to herself. Turning to face the partition that blocked her view out of the front window, she tapped on it gently. An agent pressed to button to drop the plain board and looked back at her.
"Yes, Mrs. Logan ."
"I'm sorry -- how long, roughly, until we get there?" she asked, her voice not once betraying the tremor she felt inside.
"We're just pulling up the street now, Mrs. Logan."
"Thank you," Martha replied, and the partition closed.
Taking two deep breaths, Martha wished for a second that she had brought her medication with her. She had not touched them since returning to the White House. But now she felt the familiar stirring in her stomach and the numbness in her lips and fingers. Signs that usually meant she was about to have a panic attack. She looked instinctively in her purse for the familiar orange bottle, but found none. Taking another deep breath, she tried to focus on happy thoughts. he wanted this meeting to proceed with her head clear and fresh, and not drugged up with Valium. Starting to feel slightly more relaxed, she rested her head on the headrest behind her. Then she quickly sat up as she felt the car draw to a stop. Glancing out of the window, she found herself in an unfamiliar part of town. They appeared to have left the busy streets of Washington and seemed to be pulling up to a farmhouse. She noticed four guards standing outside the main gate, and again her stomach lurched. She began to wish she had asked Aaron to come with her.
"Mrs Logan?"
One of her detail had opened the car door for her and was looking at her, wondering why she had not as yet moved from the middle of the car seat.
Taking a final deep breath, she moved to the edge of the seat and gracefully removed herself from the safe confines of the car. She stopped as the door closed behind her and took in her surroundings. She was in the middle of the country somewhere. All she could see for miles around were fields and trees. She thought to herself that if the circumstances were different, she would love to walk around the grounds exploring. It truly was a beautiful place. Looking up at the house in front of her, she found herself thinking of a book she had once read as a child, Bram Stoker's Dracula. The author had described the Count's castle as grey and foreboding – the same thoughts she was having as she stared at the large house.
"Are you ready, Mrs. Logan?" her Agent asked, a kindly smile on his face.
"Yes. Thank you. The house is secure, I presume, so you and Agent...um Agent..." Damn! She could never remember their names.
"Agent Morris, Ma'am."
"Yes. You can both wait here in the car. I'll be fine from here." She began to move away from the door towards the large almost Gothic gates.
"As you like, Mrs. Logan." The Agent watched until she reached the gate and then gladly retreated to the warm comfort of the car.
Martha reached the gate and pressed the small intercom.
"Yes." A faceless voice snapped.
"This is Mrs. Logan. I have a meeting with my hus...with Mr. Logan."
The gates swung open, and Martha began the short walk to the front door, her heels clip clopping on the asphalt. She kept her head held high as she approached the agents standing at the door.
"Mrs. Logan. Your husband is expecting you," the taller of them said. He looked down at his feet and almost seemed to squirm on the spot. "Umm. I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Logan, but we need to check your bag."
Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, she handed her bag over to the man, and jumped as she felt something brush against the back of her coat. She turned around and saw the second agent run a metal detector over her.
"Is this really necessary?" she asked, a hint of coldness in her voice. I mean for God's sake, if she had wanted to assassinate her husband, she had had plenty of opportunity to do it before now. And plenty of reason.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Logan, it's just standard practice. She's clean."
The taller agent looked embarrassed and handed her back her purse. "All fine here, too."
"Are you sure?" She asked growing exasperated at the proceedings. "I mean, I think I have a pair of tweezers in there somewhere. Could take someone's eye out!"
The agents chose to ignore her comment and opened the door. The taller of the men followed her in and gestured toward a door at the end of a dim corridor. "This way, Mrs. Logan."
She followed the dark-suited man along the corridor. Looking from side to side, she noticed the walls had damp patches on them -- it certainly looked as if this place had not been occupied for a very long time. She stifled a chuckle as she thought how far removed from the White House this place was.
The man she had been following stopped at a large wooden door and turned to her. "I'll leave you here, Mrs. Logan. I will be waiting right outside if you need me. She smiled gratefully at the man's obvious concern. She supposed protecting the former President known to a few to be a traitor to his country was not every agent's dream detail.
"Thank you," she replied formally and lifted her gloved hand to knock at the door. A familiar voice called back to her. "Come in."
Taking another deep breath -- her yoga really was coming in handy today she thought -- she opened the door to the room.
"Marty." Charles stood from the large chair he had been occupying near the log fire burning in the grate and took a step towards her. "Thank you for coming." She looked at him, the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with; she noticed he hadn't shaved for what looked like quite a few days. He had the beginnings of a beard. He was dressed, as always, though, impeccably, in a smart deep blue suit with the tie knotted tight at his neck. Martha shuddered as she remembered the last time she had helped him out of a similar tie. Still she said nothing.
"Won't you sit down?" Charles gestured to the chair beside the fire facing his and he retook his own seat. Walking slowly towards him, Martha concentrated on peeling of her gloves and placing them in her purse. Still, she sat in the chair offered and turned to look him directly in the face. Her husband.
Not letting his eyes drift from hers, he began to talk. "I wasn't sure if you would come."
"Neither was I."
"I suppose I deserve that." He smiled at her and looked down at his hands folded neatly in his lap.
"What do you want, Charles?" Martha asked, still maintaining eye contact.
"To see you. To try to explain. To say I forgive you."
Martha sat bolt upright in her chair and nearly dropped her purse. "You forgive me?"
"I'm sorry, that came out the wrong way. What I meant to say was I understand what you did. You did what you believed to be in the best interests of the country. But what I wanted to say to you, Martha, was so did I. Everything I did on that day I truly believed to be in the best interests of our great nation." He looked up and made eye contact with her again.
Martha sat forward slightly in her chair and stared him down. "Charles, you got into bed with terrorists. You caused the death of one of this nation's greatest leaders. And you dare sit there telling me you did it for your country." She felt her voice begin to raise slightly and sat back to compose herself. She was damned if she would let him see how much he had hurt her.
"I have come here today, Charles, but I will not sit here and listen to you try to justify what you did on that day. And, as for you understanding what I did! What I did was to help bring you to justice. But it seems even that was a waste of time. I've read the headlines -- you seem to have come out of this quite well."
"That wasn't my idea, Marty, the administration felt that a long, drawn-out impeachment process was not in the best interests of the country. I was prepared to serve my time. I still am. If I knew that you would be waiting for me."
This time she did not just sit forward; she bolted to a standing position. She allowed a laugh to escape her tightened lips. "You're kidding!"
"Marty..."
"Don't call me that. Not anymore." She turned her back to him and began to pace the room.
"I'm sorry. Martha. I know now what I did that day was wrong terribly wrong. But the one thing that hurts me more than anything was that I let you down. And that I can't be with you to support you during all of this. You must be going through hell, Martha. Have you spoken to your doctor recently?" He stood up and faced her, watching her pace.
"Wha..? No, Charles. No. Why would I need to...?" She stopped and looked at him, his face a mask of concern.
"It's just I know how you get, Marty, when you have added pressure put on you. I know how you react, and at a time like this you really need people who understand you to be around," he laughed sympathetically. "And after nearly thirty years of marriage, Martha, I think I know you better than anyone. Look I'm not asking you to come running back to me, but let me make sure that you are looked after properly. I mean, the last place you want to end up is back in Vermont ."
Martha gaped at him, her mind swirling in a mist. She opened her mouth to speak but the words would not pass her lips.
"All I'm saying, Marty... I'm sorry, Martha, is maybe you need to think about yourself and others around you. If you allow what's happened to play on your mind, you know you will have another one of your spells, and I couldn't bear for that to happen. Not again," he soothed, approaching her side he reached out for one of her hands.
Finally finding her voice, Martha shook his hand off hers and whirled around to face him. "You're wrong, Charles. It has been nearly a month since that day, and I feel...I feel." She laughed. "I feel fine."
"You say that now, Martha, but we both know it will happen, be it next month, next year, tomorrow. It will happen, and you need someone by your side that can deal with you and look after you."
Still laughing and feeling tears begin to burn behind her eyes, Martha looked around the room. She felt trapped, she felt her breathing begin to speed up and suddenly the fire, once so warm, was making her lightheaded.
Charles again began to walk towards her, and seeing her begin to panic, took the opportunity to take her hand. "You know how fragile you are, Marty. No one will ever be able to deal with your emotional problems like me." He stopped suddenly as he felt her hand grasp his tightly. He knew he would be able to do this -- she would come back to him. He just knew it. Stepping closer to her, he took their joined hands and placed them over his heart. Seeing her crumble in front of him, he pulled her close and embraced her, feeling her head fall limply against his shoulder. He whispered in her ear. "You need me." He felt her stiffen in his arms and pulled back a little to look her in the eyes, and what he saw there made him take another step back from her. Her eyes which just a moment ago had been about to spill unshed tears were dry and cold. Confused, he let go of her and waited.
Closing the gap between them once again, Martha put her arms around him and slowly but clearly whispered in his ear. "I despise you, Charles. When you look at me, you make me sick. When I feel your arms around me, you make my skin crawl." She pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes. "I don't need you, Charles, not anymore. What I need is to put as much distance between us as is humanly possible, and even that would not be far enough for my liking. You are a pathetic excuse of a man, and I wish I had been able to see it years ago. No, Charles, I do not need you. You need me. And for once in your life, you can't have me."
Picking up her purse from the chair, she opened the clasp and took out her gloves slowly. Putting them on, she looked at the shell of a man that had once been her life and felt nothing. Not even pity. "I am leaving now, Charles, do not try to contact me again. If you need to discuss anything, you will do it through my lawyer. But I never, and believe me when I say this, I do not ever want to see you again."
Leaving him standing, gaping, after her, she left the room, letting the door close softly behind her. Yes, she thought. That door is now finally closed.
As she sat in the car on the way back to the White House, Martha realized she had never felt so free. Twenty years of pent-up frustration had just been let out in an old farmhouse, and she had never felt better. She didn't feel smug or satisfied that yet again she had got the better of her husband. She just felt...free was the only word she could think of to describe it. The realization that for the most part of her life she had felt like a bird trapped in a cage, and now that she had said her piece, she felt as if she could fly to the highest tree and sing her heart out. Smiling to herself, she thought of what would happen next. She would leave the White House as soon as possible and move to her smaller residence outside of Los Angeles . And Aaron would be there...she stopped in her tracks, the smile disappearing from her face. Oh my God, Aaron. She had been so awful to him before she had left to see Charles. She knew that what she had just done she had to do alone. But what had Aaron thought? Just that she didn't want him around her. Her happiness over her confrontation with Charles rapidly faded as she thought about how she could make it up to Aaron.
Rushing into her rooms at the White House, she tore off her coat and gloves and flung them onto the bed. Almost running to the bedside table, she picked up the phone and dialed Secret Service. "Hello? Yes, this is Martha Logan. I wonder if you could pass on a message to Agent Pierce. Okay. Thank you." She waited while the man found a pen, drumming her fingers impatiently on the receiver. "Yes,yes…I'm still here. Just say that Mrs. Logan has returned and would like to see him as soon as possible. What...? No, I'm in my rooms. Yes, I'll be here all day, but I would like to see him straightaway. In fact, no -- wait -- in one hour. Yes, tell him to be here in one hour. Thank you. No, there's nothing else." Smiling, she replaced the receiver and, hugging herself, practically sprinted into her bathroom.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror twenty minutes later, Martha felt much better. She had wanted to wash off every trace of Charles. She had allowed herself to spend longer than usual in the shower and had even washed her hair with her favorite strawberry shampoo. Putting the finishing touches to her make up, she looked back at herself. Not bad, Martha, she thought. Now, the hair. She plugged in her dryer and twisted strands of her silken hair around her finger so when it dried it fell in soft waves around her shoulders and framed her face. After fifteen minutes of doing this and finally getting bored, she stopped and again surveyed the progress she was making. She had never thought of herself as vain, but as she looked at herself, she noticed for the first time in years, there was a relaxed quality to her face, an almost serene look about her. Stop it Martha, she chastised herself, you've got ten minutes to find something to wear. She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her as she made her way into the bedroom. She was not relishing choosing something to wear, after all, she had not yet even unpacked. Glancing at her bags, she noticed they were empty. Walking to the large walk-in closet, she found all her clothes hanging in neat rows. God bless the staff, they must have done all this while she was away. Quickly flicking through outfits she came across a pair of jeans. Lord, she could not remember the last time she had worn jeans. Certainly not since Charles had been sworn in. Even when they were at the ranch and had no dignitaries visiting, he had insisted she dress to impress at all times, even going as far as to buy most of her clothes for her. Well, to hell with it! She was no longer First Lady, and smiling, she pulled them from the rack. Still, she wanted to make a lasting impression on Aaron, so she also pulled down a low-cut white sweater that clung to her curves in all the right places. Quickly putting the clothes on, she finished off the look with a pair of low-heeled boots and a long string of pearls, scrambling around her dressing table, she found the matching earrings and put them on. Briefly glancing at her watch, she noticed the sparkle of her engagement ring, and without thinking, pulled at the rings that hadn't left her fingers for twenty nine years and threw them on the table. Taking one final look in her full-length mirror, she smiled and returned to her chair by the window. Exactly one hour had passed when she heard a knock at her door. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Come in."
Aaron walked into the room slowly; he had been worrying for the last hour since he had received the message she was back. He wondered how she was, and if Charles had managed to destroy the self-confidence she seemed to have built up over the last few weeks. Entering the room, he looked up and was momentarily struck dumb. She had been sitting, but on his entrance had stood to face him, a tentative smile on her face. Still slightly dumbstruck, he looked her up and down. She looked like ...well, an angel was the first thought that came to mind. In all the years he had known her, he was still amazed that she seemed to grow more beautiful by the day. Just when he thought she couldn't look any better, she again surprised him. Realizing that a few minutes had passed and he had not yet uttered a word, he cleared his throat. "Are you alright?" he asked.
Martha looked at him with affection in her eyes. She had enjoyed his reaction when he had entered the room, and hadn't minded when his eyes had skimmed over her body as if committing each part of her to memory. And now after all that had passed between them only a few hours ago, he was still concerned about her. She moved to close the gap between them and stood just out of his reach. "No. Not really. Aaron, I owe you an apology."
"Martha, you don't owe me anyt..."
"Yes, I do. When I left to go to see Charles, I didn't want you there. Not because I didn't want you there, but because I more than anyone know how Charles can make me feel. What he can do to me."
Aaron looked at the floor, "I see."
"No. No, not in that way. I mean, he can reduce me to a crumbling wreck, an emotional Titanic, and I didn't want you to see me like that. I thought if you did, I would scare you away."
"Martha, you could nev ..."
She stepped closer to him and placed her finger over his lips. "I know now that I did the wrong thing. I know now that I want you to see me. When I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm moody – because, my darling, I can get very moody. And what I have realized is that you are the first person in my life that I want to see me, all of me. And I guess I always knew that, and it scared me at first. But seeing Charles, speaking to him, it occurred to me that he held no power over me anymore because I had never let him see the real me. I've known you for such a short time, but finally someone is interested in the real me. And that scared me." She let her finger drop from his soft lips to allow him to talk.
"And now?"
"And now it doesn't scare me one little bit. I need you, Aaron. With Charles, I needed him, but he never needed me. I want you to need me as much as I need you. Does that make sense?" She gave him one of her knee-trembling smiles.
"I do need you, Martha, more than anything. And I want you to need me. I want to be there for you, whatever your mood may be. I want to be the one that knows you inside and out, and I want you to know all there is to know about me. When you left earlier, I thought that maybe I'd pushed you too far that things were moving too quickl..."
Closing the tiniest of gaps that remained between them, Martha flung herself into Aaron's arms, nearly toppling him over, and fixed her lips to his. Steadying himself, he wrapped his arms around her slender frame and allowed himself to get lost in her kisses. Moving his hands up and down her back, he found himself backing her toward the bed, never for a second allowing their lips to part. Martha gasped into Aaron's mouth as she felt his hands on her back. After her initial kiss, he had taken control, and was now backing her towards the bed behind her. Suddenly she felt the bed hit the bottom of her legs, and she fell back, taking him with her. Deepening the kiss, she allowed her hands to tangle in the back of his suit jacket and eventually slip it from his shoulders. Breaking the kiss for a split-second, she tugged it from him and threw it to the floor. Now, this was better -- she could feel his skin through the thin lining of his shirt, and as she gently nipped at his lower lip, she felt the muscles under her wandering fingers.
Aaron thought he had never felt this happy in his life. If someone had told him a year ago he would be making out with the woman of his dreams on a bed in the White House he would have said that they were crazy, but here he was. Here they were. Feeling her nip gently on his lower lip, he stopped thinking and started acting. He flipped them over so she was on top of him and allowed his hands to roam up the back of her sweater. The feeling of her skin on his nearly made him lose control. His eyes had been closed while they were kissing, and he opened them quickly as he felt her move away. He looked up at her to see her sitting astride him, a huge grin on her face. He sat up quickly so she fell into his lap, her legs wrapped around his back. He again claimed her lips as his own, their tongues battling for control. Finally he pulled back and stared at this beautiful creature sitting in his lap and began stroking her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a mess and her lips swollen from his kissing, but to him she had never looked more beautiful. Nipping gently at her ear he moved down to her neck and she threw her head back to allow him better access. Kissing a path to her cleavage showing at the v of her sweater, he stopped and worked his way back up the other side of her neck. Moaning slightly, Martha pulled away. Glancing up at her, his eyes asked a question.
"You know, I think we are going to have fun in L.A. !" Laughing at his shocked expression, she allowed him to capture her lips once again, all the while thinking that in a few days they begin their new life in Los Angeles .
