Betrayal (8 page)

She had spruced up her hair, refreshed her makeup, and hopped in the car with the package in hand. On the way to Arlington, she perfected her lines, over and over until the lie rolled off her tongue like the truth. And when she told Preston that the package had been hand delivered, and looked important, he believed her without asking any questions. From the expression on Ariel’s face, Michele knew that the Mrs. was less than pleased that she had shown up uninvited. Fortunately for Michele, Ariel couldn’t force her to leave. Ariel wouldn’t dare say anything that could jeopardize their pact.

Michele had successfully crashed one party under false pretenses. Now it was time to crash another. She had hoped to get the ticket from Thompson, but missed the train by a hair. When she arrived at
his office, the doors were locked. His assistant had no doubt gone home a happy woman, with the VIP ticket in hand. This event was the talk of the town, and Michele wasn’t going to miss it, so she had no choice but to put plan B in action. Though she enjoyed schmoozing with the senior politicians and their wives, the Congressional Black Caucus Awards dinner was sure to be chock-full of celebrities as well as younger politicians, closer to her age. And she couldn’t wait to rub elbows with the likes of Isaiah Washington, Blair Underwood, and the Obamas of the Hill. Michele was looking for the perfect sponsor, and this event was sure to be filled with a bevy of A-listers to choose from. There was only one thing standing between her and the party, and that was Preston. She had marked the event on his calendar, but he hadn’t mentioned whether or not he was going to attend. Since the party was this evening, she decided she had better ask him before the end of the day, so that she could put her plan in effect.

Michele left her office area, which was right outside of Preston’s, and knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he said, through the closed door.

“Ah, just the person I wanted to see. Have a seat,” Preston said, the moment she walked in.

Preston’s invitation to sit down threw her for a loop. They hadn’t planned a meeting, and usually the only time that she sat across from him was when she was briefing him about his schedule, or some other work-related issue. “Did we have a meeting on the calendar for this afternoon?” she asked, pulling out one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“No, we didn’t, but there’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said, sounding mysterious.

Michele began to panic. Her first thought was that Preston had found out that she had lied about the chief’s package being hand delivered. She quickly thought of a cover story, just in case he questioned her. “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Well …” He hesitated for a second as if trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s about your wardrobe.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “My wardrobe?” she asked. That was
the last thing she expected him to say. “What about my wardrobe?” she asked defensively.

“Well …” He hesitated again. “Your clothes are a little too sexy,” he said, making the understatement of the year. When in actuality he wanted to say, “They’re waaay too sexy.”

Michele dropped her jaw in shock. She couldn’t believe Preston was talking about her clothes. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled. Preston knew that this conversation was long overdue, and should have been addressed before he won the nomination, but during that time he had been too preoccupied with his own agenda to focus on much of anything else. “I hate to bring this up, but I’ve received a few comments from people saying that your blouses are too sheer, and your dresses and skirts are too tight for an office environment.”

Michele sat there and listened while he basically insulted her. She knew those comments didn’t come from “people,” but probably from Ariel.
Wait until I have a talk with the Mrs. and tell her not to fuck with me. Once I remind her that her secret is safe only as long as I keep my mouth shut, she’ll back the hell off
, Michele thought. “Oh really, and what people are those?” she asked with attitude, challenging him.

“Uh, uh …” he stammered. “I don’t want to name names. Let’s just say that Washington is a tad more conservative than New York. As a suggestion, maybe you could start wearing cotton blouses instead of silk ones, and suits instead of slinky dresses,” he offered.

Michele suddenly remembered her brief conversation with Fiona at Angelica’s party regarding her clothes.
Well, maybe they’re both right
. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she responded.

“Okay, okay, that’s all I’m asking,” he said quickly, as if ready to end this unpleasant exchange. “Now, what did you come in to talk about?” he asked, switching gears.

Having been blindsided by this unexpected conversation, Michele had completely forgotten about the CBC VIP reception and dinner. She thought for a few seconds, trying to remember why she came into his office in the first place. “I just wanted to remind you that the Congressional Black Caucus dinner is tonight,” she said.

“Thanks for reminding me, but unfortunately, we won’t be able to attend. Ariel’s upstairs in bed, she’s feeling a bit under the weather. I think she’s coming down with the flu, and I’m just plain old tired. So we’re going to stay in tonight.” Preston had been to the caucus event numerous times before, and now that he was a justice, he didn’t have to mingle at every political affair on the calendar. His position was a lifelong appointment, without term limits, so he didn’t have to lobby for votes at these highly visible functions. Besides, he wanted to give his wife some TLC, something he had been too busy to do a few months ago.

That’s exactly what Michele wanted to hear. Now she’d have no problem impersonating Ariel. “Okay, well, I just came in to remind you about the affair. If you don’t have anything else for me to do, I’m going to call it a day and head home.”

“No, there’s nothing else I need today.” Preston was feeling guilty about reprimanding Michele and readily agreed to her taking off early to try and make amends. “Have a good evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, smiling.

“You too,” she said, and exited his office.

Back at her desk, Michele picked up the phone to call Fiona, and tell her about Preston’s ambush. Instead of a dial tone, she heard Ariel’s voice. Ariel had obviously called out on the business line instead of the home line.

“I’m telling you, Meri, this chick is bolder than bold. You should have seen the way she waltzed into Angelica’s party, as if she were invited.”

“Why didn’t you simply ask her to leave?”

“Trust me, I wanted to, but since we have that stupid pact to keep the truth from Preston, I didn’t want to make any waves. Believe me when I tell you, that once Preston has total recall, I’m going to insist that he fire that hussy posthaste.”

“Why don’t you have him do it now? Make up an excuse. Anything. Maybe say that you saw her copying confidential files.”

“Now that’s not a bad idea.” Ariel thought for a moment. “No, I can’t do that. If I do, it’ll be my word against hers, which will start another
brouhaha, and that’s the last thing I need. No, I’ll wait it out. But you can take this to the bank, once the truth is out her ass is history!”

Michele was livid. She had heard enough, and gently hung up the phone. She had the mind to march right up the stairs, barge into the master bedroom and give Ariel an earful. The only thing stopping her was time. She had to get ready for the party of the year, so her tongue-lashing would have to wait for a more opportune time. She quickly retrieved her belongings and huffed out of the town house. She could hardly wait to have a conversation with Ariel, to make it clear once and for all who held the winning cards.

Michele drove home in record time and practically ran into the bedroom. She had laid her outfit on the bed in the morning before she left for work, and she wasted no time showering and changing into the fire-engine red Roberto Cavalli gown, with the deep-cut halter back that stopped just above the crack of her butt. The smooth silk fabric flowed over her skin, making her feel sensuous. Michele knew that she should have worn pasties to hide her nipples, but she wanted them to protrude through the thin material. Her boobs were her best asset, and she wanted to show off her rack tonight more than ever. Since there would be potential sponsors at the VIP reception, and an equal amount of competition, she wanted to draw as much attention to herself as possible. And the sexy red gown that showed off her body exquisitely was the perfect eye-catcher. She wasn’t looking for a lover, just someone who had connections and would be willing to help her gain status. And if her body attracted the right person, then so be it. In the back of her mind she heard Fiona and Preston’s voices, reprimanding her about her overly sexy wardrobe, but tonight she didn’t care what they thought. She stared in the mirror and admired how luscious she looked. As she swung around to check out the rear view—which was just as enticing as the front since she wore no panties or thongs and you could clearly see the separation of her butt cheeks—the Austrian crystal bugle beads at the hem made a jingling sound.

“Not only are they going to see me coming, they’re going to hear me as well.” She winked at her reflection.

She fluffed out her long hair, applied her makeup flawlessly, and
sprayed her neck, wrists, and cleavage with a heavy dose of Turquoise by Ralph Lauren. She took one last look in the mirror. Satisfied with her transformation, she grabbed her evening bag, Preston’s invitation that she nabbed from work, and her car keys from the dresser, and headed out the door.

The line of cars approaching the convention center was nearly two blocks long. And the cars moved inch by inch, like a slow-moving parking lot.

“I should’ve called a limo service so the driver could have dropped me off in front of the door, instead of me having to park,” Michele huffed. At the rate this line was moving, she’d be lucky to arrive in time for dinner, let alone the preceding VIP reception.

“I’ll be damned if I miss that reception,” she said, and swerved to the right and onto the curb. She drove straight to the front, nearly hitting the car in front of her as she cut back in line. The driver honked his horn, and gave her a menacing look as she passed, but she ignored him. Michele waited at the gate for the automatic machine to dispense the parking ticket, and once it did, she sped through the garage looking for a space. She found a small spot near the exit sign reserved for compact cars, but she parked her midsize car there anyway, hopped out, and headed to the elevator, as fast as her four-inch heels could take her.

Alone in the elevator, Michele took a few deep breaths to compose herself. Her heart was racing a mile a minute and she needed to calm down before the doors opened. “You’re here now. Stop panting and relax,” she told herself.

No sooner than she had closed her eyes and taken another deep breath, than the elevator doors opened. She arched her back and coolly stepped out into the convention center. She walked with the confidence of a lioness—strong and purposeful—but inside she was as nervous as a cat stuck high in a tree.

Michele followed the signs that pointed out the direction to the VIP reception. Her heart began to pound faster and faster as she neared the ballroom. In the distance, she could see a security guard checking off names on a clipboard.
Here we go
, she thought, and took out the invitation.

“Your name please?” she could hear the guard ask, as she stood in line and waited her turn to enter the party.

As Michele inched toward the entrance, her nerves eased up and were being replaced with excitement. She couldn’t wait to mingle with the Who’s Who of Washington’s elite, as well as an A-list of celebrities. Michele was third in line, and only two people stood between her and the party of the year.
Ariel Vaughn Hendricks
, she said to herself, as a reminder not to say her own name when the guard asked. Since her name wouldn’t be found on the select list, she had to keep saying Ariel’s name over and over, so that she wouldn’t flub up.

The couple in front of her was cleared by the guard, graciously waltzed into the party, and now it was her turn. “Your name please?” he asked.

Just as she was about to say Ariel Vaughn Hendricks, Leona Forester came out of the ballroom, and looked directly into Michele’s face. “Hi, uh …” She thought for a second, trying to remember Michele’s name. “Didn’t we meet the other night at the Oglesbys’? Yes, that’s right, you’re Preston’s assistant,” she said, finally remembering.

Michele stood there with her mouth open. She hadn’t expected to see any of the people from the birthday party since that crowd was an old-money, Republican group, and the CBC attendees were mostly new-money Democrats. “Yes, I work with Justice Hendricks,” she said, with about as much gusto as a wet flea.

“What’s your name again?” Leona asked.

“Michele Richards,” she responded, in a low voice, hoping that the guard wouldn’t hear her. But it was too late for that, because Leona was talking loud, drawing attention to them.

“Are Preston and Ariel coming tonight?” she asked, looking around as if she expected to see them strolling through the crowd.

“No, they’re staying in this evening,” she said sheepishly.

“Oh. Well, it was good seeing you again. I’ve got to run. I have another function to attend tonight,” Leona said, and walked away.

“Your name please,” the guard asked again, looking rather impatient.

She cleared her throat, and said loudly, “Michele Richards.” She
prayed that her tone would convince him that she belonged. It was too late now to impersonate Ariel since the guard had heard the entire exchange between her and Leona. Her underarms began to perspire.

He flipped the pages until he reached the R’s, and then scanned the list. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have your name on the VIP list.”

If only Thompson had given her the invitation, which automatically assured her a spot on the list, since the invitation list was crossed-matched with the door list, she wouldn’t be standing there sweating.

“Can you check by my first name?” she asked, trying to buy some time, so that she could think of another way to get into the party. Michele had gone through too many changes—from stealing Preston’s invitation, to buying a designer gown beyond her budget, to driving like a maniac—to give up so easily.