Compromising Positions (3 page)

“I can cook you something. I’ll throw an extra steak on the grill,” said Larry.

“Nah. I ate some at the reception. Thanks though.” I gave them a wink. “You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As soon as I got inside, I immediately bumped up the heat. D.C. was cold compared to Tucson, and I was having a hard time adjusting. As I fiddled with the thermostat, a loud “meow” greeted me from below.

“Hey Buddy. How are you?” I kneeled down and scratched the rough mane of my big bruiser of a Maine Coon, Severus.

He gave me another demanding meow.

“You wanna go outside and be predator kitty?”

He confirmed it with more meowing, so I led him to the back door for his nightly jaunt in the yard. He slept indoors all day, but at night he enjoyed an hour prowling the neighborhood hunting gifts of birds and mice for me and looking for fights with other cats, which he was sure to win. Eventually, he’d end up at the back door again, maybe with a small animal in his mouth but never a hair out of place. Thankfully, some other animal would take care of the carcass in the middle of the night.

After letting him out, I made a cup of tea and curled up on my sofa… first with a stack of briefing memos and then a book. My rule in the evening had always been that if I finished my homework, I got to read a novel. When I finally made my way through the papers, Severus whined at the back, and I let him in so he could go back to his main pastime of sleep.

When I returned to my pastime of a romance novel, I couldn’t concentrate on the love story in my hands. Michael Grath kept creeping into my thoughts. He was a hottie, and the
Teach for America
thing had thrown me for a loop. Impulsively, I found my laptop and sat back down on the sofa. As it booted up, I drank my now cold tea and spoke aloud to my empty living room, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Despite my self-flagellation, I was on Michael’s official House site within moments. There was his handsome face smiling at me. I sighed.
He’s so hot
. I went directly to his biography.

Michael Francis Lancaster Grath is the eldest child of former Illinois Governor Gerald Grath and Evelyn Lancaster Grath. For generations, the Grath family has gone to Springfield and Washington, D.C. in service to the people of Illinois, always acting as a moderating voice in the divisive world of politics. Congressman Grath graduated from St. Ignatius College Prep and attended Harvard College, where he earned a degree in music.

I cocked my head, looking at the screen. I liked classical music. I wondered what instrument he played, but I continued reading.

After spending a year with Teach for America, teaching at Malcolm X High School in Chicago, he then graduated Order of the Coif from the University of Chicago Law School. After law school, he practiced corporate law at Chatham and MacQueen and soon became politically active in the Illinois Republican Party. He sat on the board of Chicago Catholic Charities for many years.

In 2002, he ran for the Illinois State House and was elected at the age of 27, becoming the youngest Grath family member to ever win office. As a state legislator, he advocated for good government initiatives, the rights of crime victims, and environmental protection. Michael has never voted for a tax increase. He is a free-market advocate who believes that our strength as a nation comes from the ingenuity and hard work of its people. He believes in a culture of family, patriotism, and freedom. He is a strong supporter of our troops, the right to bear arms, and has a perfect voting record from the National Pro Life Committee. Congressman Grath has always fought for lower taxes, less government spending, and pro-growth policies that will put people back to work.

The Congressman is an outdoor enthusiast and lover of all music. He resides in Highland Park.

I was crushed looking at the screen. His biography contained the traditional Republican issues, but there was so much to him that sounded interesting. Yet I couldn’t get over that one statement about a perfect pro-life voting record.

A memory I hated to remember floated back to me. There I was in high school again, opening my locker only to find that heartbreaking note with fifty dollars and one word—“Sorry.”

Abortion politics were an intellectual exercise for some and a fun political football for others. For me, it was personal, though I’d never disclosed publicly why that was.

I stared at his photo, trying to figure him out.
Does he really think that way about women? What would he think of me?

I ended up reading his biography one more time, and I noticed it said nothing about his personal life. Thinking back to my conversation with him, I shook my head.
He’s not gay. No way. He laid on the charm with Trish just like every guy. I wonder who he’s dating.

I felt incredibly foolish, but I couldn’t control my curiosity. I Googled “Michael Grath dating.” The first hit to come back was a gossip article dated only one month before. I practically jumped in surprise at the title. 

MICHAEL GRATH SPLITS FROM WIFE. IS HE NOW CHICAGO’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR?

The office of Congressman-Elect Michael Grath announced his separation and pending divorce from wife, Stacy Kaninski Grath, after only four years of marriage. The official statement asked for privacy for the couple as they work through this trying period in their lives. The announcement concluded with a declaration that the Congressman would be devoting all of his energies to his new position representing Illinois’s Tenth Congressional District.

No one can ignore the timing of the announcement so soon after his election. Sources close to the couple say that his political life strained their marriage. Given the Congressman’s notorious bachelor ways prior to his marriage, no doubt, he’ll shortly be back to being the most desirable man in Chicago.

There was a slideshow of photos from their marriage, and I pounced on it at once. The first photo raised my eyebrows. It was of Michael and Stacy at the opening gala for the Chicago Symphony. Stacy looked gorgeous, with her strawberry blonde hair, flashy smile, and boobs galore oozing out of a sleek gown. Michael was dashing in a tux, but with a grim expression.

Next, I found a picture from what looked to be a big wedding. I decided that despite her white gown, Stacy was way too pretty to be a virgin. Like a drug addict, knowing something is bad for you, but doing it anyway, I dug through more photos of them. There weren’t many where he was smiling. I wondered why that was.

The thought of him being depressed only encouraged my cyber-stalking. I searched for his name along with the word “climbing” and discovered his friends–probably from college–had posted many pictures of him, smiling and shirtless out in the wilderness. I straightened in my seat.
Damn… He’s fine.

I also discovered a long interview in the Harvard alumni magazine that went in depth about his interest in jazz and classical piano. I envisioned this dreamy, smart man playing Chopin. So much of him appeared to be everything most of my old boyfriends weren’t–brilliant, cultured, and passionate.

Somehow common sense finally jolted me out of my dumb fantasy.
What are you doing?
Get a grip. You have nothing in common with him. He has values that go against everything you believe in. If Trish saw me right now…

As I clicked out of my browser, I saw one last handsome photo of him in a tux which felt like a signal from the universe.

Besides… you’re not even in his league.

~~~

Of course, I literally had to bump into him a few days later. After a vote on the floor, I was speeding through the tunnels between the House office buildings. I was already late for a meeting and walked as fast as I could to get to my office. Passing through a sea of men in suits, I ignored them all and successfully maneuvered around them until I grazed the shoulder of one.

“Pardon me,” I said, looking up to see whom I’d offended. At first I just saw the sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. Damn. It was Michael.

My chronological age was in my thirties, but my hormones were stuck in my teenage years when it came to men. This was one of the reasons why I avoided them, or they seemed to avoid me. Seeing him fluttered a butterfly in my stomach, causing me to give him a furtive smile which I then fully regretted.
What if he thinks I’m flirting?

“Well, hello, Jessie.” He grinned.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Was I apologizing too much?

“Don’t worry about it. How are you doing?”

“Well, you know. Busy. Crazy. Bumping into people. Perpetually late for meetings and I hate being late for anything.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He nodded ahead. “Is your office in Cannon?”

“It is. And yours?” All I saw was that his tie perfectly matched the blue of his eyes, I had an internal cringe.
Please say “no” Mr. Blue Eyes.

“It is. What floor are you on?”

“The fifth. The outer circle of hell.” At least, I wouldn’t see him often. The fifth floor of the Cannon office building was notorious for being the worst set of offices in the entire Congress. Only two hidden elevators went to that floor, and it was primarily used as a storage area. Offices were assigned by lottery, so there wasn’t anything to be done to change your location.

“That sucks. I’m sorry,” he said, with a sympathetic smile.

Every other member of Congress who’d learned about my office had the same response. I’d heard it before and grumbled, “Thanks. I just have no luck.”

“Really? You seem very lucky to me.”

I peered at him through my fake glasses. “I do?”

“Uh, well, you’re here.” He stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say. “Aren’t we all lucky to be here?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m being ungrateful.” I smiled. He was being nice after all. “It’s just that those black cages of boxes all around my office are pretty depressing. I feel bad for my constituents when they visit. It’s like my district is a second class citizen.”

“Maybe you can tell them it’s a sign of congressional frugality.”

“I can’t believe you, of all people, said that.” I giggled.

“There’s a lot of government waste, but no one can say the fifth floor of Cannon is part of it.” I swore his eyes twinkled when he spoke.

A bank of elevators appeared on our left, and he slowed down. The twinkle vanished as he said, “This is my stop.”

I jealously eyed the convenient elevator. “Enjoy the ride. I’m off to my hideaway.”

His voice sounded a little stilted as he replied, “Well, have a good day.”

“You too.”

As I walked away, I berated myself. Of all the people I could’ve run into, why him? Going through the bleak double doors to the special elevator, I shook my head.

I really don’t have any luck.

CHAPTER THREE

Michael

For weeks, I didn’t talk to Jessie again. Occasionally, I’d catch a glimpse of her, but I always headed in the opposite direction before she noticed. It wasn’t until February when I saw her again.

I was heading to First Street from the Republican National Committee building toward my office when Congresswoman Cathy Mathers walked up beside me. A former Miss Idaho, she was a blonde bombshell with a divorce of her own under her belt. Despite a checkered personal life, she was an ardent member of the Tea Party and was as vitriolic as she was pretty. She seemed like trouble to me—not to mention—she was really dumb.

“Michael, are you cold with all this ice and snow?” she asked, pulling her coat tighter. It had a fur collar made of what had to have once been a cute, fuzzy animal. Only an ultra right-winger could get away with wearing such a non-politically correct coat. Even the octogenarian Republican women in my district shied away from fur.

I held up a gloved hand. “I’m from Chicago, Cathy. This is nothing.”

“Being from Idaho, that’s how I feel.”

Just then, I heard a woman’s voice from behind me yell, “Shit.”

Both Cathy and I whipped around to see Jessie in mid-fall as she slipped on the black ice in her high heeled boots. She landed on her rear. Trish was right beside her and sank to her knees at once to help Jessie up.

Cathy laughed hysterically and pointed over to Jessie, “Oh, my gosh. Did you see that? Someone doesn’t know how to walk around here.”

I smiled, not because Jessie fell, but only because she’d been so utterly un-congressional and yelled “shit” in public. I loved it.

Unfortunately, Jessie and Trish looked over at us as soon as Cathy’s words caught their attention. Jessie’s brow furrowed and she frowned. Her hands trembled, as she removed her glasses and looked down.

Trish’s eyes flared to Cathy. She sneered and asked, “Are you actually laughing?” Then she muttered something I couldn’t hear, but I’m sure it was unpardonable to say to a member of Congress.

I was about to walk over and help when Trish spewed her venom at me. “I saw you laugh, too.”

She mumbled something else, and at the same time I sputtered, “No! Not at all. I’m so sorry, Jessie.” I looked at her, but she was fully focused on her ankle, so I tried to ease the tension. “It was just funny when—”

“Funny?” Trish glared at me as she became unhinged enough to threaten a congressman. “You’d be sorry if my husband were here. He’d kill you for—”

Still looking at the ground, I heard Jessie say in a low voice, “Please Trish, stop. You’re making it worse. Just help me up.”

Trish tried to pull Jessie up, but she yelped in pain. “Shit. I think I really hurt my ankle.”

“Okay,” Trish said more calmly. “Let me call Larry. He can be here in two minutes.”

Well, I could be there faster than that. Just as I was about to cross the street to offer my help and redeem myself, another congressman ran down the sidewalk toward them. It was Alan Young. I’d seen him before, and I was pretty sure he was a doctor before he came to Congress.

“Jessie, are you okay? I saw you take that fall,” Alan said, a little out of breath.