Compromising Positions Read online

  Plus, there was the lingering embarrassment from humiliating myself in front of Michael and that crazy right-winger, Cathy Mathers. I’d always hated her on TV. Now I had another reason. As for Michael, even if he had apologized for laughing at me, he’d definitely lost a lot of his shine for hanging out with her. Were they friends? Or, God forbid, dating? If he was seeing her, even his blue eyes couldn’t redeem him for me. As for Trish, between laughing at me and being with Cathy, she flat out despised Michael now.

  Just as I leaned down, about as awkward as possible, from my crutches, there was a knock at my door. “Come in.” I called.

  Trish entered and closed the door behind her. “Hey. Alan Young is here for you.”

  “That’s nice of him to check in on me.” I smiled.

  “He has flowers…” Trish smirked before she exited.

  Flowers? That seemed a little odd to give a colleague, but I dismissed it. He was a farm boy from Iowa. Those nice Midwesterners did crazy things like that. As I went back to fiddling with the cord and outlet, I heard him enter the room.

  “Hi Jessie.” I looked up to see him holding a small bouquet of tulips and wearing an alarmed expression. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You need to get back on the couch with your leg elevated.”

  “Well, I was sitting there, but my laptop ran out of juice.”

  He rushed over and plugged in the cord. “There you go. Now stay off that ankle.”

  “I’m trying to.” I laughed. “But it’s kind of hard to work around here like that. It’s not like I have a desk job.”

  “No, you don’t, but for the next six weeks you need to behave like you do.” Then, with a flourish, he held out the tulips to me. “Here you go. A little something to brighten your day.”

  “Oh, Alan. They’re lovely. Thank you so much. That’s really kind of you.” On cue, as I took the flowers, Trish entered with a vase of water, announcing, “I thought you might need this.”

  “Thanks, Trish.” I smiled. “You’ve always got me covered.”

  “That’s right,” she said, accepting the flowers from me and placing them in the vase. She placed the vase in the middle of the coffee table. “There.”

  She walked quietly out of the room, though not before she gave me a knowing glance.

  Alan smiled. “Well, I just wanted to check in on my patient. I thought you might be feeling a little down. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay at the emergency room with you.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” I gimped my way back to my spot on the sofa, and Alan pulled up a chair alongside.

  “And it’s a good thing I dropped by.” He chuckled. “Let’s get you properly situated, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh. Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Your ankle needs to be higher. If I may.”

  A medical degree must’ve meant that he didn’t need to ask a woman if he could touch her. Dr. Alan sprang into action repositioning me. As he propped up my leg, I noticed he really was pretty cute in a farm boy kind of way with red hair and faint freckles dotting his pale skin. He was all handsome and wholesome. Even if he was a doctor, it felt a little weird that a fellow member of Congress was touching me. It was hardly sexual though. My foot and ankle were encased in a brace, and I had one of Larry’s football socks covering my foot. Still, I tried to show him that I was just like any other patient. “So do you miss practicing medicine?”

  “A little.” He sat back in his chair, satisfied with the position of my leg. “I was an ER doc in a rural hospital. It’s not the most intellectual work. That’s why I got into politics. But in an ER, there was always a variety of cases, which was interesting, and I knew I was helping people.”

  “Well, that’s always a good feeling.”

  “It wasn’t a big hospital, so I caught a fair number of babies over the years. Those were probably the best moments.”

  I envisioned having a hot doctor sitting between my legs as I gave birth, which was way too confusing a thought to ponder for more than a second. Still, the image of him birthing babies gave Alan another interesting dimension and the corners of my mouth turned up, just a bit. “That must’ve been nice.”

  “It was. A lot different than around here.” He surveyed her room and snickered. “You know I got stuck up on the 5th floor of Cannon my first term.”

  “I bet you were happy to leave.”

  He stood up and went over to the window. “Yes, but some of the offices have a great view of the Capitol.”

  “Mine would not be one of them.”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” he said as he stretched his neck beyond the curtain. It was only a good view if you liked roofs with gravel and air conditioners.

  A knock came at the door again, and Trish walked in before I had a chance to speak. “Busy day around here,” she said. “Congressman Grath is here to see you.”

  My heart leapt in fear and excitement, and she flashed me another look which I really hoped Alan didn’t see. “Send him on in,” I said.

  As Trish walked out, Alan walked back over to the sofa and said, “I’ll let you go now, but if you don’t mind, I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you.”

  “Thanks, but don’t feel like you have to do that.” Some other part of my brain was doing the talking because I was reeling from the news Michael was here to see me. Hearing him apologize again was only going to make me feel like more of a fool. And really, if he was friends with Cathy Mathers, there was really no reason to be more than an acquaintance with me. Despite that, my subconscious was at work, and I fingered my blouse, wishing I’d worn something prettier.

  “It’s not a problem at all. It’s kind of fun having a patient again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  As Alan spoke, Michael strode into the room. He wore a small smile that disappeared as saw Alan. His eyes drifted to me, and he said, “Pardon me, for interrupting. I can come back another time.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, working up to a full smile. “Please stay. We were just talking.”

  “I was actually leaving,” said Alan. He approached Michael and extended his hand, “Hi. I’m Alan Young.”

  “Michael Grath,” he said, shaking Alan’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Alan turned and pointed to me with a smile. “Stay off your feet. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Yes, sir.” I laughed.

  When he left the room, I looked over at Michael, who was quiet. I touched my hair for a moment and realized that it wasn’t up, nor was I wearing my glasses. I must’ve looked different to him. My glasses were on the desk, so I couldn’t do anything about those.

  “Hi,” I said as I hurried to twist my hair into a loose knot. “Please take a seat. I’m sorry I’m not very professional at the moment. I’m kind of a mess right now.”

  He had plenty of chairs to choose from, yet he headed over to the one next to me, saying, “Oh, don’t bother for me. You look… nice.”

  A blush was coming on, and I couldn’t pinpoint why. Was I still embarrassed by him laughing at me yesterday? Or was I embarrassed because I looked so ridiculous with a stupid ankle brace and messy hair? Or was it simply because Michael Grath had paid me an obligatory compliment? I smiled and tried to focus. “Thanks. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I hoped you’d hear me out.”

  “Hear you out? What do you mean?” I noticed his eyes were cerulean blue. What woman wouldn’t listen to Mr. Blue Eyes? As he stared at me, I decided that he didn’t need the family name or all their money to be successful in life. He’d inherited these blue eyes from some ancestor. His eyes alone would make sure he’d get whatever he wanted, at least when he was dealing with women and gay men.

  “I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I swear I wasn’t laughing at your fall. You’d cursed beforehand. That’s why I laughed.” He nodded towards my hair. “You’re always very proper and put together, so hearing you swear in the middle of the street struck me as funny at the time.”

  “Yeah.” I grimaced. “It
wasn’t very professional of me to yell ‘shit’ in the middle of Capitol Hill.”

  “No one else noticed. I’m sorry that I laughed, and I’m very sorry you’re hurt.”

  His expression was truly contrite, which just made the situation more awkward. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to making a fool of myself. I’m really clumsy. My father makes fun of me all the time. He would’ve laughed with you.”

  “Even if you slipped on ice?”

  “Oh, especially on ice. He’s a military guy with a dark sense of humor. ” I smiled, trying to be professional again. “Anyway, thank you for coming by. You didn’t have to, but I do appreciate it.”

  Michael’s eyes darted over to the vase of tulips. As if in response to Alan’s gift, he pulled out a bottle of wine from his own briefcase. “I brought you a little something… a peace-offering.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, taking the bottle from him. Without making it too obvious, I glanced at the year, and it was much earlier than the ones I usually bought. “You shouldn’t have. Really, you didn’t need to do something like this.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Well, it’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” I leaned over and placed it on the table, grinning like a fool.

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned back in his chair. “So how are you feeling? What happened to your leg?”

  “Oh, I feel fine now, but I fractured my ankle, and I have to stay off of it for six weeks, which is a complete pain, in more ways than one.”

  “That’s awful to be on crutches for that long. Once I broke my leg. Not being able to get around on two feet is really annoying.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “I’m not sure about that sock you’ve got there,” he said, pointing to my foot. “I’m a Bears fan.”

  “Oh, that.” I laughed. “That’s Larry’s. Trish’s husband. He plays for the Cardinals. He’s pretending to be my trainer while I’m hurt.”

  “Larry Wingren?”

  “Yup. That’s him. He lives here in the off-season.”

  “He’s a great player. Big guy.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s got a heart of gold, too. I always say that only a man as big and big-hearted as Larry could handle Trish.”

  Michael chuckled. “Well, she is pretty formidable…”

  “That’s a good description of her. I know. I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “She was rude yesterday. It’s just the way she is. We’ve been friends since we were kids, and she’s very protective of me.”

  “That’s a good quality in a staffer.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  We were both laughing, and when our eyes met, his were twinkling. Twinkly Mr. Blue Eyes was even more disarming than plain old Mr. Blue Eyes. My cheeks began to heat again, but I wanted to keep up the twinkle. “I’ll tell her to go easy on you.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you’d step in, especially if she threatens to sic her husband on me again.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t let that happen.” I laughed, though it faded when I remembered I shouldn’t be giggly with a guy who hung out with Cathy Mathers. I had to know what, if anything, was going on between them. I tried to sound casual as I asked, “So, you’re friends with Cathy Mathers?”

  Good bye, twinkly baby blues. His expression became guarded, and then he let out a small, nervous laugh. “She’s a colleague and a fellow Republican.”

  “But do you like her? Is she your friend?”

  “Well, what do you think of her?”

  I crossed my arms. “What do you think I think of her?”

  “She’s probably not your favorite person in Congress, even before yesterday.”

  “You could say that.” I snorted. “And more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Before I get myself in trouble, will you please tell me if you’re friends?”

  “I barely know her,” he said.

  What did that mean? Like he wanted to know her better? She was pretty after all, even if she was, as my dad would say, one taco short of a combo plate. Or did Michael mean he knew her and didn’t like her, but didn’t want to say anything negative because they were both Republicans? I wasn’t sure what to say next, but I was saved by the bell, when the loud ringing came from the speaker above my wall clock, calling a vote on the House floor.

  Michael pointed to the clock up on the wall as I started to get up and said, “We have some time before we need to be down there.”

  “I actually don’t.” I winced as I moved my leg off its pillows. “I’ve got to get going. It takes me a while to get anywhere.”

  “Oh, of course, I’m sorry. Let me help you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He offered his hand, which I gladly took, and he then supplied me with my crutches. Having a broken ankle was lousy, but I had to admit the special treatment from men was kind of nice. When I was up and had my balance, I took my glasses out of my suit jacket and put them back on.

  “Why do you wear glasses? You don’t seem to need them to read.” His voice was a little circumspect.

  “You’re right. I really don’t need them,” I said, as more of an apology. “I wear them because they make me look more serious… less like a kid. Please don’t tell anyone they’re fake.”

  “Of course not.” Then he laughed, “I think Sarah Palin does the same thing.”

  “Who knew I had something in common with her?”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” Then he winked. “Especially, Cathy Mathers.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed, hoping that was a sign of what he really thought of her.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you to the floor.”

  We continued chatting as we left the office. I waved goodbye to Trish.

  “You need to be back here by eleven,” she said dryly. Her tone and few words were meant as less of a reminder and more of a warning.

  As we walked down the hallway toward the elevator, we continued talking, but I was convinced he was frustrated with how slow we were going. I felt like he was scrutinizing my crutches. “I’m sorry that I’m slowing you down. Go on ahead,” I said, nodding down the hall.

  “You’re not slow considering what you’ve got to deal with. I just feel bad that you’re so uncomfortable.”

  “Well, I’ve got to get used to it.”

  “You could use one of those scooters.”

  I looked at him like he was insane. “What? Like the ones old or obese people use?”

  “It would be more convenient for you, right?”

  I stopped hobbling and asked him squarely, “Would you use one of those things? Especially around here?”

  “Uh. No.” He chuckled. “Hell no.”

  “See.” Without thinking, I swatted him in the arm like I always did when my cousins teased me. I laughed. “Don’t try to make me look like a bigger fool than I already am.”

  His expression became more serious, as he stared at me for a few seconds, before saying, “You, most certainly don’t look like a fool, Jessie Clark.”

  My eyes widened. His words were matter of fact, but the intent was unmistakable, high praise. He’d complimented me. I bit my lip and eventually mumbled, “Thanks.”

  More bells rang, and Michael said, “We should get moving along I suppose.”

  We began down the hall again as the bells blared. I grumbled, “Do they have to be so loud?”

  “It is annoying.”

  “Really annoying.” Then not remembering just who I was with, I added, “And these votes are so stupid. They’re a complete waste of everyone’s time. It’s all for show.”

  He gave me a sideways glance and said under his breath, “Now, I wouldn’t say that…”

  I studied him for a moment. He’s smart… and kind… how can he possibly agree with those crazies? I pushed him. “Please. We are about to vote on a bill actually named the ‘Repealing the Job-Killing Health Care Law Act.’ If that’s not a bunch of theater, I don’t know what is—especially since it’s dead on ar
rival in the Senate, and the President would veto it anyway.”

  Michael shrugged. “Just because the other branches of government choose not to act, doesn’t make our work worthless. I’m sure we’ll both introduce bills that go nowhere—they probably won’t even get a hearing. Does it make the process less worthwhile?”

  “Okay. I’ll give you that, but what about the name of the stupid bill?”

  “It’s not the most artful of names for a piece of legislation, but it’s descriptive and accurate. That trillion dollar health care law isn’t good for the economy.”

  “Ridiculous. Health care prices are going to rise exponentially regardless. The real issue is that eighty million Americans have had no access to health care at all.”

  We reached the elevator and Michael punched the button and turned to me with a smile. “You’re right. That is the issue, but more government is not the answer.”

  As the elevator door opened, I replied, “Well, then what is the answer for millions of Americans with sick children and no means to pay for their care?”

  “The private sector… charity…”

  Ugh. The same conservative drivel. I probably made a face like I was going to vomit. “Oh, don’t go there. Please. The private sector has already proven it can’t handle this problem. I—”

  “That’s not true. I agree that we haven’t addressed the issue as a society, but that doesn’t mean that we have to throw a trillion taxpayer dollars to fix it. There are other ways. Besides, the truly poor can get health care.”

  Phrases like “the truly poor” struck deeply at me. I’d seen severe poverty on reservations. The idea that some of my dear, but poor friends were deserving, while others were not, was galling. I couldn’t help but snap at him. “I think we should just agree to disagree.”

  He shook his head. “You know, just because I don’t think government is the answer to problems that have plagued the world for centuries doesn’t mean I don’t care about solving them.”