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“Because it’s been fun to be the monster in your fairytale life. You think you’re miserable, Vanessa, but you don’t know what misery is. Misery is being poor, and helpless to do anything about it. Misery is living with two stinking drunks who make no secret of despising you just for being born, and knock you around for amusement.
“You grew up rich. Every goddamn thing you ever wanted was handed to you on a silver platter. You never had to beg or scrape or even wish for a single thing in your whole fucking life.”
“Is that why you’re punishing me?” she cried incredulously. “Because as a child I had more advantages than you?”
“No,” he said evenly, “I’m punishing you because you spread your legs for a man I trusted and called my friend. That,” he said scornfully, pointing toward the vee between her thighs, “caused him to betray me.” His voice had risen and his face had become congested with rage.
“You betrayed me first,” she shouted. “With dozens of other women. Hundreds, maybe. God knows how many.” Her hands formed tight fists of anger and despair. “I worshiped you, David. I was sixteen when you joined Daddy’s campaign. I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could marry you. I’ve always loved you. The only reason I broke my marriage vows was to hurt you.
“Despite the other women, I wanted our marriage to last. Even after I learned about your vasectomy and realized that the baby wasn’t yours, I was willing to make a clean start. I wanted us to be in love again.”
David began to laugh, shaking his head sadly, indulgently. “Vanessa, I was never in love with you. Do you really think that if your name had been anything other than Armbruster I would have shackled myself for life to a stupid, shallow, sick bitch like you?”
She took in a quick breath and expelled it on a broken sob. Seeing his cold, implacable heartlessness, she wondered how she had ever been suckered in. What an amazing talent he had for charming people—her, her father, a nation of voters.
“You’re evil,” she said.
“And you’re crazy. Anybody who knows you knows that.” He brushed her aside as he rose from the bed and reached for his robe.
Vanessa gripped the back of a chair. “I’m not as stupid and shallow as you seem to think. I won’t let you get away with trying to murder me.”
“Careful, Vanessa,” he said softly. “Threatening the President of the United States is a serious crime.”
“I don’t care what they do to me. I’m going to destroy you.”
“Is that so?”
When he came toward her, it was difficult not to cower, but she stood her ground.
Until he backhanded her across the face.
She fell against the wall, holding her hand to her cheekbone, which felt like it was dismantling beneath her skin.
“Never threaten me again, Vanessa. You’ll do nothing except continue being the vapid, obedient nonentity you’ve always been, first for your father, then for me.
“And speaking of Clete, don’t imagine that you can topple me without dragging him down, too. He’s been in on every crooked deal in Washington since the Johnson administration. You can’t destroy me without destroying Daddy dear in the bargain. So call all the goddamn reporters you want, and drop hints about malcontent in the White House, but be prepared to see the end of Senator Clete Armbruster.”
He strode to the door, but got in a parting shot. “At one time you were a pretty good piece of ass. Now, you’re not even that.”
* * *
He walked quickly across the corridor to his own bedroom, giving cursory nods to the Secret Service agents who wished him a good night. Even though he’d won the round with Vanessa—and it hadn’t even been a close contest—he’d come away from it angry. The problem of what to do about her was still unresolved.
God damn that nurse!
His bed had been turned down. The nightstand lamp was low. The chamber looked intimate and inviting. He thought about summoning one of his regulars, the syndicated columnist who was a strong advocate of women’s rights in print but whose blow jobs were legendary. She thought that being sneaked into the White House was a big turn-on and usually rewarded him well for the thrill. But Vanessa’s whining had squelched his desire. Which only gave him more justification to be steamed.
He poured himself a glass of water, added a dash of whiskey to it, and carried the glass into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, rinsed, and spat into the sink. When he reached for his whiskey-spiked water, he caught movement behind him in the mirror.
As he spun around, the glass slipped from his hand and shattered onto the floor. Clutching his chest, he fell back against the sink.
“Mr. President. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Jesus.” David sank down onto the commode. He was trembling. “I thought you were dead.”
Spencer Martin leaned negligently against the doorjamb. For all his nonchalance, he looked worse for wear. His clothes were Kmart stock and appeared new, but he was unshaven, and it looked as though he hadn’t showered or washed his hair in weeks.
Having recovered from his initial shock, David said, “Where in hell have you been? You look like shit. Smell like it too.”
