| |
NOT FAR FROM THE WHITE House and housed in the Old Post office lied the luxe Trump International Hotel. In a 1899 Romanesque Revival Building, the hotel offered the Grand Lobby which boasted a soaring nine-story atrium dripping with rich jewel tones—deep red, aubergine, sapphire and emerald. The area was elegantly finished with gold accent, hand-woven area rugs, soaring brass fixtures and crystal chandeliers.
Naim and Brandy checked into the palatial hotel and a doorman ushered them to a suite on the hotel’s top floor, behind a pair of double doors.
“Must be big in there for French doors,” Brandy whispered.
“It is,” the doorman said. “Sixty-three hundred square feet.”
The door was opened for them and they walked into a huge living room area. The opulent, Federal-style suite possessed high ceilings, a marble bathroom and fireplace. “Welcome to the Presidential suite,” the doorman said, smiling. “For your pleasure, prominently located on the mezzanine and overlooking the iconic Clock Tower is BLT Prime. The steakhouse is phenomenal. The National Mall and the National Gallery of Art are a twelve-min walk away. Where would you like your bags?”
“In the bedroom will be fine,” Naim said, and then added, “thank you, I got it from there.” Naim gave the doorman a fifty.
Knowing he planned on being in town a few days, Naim decided to unpack his bags and put things into dresser drawers. His pieces from the garment bag were hung neatly in the closet. Brandy handed him her bag to hang her things, also.
“Thanks sweetie,” she said, walking to the room’s floor-to-ceiling window and pulling back the curtains.
Is that a test? he thought. Certainly, hanging her garments wasn’t a problem. Despite their short nine months together it was already ’Til death do us part and for richer or poorer—for him anyway. No doubt, he felt that she returned the sentiment, driving him closer to her. He had an aunt who had met a man at a drug rehab center. Upon their release and recovery, he proposed to her after only three months of dating. Twenty-two years later, they remained happily married. Naim wanted that with Brandy. Two kids. And a partridge in a pear tree.
“Amazing.”
“What?”
“The view,” she said, looking out at the top of the White House. “Naim, come look at this view.”
He walked over and found himself on the balcony with his arms wrapped around her waist. He pressed his hands against her thighs. “That’s the US Treasury Building and beyond that is the White House.” He pointed, and said, “And that little figure pacing up there is prepared to take out anyone daring to defy the White House’s security.”
“This is beautiful. How much was this suite a night?” she asked with her head twisted to face him. She kept her back tight against his chest. Each time he moved she felt his muscles contract and enjoyed the feeling. “Never mind,” she said, looking at his bushy raised eyebrow. “I don’t want to know. I really have to get used to a man, well not a man, you, being able to take care of yourself and me. And you genuinely enjoy it. I actually feel it.”
“You do have to get used to it. I didn’t ask how much did first-class tickets cost to get us here.”
“Touché,” she said, spinning around to face him.
His hands roamed until they cupped her ass. She parked her hands on his chest. He made them jump, staring into her eyes.
They shared a kiss. A deep French kiss. They could read each other’s mind and their intimate intuition was a code red whenever they were in the other’s space. It was effortless and indicative of what they’d wanted for years but had never found. They weren’t looking for love and an accidentally stumbled upon their soulmates.
Pulling apart, she said, “You smell excellent. What is that you’re wearing?”
“Mount Blanc Legend. And thanks,” he said, looking at a crowd of picketers outside of the White House. “I wonder what they’re protesting about?”
She looked at her watch, and said, “That’s the first part of the Americans for Sentencing Reform protest. They’re going to the SC next.”
“You know, I’m all for sentencing and criminal justice reform. I continue on the Families Against Mandatory Minimums board. But I don’t get why people have the right to protest on the grounds of the White House. That space should be respected a tad more.”
“This isn’t China or North Korea?”
“With this scenario it should be. Besides, the president is probably inside numb, caring less and less about this issue continuing to plague our community. You see FAMM pressed issues on the Congressional floor and submitted an amicus brief to the Supreme Court. Black people protest loudly and are often not heard.”
“You may be right, but I’m sure the president is briefed daily on who has a permit to be outside voicing their political positions.”
“Right,” he said not looking to debate. They’ve had their share of political disagreements and now was not a time to exert energy on friendly arguing. “How ‘bout room service? Out here on the balcony,” he asked, pivoting to the next topic like a seasoned politician. “We can eat and admire the view.”
“Ignoring those hugs box things strategically placed on the White House roof,” she said, smiling.
“Yup, don’t do anything outrageous, because the boxes contain surface-to-air missiles that will blow this room and that pretty little face of yours to smithereens.”
__________
After sautéed boneless chicken breast, buttered squash, and sweet potato fries, Naim was on the bed relaxing. His eyes switched between watching Brandy at the room’s desk working on her laptop, and watching the continual loop of CNN’s BREAKING NEWS, which wasn’t breaking any longer. The redundant use of the “Breaking News” banner undermined the true meaning of the phrase. For Naim, it was like crying wolf. Bottom line, the Columbia U shooting and the justice’s murder were a day old and no longer breaking.
“I get so lonely,” Naim said, singing the infamous Janet Jackson tune.
Brandy’s head whipped in his direction. She smiled.
“You’re too damn much.” She blew him a kiss. “Almost done over here, but you know, I have to be on the SC portico soon.”
“You?” He sat up. “We. I’m gong.”
“You’re not. If he sees you, he may not talk to me,” she said, walking over to the bed. She pushed him back and straddled on top of him. Looking into his eyes, she said, “Listen, I’m going to be fine. This is normal for me to meet bad guys.” She kissed him. “You’re my number one bad guys.”
“I don’t shoot people,” he replied, smiling. He still hadn’t told her that he was slated to represent the same bad guy in a court of law.