AND TAMMY DOYLE gets inside her office door as her phone rings one more time, and she answers, and a woman says, “Miss Doyle?”
“Yes?”
“The White House calling,” the woman says. “Please hold for the President.”
For a long time that little greeting—“Please hold for the President”—had always thrilled her, making her feel oh so special and loved and cherished.
Now?
Tammy just feels dread.
“Oh, thank you,” she says, and a quiet click, and that familiar voice comes on.
“Tammy?”
She walks to her small office window, thinking with anticipation of how much better her view will be by this time next week.
“Hello, Harry,” she says.
She hears his sigh. “Damn…it’s good to hear your voice. It really is. And I need to talk to you.”
“Harry, glad to hear that Grace has been found. I didn’t even know she was missing. Did you?”
Her lover seems startled by the question. “Well, there were indications…here and there…but look, Tammy, I know the past few days have been rough. I haven’t been fair to you, or open. And I’m deeply sorry. In just a few weeks…the election will be over. And then we can start seeing each other again.”
Tammy keeps on looking out at DC, such a faraway and fairy-tale place from the tenement building she had grown up in back in South Boston.
A fairy-tale place, she thinks. With evil kings and queens, with plots and betrayals, and the constant struggle for power.
“Tammy? I…love you, hon. I really do.”
Those sweet words have now changed. They’re just…words.
Below her small office, a taxicab honks its horn.
“Harry, I love you, too. But I’m going to miss you as well.”
“Tammy…what are you saying?”
She earlier thought this call would be hard, or depressing, or upsetting, but no, she’s finding it…
Empowering.
Liberating.
She says, “Harry, we had a grand time, with special memories. And I promise I’ll never violate the confidence of what we shared. I’ll keep those secrets forever. But I can’t try to go back to what we had. It’s impossible. It’s time for both of us to move on.”
“Tammy, please, give us a chance, give us some time.”
She says, “No, Harry, I’m sorry. My life is going to be mine, and mine alone. I’m not going to be connected to you in the future. I won’t be a second First Lady, or the very first presidential girlfriend. I saw what happened to Grace. I’m not going to let it happen to me.”
“Oh, Tammy…”
And for the first time in months, she uses that old, formal phrase.
“Good-bye, Mr. President.”