32
Georgina
"Hiding here was the right decision- the only right decision you've made in a long time," my mother says with a scowl. She's wearing an all-white suit standing in the middle of the expansive, modern, all-white room in one of Vi's ex's mansions on Star Island where she practically blends in with the living room.
Vi drove us from Colorado to Miami– nearly three full days of driving- where her very wealthy ex (I'd call him a boyfriend but Vi doesn't do boyfriends) took us into his gated compound, and we've been hiding out for the past day. We ditched our cell phones on the way, and have been behind the gate since we arrived, so no one except my security who followed me and the White House knows where we are. At least for now.
I exhale heavily. I'm exhausted. I might not have internet or phone access, but I saw the newspaper and tabloid headlines Vi's friend brought in this morning. I wanted to see what the damage was with my own eyes.
It was as bad as I'd feared. Headlines this morning read "The O Heard Round the World!" and "President's Daughter Donates Live Porn For Campaign Fundraiser!" People are already selling my orgasm as a fucking ring-tone.
All of the articles have been about me. I might as well have an S for slut painted on my forehead, because that's what they're calling me: the slutty daughter of the president. Or the mentally ill daughter of the president.
None of the articles have mentioned Nathaniel or Adriano by name. Yet. They've been my unnamed lovers in every article. Or my rapists, depending on who’s writing the article.
"I don't need a lecture, mother. Did you come here for a reason or just to scold me?"
"Scold you?" she asks, her voice going up an octave. "Scold you?! You didn't spill ice cream on the front of your dress, Georgina Carter Aschberg. No, you acted like a common whore and fucked two men on a live audio feed at your father's campaign fundraiser!"
"Oh, fuck you," Vi bursts out. "And fuck your slut-shaming and fuck your campaign fundraiser."
If my mother's head could spin entirely in circles, I think it would right now. "You," she hisses. "You're not to say another goddamn word. If you think I don't know what kind of an influence you've been on my daughter–"
"Your daughter is twenty-six, not twelve," Vi says. "And she's been through enough already."
"How dare you talk to me that way!" my mother screeches.
"Vi," I warn, finally finding my voice. Except my voice is conciliatory. "It's– I fucked up."
"You're damn right you fucked up," my mother yells. "You ruined everything for your father. Do you understand that? His approval rating dropped twenty-two percent in the last forty-eight hours. His polls are down by thirteen points! And, so help me, you're going to fix it."
"Georgina!" Vi says, looking at me with wide eyes. "Tell her to go to hell."
"But she's right. I shouldn't have done- that- at my father's campaign fundraiser," I admit. "It was impulsive. And ill-considered. And I'm sorry it got broadcast for everyone to hear. Hell, I'm more sorry about that than you can imagine. I'm sorry I got caught." I take a deep breath and resolve to say what I'm going to say, setting my jaw and looking at my mother with defiance in my veins. "But I'm not sorry it happened."
"You'll be more than sorry, do you understand?" my mother shrieks. "You don't want to think about your father's career? Fine. Don't want to consider all the good he still has left to do during the next four years? Fine. Don't want to think about the fact that you've completely destroyed your life forever, that you'll be remembered as 'that girl' for the rest of your life? Fine. But you'll be doubly sorry when your paramours lose their contracts, everything they’ve worked for, because of your inability to keep your legs closed!"
"Are you threatening me?" I ask, appalled. My own mother?
"Let me be crystal clear. We have fixers doing what they do at this very moment– patching up every loose end pertaining to this unfortunate affair. Now, there's nothing that can be done to take back the fact that your voice has been broadcast everywhere– there were mobile uploads of you recorded on phones at the fundraiser within seconds of it happening. But there are loose ends to tie up that would affect your boyfriends greatly if they were to come untied."
"Don't listen to this, Georgina," Vi interrupts.
"Shut up," my mother snaps. "Your neighbors, your colleagues, your staff at the camp– anywhere those men might have been seen with you– are all being interviewed as we speak. Payoffs are being made, favors being given, to retain their silence. Non-disclosure agreements are being signed. Everything is being done to ensure that at the very least, your boyfriends remain anonymous. And if you want them to remain anonymous, you're going to do exactly what I say."
"Their silence– they won't want that…" I start, but my voice drifts off as I think about the contract Nathaniel is about to sign– about the contract Adriano just signed. There are morals clauses in those, aren't there? Behavior requirements. Nathaniel and Adriano said they had to stay on the straight and narrow.
If they couldn't play football…
If my family– if being connected to me- were the reason they couldn't play football for the rest of their lives, they would resent me forever. I would have taken away everything from them.
I can't be the reason for their total destruction. I won't.
So I make a deal with the Devil.
