Evidence Card 0107: Prostitute
Spence pulled his tailored pants back up over his silvery, butt-hugging briefs. The tattoos across his sculpted and shaven chest undulated hypnotically as he moved. His nipple rings reflected the overhead lights as he pulled on his $300 shirt and began buttoning up.
“I hope this time was as good as last time, Mrs. President,” he said with a sly wink.
The Oval Office was in disarray: clothing tossed over one couch, shoes and socks strewn about, books knocked to the floor and and a wastebasket overturned. In the center, sprawled across her desk, was the chief executive herself, laying half-naked in the afterglow of the previous hour’s activity. As she lay there scandalously exposed, she seemed amused at the idea of the United State’s highest public servant sneaking a quickie with a high-priced gigolo in the same place she met with world leaders and addressed the nation. She knew she was hardly the first occupant of the office to have taken the liberty.
Spence was hunched down, searching for a lost sock. The president rolled onto her stomach, shoving aside binders containing classified security briefings, and regarded the young man’s well-tuned rump. Why, she wondered, did he have to have such a perfect ass?
“Did you vote for me?” she asked coyly.
“Did I … vote for you?” He stood upright. “I’d prefer not to say.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you didn’t, then.”
“It’s not that …” he trailed off.
“I prefer to keep some distance between my work and my private life.”
“Oh, p’shaw,” she said. “It’s fine. I don’t care. And I know you don’t choose sides. I have it on very good authority you’re seeing Madge as well.”
Senate Majority Leader Margaret Krendall was a powerful Congressional enemy. She was also a well-known philanderer who didn’t have a team of well trained and loyal Secret Service members to cover for her.
Spence looked at her cautiously as he replaced his cufflinks. “I don’t talk about my clients, Mrs. President. Rest assured I wasn’t the one who—”
“Oh, of course I know my secret is safe. I have the best spies in the world working for me, remember? Madge is an old friend … though we’re facing an uphill fight with her side on the energy bill. If as many as three of my people cross party lines, we’re done for. It sure would be nice to know her mind on the subject.”
He stopped for a moment, stone-faced. She broke into the same smile she used at campaign events.
She climbed gingerly down from the desk and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “Just reassure me you won’t raise your fee again. I have to justify my budget to a congressional committee.”
He helped her back into her blouse. “The same as last time. A wire transfer is fine.”
“It’ll be in your account when you wake up tomorrow.” She smiled and handed him his jacket.
“Same time next week?” he asked.
“I’m in Brussels next week.”
“The week after that?”
He shrugged. “Well, you have my number.”
He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Until next time.”
She watched him leave through the side door, admiring the swing of his hips and shoulders as he strode. There was an unmarked car waiting just outside the Rose Garden to take him away. It was after 11 PM and no one would notice.
After she heard the outside door close, she picked up the phone on her desk. “I need Westin at Langley.”
She looked for the car’s headlights out the window. There was a series of click and tones as she was transferred. Then, a gruff male voice. “Westin.”
“He’s in the car,” she said, “and on his way to you.”
The headlights began to move away, beyond the fence and into traffic.
“Do it somewhere quiet. I need the names of any defectors. Then … no trace.”
The voice was robotic. “Understood.” Then he hung up.
She put down the phone and sighed. Perks are fine, she mused, but maintaining them required discipline. Still … it was a waste of a perfect ass.