Meaning I spend more and more time away from DC.
Plus, we have a long overseas diplomatic trip coming up soon, one that will take me away from DC for several weeks.
We’re nearly a year out from the Iowa caucuses. The clock’s ticking louder by the day. I suspect there will be a “conversation” of some sort between myself and Elliot before he officially declares.
At least, Ihopethere will be a conversation between us.
What I’mnotlooking forward to is the distinct possibility that, after all these years, Elliot might declare…and it truly means the end ofus.
Wouldn’tthatbe ironic? That I lose my petandmy boy, in the end? Because if that happened, and I approached Jordan about reconciling, I wouldn’t blame him if he laughed in my face since it would appear I was settling for my second-place choice.
He wouldn’t be…wrong, exactly. He also wouldn’t be correct but it’s a very fine and fragile distinction that’s impossible to explain aloud.
Still, I stay my course and personally act as if Elliot is going to declare. Even though we feel more distanced from each other than ever, I secretly continue what I’m doing for Elliot behind the scenes, because I do love him and want to protect him.
The aforementioned keeping tabs on people and situations.
He cannot know about it, either. Neither can Shae.
Over the years, I’ve done a decent job of shielding my pet from certain influences and quagmires. Unfortunately, as of late, there have been distinct rumblings and increased activity in specific areas.
If Jordan was here, I’d send him on clandestine fact-finding missions, because damn, the boy did have an awesome disguise. No one knew how shrewd and cunning he was but me. Everyone thought he was an innocent. I mean, he is, in many ways.
That’s what made him a damned good spy.
I sense an emotional apathy slowly engulfing my soul. Sometimes, Shae sends me out with Elliot for the day. When she does, either Kev or Chris accompanies her if she has an appearance in town.
I don’t know if that’s at Chris’ suggestion, or she can tell how unhappy I am.
In some ways, that makes things worse because I don’t know how to bridge the ever-widening gap between myself and Elliot. Or how to defuse my anger and grief, which feels like a toxic glacier slowly carving its way through my soul.
In fact, over the past couple of months, and with Kev’s help, I’ve sent Elliot out to dinner a few times with Yasmine, Chris and Shae’s nanny. They’re just friends but it helps muddy the waters a little and puts Elliot off-balance enough emotionally that I know he won’t have the focus to try to pin me down in private about Jordan.
I’m the one holding him at arm’s length now, and I know it.
One day, I’m over on the Hill and waiting for Elliot to finish his schedule in the Senate, and I get to talking with the minority whip’s chief of staff in the cloakroom.
Something that makes me good at my job is the ability to pick up stray bits of info from various sources, fit them into their proper context, and put them to good use.
Today, one of those stray bits of info is about several meetings Elliot’s sister has attended as of late, frequently with a particular congresswoman from Nebraska, over at a certain townhouse on C Street.
That factoid intrigues me, because the guy I’m talking to seems to think that not only does Elliot know all about those meetings but that Elliot’s on board with whatever it is, exactly, they’re doing.
Shadowy kind of stuff.
Now, I know damn well neither of those points are true.
Yet I play along, as you do. Because the way this guy thinks it’s playing out is that Elliot has sent his sister as his surrogate to make some deals ahead of him declaring, trying to secure endorsements for him.
Interesting.
When that guy ends up being called back to the office, I make my way over to a woman on the staff of a junior senator from Nevada, and I start chatting her up. She’s a flirt and not very bright. Rumor has it the senator hired her more for who her father is—a bigwig in the casino industry—and how well she sucks the senator’s cock.
Because they’re definitely sleeping together.
I’m reasonably sure the senator’s wife doesn’t know that, either.
The staffer doesn’t know I’m gay, or maybe she doesn’t care. Within five minutes, without even realizing she’s done it, she’s confirmed her senator’s schedule and all but told me he’s part of whatever fuckery’s going on.
