Page 72 of A Spy is Born
Clearing my throat, I smile at her, banishing all thoughts of plastic surgery and physical appearance. My lizard brain will never give it up, but there are bigger issues here than how much poison either of us has pumped into our faces in an attempt to stay young and relevant.
“Angela.” Her voice is low, with a roughness to its baser notes, as if she is recovering from a cold. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
I nod, not sure how to respond.She didn’t request my company.
The overhead lights dim as the car engine thrums.We are moving.Glancing behind me as we pull away from the curb, I see Troy Woods talking on his phone, gaze cast down to the sidewalk.
“I hope you don’t mind if I give you a ride home.”
“Uh, no, I just…”
“Troy won’t mind.” She says it as if she knows him. Natalie Stone’s hands are folded in her lap, her gold wedding ring glowing softly in the overhead lights. Her nails are painted a soft, feminine pink.How many advisors did it take to pick that color?My own nails are lacquered in blood red, a color chosen by the stylist to match my dress. “Do you know why I’ve asked to speak with you?” Her head cocks ever so slightly—a dog picking up the taste of fear on a summer breeze.
I offer up a timid smile. “I’m not sure.”
“My opponent,” Natalie maintains eye contact, her voice even, “is a dangerous psychopath.” I can’t help a nervous smile taking over my face. “I must win this election. For the security of not just our nation but the world.”
“I’m not really into politics.”
Her eyes narrow, and a spark of anger brightens the green into a shimmering gold. “What a lazy thing to say.”
She’s stolen my breath, and I can’t respond. Clearing my throat, I try to come up with something, but her eyes have me pinned in place, weighing on my lungs, sparking fear in my chest.She’s not a bully like her opponent, but she is dangerous.
“Sorry,” I finally sputter out.
Her lips curl again, and she settles back into the seat, glancing down at her lap and dusting at something. “Can I offer you a drink?” Her eyes raise back to mine. They are calmer, the deep green of moss in the shade of a large tree.
“Water?” It comes out a question.
She nods with her chin toward the bar by my side. There are plastic water bottles lined up, and I grab one out of the well. Cracking off the top, I take a long sip. She waits for me to put the lid back on before continuing.
“While I’ll agree this is a messy business—politics—I hope you’ll agree that someone has to do it.”
“Yes,” I say.
“And from what I know of your interactions with my opponent, you’re not a…fan, shall we say?”
“We could say that.”
She nods and shows a bit of teeth with her next smile. “Good.” It sounds as if something has been decided, though I’m not sure what…if anything.
We are merging on a highway, and the street lamps are casting tiger stripes of light into the close space. “There are only a few weeks left until the election, and I’m almost sure he will pull something unexpected.” She smiles at me again, those crinkles around her eyes deepening. “I have skeletons.” Natalie waves a hand dismissively. “As do we all. But a woman’s old bones…are not as accepted as a man’s.”
She pauses, as though waiting for a response. The water bottle sweats in my grip. “Yes,” I say again, feeling, once again, like a parrot repeating words its master wants it to say.
“I know what Temperance planned.” I keep my face neutral—not one twitch or flash of acknowledgment. Natalie’s eyes stray behind me, and I follow her gaze. We are getting off at my exit. “But that is unacceptable. He will be disciplined for his actions.” Her eyes return to mine, and Natalie Stone, the first woman to make a real run at the highest office of the land, pins me again with her gaze. “I hope that we can work together in some other way in the future.”
The car pulls up in front of my building, and the driver gets out. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Daniels.” Natalie does not extend her hand, and when the door opens, I slide over to get out. A hot, smoke-tinged wind greets me as the driver begins to close the door. “One more thing,” Natalie says.
I bend down to see her. She looks suddenly small in the large car—her hair too big, the cross of her ankles too practiced. Natalie is a woman from another era trying to use the traditional weapons of female apparent subservience to win a war against male brutality. It’s worked for her up until now, advancing cautiously through the system by working hard and appearing to follow all the rules. But she’s got skeletons because you can’t get to where she is without leaving bodies behind. And a woman like her, petite, elegant, whip smart in a world that isn’t,she can’t win.
We need new weapons.New tools.How can women stop the violence and oppression against them?Not by crossing their ankles, spraying their hair into submission, and toning their asses to perfection.
But right now it’s all we’ve got.
“I’ve arranged for Mr. Styles’s release.” My eyes go round. “I will protect you from Mr. Grand until the election.” She gives me a predator grin. “And then once it’s over, his power will be greatly diminished.”
“You’ll win, won’t you?” My voice is tinged with a desperation whose authenticity is so unique and pained. Immediately, I take note of the places where it came from—a tightness in my chest, the angle of my neck, a tremble in my jaw—and lock it away for a future role.
