Kim Baldwin - The Gemini Deception

*

Ryden opened her mouth, gasping for air. She had forgotten to breathe when her old-self mug shot appeared on the news. How would she ever forget that horrible picture of her, with WANTED FOR MURDER written under it? And the picture of those poor orphaned kids, and the footage of Magda in the shop, who kept repeating Ryden was innocent.

And my God, Kennedy, behind her all this time, silently watching; she’d heard it all. Ryden didn’t dare turn to look at her. She didn’t know how she could ever face her after this.

If Kennedy was in on this fiasco with Ratman, how much had they told her about Ryden and her previous life? Was she aware of how they’d set her up to blackmail her to cooperate? And did she know what Ryden looked like before the surgeries and other alterations?

Ryden could see the resemblance between her old self and new. Sure, they’d tweaked a few of her features: cheekbones, chin, nose. But the changes seemed minimal. And most of the other alterations—the stylish haircut and coloring, the Lasik to get rid of her glasses, the dental work, contacts, the classy makeup and flattering clothes, all were changes she could have made on her own but never had any interest in.

Maybe she should have taken more notice of her appearance in the past. In the photo on the news, she appeared older than she really was, haggard and unkempt. Only now did she fully realize how much she’d let herself go. If Kennedy had met her before all the changes, she probably wouldn’t have noticed her even if she’d slapped Kennedy on the ass. Why am I even thinking about another woman? Is this latent lesbianism?

If it was, it couldn’t be happening at a more unsuitable time with a more inappropriate person. She was trying to gather the strength to get up and go to the Oval Office but didn’t know how to face Kennedy. Think of an icebreaker.

Ryden made a point of looking out the window. “So, how about the weather? Pretty mild for March,” she said, not daring to turn around.

Kennedy cleared her throat. “Quite.”

Way to go on picking a topic, Ryden . What kind of exchange could she expect from that? A breakdown of this week’s forecast, accompanied by a statistical pie chart ? “Anyway, I have to deal with some matters, so…” She actually had a lot to do to prepare for tomorrow’s state dinner, her first as host.

In addition to memorizing the speech Ratman had written for her welcoming the Argentine president, she had to familiarize herself with the many protocols that surrounded the event. One of her first meetings this morning was to finalize preparations with the key White House staff who were involved in organizing the massive undertaking: the chief of protocol, executive chef and executive pastry chef, social secretary, chief floral designer, chief usher, and chief calligrapher, among others. Tonya had already briefed her to a large degree on what to expect at such functions, and Ratman would be present today to help her with any last-minute decisions, so she didn’t expect any snags that might tip off any of them that she was doing this for the first time.

“So…?” Kennedy repeated.

Ryden finally turned around. “I just mean, I…” God, think of something. A knock interrupted the process of sticking her flat-heeled shoe in her mouth.

“Come in,” she said, and both of them turned toward the door. Ryden felt almost giddy for the disruption.

Ratman came in and handed Ryden an envelope. “It just arrived.” He looked from her to the envelope, as if asking her to see what it contained.

She tore the envelope open, and he stood over her as she read. Her hands shook and she had to steady her elbows on the table. “It’s from Juan Carlos.”

“What does he want?” Ratman asked.

“The president is asking for my permission to dance with him at the state dinner tomorrow,” Ryden replied.

“You can always decline, Madam President, but I advise against it. We have certain common interests.”

“I haven’t danced in years. You know my husband wasn’t much for it.” Tonya hadn’t included dancing in her training. Higher priorities dominated, and it wasn’t expected that she’d have to, since Thomas was newly widowed and rarely if ever had danced in public.

“It’ll just be a waltz.”

“But I…I don’t know how to,” Ryden mumbled.

Moore hesitated before saying, “You have a day to learn.”

“Or I can tell him I’m mourning my husband and find dancing premature.”

Ratman looked at her sternly. “We have common interests, Madam President, and we need his…cooperation.”

Ryden sighed. “How am I supposed to learn in a day?”

“We’ll find you a teacher.”

Ryden gasped at the thought of going through such a thing. The idea alone was excruciating. Not just because she’d never danced in her life, but the touching…she hated the touching. She couldn’t stand anyone so close to her, invading her personal space. “I can’t.” Ryden stood her ground. “I don’t want someone touching me, even if it’s a teacher. I’m not ready for that.”

“Just one dance, Madam President. It’s important.” When Ratman loomed over her, her hands began to shake again.

“With all due respect, Madam President,” Kennedy said from behind them.

Both Ryden and Ratman turned to look at her.

“Yes?” Ryden replied.

Kennedy took a step forward. “I can teach you the basics, if you will allow me.”

“You know how to?” Ratman asked.

“I wouldn’t offer otherwise.”

Ratman turned to Ryden expectantly. “Kennedy can teach you.”

“What can I possibly learn in a few hours?”

“Anything is better than not at all.” Ratman glared down at her.

Oh, peachy . She could barely stand to look at Kennedy this morning. How in the world was she going to dance with her? “But…she’s a woman.”

Kennedy turned to her and said stoically, “I can teach you, Madam President, even if…I’m not a man.” The words were polite but the tone icy.

“We need this,” Ratman said.

She got up and walked past Kennedy without looking at her. “Fine. I’ll be ready in an hour.” Because that’s how long it’s going to take me to mentally prepare myself for humiliation.

It wasn’t that she was a slow learner or lacked grace. She found physical closeness difficult, and for some reason she didn’t want to give Kennedy that impression.

*

Near Colorado Springs, Colorado

Jack stuck her cell into her back pocket and went into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. She was restless and had no appetite, but she should get something in her stomach since she hadn’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours. Cassady was in Boston and still not answering; the conductor required all the musicians to turn off their cells during rehearsals. She’d already sent a half dozen texts and left a voice mail for Cass to call her the minute she was free again. If she wasn’t careful, the constant barrage of I love you and I miss you like crazy. Is everything okay? messages might soon annoy Cass.

She retrieved the disposable prepaid cell she’d bought the day before and dialed the number Yuri had given her.

“So, how’s your brother?” Jack said as soon as the line picked up.

Without skipping a beat, TQ replied, “Dead.”

She snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting I killed him.”

“You called. How wonderful.”

“Yeah, well, once in a while someone amazing comes along…and here I am.”

“Indeed.”

“So, how do you see this playing out?”

“You’re going to come to me,” TQ replied confidently.

“How clairvoyant of you,” Jack said. “What else do you see in your crystal ball?”