The Candidate

When I got there I called out for a chair for her to sit on because,

"We couldn't let a lady sit on the edge of the stage with a skirt on because too many of the men in the audience might try to look up her skirt. I was going to let her sit on my lap, but then I remembered how big her husband is,"

The crowd loved it and Sarah just blossomed. They put her chair down right next to me and she joined me. I took her arm and put it through mine.

I picked up the mike and said,

"The two of us are a team! If anyone out there messes with her I'll roll over your toes with my wheel chair."

The crowd loved it; I was back in the groove.

Then I said, "Sara's in charge here and doing my job in the capitol until they make that building Handicap Accessible." I now had everyone's attention.

(The next morning the paper's headlined, "He's back! And just as sharp as before")

We got serious and started the open discussion style meeting. I started off, but soon Sarah took over. She had found her element; all it took was a little push to get her started.

I looked around the auditorium and spotted her husband and her teenage daughter. They were smiling from ear to ear, two prouder people could not be found.

At the end of the evening one of the reporters started about my about my wife and wanted to know how I felt when I found out my children weren't mine.

Sarah let him have it, up one side and down the other.

When she was done, I grabbed the mike from Sarah's hand, with tears streaming down my face I said,

"I love my wife. Every night I pray to God, that I get well enough to go out and start looking for her. There is a large hole in my heart that only she can fill."

"Mary, please come home, I need you."

At this point I lost it and broke down sobbing. Sarah jumped up and pushed my wheel chair off stage.

The crowd began clapping and shouting," Mary, come home."

Sarah held me while I sobbed.

I made the 11:00 pm news on all the networks. In the morning the print media across the country had headline, "Mary, come home." Or something like it accompanied by either a picture of my face with the tears streaming down, or the one where Sarah held me while I sobbed my heart out.

My political strategists loved it. They assumed I was just saying it to gain favor with the voters. They just couldn't understand I meant it.

But deep down inside I was still asking, "Why?"

Time went by, I finished my therapy retaining a useless left hand, a little limp when I walked, and a screwed up inner ear that left me feeling dizzy if I moved to fast.

My son moved to the North Carolina, met a southern bell and started making babies, she's due for number 3 in the spring. My daughter married a local boy she met while in college, and they soon presented me with a grandchild.

Life was good for me now, except for that empty spot in my chest where my heart used to be.

"Mary, I still love you."

+++++

One of my aids walked over to me with a heavy coat on his arm for me to wear.

"Mr. President, it's time to get started heading downstairs to your inauguration."

+++++

Bill Jones was a free lance journalist. Most of his livelihood came from filing stories with the news services, hoping to be picked up by a publication that would pay him for the rights to use the story.

Bill did a series of articles on the porn industry. As the old saying goes, "Sex sells." And so did his articles.

One day he met a performer named "Brandy". He started talking to her and was impressed because she was well spoken and probably college educated.

She also loved her "work."

She talked to him about her feelings, her love of sex, and her stripping. She revealed that her first gang bang was when she was in college.

She said, "After that night, I was hooked. I loved sex with multiple partners and wanted it over and over again."

She described to him some of her various "parties", and how she was discovered by a producer. He hired her and let her fulfill her dream.

He sat through some of the filming of her sex scenes. They were exciting. He found that this was a different world. All the performers walked around naked or almost so. If it was warm enough, none of them bothered to get dressed between scenes. The women just walked around and talked about their next scene or other gossip.

The men talked about sports. The guys had a hard time keeping erect.

There were woman on the sets, whose jobs were just to keep the men hard. Bill, the reporter, didn't have that problem. To be exact, he had a "woody" from the time he walked on the set, until two or three hours after everyone left. One of the women commented that if the male performers were like him, she'd be out of a job.

The series of articles sold very well, but somewhere in the back of his mind he had the feeling that "Brandy" reminded him of someone.

A few years later, Bill wanted to do a follow-up story on her. He was told that the producer no longer used her because she kept showing up drunk or stoned. As hard as he tried, he was unable to find her for the story.

The producer said, "It was too bad she burnt out so quickly. She really liked her job."

A year went by and Bill was visiting a friend who was dying of cancer in a hospital. Walking down the hall of that ward, he was looking in the open doors. He thought of all the poor souls waiting to meet their maker.

For you see, this was where the hospital put their terminal cases.

In one room he saw a woman who looked familiar. He read the name tag, "Brandy Hill" it said. He stopped there and remembered all those hours of interviews. How they had almost became friends, how she disappeared, and how much he could make on selling a sequel.

He stopped a passing nurse and asked if he could see her because she was an old friend.

The nurse explained that her liver was failing and she didn't have much longer to live. He and the nurse entered Brandy's room. The nurse looked at the chart and explained that Brandy was very heavily sedated and would not be waking up for hours. Bill noticed that Brandy's brown hair was blond at the roots, so he asked the nurse if the color change was because of the drugs she was on.

The nurse said Brandy was a natural blond.

Bill wondered why she had dyed her hair that ugly brown, when blond looked so much better.

Later that afternoon as Bill was sitting in a Starbucks, sipping a coffee, and outlining his article, when the light went on.

He knew why Brandy dyed her hair. He recognized her.

He took out his cell phone and started dialing. This was going to be the story of his life.

Epilog:

I've been in office two years now, but I feel as if it's been 20 years. This job is really tough on a person. I spend my days going from one meeting to another, never getting a chance to "zone out" in between. And I feel as if I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

Right now I'm in a cabinet meeting. Some days they just bicker and I spend the whole meeting acting like a referee. Today was one of those days. I was building up to giving one of the august gentlemen a swift kick in the pants, when my personal secretary came running into the meeting.

"Your daughter's on your private line, she said it's an emergency."

I push the speaker button and yell, "What's wrong?"

My daughter's voice came from the speaker phone, everyone could hear,

"They found Mom, Dad, but she's dying. They said she only has a week or two left because her liver's almost gone."

I looked at my VP, "Sarah, you're in charge now. Have the Attorney General draw up the necessary papers so I can resign."

The Attorney General started to argue. He said that I didn't need to resign. I could still run the government while I helped my wife get well. The country needed me.

I told him to, "Shove it," and to draft the paperwork.

(I was to find out later that he completely ignored my wishes)

I turned to my Joint Chief; he was talking on his phone and held up 1 finger. The General hung up his phone and said, "We can have you in the air in 20 Minutes, my people are sending a chopper to your daughter house as we speak to get her and her husband."

God I loved the military, they were always ready for whatever.

++++++

Six hours later I was in LA, in the hospital, walking as rapidly down the hall of the Critical Care Unit. I was, along with my daughter, and a couple of Secret Service agents, headed for my wife's room.

When we got to her room, we were confronted by a very mean looking nurse. She sounded like one of my old Drill Sergeants from the Army, when she yelled,

"Just where do you all think you're going? Just who do you think you are the President?"

I turned and gave her the "Look". You know which one. The one I give my staff, my cabinet members, or various member of congress when I want something done.

"My God", she said, "you are him!"

Then her forehead wrinkled and you could see the wheels turning in her head, "She's your wife, isn't she?"

I nodded.

She hugged me and said, "I'm glad you finally found her."

She then explained that my wife's health was so poor, the doctors had ordered her kept in fairly sterile conditions. All this, while handing my daughter and I gowns and stuff to put on. When we were covered, she opened the door and let us in the room.

She made the Secret Service guys wait in the hall. They actually looked a little scared of her.

I saw my wife for the first time in almost 15 years. She was just a shadow of her former self, thin to the point of looking emaciated, her beautiful blond hair now an ugly shade of brown, and obviously dyed because of the blond roots showing. She looked at least 20 years older than her 40+ years.

In other words, she looked like hell.

My daughter had run up to her side and said, "Mom? Is that you?"

My wife's eyes flew open looking at my daughter. A smile slowly crossed her face and then the tears started flowing from those stunning blue eyes. The eyes I thought about just before going to sleep every night, and again in the morning when I awoke.

I knew this was my wife, my heart was complete again. My eyes started tearing up. There were so many questions I had for her, but first I needed to make her well.

My daughter started crying, grabbing her mother's frail hand off the bed, and said,

"I love you, Please come back to us. I want you to meet my husband and your granddaughter." "Please don't die."

At this point my daughter started to collapse; I was the closest and held on to her until the nurse got to her side. She was taken out to the hall and turned over to her husband and child.

I was left standing by my wife's bed, the tears running down my cheeks. She turned her blue eyes toward me, the sadness showing all over her face, she held her hand up for me to hold.

She said, "I still love you. I'm so sorry I caused you so much pain."

She started to cry.

The nurse spoke softly to me, from my side, "Let's go outside now, she needs her rest."

Another nurse stuck a needle in her IV, and I watched my wife drift off to sleep. I allowed myself to be led outside.

I walked out into the hall and into a mess. I guess, as President, I really couldn't sneak around without the press finding me, and there they were. The Secret Service, supported by hospital security, was trying to hold them back. But the news media was winning.

I raised my hand and said, "There are sick people on this floor. Let's go somewhere we can talk. You guys lead, and I'll answer all your questions."

One reporter who looked local yelled, "Follow me, I know the way to the hospital's auditorium."

The crowd quieted down, opened up so I could get to the front, and we started walking away. Now I won't tell you everyone was perfect. One of the local reported started yelling out questions. He was on a roll until one of the female reporters slapped him across the face and told him to shut up unless he wanted to sing "Soprano". He got the message and got very quiet.

When we got to the auditorium, someone helped me so I could sit on the edge of the stage, a microphone appeared in my hand, and I smiled and said,

"The hole is my heart has healed, it's her, but she's very sick."

The flash bulbs started going off, the cameras ground on, and the room erupted into cheers. I found my hand repeatedly shook by these cynical old reporters. Some of them hugged me, kissing my face. The head of my Secret Service Detail almost had a heart attack until he realized that every just wanted to share this special moment with me.

I looked around and I found I wasn't the only one crying. I guess some of the reporters were not as tough as they pretended to be.

When everything settled back down, the news conference went back on for the next 2 hours. Whenever a question was asked that I had no answer for, a doctor would appear behind me and take over. I found out that my wife's liver was failing and she had only a couple of weeks to live. She needed a liver transplant to survive. She was also a drug addict, so she was at the bottom of the transplant list.

The doctor who was presenting this was asked all about transplants, compatibility matching, what was needed to match with her for a transplant to succeed. When the requirements were discussed, a couple of the people in the conference stood and volunteered as donors on the spot.

I thought, "They didn't even know her, and yet they want to help."

Someone handed me a glass of water at this point. I guess because I was crying so hard, they didn't want me to dehydrate.

The hospital administrator took the stage and indicated that my wife was placed at the top of the transplant list (after all she was the "First Lady") and as soon as a suitable donor was found they would operate. He also noted that since parts of this news conference was being televised; the hospital's switchboard was being swamped with calls by people volunteering some piece of their livers.

As the questions were winding down and news deadlines were approaching, a nurse pushing a wheel chair approached me saying, "She's awake and wants you with her."

The news conference was over, as I was being helped onto the chair, I asked everyone there to respect her privacy and not try to get into her room. They would only succeed in killing her.

I also promised to meet with them every day, so we could talk.

When I got back up to her room, she talked until she got too weak. We discussed the last 15 years and how much we had missed each other. I updated her on everything the kids did over those years.

I slept in a chair in her room. I was never going to let her leave me again.

We talked about our son, Tom Jr. I explained he and his wife were expecting number 6 at any time and could not be here, but would come out as soon as he could. He wanted to show her his family.

She asked me to open her bed side stand and take out the book I found there. It was her scrapbook of all the clippings she had saved. We went through the book. She asked be about every picture or article she had saved.

I explained them all to her, we both cried. This was the way she had kept up with her family over all the years.

It broke my heart.

"I guess she did really love us all the time she was gone," I thought

The nurse came in and put her to sleep, so she could keep her strength up. The nurse also told me that if I didn't stop all the crying, she'd be forced to hook me up to an IV to keep me hydrated.

She then smiled at me, patted my head and told me to get some rest. She would watch my wife for me.

I was awakened by a doctor who wanted to talk to me. He introduced himself as the Addictions specialist who was working with my wife. He then asked if I wanted to hear the story of her life.

He said it would be a long painful process, but he felt with her children and me standing beside her, she'd make it. But she needed a lot of help.

+++++++

Mary -- Her Story

As I lay in this cheap motel room, paid for by cash so I would leave no electronic trail of my travels, I began to regret the choices I had made in my life to this point. I needed a good night's sleep before continuing my journey by bus and train to my secret identity stored in a rented locker in LA.

I loved my husband and family, how could I have done this to them? I remembered the reporter revealing a secret; I had thought I'd kept from everybody, to the world that fateful day. I remembered the look of shock and then sadness on my husband's face as I turned to flee. I remembered hearing shouts and seeing people on stage running, not toward me, but toward my husband.

I did not look back, I only continued to run. I got to my car and started driving west. Soon I found myself at a bus station. I went to the convenience store by the bus station and withdrew all the cash that their ATM would allow me to.

I bought the necessary supplies to alter my appearance, went into the women's rest room and transformed myself from a stunning blond to a mousy brunette with a really bad haircut.

I bought a ticket west, starting my journey from being a Governor's wife to a homeless person. I disposed of all my credit cards, debit card, and any other form of ID I carried. I wanted to disappear. I began my two week journey, via bus and train, north and south and east and west across the country to confuse anyone attempting to trace me. I used a different name every time I bought a ticket. I stopped at goodwill stores along the way and bought various outfits to help change my appearance.

I finally had to stop and rest. I picked a small town in South Dakota and this cheap motel to recover in. I turned the TV to a news station looking to see if I was sill the lead story. It had been two weeks; my deeds should have left the front page by now. The news reporters should have moved on from the stories of the slut wife of a Governor to something more important by now.

Imagine my surprise when I saw my daughter's face giving a press conference. I turned the sound up and paid attention. It seems she was saying that the Governor, her father, had finally come out of his coma and was expected to recover. His prognosis was very good and he was expected to recover from his stroke with very few losses. She ended her press conference by looking directly into the camera and saying,

"I love you Mom, Please come home. He needs you."

I was crushed. How could she still want me after all I had done to them? I had cheated on her father, she and her brother had different fathers, and I had no idea who the father's were.

I was a slut.

I remembered that day at the news conference, when I was fleeing and everyone on the stage was running the other way, towards my husband. I later learned that the stress of my deeds had so shocked my husband that it burst a weak blood vessel in his brain. My actions had almost killed the most important person in my life, the man I loved with all my heart.

I was in a dry county; there were no bars or liquor stores to help me relieve my pain. I just cried myself to sleep wishing I had some way to end the pain. I slept a very fitful sleep, dreaming of how it all began.

++++++

I was an only child, spoiled rotten by my very rich parents. I had everything I could want, beauty, adoring family and friends.

I ended up having no morals. I learned how to manipulate people to get my way.

I really wasn't a very nice person. But I was smart enough to cover it up with dazzling smiles and a charming personality.

When I was a senior in high school, I decided that it was time to stop being a virgin and start living life. So I picked a boy I felt was worthy of my gift and did the deed on his parents living room floor when they were away for a weekend.