One Night With The President

The black Lincoln Navigator glided to a stop. It looked like a spaceship that had crash-landed in a junkyard. Eloisa looked out the window. They were parked on the street outside her apartment building in Southeast D.C. The brick walls were covered in faded, peeling graffiti. A group of teenagers loitering near a rusted chain-link fence stopped talking and stared at the massive luxury vehicle. Eloisa unbuckled her seatbelt. She wanted to get out of this car and away from Hilbert as fast as humanly possible. "Thank you," Eloisa said, grabbing her backpack. "I'll just go up and pack. You can leave." Hilbert did not look at her. He pressed the intercom button. "Wait here," he instructed the driver. Then, Hilbert unbuckled his own seatbelt. He reached for the door handle. Eloisa's eyes widened in horror. "What are you doing?" Hilbert pushed the heavy door open and stepped out onto the cracked pavement. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket and looked up at the crumbling facade of the building. A tiny, almost invisible crease formed between his eyebrows. "Since we are playing the roles of husband and wife," Hilbert said, his voice returning to its flat, authoritative baseline, "it is my obligation to meet my in-laws. I need to evaluate your family environment to anticipate any potential public relations liabilities." His excuse was flawless. It was purely professional. But Eloisa felt a hot flash of humiliation burn her cheeks. He wasn't here to meet her parents. He was here to inspect the slums. He wanted to see exactly how far beneath him she lived. "You don't need to do this," Eloisa snapped, stepping out of the car. "They don't know anything yet." "Lead the way," Hilbert commanded, ignoring her protest. Eloisa clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. She turned and walked toward the entrance. Hilbert followed a step behind her. His tall, imposing figure and his five-thousand-dollar suit made him stick out like a sore thumb. They entered the stairwell. The overhead bulb was burnt out, leaving the space bathed in a murky, gray gloom. The air was thick and stagnant. It smelled heavily of damp mildew, stale cigarette smoke, and boiling cabbage. Eloisa grabbed the wooden handrail to pull herself up the stairs. The wood was sticky with years of grime. She felt her face burning. She had never brought a single friend from college to this apartment. She was deeply ashamed of it. And now, the man running for President of the United States was walking up these very stairs. Hilbert didn't say a word. But Eloisa could feel the weight of his gaze. He was scanning the peeling paint on the walls. He was looking at the trash piled in the corner of the landing. He was cataloging every single detail of her poverty. On the second floor, a door cracked open. Mrs. Higgins, an elderly neighbor in a faded bathrobe, peeked out. Her eyes bulged when she saw Hilbert. Eloisa ducked her head and walked faster, her chest tight with embarrassment. They reached the third floor. Eloisa stopped in front of door 3B. A faded, peeling sticker of a Christmas wreath was still stuck to the wood from three years ago. Eloisa took a deep breath. She reached into her pocket for her keys. Her hands were shaking. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to her parents. "Wait." Hilbert's voice was quiet. Eloisa turned around. Hilbert was standing on the landing. He reached into his inner pocket, his fingers brushing against the cool plastic of a small bottle. He paused. He saw the flicker of humiliation in her eyes, the way she braced herself for an insult. For a reason he couldn't articulate, his hand dropped away. He didn't pull the bottle out. But the impulse had been there, a visceral need to cleanse the grime of her world from his skin. He followed her up the stairs, his jaw set, a silent, internal battle raging within him. The humiliation in Eloisa's chest instantly hardened into a sharp, burning fury. The unspoken insult, the one he held back, was almost worse than if he'd just done it. She didn't say a word. She turned her back to him, shoved the key into the lock, and twisted it hard. She pushed the door open to face the storm waiting inside.