Ginger

"Ugh, what a kill-joy," he mumbled.

"You’re going to be late again for the cabinet meeting," she murmured in his ear. "Taylor can’t get along without you, darling."

Victor shrugged and buried his head under the pillow. Teasing him, Ginger tugged away the silk sheet and whispered in her throaty voice, "I’m going to tell the president I kept his chief counsel on an overtime assignment."

Vic remained motionless, so she raised her voice, "He won’t like it. You’ve had your play. Now move," she commanded.

Victor Camarro, a bachelor of forty, had curly black hair and sunken black eyes underneath lush eyebrows, which were accentuated by a clipped mustache that gave him a roguish look. Washington’s matrons worried, not without a touch of envy, about their debutante daughters when he escorted them to galas at the White House. However, their concern was misplaced; Victor’s discriminating choices were designed to mask his passionate affair with Ginger. He was so obsessed with her he had difficulty acting civilly when Washington’s most alluring women competed for his favors. Victor knew he was playing with fire by sleeping with Ginger, but his infatuation consumed him.

Victor continued to ignore her prodding. He had never felt so bushed. Was it Ginger’s insatiable libido, or was it sheer exhaustion from the pressure of the White House? He turned over and wrapped himself firmly around her, drifting off again, disturbed by the discordant images conjured up by her rumored affair with the President and his own obsession.

Annoyed at being ignored, Ginger pinched him where it would hurt the most.

"Ouch! You devil you! I’m going to do that to you," he cried out, rolling away in self-defense.

"You can’t," Ginger laughed. "Out you go, or I’ll do it again. Get a move on. You’re late."

"Forget your shower. There isn’t time," Ginger called to Guy as he scurried toward the bathroom.

As he grabbed his clothing that he had tossed over the chaise-lounge, Ginger’s tone turned serious.

"Don’t bother me for a while Vic. I’ve a lot of thinking to do. It’s time to sort myself out."

"Like what for?" he asked, while he pulled on his pants.

"Like how I got here in the first place, and where I’m going."

Ginger’s sudden change of mood bothered him. He had learned she could be terribly blunt or mysteriously oblique. He wondered if this was Ginger’s way of letting him know their affair was coming to an end.