The Cave Dwellers by Christina McDowell (readict books TXT) 📕

“Mmm, probably not.”

“Probably not?”

“Doug, no one knows anything because there isn’t anything… right?” Cate bats her eyes, looks down to see if she has any split ends. “There is literally no reason at all for this green reporter to go to your wife.”

“She’s green?” Doug says, a moment of relief.

“Yes. She’s practically a college student.”

“So it’s under control?”

“It is under control.” Cate stands and moves close to him.

“And you’re going to talk to Walter.…”

“I will talk to him this afternoon.”

“And he still doesn’t know about… us?”

“No one knows, Doug.”

Doug takes a big breath. “Okay, good, very good.” He pulls her into him as he places his thumb over her lower lip, tracing its chapped crease, her breath warm on his hand.

Before he kisses her, “Wait. Wait,” Doug says. “Sit down. Where you were…”

Cate sits back down on the couch and crosses her legs.

“Now uncross your legs,” Doug says.

Cate keeps her legs crossed for a long ten seconds while looking up at Doug, taunting him, enjoying the power she feels in this moment, and not afraid to use it. Then she uncrosses her legs.

“Yes, like that. Now open them a little more.” Cate opens her legs slowly, “Oh God, like that.” Doug moves closer to her, unbuckles his belt, his broad shoulders a towering presence over her. Cate moves her hand to touch herself.

“No! No. Don’t move, just hold still.” Regaining the only sense of control he feels he has, Doug takes his hard self out, and closes his eyes until his shame spills all over her. Only this time, Cate doesn’t feel it.

Loud crows echo between broken tree limbs and blown-over garbage cans on East-West Highway as Cate steps out of an Uber XL. She approaches the front steps of a quaint Craftsman, rings the bell, and pumps herself up, bouncing on the balls of her suede boots—

A round woman approaches the glass door, opens it. “Cate, what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Janet, I’m sorry to show up like this, but it’s sensitive, and you know how technology can be these days,” Cate says.

“Oh yes, yes, of course, come in.”

“Actually, I’m fine to wait out here. If you don’t mind grabbing Walter for me.”

“Oh. All right. One moment.”

Cate’s heart pumps faster as Walter approaches the door. He throws up his arms as if to accuse her of being dramatic.

“Hi, Walter.”

“What’s all this about?”

“I’m going to make this as brief as possible.”

“All right.” Walter crosses his arms. He wears a UNC sweatshirt, a coffee stain down the front.

“The Washington Post has just launched an investigation into several power players, one of whom is Albert Rasmussen, the others—I can’t remember, and honestly, I don’t really care, but accusations have been made on record: rape, attempted rape, sexual assault, masturbating in front of staff, the gamut. Possibly even sex trafficking, looks like the Saudis aren’t the only ones! All of whom are within our circle’s reach. Doug’s circle. A young female reporter spoke to me several weeks ago and asked about the sexual misconduct happening inside our office. And since I’m the press secretary and human resources doesn’t really exist—and because I am very loyal to Doug—I want what’s best for us. I want to win. But here’s the deal: you gotta go, and you gotta be the one to initiate the going.”

Walter stands there, his facial expression morphing into that of a little boy who just got caught stealing. Stealing her dignity, her integrity, the right to do her job.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He glances behind him to make sure the front door is closed all the way so his wife can’t hear anything, somewhere in the kitchen baking snowman cookies for the upcoming cookie exchange women’s holiday event.

Cate holds her position and tries not to blush. She has spent countless nights watching and observing every single online interview of Hillary Clinton, taking notes on how it looks when you’ve got an inner core made of steel, when every single inflection sounds exactly the same, an unbreakable robot.

“Well, let’s see how all of you will look during our little Me Too movement.”

“You can’t do this, Cate, you have no evidence.”

“I just did, Walter, you can’t unhear it. I mean, the truth is, it’s either you or Doug that’s going down, and it would be such a shame for it to be both, after all of Doug’s hard work, and his daughters’—and his wife! Ooof. But a lose-lose for you, really.… Should we call Anne at the Post? I have her number right here.” She holds up her contact so Walter can see it. “How should I begin the conversation? Should I tell her how you like to graze my nipples at work? Or—” Cate taps at her phone.

“W-w-well, hold on a minute! Did Doug send you here?” he asks, panicking.

“He did, Walter—but he didn’t send me here to fuck you. I did that all on my own.” She smiles.

“When is this article coming out?” he asks, his paranoia escalating. He looks over Cate’s shoulder, anyone parked down the street?

“Mmm, not sure, but you can call Anne if you like and ask—or maybe you can call Albert, or a guy named Tim, or any of those sex-addicted men whose careers are surely over.”

“What do you want, you want money?” he asks.

“No, but that’s so predictable and thoughtful,” Cate says, cocking her head, then settles into the role of negotiator. “I want you to resign effective immediately. Tell Doug you’re done, and that I’m the only person for the job. You’re handing it to me.”

“That’s it, you want my job?”

“That’s right.”

“And you won’t go to the press.”

“Nope.”

“How do I know you won’t go to the press anyway?”

“Doug is hitting a high point—you think I’m going to jeopardize his inevitable run for the presidency because some old washed-up aide grazed my nipples?” She laughs, seeing that Walter’s more offended by being called old and washed-up than by being pegged as a sexual predator.

The front door opens, and