Jack

"You're lookin' fine sweets, don't worry so much."

I rolled my eyes and continued touching up my lipstick. Closing my compact, I turned to face him.

"You want me to ruin this by looking like shit, Momo? I don't think so."

The limousine came to a stop and he opened the door.

"Better watch that mouth of yours, toots. Don't think Mr. Senator will appreciate it."

He stepped out, giving me a moment of peace before the storm. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. What the hell am I doing? That's a question I wasn't a stranger to. In fact, it's the question I had been constantly asking myself since 1940. That was the year I took off with Sinatra. We grew up as family friends, and occasionally in my youth, my father, mother, and I would take the ferry across the Hudson to visit Frank and his parents in Jersey. I loved visiting them, but I especially loved visiting Frank.

He was the coolest kid I had ever met; very handsome, and a rebel by nature. That, plus our seven year age gap, made me want to leave New York with him after high school. I bid my parents and sheltered lifestyle adieu and boarded an airplane with Frank. We moved to Los Angeles and became immersed in the Hollywood lifestyle. He was twenty-five and word started to spread about his talented singing. Frank used his newfound fame and influence to our advantage, getting us into the decent parties, and meeting some of the most famous people in the city.

Being an eighteen year-old bombshell in Hollywood has its perks, of course. I was told I resembled Liz Taylor on multiple occasions and I didn't mind the comparison. Men lined up for a chance to buy me a drink. I loved the attention, though. After all, my only aspiration was to be a wife. It was pathetic, really; I just wanted to be wanted, and in L.A., that's exactly what I was.

Frank and I gradually drifted apart. He was busy performing in clubs and starring in movies, and I was busy doing whatever the hell I wanted. I got a waitressing job which paid the bills and kept me out of too much trouble. During a particularly slow afternoon in the summer of 1943, Frank burst into the diner, scooped me up in his arms, and announced that I was quitting. I didn't even care; I was simply overjoyed to see him. That night, he took me to a private party in his Beverly Hills home. I can still see the enormous smile he had when he introduced me to a mysterious figure. He was about my height, and his wrinkled face made him look much older than he truly was. His suit had an odd pattern on it, and he never took off his fedora.

"Susie, meet Sam Flood. Mr. Flood, this is Sue Hartley."

He took off his sunglasses and gave me a once over before kissing my hand in greeting.

"Susie? We're gonna have a lot of fun together, honey. Are you ready for it?"

Confused, I looked to Frank, who nodded excitedly. I had no idea my life had changed completely in that instant. I spent the entirety of the evening being schooled in a quiet corner of the home. Sam Flood was Salvatore Giancana (also known as Mooney or Momo), a member of the Chicago mafia. He didn't give me any details about the organization, obviously; I was surprised he even gave me his real name. He told me that he was interested in recruiting some "beautiful women who are willing to get their hands dirty". Basically, all I had to do was turn on the charm in order to extract information from certain individuals. I was intrigued; Giancana oozed power and authority which were traits I always found attractive in a man. Plus, rebellion was something I had craved since my childhood. Frank knew me well, setting up that meeting.

I ended up flying to Chicago with Giancana the next week. I immediately adopted the Underworld's lifestyle. My record was squeaky clean up until that point, so the mobsters didn't have to do much to get me started. One point was pounded into me since I arrived: silence, no matter what. Other than that, there weren't any rules, and that fact made me feel inexplicably free. Being a part of the organization was the easiest and most rewarding thing I had ever done. Occasionally, Giancana would take me to a secret location, and I'd sit around a poker table listening to someone tell me who my next target was. All I needed was a name, but they provided me with much more; profession, family life, hobbies, daily schedule, etc. They even took the liberty of creating false identities and agendas for myself, such as Cynthia Campbell, the law student, or Judy Kendall, the struggling writer. I'd adopt different looks based on my characters and I'd strategically plan how to engage the targets. As good of an actor as I was, I almost always had to turn to seduction to get the information I needed. And I almost always ended up in bed with the targets. It never was my intention, but I made a pledge to Giancana to do whatever it took to get the job done. I remember confronting him after a few instances of this happening.

"I didn't realize you were hiring me as a prostitute, Sam. If I'd have known, I'd have backed out."

He exhaled a mouthful of smoke in my face. I waved it away irritably.

"No one's payin' ya to whore around, baby. I guess it just comes naturally to ya."

I slapped him. He returned the gesture. That was the first time I was ever hit by a man. From that moment forward, I grew a second, much tougher, skin. I abandoned emotional attachments and took on an almost alien personality. Innocent and loving Susie Hartley was replaced by a darker woman surrounded by a sense of cool detachment. The things I saw, heard, and did...they molded me into that woman. There wasn't much to complain about; I was respected immensely within the Underworld.

For seventeen years, my life remained relatively the same. There were a lot of sweaty men, secrets kept, and cigars smoked. Giancana's wife died in 1956 and he proposed to me in '57. I turned him down; I’d have rather lived alone for the rest of my life than been married to that scumbag. The mob excited me and equipped me with several useful skills, but as I neared forty years old, the life began to dull. I was sick of fifty-something men with bloodlust and anger management issues. I was ready to meet a MAN, not a delinquent with a penchant for drama. I was ready for a handsome, honest, kind-hearted man to sweep me off my feet. I wanted adoration. Not for my promiscuous reputation, but for me. I told that exact thing to Giancana. He laughed in my face.

"You're delusional, sweetheart. Ya shoulda planned for that twenty years ago."

"I'm done with these amateur jobs, Mo. Get me a real one or I'm out."

"Ya don't get to make those sorts of demands from me, toots. Besides, you’re good at what you do now. Can't ya just be content with that?"

"No. I can't."

"Why do ya have to be so goddamned difficult? What's gonna satisfy ya, huh? The President?"

I didn't respond, and he laughed.

"Yeah, I figured. Look, I had a big one planned for ya, but you ruined the surprise by being a little crybaby, so here ya go." He put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me close, speaking quietly. "Roselli and I are arranging for ya to meet Senator Kennedy in Vegas. We need ya to infiltrate the White House, Susie. It's never been done before. We need someone good. Can ya keep your hormones in check long enough to seduce the democratic presidential candidate?"

My jaw dropped. John Roselli was Giancana's man on the west coast. If he was involved, it was serious. I was never really too interested in politics, but I had heard about Kennedy. Mainly because I saw his file on Giancana's desk and I couldn't resist taking a peak. I figured he was the same as any other target, but having me spy on the next president? This was huge.

"You want me to spy on JFK? What could you possibly need from him?"

He gave me a poisonous glare.

"Ever heard of Cuba, honey? Fidel Castro? Communists? The next president is gonna be one hell of a factor in takin' Castro down." My mind wandered when I started hearing the same story I had heard numerous times before. Giancana had wanted Castro's blood ever since the Cuban revolution the year prior. Castro had shut down every single casino Giancana and his boys owned, driving them out of the country completely, and costing them millions of dollars. No one did that kind of damage to the Outfit without paying the price.

"Mark my words, Kennedy will win. He's got Sinatra rootin' for him, and Sinatra's got me rootin' for him. I need ya to meet him, sweets. Spark his interest. From what I've heard, his libido's crazier than yours. Shouldn't be too hard gettin' him hooked."

I ground my teeth together, fighting the urge to throw an insult back at him.

"That's simple, but how in the hell am I going to get into the White House with him? He's married, and he's not gonna mention anything about Cuba to some chick he meets."

"Baby, ya gotta have some faith in ol' Sam Flood. Me and Rosselli got it figured out. You're gonna be a doctor." His eyes widened as he said the word. "Ain't that excitin'?"

For being mob bosses, the plan seemed incredibly daft. Senator Kennedy kept all of his ailments under wraps, such as his colitis, Addison's disease, and intense back pain. If I were to act as a private physician, I would eventually have to prescribe some sort of treatment or medication. I'd be revealed as a fake, and more likely than not, arrested.

"Let me get this straight, you want me to meet Kennedy in Las Vegas. You want me to convince him that I'm a doctor, and you want me to seduce him, hoping to god he keeps me around long enough to make it into the White House." Hearing the words come out of my mouth made me laugh. "Any ideas for how I can convince an extremely ill man that I'm a practiced physician?"

Giancana checked his watch and made an annoyed noise. He was late for something, I could tell. He made his way to the door.

"You're a pro at this, Susie. Figure it out. We're leavin' tomorrow."

I laughed incredulously. This plan is absolutely crazy. There's no way it will work. No way in hell. Not wanting to piss Giancana off more, I boarded the airplane with him the next day. He provided me with credentials and even took the liberty of creating false records, such as awards and recommendations. We landed in Las Vegas and rendezvoused with Rosselli. I had met him a few times before; he was about as good-looking as Giancana, who was about as good-looking as a pile of manure. He was slightly older than Giancana, but he didn't have nearly as many wrinkles. The deep purple suit he wore reminded me of a blackberry. He gave us a warm welcome, and escorted us to his penthouse. I put on a tight red dress, praying it was a good choice. When I saw Giancana and Rosselli's faces, I knew I picked the right one. After downing a glass of scotch, I followed Giancana to the limo. The longer we drove, the more nervous I got. It was the biggest gig I had ever had.

I scooted out his side of the limousine and was met with the dazzling lights of Cal Nostra. As I gazed up at the enormous casino looming over me, I was surrounded by the crowds lining up at the entrance. The winter of 1960 was a harsh one, and that February night was bitter cold. I wasn't wearing a coat, so I rubbed my hands together, trying to create friction and, consequently, warmth. The freezing air and the pain it caused temporarily distracted me from my worries, but the sound of a familiar voice brought me out of my haze.

"Susie Hartley!"

I beamed at him.

"Frankie! It's been too long."

He somehow managed to make his way through the crowd unrecognized, using his hat and large coat to disguise his well-known appearance. He kissed me on the cheek before embracing me.

"It has, it has. How've ya been? Business is boomin' I've heard. Mooney's gone over ya!"

Giancana threw his arm over my shoulders and moved us towards the glass doors.

"Shut up, Frank. We've got work to do."

Frank followed behind us.

"Jesus, Sam. Calm down. Susie's a genius. She hasn't messed a gig up yet, and she certainly ain't gonna do it tonight."

His words didn't help me at all. Giancana ignored him and entered the bustling casino floor ahead of me. I had never been inside one before and I was fascinated. A wall of sound hit me; laughter, clicking of heels, and loud rings pelted me from every direction. The sights intrigued me; lights of all sorts of colors, odd-looking machines, big tables covered in chips and dice...there were men and women of all ages, some attractive and dressed nicely, some not so much. The air was smoky and it smelled strongly of perfume. I easily could've stayed in the main room for the evening, but Giancana led me towards a set of doors towards the back. It got quieter and less populated the further back we went into the casino. I frantically smoothed my hair and straightened my dress. Frank placed a reassuring hand on my back and whispered in my ear.

"Don't worry, Susie. You're gonna steal his heart before ya even open your mouth."

I looked at him with an expression of panic.

"Frankie, I don't think I can-"

I was cut off by Giancana opening the door. The sound of booming laughs escaped the room. He strode in, shouting his arrival to whoever was in there. Frank gave me a nod and led me in. The room was small and it only contained one large poker table in the center. A few lights hung low from the ceiling above it, and the only other light in the room was from the occasional flicker of a match lighting a cigarette. The quality of the room was noticeably better than the rest of the casino; the carpet was clean, the table polished, and there weren't any drunk bystanders spilling their drinks. The table was littered with half-full glasses and ash-trays, along with the pieces of the poker game being played. Sam had sat down at the table next to Frank's friend Dean Martin. Next to him were two women I didn't recognize, Sammy Davis Jr., another woman, Peter Lawford, two empty seats, and...there he was. There was my target, sitting with his back to me. Frank took my arm and led me closer to the table. Thanks to Frank and his parties, I had already met everyone several times before, besides the women...and the Senator.

"Susie, ya know the gang, right?"

I nodded as the men stood and began hugging me, exchanging short greetings and smiles. I heard them without really listening; my focus was on the man with incredibly broad shoulders standing up and turning to face me. I knew a little about him from his file, but not anything about his appearance. I expected a Congressman to look like any of the other men I'd been with, but I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong. Senator Kennedy was the best looking man I had ever laid eyes on. He stood several inches taller than myself, even with my heels on. His light-brown hair, with a few grey wisps at his temples, was perfectly parted to the side, and his light grey suit was immaculate. His eyes were a soft grey color and his face tan despite it being the middle of winter. He smiled as Frank introduced us.

"Susie, this is Senator Kennedy. Senator Kennedy, this is Susan Hartley." After a pause, "Dr. Susan Hartley, I mean."

The Senator extended a hand in greeting. I placed my hand in his much larger one and he shook it gently. I couldn't take my eyes off his smile, however.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Hartley."

Whoa. Hello Massachusetts. I tilted my head and stared at his mouth. A moment passed in silence before Frank grabbed my wrist to wake me up.

"Sorry, it's just that your teeth...they're so white."

I could feel the tension in the air and could see Giancana's scowl out of the corner of my eye. Everyone seemed to hold their breath besides the Senator, whose smile widened before he began laughing. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that complimented his gruff voice. Everyone else followed suit, whether it was fake or just a delayed reaction. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Senator."

"Please, call me Jack."

He released my hand and pulled out the chair next to him. I slid into it as he sat down next to me. The room quickly resumed its light-hearted chatter and poker-playing. The Senator tossed in his cards and turned to me.

"You can call me Susan, then. Or Sue, or Susie, or sweetheart, or baby, or toots, or honey or whatever else you can come up with. I've been called everything in the book."

He laughed as he took a drag from his cigar. He made sure not to exhale in my direction. What a gentleman.

"You've got spunk, Doctor. That's rare in a woman these days."

"It's hardly rare. It seems that every girl I meet has more attitude than the last."

He grinned slyly.

"I said it's rare in a woman, not in a girl. They're two very different things."

My heart skipped a beat. I thought back to Giancana's file on the Senator; it included a list of women he had had affairs with since his marriage. They were almost all in their twenties; young and naive actresses, interns, and secretaries. Even his wife was only thirty years-old, and knowing that made me terrified to meet him. Despite constantly being told that I didn't look my age, I was still a thirty-eight year-old woman. I was only four years younger than the man. I thought that fact alone would turn him away, and yet there he was, staring at me instead of the three twenty-something women in the room.

A waitress asked for my drink preference and I responded without breaking eye-contact with the Senator.

"A daiquiri would be lovely, thank you."

He maintained eye-contact as well.

"Nice choice. Make that two, please." We held each other's gaze for a few seconds before he broke the silence. "So, a doctor, huh? What uh, what made you want to pursue that?"

Since when has the Boston accent been so sexy? I threw my hand lightly in the air.

"Helping people satisfies me. There's a certain closeness that comes with health care...I enjoy forming relationships with my patients." He grinned at my choice of words. "Well, not that sort of relationship. Not always, at least."

We laughed as our drinks were delivered. The Senator took both glasses off the tray and handed me mine. He took a sip and set it down on the table, but I took a big gulp, trying to calm the nerves that had yet to settle down. He noticed and smiled. I could've stared at that smile all night. It was so warm and inviting, not to mention the brightness of his teeth. I'm sure I could've still seen them even with the lights out.

"Where'd you go to school?"

I crossed my legs, taking note how his eyes flicked down for a half second before coming back to mine.

"Columbia University. I was born and raised in the city. I figured I might as well stay put and finish school."

He took another drag of his cigar.

"That's impressive. When did you graduate?"

The moment of truth.

"'Forty-eight."

I watched him over the rim of my glass as I took another large drink. He smiled, unfazed by the revelation of my age.

"What have you been doing since 'forty-eight, then?"

He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. He stared at me thoughtfully as I spoke, never losing focus, and never seeming bored. I wasn't used to that sort of attention. I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and leaned on the table.

"I got the hell out of there." He laughed and leaned back in his chair. "I spent a few years in L.A., getting my residency out of the way. After that, I moved to Chicago and started my own private practice. I've been doing that for about ten years now. Which makes me thirty-eight years old. I'll save you the discomfort of asking." He opened his mouth to reply, but I stopped him. "But I'm sure you already were able to calculate that, you being a Harvard grad and all."

I bit my tongue, cursing myself for that remark. I let my gaze fall to the floor, fearing I put him off.

"I wasn't going to ask, because frankly, I don't care."

He shifted his weight and crossed his right leg over his left. I glanced up and his grin hadn't faded. A light shade of red did manage to make its way to his cheeks, however. Great, I embarrassed him. He cleared his throat.

"Is thirty-eight old for women? Still seems pretty young to me. I'm forty-two after all."

He must've thought the mention of my age damaged my ego. He was trying to make me feel better. If only he knew the extent of my vanity. I gave him a genuine smile.

"You're really nice for a politician."

He laughed.

"You're really beautiful for a doctor."

It was my turn to blush. I turned my gaze to the floor again.

"I apologize if that was too forward."

Dammit, why is he so sweet? I looked up at him and hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Not at all, Senator Kennedy."

He smiled yet again. Does he ever stop doing that? This pattern continued into the early morning hours. He asked hundreds of questions; why I left New York, what my parents were like, what I liked to do in my free-time, and my favorite, what my favorite animal was. I said dog. He smiled in agreement. I tried to slip in some questions between his rapid fire ones. We talked about his love for sailing, his days in the navy, and some plans for his campaign. We were interrupted by Lawford slamming his cards on the table.

"Alright gents, I think it's time Pat and I retire for the evening."

They stood and put on their coats. Dean shouted in protest.

"You're only leavin' cause you were about to get your ass handed to ya!"

Frank and Sammy joined in, complaining about his departure. Some profanity was thrown around, but they still left in the end. Realizing it was almost 3 a.m., the rest of us started getting ready to leave too. After hugs and kisses, Dean and Sammy left with the two other women, and Giancana left to call up our ride. The Senator pulled his coat from the rack and draped it over my shoulders. The two of us and Frank made our way to the front door and into the freezing night air. The Senator's limo was already waiting in the front, but he stood and waited for my ride. Frank put his arm around my waist, pulling me close to warm us up. It was habitual and I could hardly blame him for it, but I saw the Senator's gaze land on Frank's arm. I tried to distract the Senator by blowing out a huge puff of air, causing a little cloud to form. He grinned and blew his own cloud. I smiled despite my teeth chattering. Our limo pulled around front and Frank opened the door for me. I gave him a sharp look, and he suddenly realized what I meant. He nodded to the Senator.

"Have a nice night, Senator."

"Same to you, Frank."

Frank got in our limo, leaving the two of us alone. I began taking the Senator's coat off, but he stopped me.

"Keep it, it's freezing."

"I can't just keep your coat."

He looked into the distance as if considering something.

"You can give it back to me at lunch tomorrow." It took me a moment to realize what he was asking. I nodded, forgetting to smile. He held the door as I got in the limo containing Frank and an impatient Giancana. "Good night, Dr. Hartley."

"Good night, Senator Kennedy."

He shut the door, and I watched his figure fade as we drove away. I immediately pulled the coat up to my nose and inhaled. 4711 cologne. I knew it was him that smelled so good. Frank leaned over and spoke low in my ear.

"He likes ya."

I had my hopes, but I didn't want to seem overconfident, so I shook my head.

"Well, did he ask ya to meet him at his place tonight?"

I shook my head again. He grinned.

"That means he likes ya."

Giancana just snorted.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next day came faster than expected. I put on a less formal pink dress and made sure to wear a coat. We had lunch at a tasteful cafe down the road from my hotel and we both ordered soup. After an extensive conversation about my lack of political opinions, he considered me for a moment before speaking.

"I don't know if you're aware, but I'm uh, I'm not the healthiest man on the planet. And with the upcoming campaign...I'd lie if I said I wasn't worried about how it's going to affect my body."

'Body'. He should say that word more often.

"I don't blame you. It's quite stressful, I understand."

"You're right about that. Anyway, I uh, I was wondering if you'd be interested in being my personal physician over the course of my campaign. You don't have to quit your private-practice in Chicago and you certainly don't have to follow me around everywhere, but I do want to have someone I can visit periodically in the upcoming months to make sure everything is operating smoothly."

I breathed deeply, taking the information in. It was a sudden offer, and I certainly wasn't expecting it to come so soon. He took it as hesitation.

"I'll pay for you to fly to my house in Hyannis Port, and I'll pay for your services, of course. I just need you to perform a quick physical examination. It wouldn't be that often. You'd be doing me a great service, Dr. Hartley. I'd greatly appreciate it."

He was almost pleading, and I loved it.

"When do I start?"

He laughed in delight. It was contagious, so I laughed too.

"Thank you, thank you. This is great news. You're saving me a lot of time and effort. Thank you."

"Of course. Anything for the President."

He smirked.

"We're not there yet."

I mock rolled my eyes.

"Oh, please. Who in their right mind would vote for Nixon over you?"

He smiled at the ground. Add humble to the list.

"We'll see in November."

I stared at the gentle wrinkles formed around his eyes for a moment. Before I got too lost, I spoke up.

"When was your last examination?"

"A couple weeks ago. January 23rd, if I'm not mistaken."

"Hm, that's my birthday."

He cocked his head to the side.

"Is it now. How'd you celebrate?"

There he goes again, being abnormally inquisitive.

"You're an extremely curious man, Senator."

He grinned coyly.

"That I am."

I downed my drink and wiped my lips with my fingers. His eyes followed their path, then moved to some point behind me. I quirked an eyebrow.

"When are you going to be in Massachusetts next?"

"I'm not sure. Could I uh, give you a call when I know?"

I smiled and gave him my telephone number. Soon he had to leave to catch his flight to West Virginia. We stood and shook hands.

"I'll see you soon, Dr. Hartley."

"See you soon, Mr. Senator."

I kissed him gently on the cheek. I hoped a kiss would help him remember me, and it worked; he called me the next week. He said he was going to be in Hyannis Port in the first week of March, and he wanted me there to begin our sessions. I stood on his front porch on the date he specified, wearing a conservative dress, and carrying a briefcase full of tools and important looking documents that Giancana provided.

We had rehearsed what I was going to do, say, and ask; I felt confident as I knocked on the door. The air was crisp, but it was a sunny day, and the beach was beautiful. I took a step back to see the entirety of the house; it was large, white, and very hospitable-looking. A few moments later, the door was answered by none other than Senator Kennedy. He beamed and welcomed me in. I stepped inside and was met with a surprising sight. As huge as the house was, it was packed full with people. There were men, women, and children running all over the place. A lot of them looked like business associates, but a few were dressed in casual clothes and they didn't look nearly as frantic. There were typewriters, stacks of newspapers, boxes, and other piles of nonsense scattered all over the place. The Senator bent to speak in my ear.

"Welcome to my home."

I looked at him incredulously. No wonder he needs regular physicals. This man must be losing his sanity.

"Let's go upstairs. It's a little bit quieter."

I followed him up the stairs and into a large room. It was clean and only had a few pieces of furniture; it looked like his bedroom. I heard the door close behind me and his exhalation.

"It's so hard to find a quiet moment around here."

"I hope it's not always this crazy here. You'd lose your mind."

He laughed and sat on the edge of the bed.

"The kickoff of my campaign heightens it, but I'm kind of used to it...having a big family and all."

I nodded and watched as he took off his suit jacket, tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. Embarrassed, I moved over to the bench by the window and opened my briefcase. I ran over the script in my head as I pretended to take inventory of my supplies. I saw him pulling his shirt off out of the corner of my eye, revealing his back brace. He stood and allowed me to examine it. It consisted of four large metal bands expanding the length of his back. Fabric wrapped around his torso and was fastened with buckles on his stomach. He began unbuckling it and pulled his undershirt off once the brace was undone. I couldn't help myself; I had to take a glance.

He looked good. Really good. He was slender, with toned muscles and a little bit of chest hair. I wasn't expecting that sort of physique from him; it was a pleasant surprise. He began unbuckling his pants and I began panicking. Is this what people do during physicals? He believes I'm a doctor, right? He let his pants fall to the ground, revealing his blue checkered boxers. I immediately felt like a pervert and returned to my briefcase.

"Sorry if I embarrassed you, I just like my weight to be accurate."

He stepped on his scale and I went to read it. 175. I wrote it down on a piece of paper. He began putting his clothes back on and I felt a twinge of annoyance. 'You can leave them off, Senator. I don't mind.' I shook my head. Yeah, not a pervert at all. I measured his height, took his blood pressure, listened to his heartbeat, and inspected his ears and mouth. I sat down and asked him the questions I had planned. He listed off the medications he was currently taking and his current ailments. He really wasn't kidding when he said he isn't the healthiest man in the world. How can he live with so much pain? His main concern was his constant back pain and increasing sleep depravation due to stress. I prescribed daily hot baths to sooth his mind and body. He didn't seem to mind that it wasn't a clinical recommendation.

I put away all my tools and suddenly realized I forgot to check his vision. He sat at the foot of the bed, so I bent over so we were the same height. I shined a light in his eyes, held up my finger, and told him to watch it. He did, but as I moved it across my face, his gaze locked onto mine. His pupils dilated and a shiver ran up my spine. I turned away, feeling the blood rush to my face. He grabbed my wrist, preventing my escape. I held my breath as he stood.

"I really appreciate what you're doing for me, Dr. Hartley."

I tilted my head at him.

"What ever happened to you calling me Susan?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"You never started calling me Jack."

He released my wrist and I returned to my briefcase, trying in vain to wipe the stupid smile off my face.

"Because it sounds silly! I've only just met-"

There was a knock at the door and I whipped around. A masculine voice sounded throughout the room.

"Jack, are you in there?"

The Senator stared at me expectantly, thinking I was going to finish my sentence. I gestured towards the door.

"Are you gonna get that?"

He smiled and spoke over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Bobby. Come on in."

The door opened and his brother strode in. I didn't know anything about Robert, but I knew he was a Kennedy from the moment I saw his eyes. He looked remarkably similar to his older brother, except that Robert was slightly shorter, with a pointier nose, and hair parted on the opposite side. He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which he began fidgeting with as soon as he saw me.

"Dr. Hartley, this is my brother, Bobby. Bobby, you remember me telling you about Dr. Hartley?"

He told his brother about me? I moved closer to greet him, but his expression didn't change. He just watched me with an emotionless face. I shook his hand, trying to make out why he was having such a reaction to me.

"It's a pleasure, sir."

He nodded in response. I turned to the Senator to see if he thought his brother was acting strangely, but he was staring at me too. What is it with this family?

"What'd you need?"

Bobby finally turned his gaze from me and spoke up.

"Dad wants to talk to you. There's apparently something wrong with your speech for Wisconsin."

His voice wasn't as deep as his brother's, but his accent was just as thick. The Senator huffed in annoyance.

"'Course there is."

Bobby nodded in agreement.

"'Course there is."

I giggled and grabbed my briefcase.

"You'll call me to set up our next appointment?"

"Yes, I will. Let me walk you out."

I waved to Bobby and he returned the gesture, throwing his hand up a bit faster than he intended. We made our way through the hustle and bustle of the Kennedy household and out the front door. We regarded each other for a moment before he began rubbing the back of his neck as if he were nervous. I broke the silence.

"I'll talk to you soon, Mr. Senator."

He smiled.

"Thank you, Doctor Hart..ley. Doctor Hart." He whistled at his cleverness. "Anyone ever call you that?"

"I have to admit, you're the first."

He hummed proudly, then bent to kiss me on the cheek. I turned to leave so he didn't see my girlish reaction. He was still watching as I reached my car.

"Good luck with the campaign!"

He smiled and waved goodbye.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

That image stayed in my head until I visited him towards the end of the month and in the several months after that. The process was the same for every visit; we'd go to his room, I'd perform the necessary tests, we'd talk about how he was progressing, and I'd recommend something that I hoped would work. He stayed on the same medication and he said he was gradually starting to feel better with each session. I figured he was trying to make me feel good. It worked. He had to have known the medical attention he was receiving from me wasn't enough, but he never seemed displeased, and he continued to pay me an outrageously undeserved salary.

The house was just as busy each time I visited, but I knew that was only because he was there. He was becoming more and more of an American icon, and I could see it was wearing him down; thousands of people were watching his every move. When he wasn't traveling all over the country campaigning, he was in Hyannis Port, Georgetown, or his campaign offices in New York. He invited me to accompany him on several occasions, but I turned him down. His wife followed him everywhere, and I had no desire to deal with her. I stayed as far away as possible from Jackie and her daughter because I hated children, and I hated her. I had never met Jackie, but I already knew I didn't want to. I had my reasons.

The Senator and I grew more comfortable with each other as the year progressed, but I kept our sessions short; I knew he was an incredibly busy man. In between our meetings, he would call me often, asking questions about how things were going for me, and telling me how his campaign was running. He was pleased with it, but I could hear the fatigue in his voice as he spoke. We often talked for hours over the phone, sometimes about mundane things, such as the weather that summer, and sometimes about very personal things, such as his unfortunate family tragedies. He explained how he had lost his brother, Joe Jr., in the war, and his sister, Kathleen, in a plane crash. He also told me about his sister, Rosemary, who was born with an intellectual disability, and underwent a lobotomy because of her violent mood swings. I met quite a few of his family members, including his brother Ted, his sister Pat, who I remembered seeing at the casino on the night I met the Senator, his other two sisters, Eunice and Jean, their spouses, and his parents. They were brief introductions, but I savored them. I sought out any information I could about his personal life. Not because I was spying on him, but because I was interested, and genuinely cared about the Senator. I wanted nothing more than the feeling to be reciprocated, but I had no idea if it was. The entire family was smoke and mirrors.

I watched his televised appearances religiously, and the flame I felt in my chest when I was with him was present when I saw him on screen. The cameras didn't do him justice, though; he was skinnier and better-looking in person. They also didn't capture the color and liveliness that was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. His charm and magnetism was still evident, however. He was a magnificent speaker, so much so that I stopped focusing on his manner of speaking and started paying attention to what he was saying. He was extremely intelligent and passionate in his speeches, and I knew the country was joining his side as November approached. September 26th was the first televised presidential debate in history, and I made absolute sure that I caught every second of it. Senator Kennedy blew Nixon out of the water in my opinion, but I was biased. The general public did agree that he won the debate, however, and I noticed an increase in Kennedy stickers, banners, and buttons around Chicago. I never took my button off. It contained a handsome picture of Kennedy's face and the words 'John F. Kennedy For President'. Giancana never stopped poking fun at me for it.

Our last session before the election was the final week in October. He answered the door with a smile, the same as always, but it lacked the warmth and spirit it usually contained. The house was busier than ever, and he shooed off several men in suits with questions so we could make our way upstairs. He closed the door behind us, but he didn't breathe a sigh of relief. I watched him put his hands in his pockets and begin pacing about the room.

"Senator?"

He continued pacing without looking up at me.

"Yes?"

His stress was evident, and I couldn't bear watching it any longer. I grabbed his arm, halting his movement, and took his face in my hands so he would finally look at me. His eyes were droopy and bloodshot; he looked exhausted. He must've seen my pitying expression because he held my wrists and gave a half-hearted smile.

"Just hold on a little bit longer. You're almost there."

He sighed in defeat.

"But what happens then? What happens if I win? How can I handle being President when I can't even handle running for the position?"

I could feel his hands shaking through his grip. I wasn't quite sure what I should do because I had never seen him in such a state; he always appeared confident and relaxed. I knew the pressure was affecting him, but I didn't realize it was breaking him down. I tried my best to put on a motivating front.

"You will win, and you will be able to handle it. You wanna know how I know that? Because there isn't anyone nearly as brave and courageous as you are in the business."

He closed his eyes in doubt, but I persisted.

"I mean, Jesus! You've been in politics for 14 years; you know how things are. You won't be presiding over some foreign nation... you'll be right here, in the country you love. The American people are behind you, Jack. They want you to be their leader." He opened his eyes and met my gaze. "And no one even comes close to having as big a heart as you."

I kissed his cheek, closer to his mouth than I had ever kissed before, and embraced him. He buried his face in my neck and inhaled.

"You finally called me Jack."

His tone had changed already.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On November 8th, I voted JFK for president, and squealed in delight behind the curtain. I spent the rest of the day in my apartment, nervously waiting for the phone to ring. It did at 6 p.m..

"Regardless of how the polls turn out, I want you here tomorrow. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, sir, I can."

He let out a deep breath.

"This is really it, isn't it?"

"You'll make it through. I believe in you, Jack."

His deep chuckle rumbled over the line.

"You know if I win, you aren't even close to being done with me? You're going to be my on-call White House physician for the next four years."

I giggled.

"I'm looking forward to it."

He sighed.

"Better get used to me complaining, then."

"I'm already used to it."

He laughed so loud I had to hold the telephone away from my ear.

"See, this is why I need you around. You're a riot!"

"I'm glad someone thinks so. Did you vote today?"

"Yes, in fact I did. For some poor schmuck named Jack Kennedy."

It was my turn to laugh.

"Really? 'Cause I was thinking that Richard Nixon fella looked promising."

There was a long pause.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Of course I'm pulling your leg, now will you calm down? I, along with the entire state of Illinois, voted for you."

"I'm not so sure..."

"Well, I am. Will you just trust me?"

"Of course I will."

"Good. Now, you better go. I hear Bobby calling for you."

At least I thought it was Bobby. There was an immense amount of noise coming from his side.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes, sir. Try to get some rest."

"I'm not making any promises. Goodnight, Doctor."

"Goodnight, sir."

"Oh, and Susan?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For everything."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I boarded the earliest flight to Massachusetts on November 9th. It was a clear morning in Hyannis, the sky a light blue hue without a single cloud. I pulled up to the big white house on the beach and found that I couldn’t get as close as I normally could. There were several cars in the driveway; some parked, some being filled up with excited family members and men in trench coats. Crowds of people surrounded the residence, making it impossible for me to get inside the house. I tried in vain to see the Senator’s easily-recognizable figure, so I re-started the car and followed the stream of vehicles. I soon discovered that they were headed for the Hyannis Armory, where the Senator would most likely be giving his acceptance speech. I swerved off the main road and sped down a shortcut.

As I neared the entrance, I saw the white Lincoln containing the president-to-be. The men in the car behind him jumped out before their car stopped and ran to guard him as he stepped out of the front seat. He smiled and waved to the hundreds of people lining the streets. I shoved through the crowded sidewalk, getting blinded by confetti and camera flashes. He was getting closer to the entrance, and I was becoming more frantic. I tried shouting his name, but my voice was lost in the thunderous cheers. I kept shouting, though, and he suddenly appeared to hear me. He whipped his head around, trying to find the source of the call. He was almost at the door, when I burst into the aisle guarded by the secret service. A couple of guards grabbed my arms and tried to force me back into the crowd, but I refused to be man-handled.

"Jack!"

He turned and caught sight of me, kicking one of the burlier guards in the crotch. The Senator waved them off before I was grabbed again. His whole body seemed to relax as he approached me. I ran to meet him and threw my arms around his neck. He spun me around, laughing in my ear.

"We did it!"

"No, Jack. You did it."

We stopped spinning as a few abnormally tall guards surrounded us, trying to get the Senator inside. There was a moment when we were almost completely out of sight because of the guards, and I took advantage of the opportunity. I pulled out of the embrace and kissed him right on the mouth. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough to get lost in the Senator's soft lips. I pulled away and caught a glimpse of his utterly stunned face before he was physically moved into the building. The doors shut behind him, and I stood in the same spot for a few moments, trying to collect my thoughts. All I could think about was the fact that I had known the Senator for almost nine months, and I had only just kissed him. I'm off my game. I'm supposed to be working. Why is he messing with my head? He's just like any of the other guys I've been with. Focus, Susan.

Even as I told myself these things, I knew they weren't true. Senator Kennedy was unlike any man I'd ever dealt with. I could do anything behind closed doors with those men and never feel a thing, but with the Senator...he could affect me with a glance. I admired and loathed it simultaneously. He made me feel weak, which I hadn't felt for years, and yet he made me...giddy. He's turning me into a fucking school-girl. I cringed at the thought and returned to my car. Knowing the Senator wasn't going to get a moment's peace for the entire day, I flew back to Chicago. Later that night, I got the phone call I was expecting.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Hart. It's me."

"Hi, Jack."

His side was quiet for a long moment. He cleared his throat.

"That kiss was...it uh, it was something else."

I fought the urge to giggle and blush, and instead remembered who I was and what I was doing.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm afraid I've been wanting to do that for quite some time."

I smacked my face; I hated talking like that. I'd have rather muttered profane things in his ear than flirt any day. He chuckled, regardless.

"I'm afraid I've been wanting you to do that for quite some time."

These goosebumps are from the temperature. These goosebumps are not because of him.

"Now that that's out of the way...congratulations, sir. Did the acceptance speech go smoothly?"

"If by smoothly, you mean me getting choked up and embarrassing myself, then yes."

Please don't be sensitive. That makes this so hard.

"I doubt you embarrassed yourself, sir. People like to see the human side of politicians; they like to see real emotion."

"I suppose you're right. At least I didn't break down and cry in front of the reporters."

I hummed in appreciation.

"So what happens now?"

"Well, I don't get sworn in until the end of January, and in the meantime, I'll just be...preparing to be President. Easier said than done."

I snorted unattractively, hoping he didn't hear it.

"It comes with some perks. I hear you get to live in a big, fancy White House."

He laughed.

"Oh, that's what I'm forgetting. Next week, I have some meetings in Washington. I was wondering if you uh, wanted to go check it out. I imagine you'll be spending a lot of time there the next four years."

I hoped he was right. I had been "spying" on him for almost a year and I hadn't gotten a single piece of intel on Castro. Giancana was being patient, but he wasn't known for being merciful. If I screwed things up with the president-elect, my life was in danger. Let's get this show on the road.

"I'll be there."

I could almost see his wide grin through the line.

"Perfect."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The president-to-be was waiting for me at the airport in the backseat of a sleek black limousine. A man in sunglasses opened the door for me, and I slinked into the elegant vehicle. Jack was dressed to the nines like always, with his signature two-button suit jacket and skinny tie. He leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Long time no see, Hart."

"Hello, Mr. President."

He tipped his head back in mock exasperation.

'We're back to the titles now, are we?"

I laughed lightly.

"Now that you're the most important man in the country, yes. Titles come with power, sir."

"Then I don't want power!"

His voice went up an octave.

"You're not fooling anyone. We all know you're a power-fanatic, Kennedy."

The sound of his laugh filled the car. I looked out the front and back windows and saw twin black vehicles, which were most likely occupied by secret servicemen. There weren't any other cars following us, though.

"Are we meeting everyone else at the White House?"

He motioned between the two of us.

"This is everyone. Jackie's not allowed to fly so late in her pregnancy, and I've been sick and tired of seeing the same faces for the past year. I didn't ask anyone else to come." He turned to me. "That's alright with you, isn't it?"

Couldn't have planned it better myself, actually.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The White House was simply the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The president-elect was in one of the several meetings he had planned for the day, and I took my time touring the enormous mansion. I strolled the halls, unaccompanied (by some miracle), and admired the craftsmanship and history etched in the shiny floors. A wide red carpet hushed my footsteps as I stared at the paintings hanging everywhere. The walls were stark white, and jeweled chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. No one was following me, but there were secret servicemen around every corner. That didn't stop me from gasping as I was tugged into a bedroom, though.

I was pushed into the door as it closed behind me, and a rough hand clasped over my mouth, stopping the scream in my throat. After my sheer panic faded, I opened my eyes to see the friendly ones of Jack Kennedy. I made a confused face, which must've looked absurd because his imitation was hysterical. I snorted as he laughed softly. He moved his hand to rest under my jawbone and pressed his lips against mine. My laughing ceased immediately, but his laughs continued to vibrate against my mouth. They subsided after a few seconds as he thrust his body against mine.

I didn't register what was happening at first. He's coming on to me. That's not supposed to happen. This is backwards. His hands drifted down to grab my limp arms and wrap them around his neck. They then gripped my hips, pulling me even closer. I'm supposed to be seducing him, not the other way around. What the hell? Do something! Muscle memory kicked in as I stood on my tiptoes to get better leverage. He spun us around and slammed me, a bit harder than necessary, into the wall. I ran my leg up his, and he hoisted me up, pulling my thighs around his waist. I heard a 'click' from his back brace and feared the extra weight was hurting him. He made no indication he was in pain, however, but he did run us into the vanity, setting me down so his hands could begin unfastening my dress. I frantically tried unbuttoning his shirt as he made quick work on my dress. Giving up, I ripped it open, causing buttons to fly every which way. Once he was done with the clasps, he assisted me by tugging off his jacket, suspenders, and tie. Next was his brace and undershirt. Before I could reach his pants zipper, he pulled me onto my feet, causing my dress to crumple on the floor. He took a step back and rubbed his chin, as if he were considering a piece of art. Go ahead, Mr. President. I've got nothing to hide. I twirled around to give him a full view, and he smiled. His smile made it seem like it was the most natural thing in the world, making love to me. I gave him a seductive wink and led him to the bed.

His pants came off after I yanked on them, and lastly, our undergarments ended up in a pile on the floor. His sweaty body was almost too heavy on top of me, and his hot breath was almost suffocating. He drug my hands up over my head and pinned them there, preventing movement from me. I didn't mind; I was a slight masochist. His hands raked over my body, causing me to squirm. I arched my back, making sure our bodies never parted. His tongue roved over my neck, and I hissed as he bit down on a sensitive spot. He kissed a path down my chest and onto my stomach, making sure to bite down on specific spots, simply because he knew it drove me crazy. Wow, Mr. President. You certainly know what you're doing. He kissed me again, sucking on my bottom lip as I squeezed my legs around him. Mmm yes... I grabbed a fist-full of his hair, messing up his perfect part. I tugged so I could see his face. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was becoming more and more labored.

I suddenly remembered my past experiences with married men. I'd been with plenty before, and I knew the routine like the back of my hand. They rarely undressed completely, they almost never kissed on the mouth, and they never, and I mean never, considered pleasuring me a priority. They wanted it to be an impersonal affair, no matter how selfish they really were. What was Kennedy doing, then? He was making love to me like a lover, not like I was his plaything.

I forcefully kissed him and dug my nails into his back. His deep, gravelly moan lit a fire in the pit of my stomach. He felt so good, and knowing that we were in someone else's bedroom, in someone else's house, made it even more exciting. I ran my hands over his chest hair and flexed muscles, appreciating their definition. After trailing my kisses along his jawline, I bit down on his earlobe, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. I knew he was unraveling because he was picking up speed as he began mumbling unintelligible nonsense in my ear. His breath was thick and moist, and it made me sigh in response.

"Jack..." I purred.

My voice sent him into a frenzy. He grunted and crumpled on top of me, refusing to move. I couldn't help but giggle. What a dramatic finish. He laughed breathlessly along with me, propping himself up on his elbow. He watched my smile grow to a ridiculous size before gently kissing me. He glanced out the window.

"Well...looks like a nice day. No snow in the forecast, is there?"

I stared at him in disbelief before convulsing with laughter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

My first sexual encounter with the President of the United States certainly wasn't what I expected, mainly because I walked out of that bedroom satisfied. I didn't remember ever feeling that before Jack. In fact, he made me feel several new things in our time together, including lust. The man knew how to please a woman, inside and outside of the bedroom. I found that I couldn't stop thinking about him after that day in the White House. It seemed that he couldn't forget me either; our meetings became much more frequent, and they rarely involved medical attention.

November and December passed by quickly, with Jack becoming increasingly busy due to his impending career change, and new kid. On January 20th, 1961, John Fitzgerald Kennedy became the 35th president of the United States of America. I stood on the east lawn of the capital, wrapped in several layers because of the bitter cold, and watched as he gave his inaugural address.

"And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country." The amount of applause was deafening. "My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man." Damn. Nice line, Kennedy. "Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God's work must truly be our own." The crowd erupted with hollers, whistles, and claps. The President shook hands with Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon before being swarmed with handshakes and pats on his back. After the ceremony that Friday afternoon, he ordered that everyone be at their desks at the White House the next morning at 9 a.m..

Since I was his "personal physician" over the course of his campaign, he expected me to take on the role of the White House Doctor, who had a staff consisting of five military physicians, five nurses, five physician assistants, three medics, three administrators and one IT Manager. Ha. I'd burn this place down with that much responsibility. I respectfully declined the offer. I did, however, have to go through several intensive interviews about my medical career; they wanted to be sure I wasn't some madwoman who had been gradually poisoning the President. A few F.B.I. agents were assigned to confirm my background checks, which could've ended my time with Jack right then and there. I trusted Giancana though, and I passed the tests. He was placed under the care of an allergist, an endocrinologist, a gastroenterologist, an orthopedist, and a urologist, along with the highly qualified Dr. Janet Travell, Admiral George Burkley, and Max Jacobson. He continued his routine of consuming eight pills a day for his maladies, which included Addison's disease, colitis, anemia, hypothyroidism, anxiety, osteoporosis, and a tendency to contract infections. I felt awful for the man, but he was remarkably strong-willed. He denied his ailments to everyone who asked; he was like FDR all over again.

He began his presidency with a vigor and enthusiasm shared by the entire White House staff. His schedule was filled immediately with meetings, speeches, and appearances. His duty as Commander-in-Chief completely changed his life, but it didn't change our relationship. I didn't provide any medical attention to him anymore, but I didn't just provide entertainment either. Being a mistress comes with several downfalls, none of which I experienced. I wasn't forbidden to be in the White House, and he never disrespected me.We had to be secretive, but we weren't afraid to be seen together, given our history. His family regarded me as a friend; as someone he had grown close with over the course of his campaign. The media was a different story; Jack knew just how famous our relationship was becoming because he read at least four newspapers every morning. I thought he would've ignored gossip and tabloids as much as possible, like I did, but he surprised me yet again.

I did, however, get to experience all the perks of being a mistress. Outrageous gifts, no kids, and travel being the main benefits. Oh, and the sex. The sex was really nice. President Kennedy was an adventurous man in that field. We'd often move our engagements to several spots throughout the mansion, including the pool, storage closets, his shower, and my personal favorite, the Oval Office. Jack was a surprisingly kinky man, taking great pleasure in my role-playing skills. He spent an immense amount of time on the telephone, and he especially liked when I'd distract him under his desk. His best friend of several years, David Powers, walked in during one of those times.

"Jack, are you ever gonna get rid of that hideous rocking chair?"

The President had his eyes closed in concentration.

"No, no, no, no, no...it's...it's for my back, Dave..."

His voice was abnormally high, and I fought hard not to snicker. I could hear the suspicion in David's voice.

"Are you alright?"

The President's knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of his desk. He rushed his words out.

"I'm-fine-so-could-you-leave-me-alone-because-I-have-more-important-things-to-do-than worry-about-your-preference-on-my-furniture."

Powers left the room right on time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As much fun as I was having, I still was working. My income from Giancana was almost unnecessary, considering that I was at the White House more often than not. I kept my eyes and ears open for anything involving Fidel Castro, just as I was instructed to do. I knew I was being carefully watched (by everyone basically) because of my closeness to the President, so I didn't push my luck by searching through restricted files or listening in on restricted meetings. His advisors were especially tight-lipped around me, not trusting Kennedy's choice of friends.

With April came a plethora of information, without me searching too hard for it. One evening at dinner, Kennedy complained about former-president Eisenhower authorizing the C.I.A. to hire alleged "mobsters" to assassinate Castro. Despite using Giancana and his goons to get more votes during his campaign, Jack didn't like the mafia, and his brother liked them even less. Bobby couldn't stand the fact that the government was hiring them to take out a foreign leader. Apparently, they failed in their attempt, which I didn't understand. Roselli and Giancana could order a hit on anyone and succeed, for the right price.

I started paying closer attention to the things I heard in the Oval Office, and I'd fly back to Chicago to deliver the messages; White House lines were recorded. I traveled back and forth a few times that April, until President Kennedy ordered the Bay of Pigs invasion. It was a tense time for everyone involved, and Giancana was furious at the failure. Castro's socialistic power strengthened, and Giancana almost made me give up my target. He agreed to let me stay as long as I kept an eye out for any new developments concerning Cuba. Also because he knew I wouldn't come back even if he asked me to.

The rest of the year progressed in a similar fashion; Jack would travel quite often, especially during the summer months, visiting Jackie and the kids in Massachusetts, or their new home in Glen Ora, Virginia. They spent large amounts of time living outside of the White House, for reasons which I never understood, but never complained about. The times his family was away were my favorites. I didn't have to stay in my apartment in Washington; I got to sleep in the White House, in the President's bed, where I gave him back-massages until he fell asleep in bliss. I did that as often as I could; I didn't like how many injections he took for his back pain. I recommended keeping the pool temperature at a warm ninety degrees to sooth his muscles, as well.

Even though Jack's job was highly stressful, we tried to keep things as light-hearted as possible. One weekend, he took me to Hyannis Port for a little vacation. The two of us, plus a few secret servicemen, went out on his sailboat to experience the beautiful Lewis Bay, and take a dip in the water. Later, we walked on the sand dunes until sunset, when he sat us down on the beach. He took off his tortoise shell sunglasses and considered me for a moment.

"I love you, Hart. You know that, don't you?"

I was taken aback by the statement. A few stutters emerged from my lips before he cut in. "You don't feel the same." It wasn't a question.

"No, that's not it at all. It's just that...no man has ever said that to me before."

That must sound pathetic. He took my hand in his and kissed it gingerly.

"Well, you want to know why I love you? It's because you're unlike any woman I've ever met. You're a whole new kind of mess for me to deal with."

I threw my head back and laughed my signature, obnoxious laugh. So I'm in love now. Shit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

1961 was the happiest year of my life, and before I knew it, it was May, 1962. Jack had an enormous party planned for him the week before his 45th birthday. It doubled as a Democratic Party fundraising gala at Madison Square Garden, and 15,000 people were attending. It was a bit more extensive than my 40th birthday a few months before. That consisted of Jack and I slow-dancing to Bing Crosby records in my apartment. He'd hum the tune in my ear, as I laid my head on his shoulder. It was a perfectly quiet evening, but his party was on the other end of the spectrum. His family wasn’t part of the 15,000, so it was me holding his arm instead of Jackie as we descended into the arena. The President was in high spirits as we were escorted to our seats in front of the stage. Balloons and banners flooded the ceiling, and cheers erupted as we made our way through the crowd. He gave a few waves before sitting down next to me and muttering.

“With this big of a party, you ought to think I’m turning 50.”

The evening was hosted by Peter Lawford, with performances by Jack Benny, Peggy Lee, Ella Fitzgerald, Jimmy Durante, and Maria Callas. Jack was no stranger to getting all the attention, and I knew he was enjoying the evening. He rarely drank, but he had some champagne with me as the night progressed. He downed an entire glass as Lawford began introducing one of the acts.

“Mr. President…the late Marilyn Monroe.”

The crowd ooed and ahhed as she sauntered on stage, wearing a jeweled dress that clung to her curves. The men seated around the President started nudging and teasing him, saying things that I didn’t understand.

“Jack! How’s she lookin’ tonight?”

“Ready to get that gown off?”

“You’re gonna have a fun night, Jack!”

Well, maybe I did understand, but I hoped to god I was wrong. He waved his hands, trying to get them to shut up, while nervously glancing towards me. My heart sank as I furrowed my brows at him.

“Marilyn Monroe? Do you know her, Jack?”

He shook his head dismissively, but the men suggested differently. They continued to poke fun at him as David Powers leaned over to speak to me.

“Marilyn and Jack are quite friendly, if you catch my meaning.”

I glared at him, anger flaring up in my gut. He saw my expression and looked at me in pity.

“Oh honey…you thought you were the only one?”

Jack had to raise his voice so I could hear him.

“He’s lying, Hart. Don’t listen to him.”

Powers usually did take pleasure in messing with my mind. I plastered on a smile and turned to watch Marilyn as she began singing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President.’ Powers whispered in my ear, abandoning his light-hearted tone.

“You know I’m right, Susan.”

I tried blocking him out as I watched her run her hands up her body, singing in a slightly breathless manner. My smile morphed into an expression of horror as the crowd joined in singing. He wouldn’t…How could he do this to me? Tears welled up in my eyes and I suddenly felt very ill. I stood up and ran for the exit, nearly colliding with the enormous birthday cake they were carrying in. The men began laughing at me as I rushed for the bathroom and threw up the small amount of food that was in my system. I could hear the echoes of the President's voice in the enclosed space.

"I can now retire from politics, after having had 'Happy Birthday' sung to me in such a sweet, wholesome manner."

The crowd went wild. That son of a bitch. I heaved again, but my stomach was already empty. Tears streamed down my face, ruining my makeup and staining my dress. I laid my head against the cool wall and tried to calm down. The feeling I experienced was alien; I was humiliated, and so incredibly hurt. No one had ever made me feel so worthless, much less a man being the cause. It was yet another brutal example of how attached I was to John Kennedy. I could easily tell he was no stranger to extramarital affairs; I was somewhat of an expert on the casanova-type. Even though I had no proof, I knew he slept with multiple different women during his campaign. I could sense it, but I never had that feeling in the time we were having our affair. Powers was right; I did convince myself that I was the only one. How could I be so stupid? I didn't even care that I wasn't supposed to care; my 'agenda' didn't matter anymore. I was in love with Jack, so much so that I stopped living in reality.

I wiped my eyes and made my way out of the bathroom. Powers was standing near the entrance waiting for me. One look said he understood my position. He drove me home, no questions asked. Jack called, as expected, and I told him the truth: that I was sick. After careful consideration (actually, more like a lack of consideration), I decided to forget the evening and its turn of events. I tried something new: mercy.

My relationship with the President continued on for a few months without incident before the inevitable happened; I caught him in bed with a White House intern. I'd met her before; she seemed like a sweet and innocent 19 year-old girl, but from the sounds I heard coming from his room, I was proved wrong. I suppressed the urge to break the door down and strangle the both of them, and turned to the two weapons I constantly wielded: seduction and sabotage. I stormed towards the West-Wing, ignoring the growing pain in my chest, and silencing the protestations in my head. I found myself outside the door to the Attorney General's office and entered without knocking. The General was sitting at his desk, head bent in concentration as he wrote on some documents. The clicking of my heels alerted him to my presence.

"Dr. Hartley, I didn't see you. Is everything alright?"

I didn't respond, and instead moved my hands to the zipper on the back of my dress. I pulled it down and let the garment slide off my shoulders. A stabbing pain swelled in my chest, but I ignored it, holding my head high. His face reddened severely as he took in the sight of me. Neither of us spoke for several seconds, so I moved around his desk to get closer to him. I forced him into a standing position by pulling on his tie.

"Touch me," I commanded.

He swallowed nervously, and I could almost see the battle being waged in his head. He was saved from making a decision by a knock at the door. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. Mrs. Lincoln, the President's secretary, spoke through the door.

"Bobby, can I come in?"

He looked panicked as he ran to pick up my dress, handing it to me.

"Quick!" He whispered. "Hurry, hurry!"

He answered the door when I was properly dressed and sitting modestly in the visitor's chair. Mrs. Lincoln and Bobby conversed only briefly before she left us alone again. He watched me for a long while with his unnerving eyes that were so like his brother's; I never knew what they were thinking. Finally, he spoke.

"Meet me in the room down the hall at four."

Oh, Bobby. I didn't know you had it in you.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I stared absentmindedly out the window in the specified room. A few minutes after 4 p.m., I heard the door open and close behind me. Footsteps grew closer, and warm breath was at my neck. His fingers found my zipper and slowly let it unravel. Once the fabric was at my feet, he stepped back and began undressing himself. I didn't help him. I didn't even turn around. I couldn't. When he was finished, he swept my hair off my shoulder and kissed my neck. His hands slid down my arms; I closed my eyes and reveled in his slow, deliberate movements.

I finally turned so I could kiss his mouth. His lips weren't as smooth as his brother's, but his hands were much softer. They glided to my back, tracing shapes on my skin with his fingernails, causing me to shiver. I laid my hands on his slightly more slender midsection, and gently pushed him towards the bed. I crawled over to him as he fell onto his back, and let my weight settle on top of him. He became preoccupied in his task of kissing every inch of my body: my hands, arms, cheeks, chest, stomach, back, legs...he was a slow and sensual lover, making the experience more intimate than I had expected. His brother rarely liked to move slowly; he usually progressed- Stop it. Stop comparing.

The distance between us was too great as I straddled him, so I glued my body to his, wrapping my legs and arms around him tightly. He rolled over so he was atop me, and laced his fingers in mine. He kissed my cheek and never removed his lips from that spot as he caused friction between our bodies. Neither one of us spoke; the only sound in the room was from our heavy breathing. The heat built up until I hugged him close to me, gasping in his ear. His breath hitched and came out in short, sporadic huffs until his muscles relaxed and he took a deep breath. He nuzzled his head into my neck, and I ran my fingers through his hair absentmindedly. My mind was in a haze, so I focused on the rhythm of his heartbeat on my chest. His hair caught my attention though; it wasn't cooperating. I always brushed in the same direction because it was muscle memory. I glanced down and saw that I was pushing it the wrong way. I had almost forgotten; Bobby's hair was parted on the opposite side.

I slipped out of the bed and went into the bathroom. I didn't feel sick, and I didn't feel like crying. In fact, I didn't feel anything; just emptiness. I stared at myself in the mirror, not recognizing who I saw. I was exhausted from keeping a closer than normal watch on the President since his birthday, but I hadn't expected the physical results to show up so quickly. I had lost a fair amount of weight, making my spine and ribs grotesquely visible. Several bruises were scattered across my paler-than-normal skin; not from Bobby, but from the previous night with Jack. A few grey hairs had sprouted in my disheveled hair. My eyes were bloodshot, with wrinkles branching out on the corners. Disgusted, I returned to Bobby, who was already getting dressed. I picked up his jacket and helped him put it on. We exchanged a glance, and he kissed my forehead before leaving the room. The gesture was sweet...and it tore me apart.

I fell to my knees, sobbing loudly. My heart hurt so damn bad, and it was my fault. I sobbed for Jack and how impossibly perfect I believed him to be. I sobbed for myself and my stupidity. I sobbed for Jackie and how strong she had to have been to have stayed with him through years of being neglected. I sobbed for his two children, John Jr. and Caroline. I sobbed for his parents and family, who were so accustomed to unfaithful relationships. Most of all, I sobbed for Bobby, and how I tainted his marriage. Just as I could tell that Jack was experienced with women, I could also tell that Bobby wasn't. His wife and seven children adored him, and I ruined it. I thought back to all the married men I had been with, and how I didn't care about any of them; not a single one...but Jack and Bobby? There's just something about the Kennedys.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I hoped I could escape the White House without running into the one person I was avoiding, but with my luck, I ran right into him.

"We still on for dinner tonight?"

I rarely agreed to family dinner parties, considering the fact that I was his mistress, not his wife. We already were seen together too much; we didn't need to fuel the ever-growing gossip fire. It was a special occasion, however, seeing as his brother Ted was in town on business. Please, no. I can't handle another Kennedy brother. I glowered at him, trying to communicate my knowledge of his actions. At first, he looked utterly confused, but a sense of understanding overcame him. He became extremely uncomfortable as he adjusted his tie, not meeting my eyes.

"Hart, I-I..."

His voice was softer than I had ever heard it before, but I wasn't interested in hearing an excuse.

"Excuse me, Mr. President."

He let me walk away, making me feel even worse. Stop me, dammit. Sweep me off my feet and ask me to marry you. He never did. I stayed holed up in my apartment for an entire week before he finally called. I knew it was Jack because he was the only person who had my telephone number in Washington. It didn't matter though, because I didn't answer. He eventually stopped calling, and I started to believe he had moved on, but then the persistent bastard showed up at my door. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity before he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Hart."

I stopped fidgeting with the loose thread on my skirt and scowled at him.

"You cheated and lied to me about it." He didn't move his gaze from the floor. "'Sorry' doesn't quite repair the damage done, Jack." I tried my hardest to keep it together, but I already heard my voice crack. "I don't know what's more pathetic: not knowing you're sleeping with other women, or believing you stopped because of me." He closed his eyes as he took in my spiteful words. "An intern, Jack? Marilyn Monroe? I can't even imagine what other types of girls you've been sneaking around with. And that's not even the worst part." Tears threatened to spill over. "The worst part is knowing Jackie hates me just as much as I hate those women." I could see it in her eyes each time we spoke, that she knew what was going on between Jack and I. She was still extremely civil, but she had to have loathed everything about me. He stopped staring at his clasped hands, and buried his face in them. A sob escaped his lips and my heart contracted; I couldn't handle seeing him in pain.

"What have I done?" He almost sounded hysterical. "I'm losing the woman I love because of a sick addiction."

Addiction? I knew he did it a lot, but I didn't think he was addicted to sex. If this is some made-up excuse...

"What are you talking about?"

He looked up at me with red eyes and a tear-stained face.

"I'm sexually...compulsive, Susan. I have been since boarding school." His tone lacked inflection. He sniffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I used to think it was because of the testosterone pills I was taking, but the urge didn't go away once you made me go off the medication. I get terrible migraines if I go only a few days without...it.” He sighed and looked as if the world was resting on his shoulders. “It's a difficult situation, but it's something I've accepted about myself, and learned to uh...and learned to live with."

My immediate thought was, how could you accept something so awful about yourself? Then I realized that I've accepted worse things about myself, like the fact that I continued to live a lie, never revealing to him who I truly was, or what my motivations were.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that?"

He huffed in exasperation.

"You think I'm proud of it? You think I want people to know about it? I'm ashamed. I'm disgusted by it. You were the last person I wanted to know."

It made sense, really. I had been experiencing his sex-drive for almost two years and I could vouch for his over-active libido. However, I didn't expect him to feel so ashamed. Men like him didn't show remorse for their philandering; sex was like a sport to them, and women were a commodity any rich man had.

"So, when you feel the urge, you just screw the first girl you can find?"

For the first time, he didn't smile at my attempt at humor.

"Not exactly. Sometimes...I just don't think with my head."

This revelation made me feel slightly better, in a selfish way. He wasn't in love with other women, he was using them. But does that mean...

"So, you use them to satisfy your urge. Is that what you're doing with me?"

He answered before I finished the question.

"No, no. Absolutely not. Don't you remember that thing I told you when we went sailing last summer?"

He told me he loved me. That moment was ingrained in my memory.

"If you meant what you said, then answer one question. How many women has there been since the election?"

His face contorted, and wound up in his hands again.

"I-I...I don't...remember."

Ouch. It was a punch in the gut. I swallowed hard, refusing to let any tears fall. How foolish I was to not even notice. I could hardly believe it, but he was acting more like me than I was. I never cheated on him. Don't forget about Bobby. Except for Bobby. I hated myself for that. Jack could never find out. I swept my hand across his back, trying to console the broken man in front of me.

"You should've said something to me. I could've helped."

His sobs subsided and he let me pull his hands away so I could wipe away his tears.

"I was scared. I thought you'd leave me. Have I ever told you that Jackie wanted to divorce me? My dear father had to convince her to stay with me because ‘divorce doesn't look good for politicians’. She stayed with me for my image. Pretty sad, huh?"

Just another reason why I hated the 'First Lady'. She stood behind him in her perfect Chanel suits with a fake smile on her smug face. She got to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted, but worst of all, she was married to Jack. Whether or not he felt that way, she owned him, and she took it for granted. I already cherished him with my every breath, but if I were married to him...I could make him the happiest man on the planet.

"Well, cheating doesn't exactly make me want to stick around, either." I regretted that statement when I saw his response. I jumped back in before he started crying again. "But...I think I will anyway." I kissed his temple and stood to make him some tea. When I returned with a steaming cup, he had changed back into his usual, composed and presidential self.

"I'm an incredibly lucky man, you know." I smiled, but hoped he wouldn't persist. "I really mean it. You're perfect, Susan."

Stop. Please. I hid my quivering lip by taking a big drink. He has no idea.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The rest of 1962 wasn't pleasant for me, despite the fact that Jack promised he would stop screwing other girls. That only meant that he screwed me more often, whether I wanted to or not. Having sex with the President wasn't something to complain about, but it wasn't nearly as fun when I couldn't even concentrate on the act itself. Sometimes I wouldn't even try to engage. One time I fell asleep, but that's only because I was drunk. Whiskey had become my best friend for those harsh winter months, and Jack hated that I turned to that. I smoked more cigarettes than I ever had before, too. He'd chastise me for it, but he'd always laugh about it, saying that 'a doctor should know better'. I should know better than to do several things. Like Bobby.

I couldn't quite remember how the hell I thought sleeping with Bobby would make me feel any less hurt, yet I continued doing it. We didn't fool around as much as I did with Jack, but any amount was enough to keep my mind preoccupied. All I could think about was my overwhelming sense of guilt. I already was taking these men away from their families, but I was also endangering their relationship. Jack and Bobby were closer than anyone else I knew; they shared everything. Bobby obviously had suspicions about my relationship with his brother; I could see it in his eyes the first time we met. Each time I saw them together, I feared one of my many secrets was being told, but that wasn't the case; the brothers remained silent about our affairs. I kept telling myself that I wasn't depressed, but my actions said differently. Jack said differently, too. He offered to see a psychiatrist with me, but I refused. My issues weren't ones that could be talked out. They weren't ones that he could know about, either.

One freezing December night, I sat out in the White House garden, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey to my chest, and smoking a cigarette. I took a drag and inhaled, reveling in the thick cloud rushing through my lungs. The buzz from the alcohol warmed me as I stared at the blanket of snow beneath my feet. I was having nightmares and hadn't woken Jack when I left his room. He eventually was alerted to my absence, and he must've ordered a search party because the guard who found me shouted back towards the mansion.

"I got her, sir!"

I glared at the guard and refused to move. After prying the bottle from my fingers, he scooped me in his arms and carried me inside. I rolled my eyes in irritation; I was a grown woman and could handle my liquor. Jack was waiting at the entrance in his robe and pajamas, with a look of concern on his face. The guard set me down, and Jack immediately threw an enormous coat over my shoulders, embracing me.

"Thank you very much. I'll take it from here."

He led me to the second floor, which was the Presidential Suite, and sat me down in front of the fireplace. He handed me a steaming cup of tea and watched as I drank it.

"You need help."

"I don't need help. I'm not an addict, sir."

He rubbed his forehead in exhaustion.

"Is that why you're doing this? To make a point?"

"Doing what? Having a drink?" I shrugged. "What's the big deal? I couldn't sleep, so I went out for a smoke."

"I might believe you if you hadn't been doing the same thing for months." He sat down on the coffee table in front of me. "Talk to me, please. I want to know what's bothering you."

I felt the familiar stab of guilt in my chest. I was keeping the President of the United States up in the middle of the night to talk about my problems. Nice one, Sue. I crossed my arms and legs, closing myself off from him.

"It's really nothing, Jack. I'm just being overly-sensitive."

"About what?"

"You."

He looked confused, and rightfully so.

"Sensitive about me? Is this still uh, about the cheating?"

A little bit.

"No."

"Is it about my family?"

Getting warmer, honey.

"Yes."

He lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Is this about Bobby?"

My heart constricted. He couldn't know...He looked up at me with sadness in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know about you two. I have known for quite some time."

I closed my eyes as I felt tears welling up. I never cried in front of Jack because I never cried in front of anyone. Guess there's a first time for everything.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I whispered.

Warm tears slid down my cheeks and fell into my hands.

"Because I love you, Susan."

I was suddenly overcome with fury. I glowered at him.

"How is that a reason?" I spat. "How is that a reason to not mention the fact that you know I'm sleeping with Bobby?" I stood up, infuriated. "Doesn't that bother you, Jack? Doesn't that make you mad at me?"

He gazed up at me with a glossy look to his eye.

"How can I be mad at you when I did the same thing?"

I started pacing the room, anger rolling off me.

"And I stopped talking to you for a week after I found out! I slept with your brother to get revenge! Your baby brother, Jack! You should be furious at me! You should hate me!"

He remained calm as I flailed my arms about, searching for answers.

"I could never hate you."

My voice gradually got louder until I was yelling.

"Why the hell not? Why can't you open your eyes and see what's in front of you? I'm not who you think I am, Jack! I'm not as good as you think I am!"

He stood and tried to get near me, but I took a step back. He held out his arms in surrender.

"Susan...you're talking nonsense. Just calm down."

I closed my eyes as a wave of despair washed over me.

"When are you going to realize I'm not good enough for you?"

He was taken aback by this statement, but my words surprised me even more. As I thought about it, it really did make sense. I wasn't just wrapped up in Jack and Bobby's infidelity; it was something even deeper...and stranger. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I deserved these men. I gripped the front of his robe and buried my face in his chest, weeping desperately. He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around my back, and pressed his lips into my hair.

"Stop. You know that's far from the truth." He muttered.

I spoke into his chest, causing my response to sound muffled.

"It is the truth. I just never realized it until now."

He took my face in his hands and forced me to look at him.

"Stop, Susan. Just stop. I love you, and nothing you say is going to change that."

I gazed into his eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, and found none. He deserves so much more than me. Why can't he accept that and move on? I kissed him, holding on as long as I could. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to mine.

"I love you, Mr. President."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

1963 came fast, and with it came a new sense of joy and happiness. With help from Jack, I significantly cut back on drinking and smoking, which helped improve my mood a tremendous amount. In return, I broke things off with Bobby, which was one of the hardest and most heart-breaking things I'd ever done. It happened during a long flight on Air Force One, after losing badly to him in a game of checkers. The majority of the passengers were either sleeping or preoccupied, so I didn't shy away from taking his hand in mine.

"In another life, Bobby...I would've loved to see this through. I think you know why I can't in this life."

He had to have known it was coming. His disappointed nod and half-hearted grin showed that.

"'There are those that look at things the way they are, and ask why...I dream of things that never were-'"

"'-and ask why not.'"

I finished his favorite quote from George Bernard Shaw with a self-deprecating smile. Bobby was a romantic at heart, but that quote made what I was doing even more painful.

"You're a great man, Bobby. I envy Ethel."

A coy smile appeared as he squeezed my hand in his.

"That's kind of you to say, but we both know it's Jackie who you truly envy."

My heart ached, mostly because I couldn't bear putting him in second place, where he'd been his entire life, living in the shadows of his brothers. He knew it was for the best, though. His wife and kids meant the world to him, and I was only keeping him from them. I shook my head and sighed.

"Why did I ever get involved with you boys? You're nothing but trouble." He picked up my sarcastic tone easily and chuckled. "I really mean it. I should just leave; try and stay as far away as possible from the Kennedy-clan."

"Jack wouldn't appreciate that decision. Neither would most of the family, including my mother. I don't think I've ever seen her more friendly. She's going soft because of you!" I laughed because I knew he was telling the truth. Rose Kennedy was not a very affectionate mother. "Everyone likes having you around, Susan. Matter-of-fact, I'd like to see you stick around, myself."

I assented his request with a final kiss.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I mustered up enough courage to tell Giancana that I quit, which he obviously didn't accept. He took my resignation with a grain of salt because he knew 'I'd come crying back to him when things with the Kennedys went to hell.' I told him he could go to hell. He laughed in my face. Jack cut back on our escapades, using physical activity to blow off some steam. Golf and touch-football were his favorites to play on weekends. I started spending more time with Jackie, seeing as I stopped refusing to be brought along on family visits. I realized she wasn't as horrible of a person as I had previously believed; she actually was quite fascinating. I met his children too, who were hilarious to watch when they played around with their father and six dogs. Things were going swimingly, and the year progressed without too much craziness in the White House. Jackie lost her new-born son in August, causing a great amount of grief for the President. I comforted him like he had for me in my time of need, and slowly, he healed. One October morning, he rolled over in the bed, laying his chin on my shoulder.

"What would you say if I told you I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life?"

Oh, Jack.

"I'd say I feel the very same way."

He nodded, pursing his lips.

"It's decided then. We'll be together forever."

I giggled.

"Just like that? Nothing else needs to be discussed or decided on? No one else needs to be notified?"

"Well, of course, but not right now. Right now, I don't want to leave this spot."

He kissed my shoulder and pulled my body so I laid on top of him. I kissed his forehead.

"Whatever you say, Kennedy."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The President began plans for his next presidential campaign as autumn arrived. That meant more traveling, and somehow, more stress. After a term packed full of invasions, Vienna Summits, steel industry issues, Cuban missiles, and civil rights struggles, the man must've been on the brink of a mental breakdown. I visited him in his Oval Office one November afternoon and found that he was on the phone, twirling his eyeglasses around in his fingers.

"What about transferring his ass out of here in about a month? He doesn't have any sense."

I set down the jelly doughnut I brought for him on the corner of his desk and watched as he rolled his eyes at me. Ever since his speech in Germany a few months prior, where he stated, "Ich bin ein Berliner." which, with his Massachusetts pronunciation, translated as, "I am a jelly doughnut", I never stopped teasing him. He was embarrassed by the slip at first, but he eventually was able to laugh at himself.

"For incompetence, not for screwing us. And about that silly fella who had his picture taken next to that bed...have him sent up to Alaska too." He chuckled. "Pierre will be talking to you about that." He hung up the phone and took a big bite of the doughnut. I placed my hands on my hips. Pierre Salinger was Jack's press secretary who had been having issues with the Washington Post getting pictures of the President's elaborate new furnishings.

"Still having problems with the furniture?"

He nodded, but before he could speak, the telephone rang.

"Yes?" After a moment of listening, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No, no. I specifically stated that it needed to be pushed to the weekend of the 16th." He brought the doughnut to his mouth to take another bite. "Why? Because I'll be giving a speech in Tampa on the 18th. Did you forget?" He paused and set down the doughnut in an agitated manner. I moved over to stand behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I kissed his cheek a few times before moving to his neck. He tilted his head, allowing me access. "Yes, and then Texas on the 21st." I loosened his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. I slipped my hand inside, sliding my hand across his chest. "Well, uh...I don't, uh...I don't plan on that being the case." His voice was gruff. "Right...okay." He ended the call and sat me down on his desk. I expected him to ravish me right then and there, but instead, he embraced me. "Come with me to Texas," he whispered.

"I'd love to...but you know I hate tagging along on campaign trips."

I buttoned his shirt and adjusted his tie before meeting his eye.

"I wish you wouldn't. 'Sixty-four will be unbearable if you don't stand by me.

I took a bite of his doughnut and grinned.

"I'll always stand by you, Mr. President."

He held my chin and kissed me, smudging both of our mouths with strawberry jelly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack began his two-day campaign trip to Texas on November 21st, reluctantly leaving me behind. Since I refused to go with him on his nine-state-in-under-a-week trip earlier that season, I decided to surprise him in Dallas. I sat at a table in the Trade Mart Center, where Jack was scheduled to speak at a luncheon. Sipping my water, I looked across the crowd buzzing with excitement. I checked my watch. 12:31 p.m. Should be here anytime. After laughing at a particularly enthusiastic woman with a sign that read, 'Marry me JFK.', Kenneth O'Donnell burst through the door, frantically shouting my name.

"Dr. Hartley! Is there a Susan Hartley in the room?"

Ken O'Donnell was the President's appointments secretary and one of Jack's advisors who I actually enjoyed. He was as old of a friend to Jack as Dave Powers was, and I trusted them both immensely. I stood and waved for him, and he shouted for me to follow him. Sensing something was wrong, I ran out the door after him and got into the limousine that held him, David Powers, and four secret service agents I vaguely recognized. The car sped forward, not stopping for traffic or pedestrians. I turned my worried glance to O'Donnell.

"What's going on? Where's Jack?"

He made a point not to look at me.

"He...he's been shot, Susan." I froze as the weight of the news pressed down on me. "We knew you were here already, so we figured we should pick you up."

His words were like a foreign language to me. Jack can't get shot. He can't even get hurt. Thousands of questions swirled around in my head, but only one made it's way to my mouth.

"Shot? Is he okay?"

No one said anything. My hand flew to my chest, trying to prevent the rush of adrenaline to my heart.

"Kenneth, is he okay?" I asked with more force.

Powers grabbed my hand and turned to me, his expression solemn.

"We don't know, honey. We're gonna go find out."

I held my breath until we pulled up to the front of Parkland Hospital. Sirens blared and crowds formed around the barricade of police. They surrounded the several other cars out front, one of them being Jack's customized black Lincoln. I jumped out of the limo before it stopped and tried in vain to get past the police. I pushed and shoved as hard as I could, but it was O'Donnell's persuasion that got me through. Medics were swarming the scene, getting the governor and his wife out of the front seat. I ran up to the edge of the car and looked down at Jackie, holding the President's head in her lap.

Numbness flooded my system as I saw his unconscious form, with blood staining his shirt and the leather seats. Jackie held some pieces of bloody material, and the rest sprinkled the floor. She looked up at me with a tear-stained face, but didn't say a word. I opened up the door and leaned over the President's limp body, taking his head in my hands. Even without a medical degree, I could see that he was past the point of no return. I stared at his face, which lacked its usual debonair grace, and wished in vain for his eyes to open one more time. I wished in vain to hear his voice one more time, or to see his dazzling white smile one more time. 'I'm sorry, it's just that your teeth...they're so white.' Tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked into the face of the man I loved; the face of a dead man. I leaned down to embrace him, supporting his weight with my arms. I could feel his blood slick against my face and hands. I could hear his lack of breathing and his lack of a heartbeat. I whined into his neck, asking questions to which no one had the answers. Why? Why now? Why him? I sobbed against his cold skin, praying for a miracle...but it never came.

I was pulled off of the President by arms stronger than mine. I screamed and thrashed about in protest, but I couldn't break free. The doctors began moving the President onto a stretcher and taking him into Trauma Room One. I stopped fighting and slumped over, pressing my hands to my ears to block out the incessant ringing of reality. Sound finally dissolved and I could stand up straight. I shoved away all offers of help and began walking. The people surrounding me looked horrified at the sight of me, with my blood-stained face and hands, and erratic breathing. The numbness I felt had spread to my legs and I stumbled, gripping a man's lapel as my vision blurred. The lump in my throat stopped any pleas for help, and my head met the cool pavement.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I awoke on a hospital bed with an enormous headache and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sat up and watched the nurse dab a cool cloth on the bruised side of my forehead. I glanced down and saw that my clothes were changed and my hands were clean. It took me a few moments to register what had happened. He's dead. Jack's gone. I didn't know what to do; in the past few years, whenever I was troubled, I'd talk it through with Jack. I couldn't do that anymore. I never could again. I suddenly remembered the man I had always turned to before Jack. After the nurse exited the room, I left the hospital without speaking to anyone, making sure to avoid Trauma Room One. I boarded the next flight to Chicago, and met with Giancana the next day.

"I always knew you'd come cryin' back to me when things didn't work out."

I stared at my hands, imagining the blood that had been splattered across them hours before.

"We were supposed to be together. He promised. He said we'd be together forever."

I still wasn't speaking coherently. Giancana laughed.

"Dunno if ya know this, honey, but he probably said those exact words to every chick he banged in the White House."

I shook my head violently.

"No. He loved me...I loved him."

Giancana snorted.

"Wow, Susie. Seems like Mr. President really changed ya. Made ya gullible? A little bit more pathetic? I told ya ya shoulda come home after the damn Bay of Pigs disaster. Sounds like it just went downhill from there."

My mind finally clicked into gear. I knew what I needed to do. Vengeance.

"Sam, I need to order a hit on someone," I managed to get out.

He laughed louder this time.

"Lemme guess, ya want me to take out Lee Harvey Oswald, for killin' your baby? Ha! Sorry, toots. That ain't gonna happen."

I wasn't about to persuade him, so I called a man who I could negotiate with. Giancana's man in Florida was the first one to come to mind. After a few minutes of explanation, Trafficante decided he wasn't going to take the hit himself, so instead, he put me in contact with a local night-club owner that he thought might be willing to do the deed. We met on mutual ground, in downtown Miami on November 23rd. I approached him with an iron-solid sense of greed in my gut. Justice will be served. He extended a hand as I neared him. A dark smile ghosted over my lips.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ruby."

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