Compromising Positions

What people are saying about Jenny Gardiner's books:

A fun, sassy read! A cross between Erma Bombeck and Candace Bushnell, reading Jenny Gardiner is like sinking your teeth into a chocolate cupcake...you just want more.

— Meg Cabot, NY Times bestselling author of Princess Diaries, Queen of Babble and more, on Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

With a strong yet delightfully vulnerable voice, food critic Abbie Jennings embarks on a soulful journey where her love for banana cream pie and disdain for ill-fitting Spanx clash in hilarious and heartbreaking ways. As her body balloons and her personal life crumbles, Abbie must face the pain and secret fears she's held inside for far too long. I cheered for her the entire way.

— Beth Hoffman, NY Times bestselling author of Saving CeeCee Honeycutt on Slim to None

Jenny Gardiner has done it again — this fun, fast-paced book is a great summer read.

— Sarah Pekkanen, NY Times bestselling author of The Opposite of Me, on Slim to None

"As Sweet as a song and sharp as a beak, Winging It really soars as a memoir about family — children and husbands, feathers and fur — and our capacity to keep loving though life may occasionally bite."

— Wade Rouse, bestselling author of At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream

COMPROMISING POSITIONS

by

Erin Delany

PUBLISHED BY

Jenny Gardiner

Compromising Positions

Copyright 2011 by Jenny Gardiner

––––––––

Edition License Notes

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

****

COMPROMISING POSITIONS

Chapter One

The door slammed with a hollow thunk behind Mercedes Fortunato as she stormed into her pathetic little studio apartment in Adams-Morgan.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit! She shouted to no one in particular, her voice punishing her with its intensity as it echoed off the walls. She pulled a clip from her hair, shaking out her chestnut curls as she lashed out in frustration.

Another job interview, another rejection, no doubt based purely on the fact that she wasn’t born with what she was starting to suspect must be a vital tool for her chosen career path: a penis.

She could see no other reason for not being hired. After all, she’d worked a few years at a prestigious PR firm in DC. She’d once salvaged the tarnished reputation of a faded actor caught in a compromising situation with a male prostitute. She’d represented clowns, fools, foreign dignitaries, even a celebrity dog; surely she was qualified to flack a mere politician.

The phone rang, interrupting Mercedes’ little personal pity party.

What? she growled into the receiver.

Mercedes? What kind of way is that to answer the phone? It was her mother. Well? Did you have the interview?

Yeah, Ma. Nothing.

She listened, disheartened, as her mother tried to placate her.

Oh, honey, something might come of it. You never know.

"Ma? Hello? Didn’t I say nothing? I mean nothing! Nada. Zip. Zilch. Another interview and no job, she moaned, her mocha eyes beginning to tear up. I don’t know what I’m gonna do!"

Sweetie, don’t get yourself so worked up. It will come to you, I know it will. You’re a Fortunato, good luck is always with you, her mother said, trying to sooth her jangled nerves.

Luck, schmuck. I’m telling you, it’s impossible to get a job in a press office up on Capitol Hill, Mercedes insisted. "You either have to be willing to lift your skirt at will, open your mouth real wide and swallow, or agree to an all-out sex change operation in order to land this kind of position."

I did not raise my daughter to talk like a sailor, young lady, and I will not have you sounding like a tramp, her mother reprimanded her.

You might not like it, but if I’m ever going to work with the big boys, then I have to act like one of the big boys. And if that means my language is peppered with a few off-color remarks, then so be it, she said.

Mercedes heard a beep coming through the line just as she was bracing for an unsolicited lecture from her mother.

Sorry, but someone’s ringing in, I have to run. I love you! Mercedes made a smooching sound, hung up and heaved a sigh of relief.

She loved her mother to death, but really, the woman lived in the past. Sometimes you just have to call a spade a spade, and if that involves a few unsavory words, well, then, it’s no biggie.

She pushed the call-waiting button.

Hello? she answered in her sweetest voice, a weak attempt to mulishly defy her foul mood. Mercedes was nothing if not obstinate.

Hi. I’m looking for Mercedes Fortunato, a deep, sexy, late-night FM-radio kind of man’s voice intoned.

Mercedes frowned. That voice could only belong to one person: Mike Garrity, that cocky SOB who barely glanced her way during the entire interview this afternoon. The same man who cursorily dismissed her as not press office material. Whatever that meant. What does this idiot want, she wondered.

Speaking, she replied curtly.

This is Mike Garrity. I’m calling in reference to your interview today, he said. It seems we’ve had a change of heart. I spoke with the Senator after he met you as you were leaving the office this afternoon. And, er, well, the Senator seems to think that you would ‘add a ray of sunshine’ to his otherwise dull and dreary press office, and he wants me to hire you.

"Ray of sunshine?  You have got to be kidding me." She laughed derisively.

"That’s funny, because I thought I interviewed for a job in the press office, which would mean I would be a tough-as-nails conduit to the Senator, the one who reporters would have to suck up to if they ever wanted to get hold of the man. I didn’t think ‘ray of sunshine’ was part of the job description."

Look, I won’t delve into the job description right now, but suffice it to say the Senator gets what the Senator wants. And today must be your lucky day, because what the Senator wants, is you, Mike said with a hint of irony.

You’re a Fortunato, good luck is always with you, her mother’s words rang in her ears.

"So exactly what would be expected of a ray of sunshine on a daily basis?" Mercedes asked.

I tell you what, why don’t we meet tomorrow at noon at The Palm, and I’ll go over the dirty details with you, he said.

Noon, at The Palm? Wow, I didn’t know federal service allowed for such fancy meals, she teased. I thought you government folks were relegated to basement cafeteria food.

"Here's the deal, princess. The Senator wants to meet you for lunch, and when the Senator wants to meet his newly-hired ray of sunshine at The Palm, that’s what he does. I’m coming along to run interference for you during this little luncheon. I thought while we were there, we’d discuss your position in further detail. So, do you want the position or don’t you?" Mike asked, his sexy I-wanna-make-love-to-you-all-night-long voice raising a decibel or two as his temper flared.

"How could I possibly turn down lunch at The Palm, and a position to boot? she asked. Tell me, though, how is a ray of sunshine expected to dress?"

I would suggest if this ray of sunshine doesn’t want to end up pinned beneath a horny Viagra-sated member of the United States Senate on the back seat of his Lincoln Town Car, that she dress sedately, he suggested.

However, if she’s looking to put a notch in her headboard by landing a name-brand catch, well, then, I would urge her to dress to get laid.

You really call it like it is, don’t you, Mr. Garrity? Mercedes asked, straddling the fence between being impressed and insulted.

"You’d better call me Mike. After all, like it or not, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, he said. And about calling it like it is: believe me, when you’ve been around Washington as long as I have, you learn to play the game defensively. I owe it to you to give you fair warning, and from there you will have to decide on your own how you want to handle the situation. You’re a big girl. And if you think you’re ready to play in the major leagues, then you’re going to have to learn how to fend off those who may need to be fended off, if you get my drift. Or not."

Not sure if that's a promise or a threat. In any case, I'm honored to take the job. I’ll see you at The Palm tomorrow at noon, and how I’ll be dressed will be a surprise to you.

Mike groaned, knowing full well that it was going to be one more lunch where the Senator put the squeeze on some gullible young woman as Mike sat silently by like an idiot, sporting a hard-on beneath the tablecloth, because who wouldn’t get turned on with some of these women who show up for the Senator with their tits pushing out of their clingy little tops, their skirts slit up to their hoo-haw, and those chase-me-beat-me hooker heels beckoning provocatively.

Man, he was dreading this meal already.

Chapter Two

Mercedes hung up the phone and did a little dance across her apartment.

I got it, I got it, I got the job, she made up a little song, swiveling her hips and pretending to stir a pot of victory soup.

And then reality sunk in.

Ohmigod. I got the job, but I got it only because I turned on some well-beyond-middle-aged power-wielding horn dog. And now, I have to go in there and pretend I’m desirable just to keep from losing the job, all the while deflecting this guy’s sexual advances basically for the duration of this job, maybe even the rest of all eternity, she groaned. Leave it up to me to get myself into this situation. What the hell am I gonna do?

She knew what she had to do first: she had to call her best friend Olivia Fabrizio, the girl who could always get herself out of a sticky situation and end up smelling like a rose.

Mercedes and Olivia had been best friends since the second grade, when Mrs. Sweeney made the girls sit in a corner with their noses touching after they’d gotten in a fight during recess over who got to play Miss Mary Mack with Julia McKinney, the most popular girl in the second grade.

After that day, the girls had never again battled over anything more than who got to wear whose clothes when they got dressed up for a night out on the town.

Come on, be home, Livvy, Mercedes thought as she dialed her number.

Talk to me, beyatch! Olivia answered on the first ring.

"Oh, my God. I am so glad you answered! I need to consult with The Master on an interesting dilemma I’ve found myself in," Mercedes began as she proceeded to relay the story to her friend.

Whoa, Merc, you’ve really done it this time, Livvy said after hearing all the details. This is great! I am so gonna love watching you squirm your way through this one.

Ha ha, very funny, Mercedes snapped. Liv, really, what am I gonna do?

That’s simple! You just act like yourself, and that alone ought to keep the guy at a safe distance for some time. After all, it works with all the other fellas out there, doesn’t it? And if you shun him and he persists, then isn’t there some kind of law against mauling your female employees?

Very funny. But actually, if he did hit on me, he’d be off the hook, because while Congress has enacted legislation that makes it illegal for other people to sexually harass employees, they conveniently exempted themselves, Mercedes said. So basically, they can diddle the help all they want, without fear of retribution. It must be a veritable smorgasbord for those guys.

Ugh, can you stand it, those old farts using their positions of power to get laid? I can only imagine how bad it must be now that they’ve got that thirty-six hour horny pill available, Olivia giggled. Do you ever notice you never see pictures of these Senators from the waist down? It’s probably because they’re walking around with permanent hard-ons, and it would be unseemly for esteemed elder statesmen to be seen in public like that.

You're not helping matters, you know.

"No worries. I have all the faith in the world in you. You’ll do fine. But you’re gonna need to dress like a nun — and not, I repeat, not, like some fantasy schoolgirl. Keep your thighs glued together whenever in view of this Senator dude, and fly low, low, low, under the radar. While you’re at it, make yourself indispensable at your job, so he’ll never be able to fire you, even if you don’t put out for the guy."

You’re right, Liv. I can handle this. It’s gonna be a breeze. I’ll just be myself, Mercedes said, as she hung up the phone.

Just be yourself, she repeated in her head that night as she drifted off to sleep.

#

Mercedes fell into a deep slumber, but her sleep was punctuated by crazy dreams. In one, she was dressed like Mary Poppins, complete with bumpershoot and pinafore, as the maître d' of The Palm greeted her.

When Mike and the Senator arrived, they took one look at her and turned around and walked out, doubled over in laughter.

In another dream, she was seated in a private booth, the Senator next to her, blocking her escape route. Mike sat across from her, doing a crossword puzzle.

The Senator was lecherously leering at her breasts, dropping maraschino cherries down her cleavage and trying to retrieve them with his tongue. All the while Mike kept saying, over and over again, I told you so, I told you so in that provocative voice of his.

#

Mercedes was jarred awake by the abrupt cock-a-doodle-doo of her rooster alarm clock, a gift from Olivia: the gift that keeps on giving, she always said. She was disappointed not to be able to sleep in any later on her last day before starting her job. That rooster was going to be crowing mighty early starting tomorrow.

She slammed the button off and turned on the radio, glad to hear the reassuring voice of the NPR newscaster.

Today on Capitol Hill, the Senate Banking Committee meets to discuss securities ethics legislation, he said as Mercedes jumped out of bed.

After showering and drying her hair, she navigated her way through her closet — actually, it was a food pantry-cum-closet, so her dresses were beginning to adopt the mingled smell of spices, garlic and rotting onions — searching for just the right outfit to look smart, attractive, and, most importantly, unavailable.

Maybe I should wear the dress closest to the garlic cloves, she thought, like fending off Count Dracula at the castle in Transylvania. I really need to get a better apartment. Maybe now that I’ll have a real live salary I can ditch this crummy shoebox and rent a place that actually has a closet, rather than renting a place that is a closet.

She pulled out a simple charcoal suit, a subdued white silk shirt for beneath it, and a pair of black pumps.

There, that should tell him I mean business, she thought. Business business, not monkey business, she added, for reassurance.

I hope I don’t look like a librarian, though, she thought as she hailed a cab to take her over to Nineteenth Street.

Chapter 3

The Palm was unusually buzzing with activity. Well, not like Mercedes would know it was usual or unusual. She’d never been there before. But she assumed that a place like this should be a little more reserved than it appeared today.

Good afternoon, madam, the maître d' greeted her. Do you have a reservation?

Yes, I’m meeting Senator Pisellino’s party here, she said.

She added the word party so as not to appear like some bimbo showing up for a high-class afternoon delight, as if she were some seedy congressional groupie.

Yes, right this way, madam, he said as he led her to a corner booth in the back of the restaurant.

She arrived at the table to see Mike sitting alone with his back to her, nursing a Scotch on the rocks.

Drinking in the middle of the day? she asked him, cocking her eyebrow as he turned to see her.

Oh, Ms. Fortunato, hello, he stood up and shook her hand, offering her a seat.

Mercedes took a gulp. That voice of his was already having an affect on her libido, despite his evident disdain for her. That, combined with his stunning good looks — tall, with wavy, dark hair that had a habit of falling into his twilight blue eyes, his gorgeous build highlighted by his well-tailored business suit, and crisp blue button-down shirt — made Mercedes take pause.

Please, call me Mercedes. After all, we are going to be spending a lot of time together, right? She tweaked him with his own words.

Yes, far more time than either of us will probably like, remember? He glowered. He was feeling especially grumpy realizing that Mercedes Fortunato was a cool drink of water in the hot desert of his world. Her dark hair cascaded in curls around her face, emphasizing wide brown eyes surrounded by smoky lashes. Her generous figure was barely concealed behind her conservative suit.

Don’t sound so enthusiastic, she said. "I don’t know what it is with you, but clearly you think you’re far superior to me. Or rather, perhaps it’s that you think I’m far inferior to you. Whatever it is, I’ll thank you to check your attitude at the door and cut me some slack."

Look, Ms. Fortunato— Mike started, taken aback by her candor.

My name is Mercedes, she interrupted.

Fine, Mercedes. Whatever. You need to know this: I’m only here because I have to be here. The Senator has deemed you his latest conquest-in-the-making, and for some bizarre reason, I have become the facilitator in this sordid little tête-a-tête, he complained. I don’t want to do it, but basically, if I want a paycheck deposited in my bank account next week, I’m bound to be a part of this thing. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it, nor does it mean I have to take you seriously in your new capacity as my assistant press secretary. You got it?

Oh, I’m reading you loud and clear, Mr. Garrity. Loud and clear, she said. You’re sporting the honorary badge of a classic pigheaded man convinced that every woman who has ever risen to prominence in any capacity around here has done so with her legs spread wide open. Well, you know what? You go right ahead and think that. And you continue to think that, while I keep my legs clamped tightly shut, and I do my work, and I dazzle you with my amazing abilities, and not in the bedroom, either.

Touché, he said, trying really hard not to ponder her bedroom abilities or agility for that matter.

Just then, a din erupted from the front of the restaurant. A cloud of people swept forward, and from its center emerged a short, squirrelly-looking Senator Pisellino, acting regal and senatorial in his expensive Hickey Freeman suit, his abundant thicket of silver hair swept back from his face like a rooster comb.

He quickly pulled out a can of Binaca and spritzed two squirts into his mouth. He was already forty-five minutes late.

Mike stood up, extending the sweep of his arm toward Mercedes. Senator, you remember Mercedes Fortunato. Mercedes, Senator Pisellino.

Miss Fortunato, it’s a pleasure to see you again, the Senator leaned forward, taking her hand in his and kissing it gently, lingering far too long for her comfort level.

Senator, thank you for your vote of confidence, Mercedes said. I promise you I will make you proud, and I’ll serve you as best I can.

Marvelous. I think you'll do just fine, the Senator said with a wink.

Mike rolled his eyes, and Mercedes gave him a knowing glance that hinted at desperation.

Thank God the woman isn’t dressed like a hooker at least, Mike thought. In fact, she looked pretty damned classy, albeit a little librarian-ish, even if she is just going to be one more in an endless stream of hired senatorial fucks.

The Senator slipped into the seat so close to her their legs were touching. Mercedes inched away.

Mikey, she’s a looker, isn’t she? he poked Mike in the ribcage. Did I tell you she was something else, or what?

Yes, sir, you did tell me that, Mike replied grudgingly.

He’d told him that repeatedly yesterday afternoon as Mike objected to being forced into hiring the woman, insisting that her limited public relations experience didn’t necessarily translate into a political PR job.

Mercedes winced and shifted in her seat as the Senator ogled her. She felt like she was the object of some weird physical exam performed by aliens or something.

So, Senator, I’m most excited to join your staff, she began, hoping to change the focus from her apparent sexual appeal. I think you will find that I will be a great asset to the team.

Yeah, sure, The Senator said distractedly, then turned to Mike and began talking.

Mikey, did you get NBC on the phone for me today? he squawked.

Yes, sir, I tried, Mike answered. They said if you have something new and different, they’ll be happy to talk to you, but they think we’re just re-hashing the same story, and they’re not going to bite.

"Well, then, Mikey, make them bite, the Senator said. Do you know what I’m saying? That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks. You make them want to talk to me, right?"

Sometimes Mike felt like he was working for a Mob boss or something. Make them talk to me or you’ll end up in cement boots at the bottom of the Potomac River, Mikey. Although maybe that's a better location than right here, right now, being publicly emasculated by this prick of a Senator, and having to face Ms. Mercedes Fortunato looking way too sexy in her librarian-wear, he thought.

Right, Senator, I’ll get right on it, as soon as I’m back at the office, Mike said with a weary sigh.

The Senator turned his attention back to Mercedes.

So, toots, tell me about yourself, the Senator said.

Toots? Who the hell said ‘toots’ any more? Mercedes began thinking she was in a bad movie from the forties. Toots. Shit.

She smiled, that sweet innocent smile that her brother Gianni knew