Jax

Norms for everyday life existed most adults were able to adhere to. Not shitting yourself in public was one of them.

But irritable bowel syndrome doesn’t always play by normal rules. So, I found myself, once again, desperate to find a bathroom thanks to my current IBS flare up. My stomach rested calmly when I left to walk around the Mall from my Capitol Hill sublet twenty minutes ago. Now trapped in a desert of easy bathroom options, I needed one as desperately as readers need the next book after a cliffhanger.

I wiped sweat off my brow that had no business forming there on a chilly February day and looked around again. On the easternmost side of the Mall sat nothing but congressional office buildings—the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court and, of course, the Capitol itself. Pulling up Google Maps, to see if a secret Starbucks popped up in the past few days, only served to remind me I was about to be up shit creek—literally—without a paddle.

Piles from last week’s snowstorm lay parallel to the sidewalks lining the back half of the Capitol between the Capitol building itself and First Street. The dirty, greyish mounds were doubling as guide rails, pointing me toward the steps leading down to the visitor’s entrance of the country’s legislative seat. With no other choice, I took off at a brisk, but not too brisk, walk.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m about to do this,” I muttered, removing my gloves so I could run my fingers through my long brown hair where it poked out under a blue beanie. I approached one of the Capitol Police officers by the door, doing my best to look casual and like I had any business approaching the visitor’s entrance besides, you know, business.

“Hi there. Is this where the line starts?”

The officer, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than outside in the freezing temperatures minding lines of tourists, jerked his head to the area behind me.

“Line starts back there. Lead up to a holiday weekend, lots of tourists in town.”

I turned around and saw a large crowd waiting to enter the first screening area to start their Capitol tour.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I pivoted back to the man, who seemed desperate to not meet my eyes, as my stomach twinged painfully again. I put on my best I-can-get-you-to-tell-me-anything smile and abandoned the last traces of my dignity. “I just need to duck into the restroom. Any chance I could cut in?”

The man shook his head, dismissing me again, keeping an eye peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Guess the smile fails in effectiveness when it was covering up grimaces and panic.

I nodded and made my way back to the steps, my mind racing for other options.

“Miss?”

I stopped three steps from the bottom and turned.

A different officer stood next to my original not-savior and looked at his colleague. They muttered something to each other and looked back at me.

“Is it an emergency?” Apparently, this new officer overheard our exchange from his post by the door.

“Yes,” I said, aware of how desperate I sounded, but not willing to care.

“Come on then,” my new best friend said. He waved me down toward the entrance and opened the door so I could scoot on through.

“Thank you so much. I hope you get off door duty soon. Or they invest in heaters for you all or . . . or something.”

Chuckling, he waved me on inside, saying, “Good luck,” with the inflection and tone of understanding only someone else who suffered from gastrointestinal distress on a regular basis could manage.

I removed my coat and emptied my pockets so I could walk through the metal detector. Once through security, I made my way to the top level of the Capitol Visitors Center. Not unlike any other time I entered a public space, my eyes searched for the signage showing the way to the bathroom. Even though work brought me to the Capitol routinely, being in the visitors center was a rare occasion. Thoughts of my job added an additional ache to my troubles, unrelated to my current bowel workings.

A glorious wall placard showed a women’s room available both to my left and to my right. As a left-handed gal, I went with the lucky left side and hurried down the hallway, the side-by-side openings to a set of restrooms coming into focus in front of me. I moved faster, only to come to a sudden stop in the middle of the walkway. There were stanchions drawn across both openings.

So, back in the other direction I went, again cursing the lament of the southpaw. While I moved in active pursuit of finding a bathroom, I felt briefly in control of my body again. Each failure, however, pushed me closer to ruin—ruining these pants. I approached the other set of bathrooms and saw there were stanchions blocking the entrance to these facilities, too.

“What the fuck?” I said out loud, my frustration bubbling over. A tour guide passing through followed my gaze to the unavailable toilets. “Sorry, ma’am. Something’s wrong with the water in this part of the building. It’s all shut off. There’s a single occupancy bathroom down by the tour start on its own system that’s still open. You can head down those stairs—”

Before she had time to finish her directions, I took off toward the stairs she indicated, throwing a quick “thank you” over my shoulder. I set off in pursuit of the one working bathroom available to the whole public right now, hoping I’d get lucky. My feet pounded down the stairs, dodging families and visitors speaking in other languages. My toilet-finding senses kicked in as I hit the solid floor again. I hurried to my right, only to find a fifteen-person queue for the single occupancy bathroom I thought would be my savior.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,” I said, stomping my foot a bit. I ignored the scandalized looks from Ma and Pop from rural-flyover USA, feeling near tears. Everything in life felt out of my control, including my own body’s functions. Why should the availability of bathrooms in one of the most popular tourist attractions in the city be any different? I probably should get out of these hallowed halls before I soiled them more than your average lawmaker did daily.

“Everything okay? Did you miss the start of the pre-tour movie? Someone’s standing right inside the door. They’ll let you in,” a voice said next to me.

I looked up to find a tall, brown-haired man wearing a smile that seemed to be very much of the on-the-clock variety and not genuine. I blinked up at him a few times, trying to clear the moisture from my eyes, but not before his smile quickly twisted into a frown. As my vision cleared, I realized he looked familiar. I think he served on the staff of one of the senators from . . . somewhere in New England. Right now, the mental energy powering my Senate staffer Rolodex was engaged in clenching abdominal muscles.

“Really. Are you okay?”

Maybe his familiarity mixed with how he donned that fake smile again pushed me past a breaking point.

“No. I’m really not okay. I don’t have a place to live. I could lose my job any day. It’s fucking freezing outside, and I just need to find a bathroom.”

This last part came out louder than I meant it to, causing those closest in the cavernous visitors center to turn toward us.

“Well, uh,” the man said, glancing around at the attention we were gathering. “I know there’s a line for the one over there. But there are a few upstairs, you just take—”

“Nope. They’re out of order. Which is just my luck. Okay, well, I’ll be seeing you.”

“Wait.” the man put his hand on my shoulder, which caused me to whirl around—out for blood. My normal disposition bordered on storm cloud more than sunshine, but throw the week I’d had into the mix of my stomach issues and I wouldn’t be above seeing heads roll. Starting with this man, no matter how well he might wear that suit.

He put his hands up. “Got it, no touching. I was supposed to be meeting someone for a tour, but they’re late anyway. Just, come with me.”

The man walked toward a doorway that led out of the visitors center. I stayed still, dumbstruck for a moment that this stranger seemed to want to help me. Maybe his head could stay firmly attached after all. Realizing he might be my best chance at a respectable resolution to this bathroom fiasco, I quickly started moving and caught up to him.

As we dodged the crowds, he pulled a visitor pass out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “You’re Jacqueline Carter, right? You work for Politics Daily? Put this on.”

I pulled the lanyard over my head, no time to answer his questions before we reached a security guard positioned at the doorway. My guide smiled and flashed his badge at the waiting guard, pausing at her booth.

The security guard waved her hand, indicating we could walk through. “You know, Preston, I think you just like showing off how good your picture turned out on the new badges. I know who you are.” She smiled good-naturedly.

“It’s not my fault I photograph well in artificial lighting,” Preston responded, a more authentic smile tipping his lips. “Besides, Bernice, I’m a rule follower. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good one. Tell Senator Marsden I said hello.” She nodded to me and moved her eyes past us to focus on the next person trying to enter through her doorway.

The professional black book finally kicked in and I realized the man next to me was Preston Brandt, Senator Marsden’s Chief of Staff.

“Wait, we’re headed to Marsden’s office?” I realized Preston intended to take me to their office suite. I hadn’t entered any of the Congress staff buildings from the visitors center before. Preston gestured to follow him down the long hallway.

“So, you are Jacqueline then. I recognized you from our conference on abortion access last week. Are you okay with stairs? The tunnel is probably quicker to make it to the Russell Building than a people mover unless we time it exactly right.”

“Uh, stairs are fine. And it’s Jax. Not Jacqueline.” Preston’s rapid-fire method of questioning helped keep my mind off the pressing issue that instigated our little field trip.

Preston grabbed the door to his right and held it open for me. As I walked through the doorway, I saw what appeared to be a marble stairwell with a black-iron handrail.

“We’re headed down two levels,” Preston said, descending. The brisk pace Preston set on the stairs caused my stomach to jostle and returned my attention to the matter at hand. I took a deep breath, my inner monologue repeating, “on our way, on our way,” with every step we climbed.

We exited the stairwell to a white hallway. Preston glanced up at the lighted sign indicating the next people mover wouldn’t arrive at this stop for another three minutes.

“It’s only about a three-minute walk across—okay to keep moving?”

“Flat ground moving is good. Let’s go.”

We walked past another security guard who greeted my companion in the same congenial way as the first. Apparently, the Chief of Staff is also a teacher’s pet, I thought, as my stomach twisted painfully.

Things were getting close to emergency status again, but as we turned another corner, a doorway at the end of the hall came into view.

Preston held open the door for me and greeted yet another guard, before directing me with his arm to a stairwell right across from the tunnel entrance.

“Just up another quick flight and we’ll be there.”

I nodded and ducked through the doorway, the marble stairs and wooden handrail a blur. All my concentration went to clenching and putting one foot in front of the other. We exited into a hallway with black and white tile on the floor and large wooden doors lining each side.

“We’re right here.” Preston stepped ahead of me to open the door next to the stairwell. As we entered, I read Senator Mitchell Marsden, Rhode Island, on a plaque to the right of the solid oak doorframe.

“Our staff bathroom is right through there.” Preston pointed to a seating area to the left of the doorway. “My cubicle is the first one on the left down that hallway.” He pointed again, this time directly in front of us.

I bolted to the left, getting a thank you out before shutting the door to the bathroom behind me. The situation was the most dire right before relief, as usual.

As I sat there, my hands cradled my head. I couldn’t believe I’d followed a staffer into a senator’s office for this. It was a top three all-time bathroom desperation story. One I would look forward to telling my gastroenterologist when I had my long-awaited appointment with them next month. I’d let Doc weigh in on if it belonged ahead of or behind when my date left me behind thinking I bailed since I spent so long in the bathroom after we ordered. Joke’s on her though. I got to take both entrées home, and the waitress comped me a dessert since technically I got ditched.

After a while, it seemed safe to move on, and I looked at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. Now that the urgency of the situation was behind me, the mirror showed my flushed cheeks redden as I considered facing Preston, unassuming IBS savior of the week. I gathered my coat and bag from where I dropped them on the floor and bit the inside of my cheek. Could I sneak out of here without facing him again? I hadn’t been paying super close attention to our journey into the Russell Building, but figured I could find my way out if I needed to.

After I sprayed the low-fragrance air freshener I kept in my bag for such occasions, I looked down at the visitor badge around my neck. My other badge seemed to glow brightly from where it sat buried deep in my bag. I wasn’t even sure I could leave the building as a visitor without my escort, and the badge in my bag would get me out of here through a different entrance, no problem. Though, since I technically didn’t have an active contract, I was positive if my boss found out I used it, I could kiss that contract renewal goodbye.

The door to the offices slammed against the wall like someone had pushed it open with all their strength. I jumped, wondering who would have the balls to enter a senator’s office that way.

“Fucking nosy people and their questions.” A man’s voice filtered through the closed door to the bathroom. “I want a moratorium on unvetted people in this office for the next week. Or until Warfield Pippen from the House fucks up again. Anyone responsible for another soul in this office who isn’t a spouse or a blood relative is done. Make sure to tell the fucking interns.” The voice got closer. “Brandt, we’re going to need to revisit that speech. Politico published another hit piece, and it’s blowing up big time.”

My eyes widened as I realized that voice belonged to Senator Marsden. In my current job, I covered the House, so was all too familiar with Pippen and his fuck-ups, as well as his continuous feud with the first-term senator from his state. Now that Pippen was running for the senator nomination for the opposite party in the upcoming election, things had reached a new level of nuclear between them. I nervously reached up to straighten my hair and hat, wondering how I could sneak out of this bathroom. I definitely counted as an unvetted intruder in the office, and, at least for now, also a political reporter. That could be disastrous for Preston.

Footsteps approached the door where I hid in haste. “Wait,” a voice I recognized as Preston’s called. It sounded like he cut in front of his boss, blocking his access to the bathroom. I could detect a tinge of panic in his voice, even from that one word.

“What, Brandt? I need to piss,” Mitchell snapped.

“Uh, we need more toilet paper.”

My eyes shifted to the full roll on the dispenser. Preston intended to come in to replace the toilet paper and would come out with a human?

“Pretty sure a shake or two, and I’m fine. But your delicate sensitivities are noted,” he said. I didn’t hear anyone walking away from the bathroom. Preston must still be standing guard, but for how long?

“And uh, there’s someone in there,” Preston said, sounding like he was going to be the one needing an emergency bathroom trip next.

“What?” the senator asked. His tone portrayed pure ice.

“Uh, give me a second.” A knock on the door came next. “Everything okay in there?”

I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it. Preston stood right in front of me. His eyes were wide, and his cheeks painted with a faint flush. I’d bet money—I didn’t have— that if he didn’t have a jacket on, I’d see pit stains.

“Follow my lead, okay?” he muttered, holding his hand out to me. Not seeing how I had any other choice, I took a deep breath and put my hand in his. Preston turned around to face the senator.

“Who the fuck is this, Brandt?”

“Senator Marsden, please meet my fiancée.”