Read Online DUTCH AND GINA: A SCANDAL IS BORN by Mallory Monroe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mallory Monroe
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zip it and not keep letting the press push your buttons. I don’t want you and our son hurt. It’s my job to protect you and Walt and it’s the last thing that I’ve been able to do. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the fights.”
“But you act as if I’m the one fighting? I didn’t start any of this, Dutch. I didn’t ask for any fights from anybody. But I damn sure won’t back down when they come at me, either.”
“It’s not a matter of backing down.”
“Yes, it is. That’s exactly what it is. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Dutch is offended. “I don’t know what it’s like? They ask me crazy-ass questions too, Gina, but you don’t see me rising to their bait.”
“That’s because your questions aren’t personal like mine are. They don’t question your character the way they question mine. They don’t disrespect you with the same level of disrespect they show me. You’ve never had to prove yourself, over and over, like I have.”
She exhaled, grabbed her braids and tossed them from the front to the back of her head, a frown enveloping her pretty, troubled face.
Dutch exhaled too. “I know it’s a problem, Gina.”
“It’s more than a problem,” Gina said with some agitation of her own, tears now staining her eyes. “Don’t try to minimize it. They’re just taking this too far, Dutch, as if I’m made of stone and they can treat me any way they please and I just have to take it. It’s like they don’t want to give me credit for anything! I’m a trained attorney, a highly educated woman, but they talk of me as if I’m some ignorant, back water hillbilly who wouldn’t know sophistication if it bit her in the butt! And I know it shouldn’t matter, and I know I should just screw them and their racist foolishness, I know all that. But it does matter, Dutch.”
Tears were beginning to drain from her big, brown eyes. “Every time they try that crap on me,” she continued, “I feel like I have to call them out on it. I can’t just let them get away with that. Because I know the deal. I know it’s not about me anymore. It’s about those little black girls in Newark and places like that who looks up to me, and expects me to never sell out, to never go along to get along as if their pain doesn’t matter. It does matter, Dutch. That’s why I can’t let the press get away with their nonsense. I’m going to call their asses out every time they even think about undermining my character, and what I represent. Because it’s not just about me anymore.”
Dutch was by her side before she could finish speaking. He leaned down, lifted her up, and wrapped her into his arms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said as he held her, as she began to sob in his arms. He understood where she was coming from. He knew what she had to endure since hitching her wagon to his. And what angered him most was that he knew what a dynamic First Lady she could be. He knew what a great contribution this country was missing because of the caricatures the press chose, instead, to paint of her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt our child, Dutch,” Gina was saying. “I was joking. I never dreamed they would take me seriously.”
“I know that, sweetie,” Dutch said, now himself feeling like an ass for being so hard on her. When he knew it wasn’t her fault. When he knew that his wife wouldn’t do anything to harm him or their child or anybody else for that matter.
But there was more to this story, and the fear of what could happen to her was eating him alive. They were trying to destroy her, to take away every ounce of confidence and courage and sense of self-worth she still had within her. They wanted to cut her down to size, to put her back in her place, to, in essence, knock what they perceive to be her uppity black butt back down a peg or two.
But he would see them in hell,
“But you act as if I’m the one fighting? I didn’t start any of this, Dutch. I didn’t ask for any fights from anybody. But I damn sure won’t back down when they come at me, either.”
“It’s not a matter of backing down.”
“Yes, it is. That’s exactly what it is. You don’t know what it’s like.”
Dutch is offended. “I don’t know what it’s like? They ask me crazy-ass questions too, Gina, but you don’t see me rising to their bait.”
“That’s because your questions aren’t personal like mine are. They don’t question your character the way they question mine. They don’t disrespect you with the same level of disrespect they show me. You’ve never had to prove yourself, over and over, like I have.”
She exhaled, grabbed her braids and tossed them from the front to the back of her head, a frown enveloping her pretty, troubled face.
Dutch exhaled too. “I know it’s a problem, Gina.”
“It’s more than a problem,” Gina said with some agitation of her own, tears now staining her eyes. “Don’t try to minimize it. They’re just taking this too far, Dutch, as if I’m made of stone and they can treat me any way they please and I just have to take it. It’s like they don’t want to give me credit for anything! I’m a trained attorney, a highly educated woman, but they talk of me as if I’m some ignorant, back water hillbilly who wouldn’t know sophistication if it bit her in the butt! And I know it shouldn’t matter, and I know I should just screw them and their racist foolishness, I know all that. But it does matter, Dutch.”
Tears were beginning to drain from her big, brown eyes. “Every time they try that crap on me,” she continued, “I feel like I have to call them out on it. I can’t just let them get away with that. Because I know the deal. I know it’s not about me anymore. It’s about those little black girls in Newark and places like that who looks up to me, and expects me to never sell out, to never go along to get along as if their pain doesn’t matter. It does matter, Dutch. That’s why I can’t let the press get away with their nonsense. I’m going to call their asses out every time they even think about undermining my character, and what I represent. Because it’s not just about me anymore.”
Dutch was by her side before she could finish speaking. He leaned down, lifted her up, and wrapped her into his arms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said as he held her, as she began to sob in his arms. He understood where she was coming from. He knew what she had to endure since hitching her wagon to his. And what angered him most was that he knew what a dynamic First Lady she could be. He knew what a great contribution this country was missing because of the caricatures the press chose, instead, to paint of her.
“I didn’t mean to hurt our child, Dutch,” Gina was saying. “I was joking. I never dreamed they would take me seriously.”
“I know that, sweetie,” Dutch said, now himself feeling like an ass for being so hard on her. When he knew it wasn’t her fault. When he knew that his wife wouldn’t do anything to harm him or their child or anybody else for that matter.
But there was more to this story, and the fear of what could happen to her was eating him alive. They were trying to destroy her, to take away every ounce of confidence and courage and sense of self-worth she still had within her. They wanted to cut her down to size, to put her back in her place, to, in essence, knock what they perceive to be her uppity black butt back down a peg or two.
But he would see them in hell,
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