2009-09-29: Words Are Power



Date: September 29th, 2009


A distraught Tracy is reassured by words from the enthralling Senator Wynn that have more affect than they should, for good or bad; Ivory gets a bombshell dropped on him.

"Words Are Power"

Washington, D.C.

The beckoning lights and handsome monuments of D.C. welcome Tracy back home tonight, but there are also less familiar, and less welcoming, sights waiting for the political advisor when she returns her somewhat impromptu trip: the red and blue flashing lights of police. She can see them as her car — the top up — nears her rather deluxe apartment complex, driving beneath lofty streetlights.

The police, along with some plainclothes officers who must be detectives, are going through an empty car. The licence plate: CAIRNS. The "missing" accountant must have thought highly of himself. One of the detectives gestures a few times toward the building.

Tracy slows her own car down along the side of the building, stopping instead of turning into the lot. Conflicted, she watches the police, her knuckles turning white from gripping the top of the steering wheel, trying not to break down even though no one can see her — yet.

An unmarked black vehicle that looks like any other black vehicle has pulled around the corner and pulled into a small spot that may or may not be leaving it within the line of sight of Tracy's car. Huh.


Ivory Wynn is in the mirror, putting the finishing touches on his tie and pushing it up onto his throat where it belongs. He smiles at himself in the mirror and rubs his hand over his head. He slips himself off in the general direction of the bed of this room that doesn't belong to anyone male and leans over, planting a kiss on the cheek of some supermodel with a large forehead that may or may not have her own talk show with a Lightweight Oprah Wannabe feel to it. She stirs for a slight moment, before drifting back off to sleep, while Senator Wynn makes a hasty exit.

As quiet as a dead church mouse, Ivory pulls the door closed to the penthouse suite and steps out into the hallway. His finger travels over his Blackberry buttons and Tracy Strauss is highlighted, before he presses send.

The phone promptly rings where it sits charging in the car and Tracy promptly ignores it, shutting her eyes away from the scene in the parking lot. She sees the black car, only adding to her justified paranoia. It seems so simple, a few men standing around a car, but she knows what it means. RING. The woman's grip only tightens around the steering wheel, her eyes shut tighter — all that responsibility and torment just builds up and breaks, stretching her features into anguish. She leans ahead toward the wheel, laying her head on it and rocking to and fro. RING.

As the normally very law-abiding Ms. Strauss chokes back a guilt-ridden "oh god", the leather encasing her steering wheel stiffens, crinkles, freezing; the cold spreads along the dash until her windshield is covered in a layer of frost from the inside. RING. Knuckling across her brow in frustration, Tracy reaches out to impatiently turn the heat on. That's when her phone's screen catches her eye. Calling: IVORY WYNN. She breathlessly answers it. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry. I thought I was calling Harrison Ford. My mistake." comes Ivory's voice, in that nonchalant tone that he has down so pat. As the sound of his own keys jingling can be heard, he gets into his own BMW and starts her up. All the while letting the words flow from his mouth to the phone and hopefully to Tracy's ear. "You know, if you're going to be pulling disappearing acts like this all the time, I'm going to expect quite a bit of overtime from you, Young Lady." Ah yes, the playfulness in his tone to try and keep the ice broken (figuratively speaking) is all but too obvious. "Please tell me you're on your way to my place this very moment."

At first, there's only silence after the nonchalance of Ivory. Then: "Ivory…" Tracy answers, quiet. Dull. Not so amused by the joking tones. She shuts her eyes as the phone stays pressed to her ear. "I wish… that I was. You have no idea." When she opens them, they have a new resolution. She can also see that the Nissan's heater eats away at the iced-over window, pushing the frosty patterns to the far corners. Now that she can see outside, she gets the car moving again, pulling away from the building, moving back to the street on a determined path. "I know, you expected a lot from me…" In more ways than one. "…and I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore."

"Oh, pish posh. Cheerio." For some reason, Ivory's British Accent impression is ever so impeccable that it's probably going to be hard to deny it. Perhaps he has some Tweed in his blood. Ahem. "Listen. Just stop whatever you're doing. Right now. Especially if it's putting clothes on." Ivory smiles as he turns his steering wheel to do pull onto a familiar street. "Stop whatever it is and come over. I need to see you." Pause. "Really need to see you."

Occasional traffic slides past Tracy, soon in her mirror as her own vehicle hovers close to the speed limit along Connecticut Avenue. "No," she answers. Decided. She runs a hand through untied, straight hair and looks out the window at the familiar classical revival bridge looming up ahead. Decided… and yet as resolute as she is— "Okay," she amends, as if annoyed by the decision to change her mind. Put out of her way, certainly. "I'm already on the road." She speeds up. Zoom.

Ivory speeds up too. For some odd reason. It's kind of hard to tell a hot blonde with legs that just won't quit to come over when he's not even where she's supposed to be coming to. Right? "Listen. I know stuff is happening. But Big Daddy's gonna' make you forget all about it, tonight. Okay? No worries. Everything's gonna' be okay. I promise." And there he goes using the P-word again. And wait…. where the hell did this Big Daddy stuff come from?!

"Did you just— " Sometimes, Tracy doesn't know what to think of this guy (and she typically knows just what she thinks of everyone). And then she finds herself speeding over to his place. "Never mind." The nearly speeding Nissan sails along the Taft bridge. Everything's gonna' be okay… "I'll be there in ten." Tracy hangs up and tosses her phone on the opposite seat. Ivory better hurry.

Ivory smirks as he looks at the phone and sets it down on the seat next to him. Within the next few moments, though, he's smiling and looking up through the window in front of him. And from there he can see the license plate of Tracy's car weaving in and out in her speeding down the bridge. His smirk fades right into a toothy grin.

* * *

Tracy shows up on the ten minute cue, knocking on the door she knows to lead to Ivory Wynn's apartment. Despite having taken the day — and they days before — off, she's dressed as she would be for working, in an all-black suit. Jacket, modest skirt, ivory (haha) satin shirt beneath. Despite the Senator's reassurances over the phone, nothing can hide the fact that the K-Street ice queen has, of all things, been crying. It doesn't look like eveything's going to be okay.

The door is practically yanked open and there's Ivory. He's standing there, with a bottle of champagne in his hand, two glasses and he's dressed to… slightly impressed. His suit is on, but his tie is loosened. It's almost as if he just got here a few moments ago himself. Maybe. Either way it goes, his smiling features are drawn down a bit, as he realizes that she's not looking like herself. Well, she does but… "Baby? What's up?" Ivory's no longer worried about the champagne and leans over to set it down on something stationary, so he can wrap his arms around the Tracy. "Big Daddy's here. I got you."

Tracy, blinking uncharacteristically teary eyes, instantly looks to Ivory with hope. It's hard to see, though; it's just a flicker. There's something dull and despondent about the woman at Ivory's door. Even in her listless state, however, Tracy gives Ivory a distinctly weird look at the nickname before she's wrapped up in his arms. She doesn't exactly … hug, but she does lean in. "If you had called five minutes later…" She looks up, suddenly compelled. "There's something I have to tell you."

Ivory's not letting go. Not even to close the door It just remains open, since he's too busy holding his Tracy close. The nickname just seems to be said over and over. It's almost like it's the -trendy- thing to do now. Weird. Huh. "What's wrong? Is there something I can do to fix it? You know I'll move mountains to make sure you're okay. You know that, right?" All sincere and as genuine as is within his politician nature.

Question sharpens Tracy's gaze, pointed up at Ivory, as if to say why? Why would he even do that for her? In reality, they've known each other barely over a week. But for some reason, she doesn't ask. "You know… that… accountant?" she ventures, her normally strong voice quiet, the words being forced. The fact that she's telling Ivory any of this at all is remarkable in and of itself. Tracy moves away long enough to step further inside so the door can shut. "The one… who worked for the Governor?"

Ivory is on the move. He kicks the door closed wit his foot and proceeds to hold tightly on the Tracy, leading her over towards that huge leather sofa that's going to be ever so comfortable. "Uh. What's his face. Cannes?" Ivory replies with a bit of a shrug, to show he doesn't pay too much attention to subordinates.

"Cairns." Tracy moves alongside Ivory through the apartment that is now — already — becoming familiar. She sits down on the couch, but, comfortable as it is, remains poised on the edge. All the while, she doesn't take her eyes off of the Senator. "Like I said, he came to me after the news ran with the charity scandal story. Which is still absolute sham— " But now isn't the time to split hairs. She shifts slightly on the couch to face Ivory close-by. "The media, the police, they're saying he's … missing. They won't find him." There's a long moment, after she cuts herself off, where she just stares at him, hesitating.

Because her news? Her news is big. Tracy's voice is all breath. "He's dead."

Frozen. Not by Tracy. But frozen by the bombshell that has been dropped into his lap. Ivory doesn't really seem to know how to react. Especially because, well, this is some big news. "Uh." Ivory closes his eyes for a moment. "How do you know?" These are questions that need to be answered. Especially while there are recording devices all over his living room.

Unaware of the various recording devices, wherever they may be, Tracy is focused on Ivory… and on what she's done. She, too, doesn't move an inch, though her features just tighten all the more — become all the more tense and vexed. The direness is only amplified by the tremulous voice of the Senator's advisor. "I killed him." There's a beat before she tries to explain, but it's pretty clear that she's not trying to justify it. She's a guilty party. "He kept blaming me, trying to pin me for stealing that money when… I didn't do it. He wasinsulting me. When he told me that he called the police, I got even more angry, I— didn't want to let him go, I…" Killed him.

Ivory's eyes just get a bit wide. If only because he can't believe what he's hearing. Or what he's getting on tape. A confession. He sighs and lowers his head, looking at the floor for a moment. But he doesn't move one inch away from Tracy. Just to prove that he's not afraid of anything… especially her. "How? What'd you do?" The questions from Ivory are coming out as simple and routine as possible. It's almost as if shock has put him into information gather mode. After all, if he's going to fix everything, he's going to need as much information as possible. "Where's the body?"

Tracy has two words to answer all of those questions that don't, in fact, really answer anything. "…He's gone." She's gotten this far, confessed this much, but now she freezes — figuratively. Acutely worried blue eyes study Ivory rapidly, searchingly, but she looks away and flattens her hands on her knees, getting a determined look about her. "I need to turn myself in."

"Oh no. You need to forget that line of thought right now. That's what you need to do." Ivory is pushing up from the sofa and moving off to the counter where his phone is. "I promised you I'd take care of everything. And that's what I'm gonna' do." He snatches up the phone and starts scrolling through names. "I just got you. I'm not letting you go without a fight." And he clicks the SEND button on a name before bringing the phone up to an ear. "Hey. It's me. I need another favor. Let's do brunch." As he runs off at the mouth on the phone, he peeks over at Tracy to see how she's handling this. "Yeah, okay. See you then." Phone is hung up and tossed on the counter.

How is Tracy handling? She's handling like she might reach out and grab the phone from Ivory, but she doesn't. It's done. "Ivory… I can't just let this go. An innocent man is dead because of me." There's more to this story, but Tracy brings a hand to her face, leaning her forehead into her fingers. "Because of… what was done to me."

"Tracy, baby, listen." And Ivory's over there, in front of her, reaching for her hands in a heartbeat. He's even taken to kneeling on the floor in front of her so she can see the sincerity in his eyes. Or whatever that is twinkling in them. "Shhhhh. Whatever your past, whatever was done to you, whoever did that? That's the person to blame. But we can't make that other person go away until we get you squared away and innocent." Ivory sighs. "I don't know the details of what happened. And I'll understand if you don't want to tell me. But I want, right now, more than anything for you to trust me. I can save you. You just have to let me."

Tracy's hands curl over Ivory's, holding onto his hands on impulse. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's not about that." The scary thing is, she really does trust the Senator; a dawning look crosses her features, glimmering in her eyes as if she's just now realizing how true that is. "God. I just can't believe this is happening," the woman says dismally. "I'm not looking to be saved, Ivory. But maybe…" The wheels of her mind turn, a little rusty at a time like this, but not for long. "Maybe you can help me."

"That's my girl." Ivory tries to smile a little bit. Only his eyes are locked on the Tracy. As he's wanting to make sure that she's willing to force a smile too. This is a very serious moment here. Must be, since he's not even adding jokes to his constant talking. "What say we help you forget about things for a while. You must be exhausted." Uh oh. He's still a guy, underneath all that Savior potential.

It's written all over Tracy's face that she has more to say, ideas, even, about just how Ivory can help — but they're all delayed by Ivory's ideas of how he thinks he can help her (or more likely, him). She's determined to tell him, to figure everything out here and now, but her determination seems to … shift. She looks down at their hands before tipping her head to one side and just staring at the man tiredly. She manages a vague smile. "Yeah," she mumbles in quiet agreement. "Yeah, it's been a long day."

Ivory smiles a bit more, bringing his hands up from hers and letting his fingers brush against her cheeks as he leans in. "Hey. I got you." is whispered softly, just to make sure she knows that he's not going to let her fall any further. He's not going to let anything else bad happen to her. Not while she's with him. It's all written there in his eyes. Along with something else… but hey….focus. There are other things that need to be happening. And will be happening if Ivory leaning in to plant his lips against Tracy's are any indication.


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