by B. B. Hamel
The line clicks. “Maggie?”
It’s Adam’s voice, all right. I’ve heard him speak so many times these last couple of years, all through the campaign season and up until now. It’s a voice that’s etched into my brain.
“Er, hello, sir,” I say.
“Adam,” he corrects gently. “Are you busy?”
“No, I’m not.” My heart’s beating so fast I can barely breathe.
“Where are you right now?”
“Poor David’s,” I say.
He laughs. “That dive? I bet it’s full of lobbyists and frat aides.”
“It sure is,” I say, grinning. “They swarm this place. I think it’s the cheap light beer.”
“Yep, that’s what fuels them, all right.” He chuckles to himself. “Listen, there’s going to be a car outside for you in two minutes. Can you be in it?”
I bite my lip. “Of course. What’s this about?”
He hesitates a second. “I’m looking for opinions. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up and I stare at my phone.
For a second, I think this is some crazy dream. I mean, the President himself sending a car to pick me up? All because he wants my opinion on something? I mean, it’s what every single one of these assholes in this bar dream of.
I bet Iris would scream if I told her, but I know I can’t. I mean, maybe I could, but I won’t. For some reason, I want this to be a little secret.
I head back in the main room and hop back into my seat. Iris looks up at me, sipping her wine.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I have to run,” I say, throwing some money down on the bar. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re going to leave me in enemy territory?”
“I’m sorry. It’s important.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll go find some pharma lobbyist to buy my drinks.”
“Good luck,” I say, grinning, before I leave the bar.
I wait outside for maybe two minutes before a black car pulls up. It’s unmistakable here in DC: nondescript, almost boring, but so obviously hiding what it really is. The driver rolls down the window.
“Maggie?” he asks me.
I nod. “That’s me.”
“Get in back.”
I open the back door and slide in. As soon as I shut the door, the driver takes off. He doesn’t say a word to me as we speed back toward the White House.
I don’t have a lot of time to stew in this, but I’m practically shivering when the car parks and the Secret Service guy ushers me inside. He says something into a walkie, refers to me as “Poll Girl,” which isn’t very creative.
Secret Service nicknames are legendary. Getting a lame one is like… the worst ting imaginable.
Well, I guess it could be worse. I could just not have one at all, which most people don’t.
The agent leads me through the halls and stops outside of a conference room. “He’s inside, miss,” he says.
“Thank you.”
He nods, and I hesitate. “Poll Girl is an awful nickname,” I say.
“Code name, miss,” he corrects, and grins. “But you’re right. Not my idea.”
I grin and head into the conference room. I’m still smiling as I spot Adam, sitting alone and looking at some papers in a binder. He shuts it as I walk toward him.
“Oh, Maggie,” he says, smiling. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Of course.” I walk up to him and we shake hands. It’s strangely intimate, and he moves close to me before offering me a chair. I sit down next to him as he stretches his legs out.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking more about healthcare,” he says slowly. “About how broken it is. About how much people hate what we have, but are so deathly afraid of anything else.”
I nod a little. “That about sums it all up.”
“I don’t want to do some little fix or tweak or revision. I don’t want to do some half measure. I want to do something big.”
I stare at him for a second. I think I know what he’s talking about, but I’m not completely sure.
He didn’t campaign on healthcare. Frankly, he didn’t campaign on much. Adam is one of the most centrist people ever to win the office. He holds middling ideas about almost everything.
That’s part of why he got elected. People were sick of the constant bickering and fighting, so they elected someone right in the middle of everyone. Nobody can really claim him, not entirely at least.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask him softly.
“Do you know what Medicare For All is?”
I hesitate. I knew this is where he was going, but to hear him say it…
“Socialized medicine,” I say.
He winces, shakes his head. “No, no, no. Medicare for all. Just taking one program we already use and know works and offering it to everyone.”
I nod slowly. “Okay, sure. Single-payer. I know what that is. Like what every other country has.”
“Right. I was thinking…”
I shake my head. “It won’t be popular.”
“How do you know?”
I shrug. “I just know. I mean, opinion’s been changing, but still. You’re a centrist. People aren’t going to like a big move like this from you.”
“Maybe not,” he says softly. “But we have to save people. Single-payer is cheaper and more effective than what we have now by far.”
“I know that.” I sigh, lean toward him despite myself. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” he admits. “But I’m sure it’s what the nation needs, at least.”
I nod. “Okay then. I’ll get the data on Medicare For All.” I lean back in my chair and smile at him. “Is that why you called me in here?”
“Mostly I wanted to rescue you from that bar.”
I laugh softly. “I didn’t need rescuing.”
“Maybe not, but aren’t you glad I did?”
I watch him carefully, heart beating faster. “I guess so. I was about to get some of that lobbyist money, though.”
He laughs. “They’re throwing it at just about anyone these days, aren’t they?”
“No way. I’m special. The President reads my blog.”
“Not anymore. You went on hiatus.”
“Good point. Some jerk scooped me up and offered to pay me nearly nothing for way too much work.”
He grins. “Welcome to the federal government. At least you’re making a difference.”
“There’s that, I guess, although that’s not paying my bills.”
“Maybe you really do need a lobbyist,” he says. “I know a few I can put you in touch with. They’re always bugging me about stuff.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure if you push for Medicare For All, plenty of insurance lobbyists are going to be calling you at all hours.”
He sighs and suddenly looks tired. “It won’t be easy,” he says softly.
“No, it won’t.”
He suddenly looks vulnerable, almost human. Normally, Adam has this strange, otherworldly feel about him, like he’s hovering above everything, looking down at the world. But just sitting in this conference room, aware of the fight he’ll have ahead of him…
He looks normal. Still gorgeous, but normal.
He sighs and stands. “I’d better get to work,” he says. “Bring me that data as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
He nods. “Thanks for coming, Maggie.”
“Any time.” I hesitate. “Adam.”
That makes him smile. “I like hearing my name coming from your mouth,” he says, walking to the door. He glances at me, smiles again, and leaves.
I’m left alone in the conference room, trying to parse every single piece of that conversation.
4
Adam
I’m sitting outside of a little frozen yogurt place near the center of town owned by an old A
frican-American couple. They have a great story, although I can’t remember exactly what it is.
Something about bootstraps, overcoming adversity, the American Dream. Charles told me everything on the way over, but I wasn’t really listening, truth be told.
I was too busy thinking about Maggie, and what I wanted to do to her last night.
Calling her to the White House like that was stupid. I know it, I can’t deny it. I should never, ever bring people in like that. I was risking too much, making myself too obvious.
Still, I wanted her so fucking badly. I wanted to fuck her right there on that table, feel those full breasts under my palms, feel her stiff nipples between my teeth, make her beg and moan.
I wanted to make her feel something she’s never felt before in her life, and I know I could.
Except I really do need her opinion. She’s young and smart, and what I want to do could blow up my career. It’ll use up every single ounce of my political capital if I can actually get anywhere close to pulling it off.
If I do this, though, I need to make sure the American people are on my side. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time. If they don’t want Medicare For All, then it won’t ever happen.
At the end of the day, that’s how it works. The people choose what they need. We just do what they want.
If only it were that simple.
“Good, right?” Karl shakes my hand as the cameras flash. I have a cup of vanilla in my hand.
“Delicious,” I say, smiling at the old man. His wrinkles are deep, almost etched into his skin.
“Thank you for your visit, sir,” he says. “It’s a real honor.”
I nod as the cameras keep flashing. This is a nice photo, a good way to show that I care about my local people.
When the pictures are over, the Secret Service guys usher Karl away. I sigh and offer the rest of my yogurt to a Secret Service guy, I think his name is Travis.
He shakes his head and politely declines. So I toss the damn thing into the trash.
“Questions next,” Charles grunts at me. “Prepped for that?”
I shrug. “Always.”
“Good. It’ll be softball stuff. Economy, jobs, that sort of thing.”
“Fine.”
He hesitates. “You seem distracted.”
“Not really. I just hate these things.”
“We all do.”
“But they’re necessary.”
“Did I need to say that?”
“No,” I grumble.
“Good. Come on. Let’s get it over with.”
We walk away from the store, stopping out front. There are a bunch of microphones set up and reporters standing around in a loose semi-circle. Secret Service is all over the place like freaking ants.
I step up, put on my best press smile, and dive right in.
Charles was right, they are softball questions. I answer them easily, spouting off my usual middle-of-the-road stuff, trying to stick to the script.
Meanwhile, in my head, I’m considering doing something way outside of myself.
Finally, we get toward the end of the session, and one reporter from CNN raises her hand. Linda Torres is a short woman, dark skin, serious eyes, reputation as a no-bullshit person. I call on her casually, not thinking anything of it.
“Mr. President, why did you have a young staffer brought into the White House late last night?”
Everyone glances at her then back at me. I blink, surprised by the question.
I glance at Charles. His face is angry, but he doesn’t move.
“Mr. President?” she presses. “I believe her name is Maggie Thomas. She ran a popular political blog?”
I take a breath. “I’ve been considering some policy decisions,” I say slowly. “Ms. Thomas has been aiding me.”
“Aiding you how?” Linda asks.
“She specializes in polling, and I trust her opinion when it comes to what the younger generations are thinking.”
“She’s consulting as a young person?” Linda asks. A few reporters laugh.
“Essentially,” I say, smiling.
“It’s unusual to bring staffers using White House vehicles,” she presses. “And so late at night. Why was it so urgent?”
Charles steps forward. “That’s enough, Linda,” he barks at her. “I know you’re sniffing for a story, but there isn’t one here. The President already answered you.”
I smile. Good old Charles, there when skulls need cracking.
“Actually, I’m not satisfied,” Linda says. “Why did you bring a young, female staffer in so late at night?”
“That’s enough,” Charles practically roars. The tension is palpable.
Linda just made an insinuation. Everyone knows exactly what she’s implying by her question, but we can’t exactly admit to understanding. As soon as we do, we’ll look guilty.
Charles steps in front of me. “Enough questions,” he says.
I sigh and turn from the mics. The reporters all burst out into questions, wanting to know more about Maggie. I hesitate, about to follow an agent to our motorcade, but I stop myself.
I turn back to the microphone.
“There is nothing improper happening here,” I say to Linda. The press quiets down and Charles glares at me. “Maggie Thomas is a smart young woman, and I work late hours. I’m the President. I don’t have time to lie around, watching TV and using social media. If I need to discuss something with a staffer at nine at night, I’m going to do it.”
Linda frowns. “But in person, sir?”
“In person is the only safe way,” I say, and smile at her. “You reporters are probably bugging all our phones.”
The press laughs, and a lot of the tension dissipates.
“Now, that’s enough questions for today, thank you,” I say before Linda can press the attack again. I nod at Charles and walk back toward the cars.
He walks alongside me. “She’s going to be a problem,” he says softly.
“Who? Linda or Maggie?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t answer.
I sigh and climb into the back of the car.
Seeing Maggie so late was a mistake. I know it, she probably knows it. I don’t understand how Linda could possibly know about that meeting, though. It’s off the books, and only the Secret Service was aware.
Maybe they leaked it. I can’t be sure of anything these days. I’ll have to look into that.
For now though, I have to be more careful.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop seeing her.
No, that would be smart. And right now, I’m definitely not smart.
I am getting what I want, though.
5
Maggie
I’m so neck-deep in healthcare polling for the next few days that I almost forget to breathe.
It’s not easy, polling people. It takes time and energy and patience. Fortunately, I have time and energy, but I don’t have a ton of patience.
“You want to know what?” the old lady croaks at me.
“Your opinion on single-payer healthcare systems, ma’am,” I say. “Such as what Canada currently has.”
“Canada? What do they have?”
“Healthcare, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, I love healthcare. It’s great. My Medicare just does it all.”
“But what about Medicare for everyone?” I ask her, going off script.
“For who?”
I sigh and end the call not long later. I go to my next number and mark that call down as “No Data.”
And so it goes, on and on. I have some help, and slowly we gather some data. Not a lot of data, not a diverse set, but enough for now.
By the end of the week, I have a little bit for him. Not a lot, but a little bit. I want to get more, but I know he’s impatient.
I don’t know when I’ll see him again, though. I don’t hear anything from Adam all that week, although I don’t expect him to get in touch with me constantly or anything like that.
; I mean, he’s the President. He’s busy.
Still, I’m excited, on the edge of my seat, just waiting for that call.
It finally comes on Friday night. I’m working late, like I have been every night this week. I’m one of the last people in my wing, and as I pack up my stuff, I can hardly believe that it’s after nine at night.
I stumble out into the hall, bleary and exhausted, looking forward to a couple days off. Well, not off. A couple days with less work, at least.
I get halfway down the hall when I hear my name. “Maggie Thomas.”
I turn and spot a Secret Service agent coming toward me. I hesitate a second before my heart starts beating faster.
I know what this means.
I follow the agent toward the Oval Office. “He’ll see you now,” the man says, letting me in. I can’t tell if it’s the same agent from the other night.
They all sort of look alike.
Adam looks up. He’s sitting on the couch, legs on the coffee table, binders spread around him.
“There you are,” he says.
“Hi, Adam,” I say.
He grins. “Come in. Sit.”
I sit down on the couch across from him. “You’re always reading, aren’t you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s my job. Can’t make decisions if I’m not informed.”
“Still. You’re human, aren’t you?”
He grins. “Probably.”
I smile. He doesn’t look quite so tired this time. “I heard about what happened at the yogurt place,” I say.
He sighs. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s okay. Mostly just staffers are talking about it, anyway.”
“Good. Reporters can be…” He trails off and shrugs. “They mean well.”
“But there’s no story here.”
“Right,” he says slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
I hesitate, surprised. I stare back into his eyes, and he breaks out into a grin.
“You should see your face,” he says.
I sigh, relaxing, smiling again. “Sorry,” I say.
“God, it’s like the thought of having an inappropriate relationship with me just scared the hell out of you.”