Black President Season 2 Collection

by Brenda Hampton

  Andrew spun around to face the door, but General Stiles didn’t budge. She looked at us with a blank expression on her face while biting her bottom lip. Even I was speechless.

  “We had a seven o’clock meeting scheduled,” General Stiles said. “I guess time must’ve gotten away from you. We can always come back.”

  “Right,” Andrew said, slightly turning his head. His eyes were glued to Michelle, but she was already covered with the sheet. “We . . . We can come back later, Sir.”

  I wiped the sweat from my face with my hand. “Give me about an hour. I need to shower and change.”

  Without saying a word, General Stiles saluted me and walked out. Andrew, however, turned around again. He spoke to me, but his eyes were still on Michelle.

  “One . . . One hour, Mr. President. We’ll see you in one hour, and I apologize for the interject—I mean, the interruption.”

  I slowly nodded and watched as he left the room. While holding the sheet close to her chest, Michelle sat on me with bugged eyes.

  “Oh, my, how embarrassing was that? I thought when the door closed it locked? I’m sorry for keeping you up all night, and with the curtains being closed, I had no idea what time it was.”

  “I didn’t either, but now that we know and I still have another hour, why don’t we finish what we started?”

  Michelle laughed and jumped up from my lap. “Uh, no. I think I’ve had enough to last me for a long while. Besides, you have work to do this morning.”

  As she saw me coming towards her, she rushed over to my desk with the sheet wrapped around her. I stood on one side of the desk, she stood on the other. The direction of her eyes journeyed to my package.

  “You couldn’t have anything left to give me,” she said. “I know for a fact there is nothing else left in there.”

  I laughed and rushed around the desk to catch her. She moved again, and as she raced to the other side of the room, I reached out and grabbed the sheet. She almost tripped on it, but managed to keep her balance.

  “See, that’s what you get for trying to run from me,” I said. “All I was trying to do is make sure you left here with a smile on your face.”

  I wrapped my arms around Michelle’s waist; she wrapped hers around mine. She planted a kiss on my lips then cocked her head back to look at me.

  “You don’t have to do anything else to make me leave here with a smile on my face. I’m good, real good, and thank you so much for a wonderful time, Mr. President.”

  “You’re welcome.” I kissed her again. Our lips stayed locked for a while, and the taste of her tongue was sweeter than any berry I’d ever had. “That was memorable. Now get on your clothes and get out of here before I change my mind about this meeting and cancel it.”

  “I don’t want you to do that, but be sure to call me later.”

  We kissed again, before Michelle backed away from me and put on her dress. She straightened her hair with the tips of her fingers, and after sliding into her shoes, she left the Oval Office. I put on my wrinkled shirt and pants, before heading upstairs to the Executive Residence to shower and change clothes. On my way to the bedroom, I saw Raynetta sitting in the Yellow Room with a cup of tea on the table in front of her. A thick notebook was in her hand; she was busy writing something. I cleared my throat so she would look up.

  “Yes,” she said in a snobby tone.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were here or not, but good morning.”

  She cut her eyes at me, replied “morning” and started writing again. I was in a decent mood, so I hurried to take my shower and changed into my gray slacks and a purple shirt. This time when I passed by the Yellow Room, Raynetta was gone. I hurried to the Oval Office so I wouldn’t be late for my meeting. Since I’d had ten or so minutes before Andrew and General Stiles returned, I straightened up a bit. I fluffed the pillows on the sofas, straightened the rug, organized the papers on my desk and took the sheet to a laundry room. When I returned, Andrew and General Stiles were in the Oval Office waiting on me. I closed the door behind me and walked over to the sofas where they sat.

  “Let me apologize for pushing this meeting back an hour, but I had no idea what time it was. I guess we can get started without Sam, but when he comes I’ll have to pause for a minute and tell him a few things I want him to communicate to the American people during his press briefing today.”

  “That’s fine, Sir,” Andrew said. “Before we get started, I hope you’re not troubled by the way I looked at Miss Peoples. She’s a gorgeous woman. I couldn’t help myself. I just wish things weren’t so complicated between you and the first lady.”

  “No problem, Andrew, and if you don’t mind, I don’t care to elaborate.”

  “Please don’t,” General Stiles said. “Our meeting is already running way late and I need to share some important things with you before your meeting at the U.N. I’m sure you’ll be meeting with the Secretary of State later, but I thought it was important for us to have a discussion first. If your mind is clear and you’re ready to hear what I have to tell you, please say so.”

  I didn’t appreciate her jab about my mind being clear. “My mind is always clear. Please share, and as always, thanks for your time and service.”

  General Stiles provided me with vital information to share at the U.N., but during our conversation, she seemed irritated. I knew she’d had a crush on me, but I wasn’t aware of how serious it was until I saw her reaction today. I now knew I had to watch my back when it came to her as well.

  President’s Mother,

  Teresa Jefferson

  I was too pissed about everything to call Stephen and congratulate him on confronting those racist fools in front of the White House. I didn’t want to converse with him, and I surely didn’t want to hear no mess from Raynetta about Mr. McNeil being related to her. I couldn’t believe it. Then again, yes I could because she had always been a snake in my book.

  What upset me the most was Jeremy and his wife calling the police on me. They thought they’d made my life miserable, but when I say the media tore that man to shreds, I mean it. Just this morning, he was forced to resign. I cracked up while watching his poor explanation on TV, while his silly-looking wife was by his side. I predicted she wouldn’t be there for long, but that was now their problem, not mine.

  The last gripe I’d had was pertaining to Michelle. How dare she reject my offer about having Stephen’s child. She knew good and doggone well she wanted his baby, and if she could move her and her children into the White House she would. I couldn’t quite figure her out. But if things turned out to be what I predicted they would be with Raynetta, Michelle was my only hope for having some more grandchildren. I missed the hell out of Joshua. Every time I called him or Ina, they didn’t answer. It was as if they had disappeared, and after all I had done for them, I was disappointed.

  Hell, I was disappointed in everybody, including my son. I had to do something to shake him up; he didn’t even call to check on me after I had been arrested. Those police officers could’ve done anything to me. Stephen wouldn’t know, because he hadn’t even checked. I figured he was still upset with me about Joshua, and since Ina wasn’t around for him to attack her, he attacked me. He overlooked everything I’d done for him as a mother; the shame was on him.

  Right after I finished watching the news, I decided to put on some casual clothes and go join some of the protesters I’d seen on TV all week long. Things were ugly. Even though Stephen had settled things down in some cities, not all cities followed his lead. The people in Baltimore, Maryland weren’t having it. A black woman had been killed by a cop who claimed she was waving a knife around when he arrived at her apartment. It was a messy situation, and unfortunately, the woman had some mental health issues. Still, in my opinion, the cop had other options. He didn’t see it that way, but nonetheless, people took to the streets to protest. I knew that my being there would cause a scene, and the media would definitely want to speak to me. This was a grand opportunity for me to follow Step
hen’s lead, but to also get his attention. I tossed back a strong drink before I left, and then I hit the highway. Listened Stevie Wonder while in the car, and just as I arrived at my destination, Aretha was crooning about respect. I waited until the song was over, and after taking another swig from a bottle in a brown paper bag, I popped a breath mint in my mouth. I exited my car, and within fifteen minutes, I started walking with an energized group of protestors who were highly upset with the police. Many protestors were young, some older. I saw signs from “Stop Killing Us” to “Black Lives Matter.” Some protestors carried guns, some wore masks over their faces, and I couldn’t believe how many people had brought their children. It was a peaceful protest, and after I marched nearly six blocks with an older couple next to me, and plenty of younger people surrounding me, I was noticed by a reporter who pointed in my direction. She rushed through the crowd to question me. The cameras followed and cell phones were up.

  “Miss Jefferson, how are you today?” the reporter asked. “I never thought in a million years I would see you protesting. Are you trying to set an example like the president?”

  I stepped aside to answer her questions. “No I’m not, but why wouldn’t I be here? The entire city needs to be here, and I’m glad to see this many people standing up for what is wrong.”

  “Does the president know you came today and will he be joining you?”

  “I don’t know what the president’s plans are, but I’m here because it’s a shame what that cop did. Losing his job isn’t enough. We want to make sure there is a conviction.”

  “But nobody has all the facts yet. Why not wait until the facts are in, before you decide the officer is guilty?”

  I didn’t like her tone, so I told her what she needed to hear and decided to move on. “The fact is, too many black people have been killed by cops who already know there will be no consequences. Another fact is we have ignored these issues for too long. So many people are afraid to open their mouths and admit that we do have killer cops in this country who have hatred in their hearts for people of color. The last thing I want to share pertains to privileged people like you who continuously make excuses for these cops. You know doggone well that a man with a gun is not fearful of a woman with a knife. That’s bullshit. He shot her because she was unprivileged and black.”

  The crowd surrounding me started clapping and cheering.

  “You damn right he wasn’t scared!” A man shouted. “Ain’t none of them scared, because they know what the end result will be!”

  More people made comments, and with a frown on her face, the reporter was frustrated.

  “I won’t dispute anything you’ve said, Miss Jefferson, but let’s move on. You were arrested the other day for assault, and then you were released. Mr. Blackstone recently stepped down from his position. Can you share with us how you feel about him resigning?”

  “I don’t wish to talk about that situation right now. The crowd is moving, and I prefer to get back to protesting.”

  As I started to walk away, she hit me with another question. “What about your alcohol problem? Are you in rehab? Mr. Blackstone stated that you were intoxicated when you showed up at his house. Were you?”

  My face twisted and I pursed my lips. “Bitch, you can smell my breath, can’t you? I’m intoxicated now, but I handle myself very well. Now, this interview is complete. I’ve given you enough of my time.”

  I walked away with a crowd of people following me. Many people used their phones to snap pictures/videos and upload them on social media. I was given numerous signs to carry. I waved them in the air and proudly marched in my red bottom heels and jeans that hugged my curves.

  “Dang, Mama,” a young black activist said to me as I held my fist in the air, swaying my hips in the process. He was too cute. Had dreads in a ponytail, muscles stretching his T-shirt, loose jeans that displayed a nice print, and tinted glasses on that made him look smart. I appreciated his pearly white teeth as he smiled.

  “You out here representing,” he said. “I love a woman who’s down for the cause, especially a sexy, classy woman who don’t mind sweating a little.”

  Like I said, he was too cute to ignore. I needed a little excitement in my life, so instead of ignoring him, I asked what his name was.

  “Malik Henderson. Nice to meet you.”

  We shook hands and when he asked me to call his cell phone so he could have my number for future protests, I surely did. Right after that, a fight broke out. I didn’t know who was fighting who. All I know was people were running and falling. I had to remove my heels, and just as I crossed the street, someone threw a brick into a glass window, shattering it. Things quickly turned chaotic. Mace was sprayed and the fumes went right in my face. My eyes burned; I started coughing. The next thing I knew, I was being handcuffed by the police. For what, I didn’t know.

  “Wait a minute,” I shouted while squeezing my eyes together. Smudged mascara ran down my face and my arms were hurting from the officer holding them too tight. “Please tell me why I’m being arrested? I didn’t do a damn thing! How dare you treat me like this. Do you know who I am?”

  The officer didn’t say a word. I was shoved into a paddy wagon with numerous other people who were rowdy as hell. One man kicked the inside of the vehicle while his hands were cuffed behind his back. Another banged his head, and nearly everyone was shouting vulgarities at the officers. We were all taken to the police station, and after being “processed” I found myself inside of a muggy, musty-smelling cell with nearly fifty other people. My body was sweating; my shirt stuck to my skin. Hair laid flat on my head, and I still hadn’t had a chance to wipe my smeared makeup. What I needed was a drink, a cold shower and my bed. In that order. Maybe this protesting stuff wasn’t for me after all.

  Everyone stood around chit-chatting, as if this was no big deal. I wanted out, and I let it be known to the officer that he needed to release me.

  “May I use a phone?” I said to an officer who stood outside of the cell. “I need to call my son, the president.”

  The officer didn’t respond. A man behind me laughed, and when I turned around, he shook his head.

  “Call the president,” he said. “That’s a good one. Maybe I should call him too.”

  A few more people laughed, but another man vouched for me.

  “Fool, that is the president’s mother. Haven’t you seen her on TV?”

  The sarcastic man snapped his finger. “Yeah, I’ve seen her on TV. She was on that, uh, crazy TV show Snapped, right?”

  He giggled and so did a few other people. I was about to snap on his ass, but when I heard my name being called, I turned to look at the officer.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Go where?”

  “Wherever you want to go, lady. Your bail has been satisfied.”

  I was glad to hear that. I rushed out of the cell and went to the waiting area, expecting to see Stephen. I figured he’d seen me getting arrested on TV, especially since the media was everywhere. Instead, the person I saw was Malik. A smile was on his face and he stood by the exit door waiting for me.

  “When I saw them put you in the paddy wagon,” he said. “I hurried to come get you. Our organization is able to pay numerous protestors’ bail. I’m glad we were able to help you.”

  His swift actions put a smile on my face. I was impressed. He opened the door for me, and I stepped outside in the rain. Representing how polite he was, he removed his jacket, putting it over my head.

  “Can I drive you to your car?” he asked.

  “You sure can, because I’m not about to walk.”

  He laughed and walked with me to his car. I wasn’t thrilled about riding in a Honda Civic, but his car was nice and clean. It smelled good too; the smell of pines infused the inside. Malik pulled away from the curb, and knowing that my makeup was a mess, I lowered the visor to look in the mirror.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any napkins in here, would you?”

  “Open the glo
ve compartment. I may have some napkins or tissue in there.”

  I opened the glove compartment and found exactly what I needed. I wiped my face with a napkin, removing every drop of makeup from it.

  “You don’t need to wear makeup,” Malik said. “Your skin is already pretty.”

  I blushed, but I had to let him know his charming words were unnecessary. “I appreciate your words, but please don’t start all that sweet talk that sounds like game to me. I’ve been around for a long time, and I’ve heard it all. Compliments are cute, but they can also be tacky sometimes.”

  Showing his sense of humor, he laughed again. “Okay. I won’t tell you how beautiful and sexy you are. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to know how old you are. I already know you’re the president’s mother. I’ve seen you plenty of times before. Every time I see you, well, I won’t say because you’ll think it’s game.”

  “Much game, and my age is none of your business. I never tell my real age, it doesn’t matter. Also, I am so much more than just the president’s mother.”

  “I believe that you are. You don’t have to convince me.”

  We made small talk as he drove me back to my car. Some of the protestors were still hanging around, but Malik said him and his organization always left before it got too late. It was already ten o’clock. I wasn’t looking forward to the long drive back home.

  “When can I see you again?” Malik asked.

  I shrugged. “You’ll probably see me on TV. The media tries to cover my every move. If I don’t hurry up and get out of your car, I’m sure one of those reporters will see me and come running over here.”