Yes, Mr President

by Jean-Luc Cheri

  “Yes, I know that smile well.”

  “But he’s not like that in person. He’s very reserved and aloof. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile once since I’ve been here.”

  “Is he mean to people?”

  “No, but he’s not friendly either. You’ll see when you meet him.”

  “I have met him.”

  She gave me a curious look. “You have?”

  “Yes, he came to Stanford last year to give a speech. Since I’m a Poli-Sci major, we got to help organize it. And afterwards, he came and thanked us all. Went right down the line and shook all of our hands. I got to see that amazing smile up close and personal.” I grinned.

  She nodded. “Nice. But I think you better hold onto that memory. That was the public President Remington. The private one doesn’t go around shaking hands and smiling.”

  “That’s odd. Wonder why that is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with his wife dying a few years ago?”

  It was big news at the time. Five years ago, Governor Remington was the projected front-runner for his party’s presidential nomination. Then the unthinkable happened, and his wife was killed in a helicopter crash. He removed his name from the contenders, but a year later he re-entered the race, and won his party’s nomination. The election was a landslide victory, and at the age of thirty-six, he became the youngest president ever inaugurated. Many on the other side had claimed he had gotten most of his votes due to sympathy, but he had never publicly discussed his wife’s death, either during the campaign, nor since he’d taken office two and a half years ago.

  “Could be,” April replied.

  “Maybe he’s lonely.”

  “That may be true, but don’t be getting any ideas.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t tolerate that kind of thing. There was an intern who worked here last year – very beautiful from what I hear – and she tried something with him, not sure what. She was sent packing within the hour. So, if you value this job, don’t even think about it.”

  I looked at her with a shocked expression. “I would never do something like that. It never even occurred to me.”

  She held up her hand. “Ok, I’m sorry. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I wasn’t accusing, just warning.”

  I took a breath and relaxed. “Oh. Thanks.”

  She stood. “Come on, I’ll show you where the supply closet is.”

  A half hour later Mrs. Marshall returned and took me on a small tour. She covered the West Wing first, including pointing out the Oval Office without going inside.

  “Is that where President Remington is now?” I asked.

  She gave me a slight smile. “No, he’s in Nebraska today. Won’t be back until later this evening. You nervous about meeting him?”

  “A little.”

  “He’s a little intimidating at first, but I’ve never seen him raise his voice to any of the staff, so you needn’t worry about that.”

  We then moved on to the main building, making our way through the bottom floor as she pointed out the various rooms. Several tour groups eyed us curiously.

  “The upper floors are the private residence,” she said, “and are off limits unless specifically invited.”

  At the other end we entered the East Wing, which was usually reserved for the First Lady’s staff. Since there was no First Lady in this administration, it was filled with people who did what she normally would, such as plan White House meet and greets, coordinate with charities, and handle the President’s social calendar.

  I had my photo taken, and my temporary badge was exchanged for a permanent one. Well, permanent for the summer, at least.

  Mrs. Marshall introduced me to several more interns working on this side, and I was glad I was working in the West Wing, where the real action seemed to be.

  When we got back to my desk, there was a basket of mail sitting on it. April explained that my first official duty would be to go through each letter, match it to a response from a list of pre-written Word documents, personalize it, print it out, then paperclip it to the original letter so the President could review it before signing.

  I began to work, and it was slow going at first, but once I became familiar with the response letters, my pace increased. Condolences for this one, congratulations for that. It was going so well, I was almost annoyed when April announced it was lunch time.

  She took me to a small café named Filibuster’s, a block down Pennsylvania Avenue, where she said the interns ate regularly. We even ran into four other girls I had met in the East Wing, and we all decided to sit together.

  Our waiter was a cute young guy named Jamie, who flirted with us, causing most of the girls to laugh and giggle.

  “And who do we have here?” he said, smiling at me. “Another rookie?”

  “This is Sarah,” April said. “Be gentle, it’s her first time.”

  Everyone laughed and I smiled up at Jamie, who was doing the same to me. He had longish, blond hair and tanned skin, reminding me of the surfers back home. Even had the body to match.

  “I always am,” he said, and winked at me, causing the girls to giggle again. Then he said, “Do you work with April?”

  I nodded. “We sit right next to each other.”

  “You have my condolences then,” he said, and patted my shoulder lightly as everyone laughed again, including me.

  After he took our orders and left, the other girls all talked about him, describing what they’d do with him if they got him alone. Everyone except April, who sat listening quietly. I made a mental note to ask her about it later.

  Each of the girls shared their own personal stories of meeting President Remington, and their experiences were all similar – he was aloof and distant, not at all like his public persona.

  “So he hasn’t ever, you know, tried anything with any of you?” I asked.

  They all shook their heads and talked at once, letting me know something like that was out of the question.

  “But don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” Marcy, a pretty willowy blonde said. “Oh god, how I’ve thought about it.”

  We all laughed, and it appeared that everyone agreed with Marcy, and the President was on all of their lust lists.

  When Jamie returned with the food, he moved around our table, placing our plates in front of us. I noticed with interest that when he put my plate in front of me, he allowed his other hand to brush lightly against my back, something he hadn’t done with anyone else in our group.

  After we finished eating, the other girls had to pick up some office supplies, so April and I walked back to the White House alone. I decided to ask my question.

  “So, you and Jamie. Anything going on there?”

  She gave me a curious look. “Why do you think there’s something going on?”

  I smiled. “Because I have eyes. I’m sorry. If I’m being too nosey just tell me to shut up.”

  “No, it’s ok.”

  “You and him?”

  “Yeah, we had a little thing a while back, just after I started working here.”

  “Was it serious?”

  “Not really. Started off that way, and I found myself spending several nights a week at his apartment. But it cooled after a while. We’re still friends, and we occasionally spend the night together, but it’s not serious.”

  I smiled. “Friends with benefits?”

  “Something like that. He seems to like you.”

  “He’s not really my type.”

  “Not your type? You don’t like gorgeous guys with great bodies?”

  I laughed. “I grew up with guys like that in California. The place is full of beautiful, free-wheeling dudes who take life as it comes. I’m attracted to guys who are a little more serious.”

  “Damn, I need to move to California.”

  I laughed again. “Maybe you can come visit me after this is over.”

  “I would like that. By th
e way, about Jamie, we’re not exclusive. So if you want to, I won’t mind.”

  “April, I just told you he’s not my type. Plus, now that I know you’re with him, there’s no way I would do that.”

  She smiled. “Ok, ok, it was just a suggestion.”

  When we got back, I got to meet Kyle and Olivia, the other interns in my office. But they had to go back to the East Wing to finish what they were doing.

  I got back into the rhythm of my letters, and had completed a nice-sized stack when April surprised me.

  “It’s quitting time,” she announced.

  Not believing her, I glanced up at the clock. Sure enough, it was five o’clock. Where had the time gone?

  I looked at my mail basket. Four letters remained.

  “Is it ok if I stick around and finish these? I hate to leave just four.”

  She laughed. “Sure, no problem. Just put them on his desk when you’re done.”

  “On the President’s desk?

  “Yes, he has to sign them.”

  “In the Oval Office?”

  She laughed again. “Yes, that’s where his desk would be.”

  “Should I just go right in?”

  “Yes, his secretary, Mrs. Thorndike, will probably be gone for the day, so just take them in.”

  “Ok, thanks.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, April. Thanks for everything.”

  She left me alone, and I returned to work, getting back into my rhythm. After placing the last one on the stack, I thought I had finished them quickly, but when I looked up at the clock, it was six-thirty. I picked up the stack of letters and headed downstairs.

  The direct door to the Oval Office was closed, so I went around to the side, through Mrs. Thorndike’s office. Her desk was empty, which sat next to the open door of the President’s office. I paused.

  “Hello?” I called.

  There was no answer.

  “Hello?” I repeated, a little louder.

  Still nothing.

  I took a deep breath and walked in.

  It was strange and familiar at the same time. The long, curving walls under a high ceiling. The heavy blue curtains that matched the thick carpet, which had the large presidential seal woven into it. The imposing Resolute Desk sat in front of the three floor-to-ceiling windows, and for a moment I thought I was on a movie set.

  This was too surreal. Here I was, alone in this room, with all of its history. It was almost too much to fathom.

  Remembering I was here for a purpose, I walked to the desk and set the stack of letters on it. I was about to turn and leave, when I saw the rose garden through the window. It really did exist. The red and yellow blossoms were beautiful, and I had to get a better look.

  Moving around the desk, I stood at the window and looked out over the south lawn. In the evening light, it was a lovely mixture of all shades of green, with the roses added in for highlights. Simply breathtaking.

  I realized this was the view President Kennedy had seen when the famous photograph was taken of him looking out this window with his head bowed.

  But my thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind me.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  I winced. Shit! I knew I was going to get in trouble for this. Some Secret Service agent had probably seen me come in, and I had taken too long. I was going to get fired, I just knew it.

  I turned. “I’m sorry, I just came in to–”

  I stopped when I realized I was staring into the cobalt blue eyes of President Maxwell Remington.

  Chapter 3

  He was exactly as I remembered him from our last meeting. Tall with dark hair, he was wearing a charcoal-gray suit that fit him perfectly, accentuating his lean body. His face, while ruggedly handsome from his age, also contained a trace of boyish charm, as if at any moment his lips would curl up into an ‘I’m just kidding’ grin.

  I stared at him, unable to speak. I felt like a star-struck groupie meeting a rock legend. He seemed to be studying me curiously, waiting for me to respond. It occurred to me we were on the wrong sides of his desk, with me behind it, right next to his chair.

  “I, um…” Who was I again? “I’m sorry. I was just dropping off some letters.”

  He looked down at the stack of letters and walked behind the desk, taking a few in his hand and beginning to read through them. He was now standing about two feet from me, and his presence was almost overwhelming. I was close enough to smell his cologne.

  He was flipping through the pages and ignoring me, and I decided I had overstayed my welcome.

  “I’ll just go,” I said softly, and began to step away. But he raised one finger as he continued to read the letters, freezing me in place. Had I screwed something up? Was he about to berate me for giving someone the wrong template?

  “How was your first day?” he asked nonchalantly as he continued to scan the letters.

  My eyes opened wide in surprise. He knew it was my first day? It took me a moment to find my voice.

  “Um... Good.” I swallowed. “Actually, it was very exciting.”

  He nodded, still focusing on the text in his hand. “How about your living arrangements? Everything in order?”

  “Everything’s fine.” This was too surreal. The President of the United States was asking me if my apartment was ok?

  He nodded again. “Betty is good at what she does.”

  He held one of the letters out to me so I could read it. “Could you explain why you chose this template for this person?”

  I tried to focus on the paper, but my brain wouldn’t engage. “I, um... I could do it over again, if you’d like.”

  “No, I’d just like you to explain the logic you used.”

  I looked again at the letter, forcing myself to read it. It was one of the last four I had done.

  “Well, the guy recently lost both his wife and his job, and even though he mentioned his wife, there’s nothing you can do about her, so I didn’t want to use the condolence template. I figured the ‘I’m hard at work fixing the economy’ template would be what he would be more likely to want to hear from his president.”

  He nodded. “Excellent. It would have been my choice too. I’ve had to send a fair number of these back lately. From what I see here, it appears my return rate is going to drop drastically.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.” It felt like my heart was going to burst from my chest with pride.

  The first time we had met, he had gone down the line of students, taking each outstretched hand in his, first with one hand, and then laying the other over it, enveloping them in his grasp as his eyes locked on theirs. For those brief seconds, he let each of us know we had his full attention. When his large hands engulfed my small one, a warmth seemed to spread through me, starting with my hand and flowing up my arm and into my chest, finally settling into my stomach. And his blue eyes seemed to look right through me, as if he could read all of my darkest secrets with just one probing glance.

  With each person, he thanked them, and then mentioned something personal, meant just for them. The guy in line before me got, “I have a tie just like that in my closet.”

  For me, it was, “You have lovely green eyes.” It could have been my imagination, but it seemed he paused a moment longer with me than the others, his eyes searching mine. And then he was gone, moving on to the next person, turning that twenty-megawatt smile in their direction.

  As he moved away down the line, I could feel myself trembling from our encounter. Part of it was from the fact I had just met the President, but there was something else there too. As I watched his smile pass from person to person, I realized it was his complete maleness that had gotten to me. His imposing size and posture were overwhelming this close up, and to my surprise, I felt the spread of wet warmth between my legs.

  He shuffled through a few more letters, and then glanced at the clock. “You’re already here two hours past your quitting time. You should be heading home now.”

 
“It’s not a problem. If there’s anything you need – anything at all – I’m willing to stay as long as it takes.”

  As soon as I said it, I remembered April’s warning, and it occurred to me that what I had said could be taken the wrong way. I almost opened my mouth to apologize, but realized that would just make it worse.

  He stared at me a moment, then said, “That won’t be necessary, Sarah. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mr. President,” I replied, my cheeks hot with embarrassment, and I turned and walked out, feeling his stare on my back. It wasn’t until I got back to my desk did I realize he had called me by my name. I figured he must have gotten it from my badge, but when I looked at it, I saw ‘S. Hayes’ printed on it.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It was then I realized I was having the same reaction I’d had when I met him the first time. The warm wetness between my legs betrayed my secret desires, and I had to fight hard to keep those thoughts from rising to the surface.

  Chapter 4

  When I got home to my apartment and turned on the television, the sense of unreality struck me again. The news was filled with stories of the President’s speech he had given in Omaha, and I had just had a one-on-one conversation with him less than a half hour ago. It was going to be difficult to get used to this. As I watched him on television in his gray suit, I found myself remembering his masculine-sweet scent as he stood beside me. The memory brought another spasm of pleasure from deep inside, and I closed my eyes, focusing on other thoughts until the feelings passed.

  After dinner, I took a shower and settled back in front of the television. I hoped it would be a distraction away from the thoughts that were simmering just below my consciousness, but it seemed like every channel I turned to was a reminder of the smoldering lust in my loins.

  Not that this was a new experience for me. Still a virgin at twenty-one, I often had to fight to keep the fires of lust quelled inside of me. And when it got to be too much, I had my trusty vibrator in my bedside drawer. But I was resisting that option, because the last time I had met President Remington, I had used it on myself that very night, as my dark fantasies overwhelmed me, and I gave into the pleasure of thinking of him doing those forbidden things to me. And after that first time, it had taken me over two weeks to stop thinking of him every night as my toy buzzed between my legs, and even longer to stop fantasizing about him during the day.