Madame President

by Tara Sue Me

  I know the executives at GBNC, and I know how they operate. They would never allow for their top news anchor to be part of my Press Pool for four years. Never. Which meant one thing—they knew something newsworthy was going to happen, and they wanted their best man to be nearby when it did.

  Maybe I should have waited for my anger to dissipate before talking with Navin, but that’s not what I wanted. I wanted him in my office and to look me in the eye and lie. There’s never been a doubt in my mind he was a smart man. He wouldn’t be where he was if he was stupid. Let’s face it, you don’t get to be known as one of the best of anything by accident.

  I knew the second he crossed the threshold into my office on Air Force One he was well aware of why I wanted to talk with him. But I’ll hand it to him, he never straight out lied to me. On the other hand, I wasn’t able to get anything useful out of him other than more confirmation my gut was right.

  Back in my suite at the hotel, I greet the various staff members working there. They’re welcome to be anywhere in the suite outside of my bedroom and private bathroom. I hate now that I’ve spoken with the Director and Navin, it’s no longer easy to smile and greet them. Every interaction, every movement, every word I scrutinize for underlying messages. Is the traitor in my suite right now, standing with me and smiling as they catch me up on the news of the day?

  The thought makes me sick.

  “Madame President,” David asks, walking toward me. “I trust the meetings went well?”

  I return his smile back as much as possible while telling myself there is no reason to feel guilt over not telling him about my discussions with Wiggins. I can’t allow for a crack in my mask. Not now. Not ever. “Yes, Mr. Herdsman,” I say needing to get away from him somehow.

  He opens his mouth to fill me in on something, but I hold up my hand. “Just a minute please.” My personal secretary has walked up to stand beside him. “Nicole,” I call to her. “How long do I have?” It’s a code the two of us have developed, no one knows it, not even David. How long do I have is what I ask her when I need to get away from wherever it is I’m at or from whomever it is I’m talking with. If there’s nothing needing my immediate or urgent attention, she’ll mention something, but add that it can wait. If that’s not the case she’ll add they were insistent.

  “Mr. Hollingsworth called, Madame President,” she says, not even blinking an eye. “But it can wait.”

  “Thank you.” I look to David. “I need to freshen up before tonight, can we talk later?”

  “Of course, Madame President,” he says. “In fact, it can wait until morning.”

  “Well,” I say, in an attempt to appear lighthearted. “My shower cannot.”

  I keep up the fake smile until I’m safe behind my bedroom door. Only then, when I’m alone, do I let myself simply be. Rolling my shoulders, I stretch and look for my slippers so I can kick off my shoes. I’m not a diva and I’m not high maintenance, I just don’t like walking on flooring that’s not my own in bare or stockinged feet. When I travel, I always carry around half a dozen pairs of cheap slippers, that way it’s easy for me to find them quickly. I know I left a pair near the door this morning because that’s where I put on my heels.

  Once I slide my slippers on, I sit at the desk my private suite holds. I can spare a few minutes before heading to shower. I jot down a few notes and reminders I want to give to Nicole, and a few things I need David to follow-up on. Everything always seems easier to handle when it’s written down. Satisfied and still not tired in the least, I head to the spacious spa-like bath to prepare for the reception.

  My gown for the reception is a deep burgundy that’s fitted at the waist, with a scooped neckline and a full skirt. My styling team runs around doing what they need to make me look my best. My hair is pulled back into an uncomplicated knot at my nape, and they keep my makeup light and simple.

  When I decided to run for Congress, Jaya sat me down and taught me everything I needed to know about makeup. Considering that up to that point the only cosmetic I used on a regular basis was lipstick, she had a lot to teach. I’ll be forever grateful she was as thorough as she was, not considering herself finished until I had done my entire face to her satisfaction.

  I think she was happier than anyone when I was assigned a stylist.

  “Thank goodness,” she said. “Now I can sleep at night.”

  I’m mingling at the reception. At the moment, I’m talking with the First Lady of Argentina, and trying to appear as if I’m completely enthralled with the play-by-play she’s giving me of her last visit to the White House when at a State Dinner, she discovered a party crasher in the ladies room. I smile and nod at the right times, but my brain is somewhere else completely.

  It couldn’t be Nicole, I keep her too busy for her to have time to even think about leaking information. But if I follow that logic, I rule out everyone because we’re all busy.

  I rarely drink alcohol, preferring to ensure my mind is clear and alert at all times, so at the moment, I’m holding tonic water with lime. Conversation swirls around me and for a second I push aside all thoughts of my staff issues and let the reality of who I am and what I’m doing sink in. It’s so easy to get caught up in the details of the every day that we miss the big picture.

  There’s a subtle change in the chatter of the crowd, and a brief stirring before the room returns to normal. I look toward the door to see who or what might have led to the change and I’m floored to realize it’s Navin. What the hell?

  He’s in a tux, probably the same one he wore the night of my inauguration. The sight makes my body react in ways I would prefer it not, but there’s not much I can do to stop it. Then it hits me, he’s not supposed to be here in the ballroom. None of the press are, and I can’t wait to hear his explanation of why he is.

  I square my shoulders and wait for him to come over to where I’m standing. He looks around the room, but it’s not me he’s trying to find. His eyes land on the oldest daughter of the Prime Minister of New Zealand, and he smiles and walks toward her…on the other side of the room. They embrace like old friends and he even shakes hands with the Prime Minister.

  As the conversations around the room continue, I try to look everywhere except where Navin is, so of course, my eyes land right on him. The daughter is introducing him a group of men standing near her father, and I realize another reason why Navin would want to be on my Press Pool.

  Sex.

  He’s a single man with a sharp mind, quick wit, and a body that looks so good, it makes grandmothers blush. He probably sees this as an opportunity to meet and charm women who would otherwise be inaccessible.

  Anger pulses through me at the realization of how easily my team and I played into his hands. I’m mad with myself because I knew when I first dipped my toe in the governmental waters I had to watch myself and be careful. Not to mention, usually I’m able to read people better. I hate that everything in my system goes haywire when Navin’s involved.

  Somehow, Navin and I are able to make it through the first two hours without any interaction. Although I’m sure it’s more as a result of my effort. He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. He appears to be having a great time hanging out with the New Zealand contingent. Every time I let my eyes wander to where he is, which is more than I’d like to admit, he’s laughing with someone.

  It’s a bit of a shock when it hits me, the realization that he’s better at this social game than I am. Not that I’m bad. It’s just not my strongest point. I very rarely ever express as much emotion as he does in a simple conversation with someone he just met.

  In an effort to give myself a mental break, I walk around a bit. A collection of rooms have been reserved for our group on the upper floor of the hotel we’re all staying at, and my detail has already done a security sweep. A long walk outside would be the best thing for me, but there’s no way I can make that happen. I alert the head of my detail to my plans and after a few minutes of walking I do feel better. One of the
rooms is empty, but toward the back are what looks like antiques. Another security sweep and I’m free to enter.

  The room is a little dimmer than the others. I walk in, leaving the lights the way they are, and make my way to the first antique and look it over. I’ve always been fascinated by history and England has so much more of it recorded than the States.

  “Madame President,” one of the agents call, and I lift my head.

  Navin is standing next to an agent who won’t let him enter unless I give my consent I turn back to the antique. “Let him in.”

  I hear his footsteps.

  “Madame President,” he says. “You’re a difficult person to find alone.”

  I don’t turn around. “There’s a reason for that, Mr. Hazar. And I’m not alone. As you just discovered.”

  “When I said alone, I was speaking in relative terms.”

  With that one sentence he reminds me exactly why I decided to take a walk. “Is that how you convince yourself it’s okay?” I ask. A movement from the corner of the room tells me one of the agents has slipped inside the room. “By saying it’s all relative?”

  He walks to stand by my side. “That I convince myself what is okay?”

  “Lying, telling half truths, stretching it a little.”

  The smile he gave everyone else tonight, he does not give me. What I see is the exact opposite. There’s a hint of ire in his expression. “You still think I have a hidden agenda for being on your Press Pool?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it. You think you’re so smart, that you’ve managed to pull the wool over the President’s eyes? Guess what, Mr. Hazar? You haven’t. Take that as a lesson, because when you get rid of everything else, I’m the one who graduated and passed the bar, you’re just a law school dropout.”Listening to my own words, I know I’m going to go too far, and I need to walk away before I do, but I find I can’t.

  Much to my shock it isn’t ire that overtakes his face, it’s grief. It disappears as fast as it appeared, and very softly, so softly I almost miss it, he whispers, “Fuck you, Madame President.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Him

  Hotel

  London, England

  Though I enjoy my job, and despite the fact I’m paid well to do it, it was never my desire to sit behind a desk and discuss the news. My dream was to sit behind a bench and make the news as a judge. I studied and worked hard to make my dream a reality. As a result, I graduated valedictorian from high school, and summa cum laude from Colombia four years after that with a degree in journalism. By the time I stepped onto campus at Harvard Law, I was unstoppable.

  One phone call proved how wrong I was. A few months into my second year that was all it took to bring me to my knees. And yet, I didn’t have anything to think about. There was no choice to be made, no decision to weigh the pros and cons of; only one phone call and the whispered words, “We need you,” and I walked away from my dream and never looked back.

  I have no regrets about giving up that dream for what became my reality. I didn’t return to law school as was my plan, but instead found a job at the local news station and gradually made my way to where I am today.

  If given the chance to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Or at least that’s what I’ve always told myself. Looking back now, I see how wretched it was for me to leave without telling Anna why. At the time, I thought I’d be back within a week, and in my haste to get home as quickly as possible, I neglected to let anyone know I’d left. By the time it became clear I wouldn’t be returning, I convinced myself Anna didn’t want to hear from me, and if I’m being completely honest, I had more important things to deal with. I couldn’t worry about a girl, I had my family to think about. I realize now how wrong that was, especially when Anna was so much more than a hook-up. But it happened and I did what I did.

  I’m sure it’s written somewhere how inappropriate it is to tell the president to fuck herself, and I’m positive George would fire me if he knew, but at the moment I don’t care. Anna clearly wasn’t expecting my reaction, and it appears it shocked her so much she’s speechless.

  I, however, am not. “Yes,” I say, stepping into her personal space and stopping when she lifts her hand. We’re so close I see the vein pulse in her neck. Her heart is racing. Good. “I did drop out of law school, but you know nothing about the circumstances. However, I will tell you this, if you want history to remember more about you than just a footnote saying you were the first female to hold your office? You, Madame President, better learn you don’t know everything, nor do you have the right to know everything.”

  She’s looking at me and her gaze is just as furious as it was when we were on the plane. The only difference is this time, I’m right there with her. She takes several deep breaths, probably trying to hold back a verbal assault she doesn’t want public. The action causes her chest to move up and down, and it’s much too easy to imagine it doing the same, except in my vision, we’re both naked.

  I clench my fists because if I don’t, I’ll touch her, and if I touch her, I’ll kiss her. And my lips on hers would be the epitome of a bad decision. I take a step back, and cool air rushes between us. Before I do anything stupid, like pull her into my arms, I turn and leave the way I entered. I shouldn’t have bothered her, but I saw her walk out and wanted to make sure she was okay.

  The best thing for me to do is to return to the reception where almost everybody is, if for no other reason than to tell Sara, my date, thank you and goodnight. Unfortunately, if I walk in there, I’ll have to talk to people and I’m not in the mood to play nice or to laugh and fake smile. Once I get back in my room, I’ll text Sara a quick note apologizing for leaving without a word, but that I’m not feeling well.

  It won’t bother her and she won’t care. Nor will she pout the next time we run into each other. She’s not like that. Which is the only reason I agreed to come as her date in the first place. We’ve known each other forever. Her father was one of the first international heads of state I interviewed. I had been flown to New Zealand by GBNC following an earthquake and our hotel was in his hometown region of Canterbury. The city we stayed in turned out to be one of those places where everyone knows everyone else. Sara and I ran into each other at a local restaurant and we immediately hit it off as friends. We were both in relationships with other people then and by the time both of us were single at the same time, we realized friends were all we could ever be.

  I sent her a text once we arrived in London because I knew she often traveled with her father and told her I’d be in attendance. We caught up over lunch earlier in the day and she begged me to come with her tonight.

  I’ll admit, knowing it would irritate Anna to see me there, made the decision easier to make. If that makes me an ass, then I’m an ass, because the look on her face when she laid eyes on me was priceless.

  I manage to avoid any personal interaction with Anna over the next few days. Obviously, we share the same space most of the time. On a few occasions she’ll walk into our area, mostly to give us updates and answer a few questions. Every time she does, she’s very personable and easy to talk with, and I feel certain by the time we land back in DC, she’ll even have the grumpy old Roberts followers converted.

  How she’s able to keep everyone’s name straight is beyond me. I thought I had a good memory, but she remembered the photo journalist traveling with us from early in her campaign, and that his wife had been pregnant. I’d never had the ability to recall such details. Typically, if I interview a person I believe I might have an occasion to interview again, I’ll make a note of something like that in my phone. The journalist’s face when she asked if the baby had been a boy or girl proved how much it meant to him she remembered.

  But she hasn’t said one word to me. Of course, I haven’t said one to her, either. Don’t think the others haven’t noticed. They have. They’re just not willing to take the risk and ask me, which means my expression probably shows exactly how I’m feeling.

/>   It’s our last night in London and Anna is having a private dinner with the Prime Minister of the UK. That being the case, the press stay behind. I can’t help but wonder if Anna is relieved not to have her press shadows following her every move or if it was possible to grow accustomed to never really being alone?

  I’m walking through the floor where the reception was held and, remembering something I’d read, I step inside the room where everything went so wrong between me and Anna. I did send a text to Sara later that night, and as expected, she replied with a sad face and a hope you feel better soon text.

  The room is darker tonight than it was then. I suppose because no one has it reserved. Too bad for me that means they leave it dark. I enjoy history and this particular room, based on what I read, and what I saw a glimpse of the other night with Anna, holds a few impressive antiques I’d hoped to get a better look at. Not ready to admit defeat, and not wanting to head to bed yet, I move deeper inside. There’s a full moon, and maybe if it’s not too overcast, the moon will provide enough light for me to see something.

  I walk toward the wooden piece Anna stood looking at only a few nights ago. It’s a large cabinet you can’t see from the door of the room and it’s the main piece I want a chance to look at. Unfortunately, London is being London, and it’s cloudy outside. Not even a hint of light to aid in my quest. I don’t want to use the light on my phone because it’d look suspicious to anyone walking by.

  A movement from the street below catches my attention. Anna, returning from dinner in her motorcade. I watch as her car door is opened and she is hurriedly tucked inside by her security detail. I wonder if she will always be this way for me. Close enough to for me to watch, but always out of reach.