Damien's Christmas

by M. L. Buchman

  “You’re…what?” Librarian was about the last title Cornelia would have expected.

  Damien sighed for his stolen thunder and dropped back into his seat.

  “You lack,” she resisted the urge to ask if he bought his suits at Sears, “the military snap and precision I would expect from a handsome Marine Corps Captain. Now I understand why.” And she should not have said handsome even if it was undeniable.

  “Story of my life,” Damien agreed and scowled at Sienna. Then he turned to Cornelia but raised his voice. “Story of my life, please.”

  In moments the briefing screens were filled with an array of images: high school photo, looking sharp in Marine blues complete with gold buttons, white hat, and sword. Damien Feinman looked good in his present suit whatever its origin, but he was remarkable in his dress uniform.

  She scanned the biographic feed. High school drama department. Library school and Naval ROTC—odd combination. He was two months younger than she was—selfless Pisces to her own overly determined Capricorn. Marine Corps intelligence at Quantico for two years. Ten years at—

  “I thought National Security Council assignments to the White House Situation Room were only for two-year tours.”

  “That’s why he’s our anomaly,” Zachary repeated his earlier statement.

  But Damien wasn’t looking at Zachary or at her. He was looking at the screens.

  Cornelia followed the direction of his gaze and sighed. She didn’t have an eidetic memory; no photograph of the information existed in her head—there was far too much of it. But she was very good at picking out what didn’t fit in an array of information. Many people, especially those subjected to her occasional in-vain attempts at relationships, found her ability disconcerting. She could see him wondering how she had zeroed in on that so quickly.

  She read more during his puzzled silence. He too had been valedictorian and his climb through the ranks had been at a pace even combat officers rarely achieved. Clearly he too rose to a challenge.

  “Now that you know how this place works,” Sienna spoke up, “let’s get into our first current affairs briefing. Until now, your intel briefings have been background material and longer term issues. As the others are already up to speed on world affairs, please let me know if I’m going too fast for you, Ms. Day. Starting with Africa.”

  The screens shifted again, but Cornelia wasn’t watching them.

  She was watching Damien Feinman as he slowly turned from the summary of his life to look at her. He was inspecting her carefully as if she was of sudden interest. They each had their skills, was it now a “contest” to see whose were more useful?

  Cornelia arched a single eyebrow to voice the challenge and he offered a nod reminiscent of his mock bow to accept it. Game on.

  Chapter Two

  Cornelia didn’t know why she was always felt a jolt of surprise whenever she saw the President in the White House, and yet she did every single time. Over the last two terms, she’d had very little to do with President Matthews. Her primary contacts were with his three executive secretaries and Daniel; the President himself she never interacted with. He probably didn’t know who she was.

  At the end of the Sienna’s hour-long briefing on the world at large, but before the meeting could break up, President Peter Matthews swept into the room.

  “All rise,” Damien called out like a court bailiff. He sent her a saucy wink. Then he snapped a Marine-smart salute to the President. “Good morning O Commander-in-Chief, my Commander.”

  “Sit down before you fall down, Feinman,” was the President’s easy greeting.

  Damien remained standing respectfully despite his outrageous welcome.

  Cornelia was fascinated by the various reactions as everyone rose to their feet. Zachary and Daniel became noticeably more casual in their speech—also offering cheery, even teasing greetings to the Commander-in-Chief—yet much more formal in their manner. Ties were surreptitiously straightened, jackets that had been over the backs of chairs were hurriedly donned. Sienna Arnson smoothed her dress carefully.

  She herself had neither shed her jacket nor fussed with the kerchief in her breast pocket that matched her blouse. She simply rose quietly and waited.

  Damien, who had seemed unable to sit still during the course of the meeting, had slowly discombobulated himself. His tie had been eased, off center. He’d run his hands deep into his hair while trying to make a point, leaving it thoroughly mussed. His jacket had been left back at the watch stations from when he’d gone off to assist with items that were challenging the rest of the staff. His shirt sleeves were rolled up unevenly.

  “Did I miss the surprise part yet?” President Matthews was immaculate in his three-piece pinstripe.

  Zachary and Daniel exchanged looks, not of complicity but rather of confusion.

  “The surprise part?” Sienna asked uncertainly.

  Damien was keeping his thoughts to himself and Cornelia chose to emulate his example.

  “Oh, did I forget to tell anyone?” President Matthews looked very pleased with himself as he sat in the chair that Zachary had occupied during the meeting. “Not yet, Cowboy. Move down one.”

  “That would be Flyboy. I’m from the Air Force Academy, not the flatlands of Colorado and you know it.” Zachary moved to Daniel’s chair and Daniel to Damien’s.

  Damien, rather than taking the next chair, circled around the other end of the table.

  “What?” the President asked him.

  “Boys on one side, girls on the other. Seems rather trite.” Cornelia was amused as Damien scooted Sienna down one seat and sat between them.

  “Ms. Day,” the President said courteously, proving that he did indeed know who she was.

  Realizing that she was the lone person still standing, she too returned to her seat.

  “First,” he turned to his right, “how far are you two into your transition team?”

  Zachary and Daniel exchanged worried looks.

  “They,” Cornelia used the term loosely, “have filled just under three hundred of one-thousand-forty-two open positions,” and Cornelia had made most of those decisions herself because her boss had been too busy catching up with his Vice Presidential job since the election.

  “When did that happen?” The President-elect did a poor job of covering for himself, as usual.

  Cornelia kept her sigh to herself, but could hear Damien chuckle.

  “That explains the steady stream of intelligence and personnel-clearance requests we’ve been processing lately.”

  She turned, a little startled at how close he suddenly was, seated in the next chair beside her.

  “I’ve only told you part of what we do here. Those requests cross our desks as well. Never dull here, I can promise you.”

  She’d remember that.

  “You two geniuses,” the President addressed the Misters Elect, “do have the good sense to keep Sienna as National Security Advisor, don’t you?”

  Again Zachary and Daniel exchanged quick glances.

  Cornelia read the look and made a mental note. “I’ll get that taken care of. Congratulations, Ms. Arnson.”

  Sienna looked slightly dazed for a moment. “When they hadn’t approached me, I’d just assumed—”

  “That they were still too dazzled about winning the election to think clearly, even though four weeks have passed by since?” Cornelia finished the sentence for her.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. The answer is yes, by the way, once they get around to asking me. I’ll cancel the feelers I put out to other agencies.”

  “Good,” the President thumped a hand on the table, cutting off Zachary the moment he opened his mouth to actually ask.

  Cornelia was starting to enjoy this. The President- and Vice-President-elect were both so confident; she’d have to remember the advantages of keeping them slightly off balance.

  “You two,” the President continued, not giving them a chance to speak, “have an administration to prepare. You need to s
top thinking about my lame duck operation and get moving.”

  “But—” Daniel didn’t get past the first word of his protest before the President turned to her.

  “You, Ms. Cornelia Day, are as of this moment, my White House Chief of Staff. Sorry Daniel, but that means I’ll need your formal resignation by end of day unless you want me to fire your butt.”

  “I serve at the pleasure of the President,” Daniel said it formally.

  She could see him swallow hard. By his bewildered expression, it was going to take him a while to come to terms with the change. For herself, she simply filed the fact for later consideration. No, there wasn’t even the need for that. It made absolutely logical sense. It would smooth the often rough and occasionally acrimonious transition from one administration to the next. By naming her his White House Chief of Staff, President Matthews was showing a great deal of consideration for the incoming leadership.

  “I’ll leave it to the two of you when to switch offices but, Daniel and Zachary, make it soon—as in today. You two need to focus on the next administration. Cornelia, go to Daniel when you get stuck, but with your reputation I don’t expect that to happen very often.”

  Again, more than she expected, but she had sufficient self-awareness to think that she had at least some skills at her job. If not, she never would have agreed to it when Zachary had swung by her office on Election Day and said, “Of course, if I win, you’re my Chief of Staff. You know that, right?” Not waiting for her answer before rushing off to his next media event.

  “Ms. Day, you should be able to get much more done now that you have the power of your future job. That’s effective immediately, Damien.” The President pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket’s inner pocket and handed it over to him.

  Cornelia took the liberty of reading the letter over Damien’s shoulder to see that the President had already formalized her transition to his Chief of Staff.

  Damien nodded his assent. When he attempted to return the letter, the President indicated that it should go to her.

  Right. It would now be her responsibility to make sure it was properly filed. Whatever that meant.

  The President rose and they all scrambled to do the same.

  He shook her hand, actually taking hers between both of his as if to solemnize the moment.

  “Best of luck! You’re going to need it to survive these two.” He nodded at Zachary and Daniel then departed without shaking their partially extended hands, but wearing a big smile. They were all such men.

  The meeting ended. Mr. President- and Mr. Vice-President-elect were already deep in consultation regarding next steps on setting up their administration as they left the room.

  Sienna still looked a little dazed as she followed in their wake.

  Cornelia finally managed to unlock her knees and sit back down.

  “I serve at the pleasure of the President,” she whispered it to herself.

  “That was a hell of a kicker, wasn’t it, Ms. Day?” Damien asked from so close beside her that she jolted. “Sorry, guess you forgot that I was still here. A lot happening I know. No problem, we duty officers are used to being invisible.”

  When he started to rise, she rested a hand on his arm to keep him in place.

  He waited her out while she sorted out her jumbled thoughts. She knew exactly who she wanted to keep and not keep from the current administration. The list formed rapidly in her head. And now she could take immediate action on building her own team: speechwriters, assistant chief of staff, press relations... The list wasn’t endless, and thankfully it no longer felt that way. She also had a long list of appointments that she expected Zachary Thomas would sign off on with few changes, as soon as she double checked a few of them with—

  She turned to Damien who was still eyeing her hand resting on his arm.

  The new White House Chief of Staff caught him studying her hand.

  Her file had said no attachments, other than the now dismissed possibility of one with the President-elect, and her ringless fingers were only a confirmation of that. It was ridiculous, but he liked the look of her hands. Fine but not delicate. He was—clearly losing his mind.

  “Many Chiefs of Staff,” Damien told her so that he’d have something to fill the sudden silence, “make the Situation Room into their second office.” Was he being overly forward in hoping that this one would as well? She was just another White House Chief of Staff, after all, and he’d seen six of those in his ten years here. She would only be Number Seven, nothing more. Yet it wasn’t that simple. Was he such a cad that her gender was leading him to inappropriate preferences?

  Cornelia finally withdrew her hand as if freeing him to rise and go.

  If they had wild horses in DC, they weren’t going to drag him away. But he couldn’t think of any reason to stay beside her either. Thankfully, she spoke before good manners would make him attempt to stand once more.

  “Perhaps,” the surprise was gone from her voice at her sudden promotion. Over the last few minutes, somewhere in that amazing mind of hers, she had either set aside or fully integrated her changed role into her identity—and he’d bet on the latter. “You could take a moment to explain the implications of my new role from your perspective.”

  It was a very smart question. He had learned during the course of the briefing that it was the only kind she asked.

  As he did explain, she began to relax. Not her breathtaking posture, but now removed from the powerhouse personalities of the country’s leaders she began asking more questions. It had been hard to calibrate her silences during the earlier meetings. Her rare questions hadn’t provided sufficient reference.

  He finally pieced together what was missing: Cornelia Day was shy. He’d never have expected that of her, but the more they spoke, the more true it seemed. But shyness had nothing to do with intelligence.

  Whenever Damien had to instruct new staff, he always worked to find their level of knowledge first and then teach them starting at that level. Once it was only the two of them, he found Cornelia Day’s level easily enough—higher than he’d thought despite reading her file then sitting across from her these last two hours. But the more he described the NSC’s capabilities, the more insightful her questions became until she was nearly speaking on Daniel’s level—and he’d been Chief of Staff for five years.

  “Well, that’s the gist of it,” he finally ground to a halt. Still she hadn’t taken a single note.

  She nodded, and glanced at the wall clock as if she’d been in the room enough times for it to become habit. Not at her wrist—she didn’t wear a watch. No instinctive reaching for her phone—which had been confiscated at the Sit Room’s entrance to avoid unauthorized calls, photos, or recordings.

  “Past one,” he noted. “How do you feel about lunch?”

  “It depends,” she looked at him without blinking as if she was going to hypnotize him.

  “On?”

  “On whether or not you’re going to answer my question.”

  It wasn’t enough for her that he was head of the duty watch. She was now asking the next level question of who he was that he had retained a position for ten years that none held for more than two.

  He could get to really like this woman.

  “I rarely eat here,” Cornelia told Damien while the waiter eased in her blue leather chair as she sat down. The wood-paneled walls of the Navy Mess in the basement of the White House were adorned with large paintings of the Navy’s ships dating from when the national fleet moved only by sea and wind.

  “Where do you usually eat? Do you usually eat?” Damien’s nod to her slender body was frank and easy-going.

  She’d heard that one often enough. Her metabolism burned calories at an alarming rate. Missing a meal could set her into a lightheaded tailspin if she wasn’t careful.

  He’d recovered his jacket, but his tie was still in disarray and she resisted the urge to straighten it. He dropped into his chair and hopped it toward the table, pinching hi
s hand between chair arm and the underside of the table with a silverware-rattling bang.

  “I typically opt for a sandwich at my desk or a takeout salad from a nearby coffee shop when I’m working at the Vice President’s office in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.” The VP’s only staff space in the White House was an office with an assistant’s outer office—which until an hour ago had been her exclusive domain for eight years.

  Damien looked around critically, “I actually can’t remember the last time I ate here. My shift allows little time for breaks.”

  “And yet today, here you are.”

  He turned his attention fully back upon her. His gaze locked on with such a force as to be palpable. “And yet today, here I am.”

  She almost asked after the occasion, hoping for a different answer than she suddenly expected, and then decided against it. It was one of those moments that was either to curry her favor because she had easy access to President-elect Zachary Thomas, or it was because…she sighed to herself. Why did men always treat her like a woman rather than a person?

  “A chance to dine with…” he offered a friendly smile, warning her all too well that his next words would be such a beautiful—“…the new Chief of Staff.”

  Not quite what she expected, making her glad she’d internalized her sigh.

  Very glad actually. Having spent most of the morning with Damien, she was rather enjoying his company. He lacked the hard DC edge that so many people acquired here. At times she was afraid that she had acquired that edge as well, and past all recovery.

  “You have an unanswered question,” he showed enough wisdom to change the topic. “I’m a fourth generation librarian on one side and a third generation Marine on the other.”

  He waited, but she didn’t know for what. For her to step into the middle of some assumption? Instead, she ordered the chicken fajita salad and a glass of caffeine-free Diet Coke—she needed neither high, chemical nor sugar—and kept her silence. That appeared to amuse him as he ordered a burger and a root beer.

  “My great-great-grandfather on my father’s side was one of Carnegie’s first librarians right here in DC.”