When Audrey Met Alice

by Rebecca Behrens

  To: ‘Audrey Rhodes’ firstkid@thewhitehouse.gov

  From: ‘Debra Amesquita’ secretagentchef@mail.com

  Re: Hello!

  Hi Audrey,

  I can’t tell you how nice it was to get your e-mail. Thanks for your kind words and thoughts about my daughter. We had good news from her doctor this week and are very hopeful! I’ll keep you posted.

  I’m sorry you’re having a tough time with Quint. I know you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. If you’ve already apologized and told him how you feel, sometimes you simply need to give people space. If I have any advice for when you feel like things are going poorly, Audrey, it’s that focusing on helping others almost always makes you feel better about yourself and your problems. It’s a good way of taking your mind off things and staying patient. A good book helps too.

  Oh, and you did inspire my e-mail address. Isn’t it great? My grandkids love it. So thank you!

  Keep in touch, and take care. I hope I’ll be seeing you soon.

  Love,

  Debra

  P.S. I told Maurice that he needs to master my cookie recipes and keep the kitchen stocked with them AT ALL TIMES.

  I sat silently at my desk for a few minutes after reading it, absorbing Debra’s words. “Focusing on helping others almost always makes you feel better about yourself and your problems.” It was time for step two of my plan to be a Fido force of good. I pulled out my notes on civil rights and marriage equality, and started to write. When my essay was polished and exactly how I wanted it, I printed out a copy and ran down to the West Wing, to Denise’s office. She was bent over her desk, working. I knocked and startled her. She motioned for me to come in.

  “Your parents are en route,” she said, still glancing down at the papers on her desk. I took a seat in front of her, clutching my essay.

  “Actually, I was hoping to talk to you.” A framed diploma from Georgetown Law School caught my eye. “You went to Georgetown? Tell me all about it!” It was time to try the elbow-in-the-soup treatment one more time.

  Denise looked up, surprised. I noticed at that point that the coffee mug on her desk had a Georgetown seal. She must adore her alma mater. Jackpot. Denise actually grinned at me. “I did. I absolutely loved my time there. Undergrad and law school.”

  “You must’ve always wanted to be near the capital, I suppose.”

  Another rare Denise smile. “You got it.”

  “What was your favorite part of being a student there?” I leaned forward, resting my elbow on her desk.

  “Hmm. I don’t know if I could pick one thing. I had wanted to come to Washington, D.C., since I was your age, when I first got interested in politics and government—” Denise went on to tell me about the Model UN club she founded at her high school and how she was student-council president, and how she started reading the Washington Post at age nine. Back then, she drew her own political cartoons as a hobby. I nodded and oohed and ahhed and channeled Alice and her Aunt Corinne as best I could. Denise ate it up.

  After fifteen minutes of the treatment, I felt like it was time to make my request. “I’m getting interested in politics too, Denise. The nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree!” I grinned. “Do you think I could work on creating a platform?”

  “I certainly think so!”

  I held out my essay. “I wrote an opinion piece, actually, on civil rights.”

  Denise glanced at the papers I held out. “Like a school essay?”

  “Basically,” I said. “But I want other people to read it.”

  “Let me—” The phone buzzed, interrupting her. I could see her interest in me fading.

  “Can I put it online?” I asked quickly.

  “For school? I don’t see why not.” I couldn’t believe how cool she was being about it.

  “Well, more than school. Do you want to read it first?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Denise was typing something into her phone. “Leave a copy, and I’ll try to.” She motioned to a stack of memos and file folders on her desk. “Sorry, Audrey. Now I need to return that call. Nice chatting.”

  “Yeah, it was.” I meant it too. The elbow-in-the-soup treatment, when it worked, was amazing. I’d never seen Denise act that human before.

  I went back upstairs and started figuring out how to get my essay out in the world. I figured after the talking-to from the press secretary, the big papers would never run a letter from me. Better to think of a blog. I knew from hearing all of the staff talk about it that Squawker had a huge readership. Perfect. It only took a few minutes on their site to find a submissions e-mail address, and shortly after I clicked Send. I smiled and sunk back onto my pillows. Debra’s right. It feels good, trying to help out other people. Perhaps my parents would see me taking an interest in political causes for once and feel proud of me, like Teddy Roosevelt did of Alice when she talked to him about that miners’ strike. Maybe I could be an asset for my mom too.

  Chapter 20

  When I booted up my laptop the next morning before school, an e-mail was waiting in my inbox from someone with a Squawker address:

  Hi Audrey,

  My name is Tina Pressler, and I’m an editor at Squawker. This is a great essay that you’ve written, and it’s admirable that you want to use your platform to advance this issue. We would love to run it, and since you are reaching out to us, we don’t consider this a violation of your privacy. Can you confirm that 1) posting this will not go against your parents’ wishes and 2) you are certain that you would like to publish an opinion piece like this. Once something goes online, there’s no going back!

  Let me know (in writing) what you decide, and thanks for thinking of us.

  Best,

  Tina

  That was a no-brainer—of course I wanted them to run it. I quickly replied back:

  Hi Tina,

  Thanks for e-mailing me. No overnight regrets here—I still want to use my platform or whatever for this issue. Please post it!

  Thanks,

  Audrey L. Rhodes

  I couldn’t wait to see it online, and for people—including my mom—to realize that I had something to say.

  In the middle of third-period science, Hendrix opened the classroom door and stepped inside. “Excuse the interruption, Dr. Powell, but I need Audrey for a few minutes.” Dr. Powell got the same mildly worried look on his face that every teacher got whenever I’m called out of class—like he’s wondering, Is the president okay? Is there a situation? What could it be? Ironically, it’s almost always for something like me needing to be reminded to take antibiotics or an aide dropping off homework I forgot. (Now that’s a perk.)

  I followed Hendrix out the door, slouching in the gaze of the rest of my class. Hendrix’s mouth was set in a stern frown, which broke as she asked, “Have you, by chance, contacted any media organizations lately, Audrey?”

  That. A nervous chill crept up my back. “I might’ve,” I said tentatively.

  Hendrix nodded. “Which?”

  “Squawker,” I said. “I sent them an essay. A helpful one,” I added.

  Hendrix exhaled sharply. “I see. I think you might need to head home to explain that to some other people right now. Hang on a minute,” she said, and listened to something on her earpiece. “Yes, we’re definitely going to take you back for a bit. Do you need to get your bag?”

  I nodded, then opened the door and walked back into the room as the whole class turned to stare at me.

  “Everything…okay?” Dr. Powell asked.

  “Yeah, but I have to go.” I left it at that, picked up my bag, and hightailed it out of the classroom.

  As soon as we got to 1600, Hendrix ushered me straight to the Oval Office. As we walked down the West Wing hallways, a few staffers glanced up at me from their monitors. A couple shook their heads at me, but one or two others looked…surprised, and maybe a little proud. Hen
drix opened the door to the Oval Office and stepped aside for me to walk in. My mom wasn’t at her desk, but Denise stood to the side of it, speaking with a few staffers. She pulled her reading glasses down her nose to peer at me as she walked in. “I need a moment alone with Miss Rhodes, please.” The staffers nodded and filed out of the room. “Audrey, come over here. I have something I’d like for you to read.” Denise spoke very calmly, but that vein was already popping on her forehead. Silently, I walked over to join her next to the desk.

  On the computer monitor was Squawker’s home page, of course. The top story, the one that always got a ridiculously huge red headline, was: TWEEN FIRST DAUGHTER MAKES BOLD POLITICAL STATEMENT. Two thousand comments already. I gulped.

  “Let’s read this bold political statement, shall we?” Denise’s voice carried a sarcastic edge, which freaked me out. She scrolled the mouse down. The article was accompanied with a picture of me on the golf cart, in front of the marriage-equality protestors. Oh, crap. It read:

  WHY I SUPPORT MARRIAGE EQUALITY, AND YOU SHOULD TOO

  Squawker received this exclusive editorial from First Daughter Audrey Lee Rhodes. Formerly most known for Bikinigate and various gossip items about her alleged White House shenanigans, Miss Rhodes here takes a stand on a hot-button political issue: marriage equality. Her essay is reprinted here in its entirety and without editing:

  First Daughter Alice Roosevelt carried a copy of the United States Constitution in her purse, and perhaps that’s why she described herself as a supporter of freedom. As the current First Daughter, I will keep a copy of the Constitution in my bag too. I recently read it in its entirety, and I think the most important ideas it talks about are equality and freedom. For everyone.

  Being in this role has taught me a lot of things, but most of all it’s taught me to respect the principles on which this country was founded. The fact that people in America are treated equally and fairly is what makes our country great. But how can we say that we are respecting the Fourteenth Amendment if we don’t respect the civil rights of our LGBT citizens? Marriage is a civil right, and right now we’re denying it to a lot of US citizens.

  I’m addressing this issue for personal reasons—because someone very close to me doesn’t have the right to marry his life partner. It’s not fair that their commitment can only be recognized informally. I might not have a lot (or any) power as First Daughter, but if I did, I would make sure that all Americans have the right to civil marriage, regardless of sexual orientation.

  Even my personal hero, Alice Roosevelt, back when people were not as open-minded about sexuality as we are today, supported the rights of people of all orientations. She knew what I know: that the Constitution means freedom for all people, not just some.

  “Well,” Denise said after a long pause. “This has made quite a day for us. And it’s barely noon.” She looked up at me, fidgeting to the left of her chair, and sighed. “All of the major news networks are reporting on this. As you can imagine, many groups have already weighed in on your comments. Unfortunately, we were hoping to announce the new climate-change initiative today, but that has to wait. All thanks to you.” Denise narrowed her eyes. “You’ve single-handedly shifted the focus of the entire media to two topics: same-sex marriage, and you.”

  “You told me I could put my essay online! I even gave you a copy beforehand!” I pointed at the stack of pages on her desk. It was much taller than last night, with my essay probably buried somewhere in the middle.

  “What?” She shook her head. Her voice rose as she continued, “You said it was for school. Anyway, right now I need to work with the press staff to figure out how to spin this PR kerfuffle, courtesy of one very irresponsible First Daughter.” She waved me toward the door, her manicured nails making angry swipes through the air. “Go up to your room and wait for your parents. And, for the love of God, stay off your e-mail, and the phone, and passenger pigeons or smoke signals or whatever else you’d use to hijack the conversation. How your mother puts up with you, I don’t know.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I asked for permission for this. It was supposed to make my mom respect me. Not make her life harder. But I knew it wasn’t the right time to say that—and I didn’t want to spend another minute around Denise, who clearly hated me again. I ran out of the room before anyone could see me break down and cry.

  Chapter 21

  I hid out in my room for hours, curled up on my bed and clutching Alice’s diary. My mom will probably read my essay and be disappointed in me like Denise was. I only wanted my parents to give me independence the same way Teddy Roosevelt did for Alice—a little freedom to live my life and speak my mind. I wanted them to see me as a person and not their problem. I slammed the diary shut and buried my head under the pillows.

  I still was hiding from the world like that when someone knocked. “Yeah,” I called, the pillows muffling my voice. “Come in.” I didn’t budge.

  “Audrey?” It was my mom; I could hear her shoes clicking toward the bed. “Are you okay?”

  I sat up, red-faced and static-haired. “Sure,” I said unconvincingly.

  “I think we need to talk,” my mom said, sitting down next to me. She left a shopping bag leaning against the bed, then kicked off her low heels and tucked her feet underneath herself, leaning back into my pillows.

  “You mean fight?” I snorted.

  “No, I mean talk, actually.” I sat up as my mom cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology. For a lot.”

  My head tilted in line with my surprise. “You owe me an apology? For what?”

  “First of all, Denise shouldn’t have confronted you about your essay. I’ve already spoken to her about that. She needs to focus on my office and not my family, even when they overlap.” My mother smiled and brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “I think she misinterpreted your intent. I know you gave her a copy beforehand.” So Denise wasn’t totally evil—she’d told my mom the truth about that. Mom continued, “I read and reread your essay a few times this afternoon. I was surprised by how smart it was. I shouldn’t be surprised because I know my daughter is a bright girl.” To that, I smiled. “Why don’t you tell me why you wrote it, honey?”

  “This is not a trick question? Like, explain yourself?” I leaned away suspiciously.

  “I promise not. I’m ready to listen to you.” She pressed the button on her phone to power it down. “No interruptions.”

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “When Harrison visited, we talked about a lot of stuff, including marriage equality. It seems so unfair that he and Max can’t get married. I don’t think it should be that way in our country. Then I realized I have the ability to say that to people because I’m your kid. Or maybe I have a duty to speak out.” My mom was nodding like she got what I was saying so far. “I’d been trying to figure out how to make the best of this crappy situation—I mean, make being in the White House worthwhile. Debra once told me that helping other people is a good way to make yourself feel better.” I paused. “I wanted to help people by writing that. People like Harrison and Max.”

  “That’s admirable. But why has it been so hard for you here? I know you’ve been hurting lately, and I’m sorry I haven’t done enough to figure out why.”

  The words tumbled out. “I don’t get a lot of privacy or freedom at 1600. People don’t seem to want me to grow up. I don’t have many friends at school because it’s hard to be seen as me and not the First Kid. I can’t go on the class trip to New York or anything. You and Dad are so busy. I had Debra, but she had to go away. I’m lonely here, even when I’m surrounded by people. Nice people, like Hendrix and Simpkins.” I paused to catch my breath. “No one understands me, except—” I reached over to grab the diary. It was time to show it to her. “Except Alice.” I handed the journal to my mother, who carefully flipped it open.

  “I can’t read this—who does this say it belonged to? Is that Alice Roosevelt?” She
gasped.

  “Yeah. It was her journal.” I scooted closer to point out the inscription. “I found it in a closet, along with those old cigarettes and a few pictures of her. By the way, that’s why I had cigarettes on the roof. I found them with the diary. They were Alice’s.”

  “All the more reason you shouldn’t touch them, if they are over a hundred years old,” my mother said, but she was chuckling.

  “I know—I kept them safe, for the Smithsonian.” I waited while she paged through the journal. “I read the whole thing. And for the first time since we moved into 1600, I felt like someone understood how it feels to be here. To live in a house that’s not your home. When there’s so much attention on you but none of it is for you. Someone totally got me without me needing to say a word. It’s not like I’ve been talking to an inanimate journal.” My mother nodded, so I continued. “Alice was crazy. She danced on roofs and raced cars and sneaked in boys and scared visitors with her pet snake. She still fell in love and lived her life even if the fishbowl made it hard. She actually liked the attention. So I decided to try to do the same for myself. Alice was my guide.”

  “So that’s why you wore the dress, drove the cart, took cigarettes up to the Promenade, sneaked in your friend…,” my mom said slowly, adding up the misdeeds on her fingers.

  I blushed. “Yeah. Original, huh?”

  My mother smiled. “You were, actually.” She pulled out the picture of Alice and ran her fingers over it. “Both of you. I wish I’d listened to you sooner.” She put the picture back and picked up the journal again. “I’m impressed and a little touched. It makes me happy that you care about people like Alice. I read a lot about Eleanor Roosevelt when I was your age.”

  “She wrote about Eleanor in there a few times. You should read it!” I reached over and tried to find a page that mentioned Eleanor. “Alice was awesome. Not only because she did all kinds of wild stuff, but because she cared about people and freedom and fairness and her family.”