He was glad that this year’s Republican Convention was in Los Angeles. It was giving him a chance to spend time with his mother. She was so proud of his recent accomplishments, that she had plastered his A.D. photos on the refrigerator in her new house, a California Craftsman bungalow with a river-rock façade and redwood trim. He had put a down payment on it for her with the money he earned from the article and the book advance.
Phil was carrying his camera and super-long lens tonight because he wanted to get a photo of Natalia when she appeared on stage with her husband. He checked his watch. The First Couple was due to arrive any minute.
Funck had won most of the Republican primaries. Phil had heard rumors that Joe Gertz, an old-line conservative from Oklahoma who came in second, was paid from GOP coffers to go up against Funck so that it would appear that Republicans had a choice. But everyone knew that Funck’s hard-core base held all the cards. According to the latest polls, this fall’s race between Funck and Denzel Epstein, the Democratic nominee, was a toss-up. Epstein was a rookie Congressman from California, a brilliant Rhodes Scholar who was half-Jewish, half-black. Phil had voted for him in the California Democratic Primary and believed he would make a great President, but he didn’t dare contemplate Epstein’s chances against the President in November. Phil despised everything about Rex Funck: his politics, his personality, his… He could go on and on. It only made him angry. He decided to stop thinking and take photos.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
The Republican Party Chairman’s voice rang out in the cavernous arena. “It is my honor to introduce the next President of the United States, who just happens to be the current President of the United States. And with him tonight is his amazing First Lady! Please join me in a warm welcome!”
The crowd went wild as President Funck and Natalia, flanked by Secret Service agents, made their way through the throng on the stage, holding hands and waving. Trailing behind them were Funck’s children and grandchildren, waving as if they were the stars tonight themselves. The First Couple’s approach to the podium was slow going. Politicos stepped up to pump Rex’s hand and admire the prominent baby bump that Natalia carried with what Phil considered her usual grace.
He raised his camera and began snapping photos. Through his long lens, he could see her clearly, as if she were three feet away. Looking elegant in a red maternity dress, she had a glow to her skin and her eyes were bright. He saw none of the fear, sadness, and anxiety that he had captured in his earlier coverage of her. For the first time in the years he had photographed Natalia, she looked genuinely happy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight it is our honor to witness the moment when President Rex Funck accepts the nomination as the Republican Candidate for President of the United States!”
The crowd screamed and yelled, “Four more years,” for what seemed like an hour. Phil hated being stuck in the middle of an unruly crowd. It seemed as if every person here was either smashed, stoned, or caught up in a frenzy of mob hysteria. Their fervor rattled him. He took a deep yoga breath to calm himself.
Yoga was another new thing in his life for which he thanked Natalia. She had invited him to join the yoga class that she now taught once a week for White House employees in the staff cafeteria. Everyone was welcome, from butlers, maids, and cooks, to Secret Service agents. Phil had made friends with students in the yoga class, including a junior White House historian. He wished that Min Linh, the granddaughter of Vietnamese refugees, could be here with him now.
Rex Funck stepped up to the podium. Natalia positioned herself a few steps to the left and behind him. The Secret Service agents moved off to the sides of the stage. Phil noted that another team of Secret Service agents was positioned in front of it, warily scanning the audience.
When the crowd finally stopped cheering, Rex cleared his throat and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends, family and my lovely First Lady—who, as you can see, is soon to be the mother of my newest daughter!” The crowd roared. He turned and kissed Natalia on the cheek, then waited for the cheers to die down.
“Okay, so I have good news. Yours truly crushed it in every single Republican primary but one.” Applause and whistles in the audience. Phil knew that Rex was incorrect, that he had won all but five of the primaries, but what he did expect from this world-class liar?
“Campaigning was terrific! It was just great! I had so much fun on the campaign trail!” He put his thumb and index finger in an “o” shape that matched his lips, a gesture of his that Phil loathed. “Out there in the heartland, I got to meet so many wonderful people, terrific people, salt-of-the earth American people! Thank you so much for that opportunity! I will never ever forget it!”
The cheers and applause went on and on. Funck raised his hands. “I know, I know! I’ve done a great job as President, a tremendous job, and you love me, you really love me! I love you too, I really do, but tonight I’ve also got some bad news.”
The crowd gasped as one.
Phil could see that Rex was ignoring the words on the teleprompter as he continued. “As much as I would love to—and, trust me, I would really, really love to—I have decided not to accept the Republican nomination for President of the United States!”
There was a moment of stunned silence, then groans and sobs erupted in the crowd.
“I know, you’re sad about it. Trust me, I’m even sadder! But Natalia and I discussed it for weeks and I made my decision,” he said. “By the way, she only let me run again because she knows how much I get off on campaigning. I mean, I’ve been running for reelection since the day I got elected the first time, right?” He turned to her. “Thank you, sweetie, for letting me have so much fun the past six months.” He kissed her cheek, then turned back to the audience.
“WTF!” someone yelled from the crowd. “What the fuck!?”
An angry chant started: “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the—?”
“Okay, I know you want to know why I made this decision, and you’re entitled, believe me, you’re entitled!” The crowd simmered down. “Is it because I’m too old? I’m seventy-five. Okay, I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I’m in great shape for seventy-five. I don’t have high blood pressure, a heart condition, or cancer. I sure as hell don’t have Alzheimer’s and I can still get it up, big time! Ask my wife!”
Natalia blushed with embarrassment. Phil could see that on stage and in the audience, even the President’s diehard fans squirmed.
“But seventy-five is seventy-five,” Funck continued. “At my age, enough is enough, right? And I have another kid coming. I’ve got to get back to my business in New York and focus on my family. I turned my company over to my kids four years ago and now it’s a mess, a complete fucking disaster!”
Behind him, Funck’s children cringed. Phil shot some photos of them, then swung around to capture shots of the audience: Young, old, and redneck alike were glaring at the President. This turn of events will ruin the election for the Republicans, he thought. Suddenly euphoric, he kept shooting.
Rex turned to his children. “Just kidding, guys! You’ve done a great job with my business! Just terrific!” They didn’t smile, as if terrified of what he’d say next.
“We’ve got Funck International Hotels going up in all the countries that I or my kids have visited while I’ve been President. That’s thirty-four new Funck International Hotels! Rex Funck will not only go down as the best leader, but also as the best businessman in the history of our great country!” He applauded, each clap of his hands echoing in the growing silence of the cavernous room.
Through his long lens, Phil focused in on the Republican Party Chairman as he approached Funck at the podium, angrily motioning for him to wrap it up. Funck ignored him. Though no one was applauding, he kept clapping and waving to the crowd, as if he had just won the election in November.
“So, you folks out there are now stuck with Joe Gertz as your candidate, even though I beat the bastard by, like, millions and millions of vote
s!” It was another lie on Rex’s part, Phil knew. “But I have another solution,” he said. “If you don’t want Joe Gertz—and who the fuck would?—how’s this for an alternative? How about giving the nomination to the First Daughter?”
He beckoned Gretchen to join him. Her eyes and mouth were wide with astonishment. “C’mon, baby! Come to papa!” He motioned for the crowd to join him in applause, but no one did. Gretchen hesitated, then broke into a fake smile and started toward him. Her husband grabbed her arm to stop her, but she batted his hand away and stepped up to the podium beside her father.
“I mean, you gotta hand it to her,” said Funck, slipping his arm around her. “These past four years, Gretchen has not only been my trusted White House advisor, but she has built her designer brand all over the world. You’ve got Gretchen Funck perfume, Gretchen Funck purses, and Gretchen Funck pantyhose, you name it! And how about this? Gretchen Funck tampons are now the best-selling tampons in China!”
Phil could hear “boos” rippling through the crowd. Rex kissed her on the lips and the “boos” grew thunderous. As if her father were the Grim Reaper, Gretchen pulled away and ran off stage.
“Well, if you don’t want my baby girl, how about my smart-ass son, James?” Funck turned around, looking at where his oldest son had been standing. James and his siblings were hustling their families off stage. Some of the GOP VIPs were exiting as well. Others just stood there, unsure what to do.
The Republican Party Chairman frantically beckoned to the Secret Service agents flanking the stage. They hustled toward Funck.
A chant in the crowd, growing louder. “Natalia! Natalia! Natalia!”
Rex looked stunned. “You want my wife?”
“Yesssssss!” and whistles from the crowd.
“You can have the bitch! She’s fucking leaving me after the inauguration!”
Phil snapped a photo of the mortification on Natalia’s face.
The Secret Service agents reached Funck and grabbed his arms. As they wrestled him off the stage, Natalia boldly stepped up to the mic. “Ladies and gentleman, I know you wanted Rex Funck as your candidate. I know his rejection of that honor comes as a shock. I am genuinely sorry.”
“Natalia! Natalia! Natalia!” the crowd roared.
Phil joined in. “Natalia for President! Natalia for President!”
“Believe me, I would like to serve you, but I was not born in America,” she continued. “I cannot run for President. Maybe that rule in the Constitution will change some day.” The GOP Chairman whispered in her ear, but she ignored him. “But for now, I promise I will serve my adopted country in other ways, like with my new school for immigrant children in San Diego.”
The chairman beckoned to the Secret Service agents below the stage. They leaped up onto it and moved in on Natalia.
Suddenly, like a storm cloud bursting, the net hanging from the ceiling gave way and millions of balloons deluged the auditorium. Phil snapped a barrage of photos as Natalia was whisked off stage in a blur of red, white, and blue.
The audience exploded in mayhem. At the mic, the GOP chairman was trying to calm everyone down, but he didn’t stand a chance. Jostled by the crowd and batting away balloons, Phil made his way slowly through the throng, away from the stage.
Suddenly, he heard what sounded like a gunshot and froze. More “shots” rang out and he realized that they were the sounds of balloons popping: Angry delegates were stabbing at them with pins, pens, and whatever sharp objects they could find as they rained down. The mob of irate balloon poppers swelled.
Phil forced his way through the mob, but soon found himself wedged between two sweaty guys wearing “Dixie Digs Funck” hats who towered over him. Instead of popping balloons, they were swigging beer.
“Someone’s got deep dirt on the old guy,” one said in a thick Southern accent. “Why else would he back out?”
“Bet it’s a sex thing,” drawled his friend.
“Or money, or god knows what!”
“Think it’s China?”
“How ’bout the Russians?” said his companion.
Phil had had enough. He flicked on his camera’s “flash” button and snapped a salvo of photos in the big guys’ faces. They shielded their eyes from the light. He seized the moment to slip away from them.
“Motherfucker!” one shouted after him as he elbowed his way through the balloon-popping crowd.
He spotted an exit sign up ahead and pressed toward it. Finally, he burst out of the convention-center doors.
Outside, the sidewalk was brimming with enraged Republicans and over-the-moon Democratic protesters. Screaming matches and fistfights were breaking out, spilling into the street. Phil snapped a few photos, but he could see the red lights and hear the sirens of police cars approaching. I’m fucking outta here, he thought.
He skirted the throng and slowly made his way down a couple of long city blocks. When the crowd around him thinned, he hoisted his camera. Before he stowed it in his backpack, he wanted to check out the last photos he had snapped of Natalia. He stepped into a deserted alley and clicked through them. Captured with his super-long lens, the shots were remarkably clear, revealing every nuance of her expression: Natalia approaching the mic; Natalia speaking to the crowd; Natalia being escorted off stage in a tempest of balloons. In all of the photos, she looked calm and self-confident, smiling and happy. “Natalia, you crushed it!” he said to himself. He shoved his camera into his backpack and jogged down the alley.
When he emerged, he spotted a Metro sign up ahead and broke into a run. As he dashed across a busy street, zigzagging through traffic, he threw his arms into the air, as if he were crossing a finish line at the Olympics. “You rocked, Natalia!” he shouted. “You go, girl!”
Feeling the wind on his face, he was jolted back to the memory of galloping down the beach with her on their feisty little horses in Baja. “Yee-haw, Natalia!” he yelled, laughing.
“Yee-fucking-haw!”
About the Author
Verity Speeks was inspired to write The First Lady Escapes: FLOTUS Flees the White House because of the outrage, frustration, and helplessness she has felt since November 8, 2016, when a meteor with a bad comb-over struck the earth and caused devastating consequences that continue to wreak havoc.
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @verityspeeks
Facebook: @Firstladyescapes
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