Natalie was shaking. That had felt like a setup. Had they agreed ahead of time to make her their foil? Or had she been too passive, too polite, about getting her points across?
She thought of her dad’s words, be noisy.
If he’d seen that segment he probably would have said be absent.
She made her way to the door with her head down, wanting to get out of there fast.
“We’ve got chemistry, girl.” Ryan said, giving her a hip bump as he caught up with her. “Total TV chemistry. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
She said nothing, caught off guard.
He flashed her a big smile and said, “Let’s definitely do it again,” and hurried away.
Matt was waiting in the hall outside the studio.
“What was that? You didn’t get yourself in the conversation enough,” he said, hands on hips, in the voice of an angry stage mother.
Natalie shook her head. “Are you kidding? They didn’t—”
Matt put up a palm. “No excuses,” he said and from the tone he might as well have followed it with young lady. “You let Ryan take over!”
“Let him? What was I supposed to—”
“Ignore him!”
“—do when he kept interrupting—”
“Talk over him! LIKE YOU DO WITH ME!” Matt yelled.
She stared at him. He nodded at her smugly. “You’re fully capable of it.”
“On the bright side,” he said, “it’s going to be great for your VOP. On the less bright side, it’ll help Ryan’s, too, so we need to find a way to differentiate ourselves.”
“Oh sure,” was all Natalie could manage. She felt the phone in her bag vibrate. Summoning up the last of her will, she reached for it.
“Natalie, that was gold, pure gold.” It was the Chief. “I loved the back-and-forth with Ryan. I loved your just-the-facts-ma’am attitude. And I love how you defended the First Lady.”
Her heart revved like a race car. She had defended the First Lady! And it was good! “Thank you,” she stammered.
“This is a huge story. FLOTUS is out on a sexcapade, the president is being de-manned before our eyes. It’s pure candy and viewers are going to eatit up. You’ve just shown me what I needed to see. I want you to be our First Lady correspondent.” He paused. “Remember, cable is all about attitude. So keep up the attitude.”
“Okay, Chief, will do,” she said, though she had no idea what attitude he wanted her to keep.
For a moment, she enjoyed the warm glow of approval spreading through her body. “That was the Chief,” she told Matt at last. “He wants me as the First Lady correspondent!”
Matt smiled. “I told you, Savage. That was great TV. And if you just listen to me and do what I say, you’ll—”
“Stop talking,” she said, not willing to let him ruin her moment of triumph.
He grinned. “Good practice. Keep that up and we’ll have McGreasy by his McBalls in no time.”
* * *
Natalie was back on the newsroom floor, at her desk, re-watching the FLOTUS video, hoping to find some clue about when or where it was shot, when she realized she’d just watched the same clip three times and not seen it once.
She was distracted, and not by the video. The Chief’s excitement had awakened a sense of optimism, which had her thinking about James, the hot cartographer from the coffee place. She reached into her pocket and thumbed his card.
Seriously, who was a cartographer these days? It sounded like something made up for a period drama, a globe-trotting cartographer who traveled the world studying boundaries and seducing ladies.
She had his info. She should email him.
Absolutely. Right after you get an apartment. And clean hair.
She went back to the video, still not seeing it. What was the big deal about writing a random hot guy you barely knew? She was an adult. More, she was the First Lady correspondent. The First Lady correspondent couldn’t be shy about making contact.
Before she could lose her nerve she pulled out his card and started a text.
Natalie: Thank you for your navigation expertise today. It was invaluable.
She hit Send before realizing she hadn’t said who this was.
Natalie: This is Natalie, I forgot to say that.
How would he remember which Natalie? Had she even introduced herself earlier? She couldn’t remember.
Natalie: From BrewHouse. The one with brown hair, in front of you in line?
Keep going! Her brain urged. Boys like crazy people! Maybe next you can suggest moving in together and favorite baby names!
Her email dinged.
James: Formaldehyde? Of course I remember you, Natalie Savage. I just watched you on TV. Nice work. But I was disappointed there was no mention of mapping.
Natalie felt her stomach do a backflip. Cute James had been watching.
Natalie: Moles are so two hours ago. We’re onto impeaching the First Lady.
JAMES: So I heard. Maybe we can have her beheaded?
NATALIE: Send her to the Tower! Lock her up!
JAMES: I would offer you my cartography skills but since the news cycle has moved onto witchcraft and martyrdom, I don’t have any applicable talent. Guess I should just straight up ask you out. Dinner?
Natalie blushed deep into the roots of her hair. May as well have some fun before the scalp cancer set in.
NATALIE: That’d be great. You’re on.
JAMES: Fantastic. I’m a little busy with family obligations this weekend. How is Tuesday night?
Cute. He took family seriously.
NATALIE: Yes, I’m game.
JAMES: Great. I’ll text you a place closer to the date. Looking forward!
He’d just said date. It’s a date! She sat at her desk, grinning. So far today she’d been on set with Heath, impressed the Chief, and now had a date with a hot guy who spent time with his family.
“Whoop whoop,” she said under her breath.
14
The Selling of the President’s Wife
“My talent? Freestyle roller-skating, choreographed to the national anthem,” Anita Crusoe said with feigned pride as Anthony doubled over in laughter. They were sitting in the TV room, having tea before dinner where he’d been pressing her for details about her days competing for Miss Venezuela.
“And in a bikini, no doubt?” he asked.
“Of course! You can’t roller-skate to the national anthem with pants on,” she said straight-faced. She’d forgotten how ridiculous it all was and how good it felt to laugh. Spending time with Anthony was so different from being with Patrick. He was always tied to an agenda and the clock, no space for quiet moments. As she watched Anthony now, she couldn’t help but wonder how her life might have been different if she’d found a man like him. A man who wanted to soak in life rather than mold it.
“That’s a high stakes situation for a sixteen-year-old,” Anthony said.
“You have no idea! I was up against a ventriloquist and a dog act,” she said, noticing how the corner of Anthony’s eyes wrinkled upward as he laughed, as though his eyes laughed with him.
“Mrs. Crusoe, sorry to interrupt.” It was Beth, her lead secret service agent, looking tense. “Ma’am, have you seen the news? I’m afraid we’re going to have sweep the house.”
A look of irritation crossed Anita Crusoe’s features. How many times had she been forced into a security hold because some harmless crackpot had threatened to bring hell and fury to the Crusoe family, or some Secret Service agent had discovered a stray paper bag in her vicinity and called in a bomb-sniffing robot to disarm what turned out to be a tuna fish sandwich?
“Beth, is that necessary? I can’t imagine anyone knows we are here,” she said more plaintively than she’d intended.
Beth had reached for the TV remote. “You sho
uld see this, ma’am. Do you mind?” she said, turning on the television without waiting for a reply.
When Anita saw the story, her blood went cold.
On TV, a bright red banner screamed, “Breaking News: Anita Crusoe Hidden Video,” which rotated with another that read “New Video: FLOTUS with Mystery Lover.” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Surveillance footage taken from this house—including the bedroom—blasted out for the world to see. Suddenly she felt chilled, exposed. She reached for a blanket as she turned on Beth.
“Who did this? It’s one of your people!” She could hear her own voice rising in panic. “No one knows we’re here!”
Beth remained calm. “Not entirely true. My director knows we’re here, Mrs. Crusoe. If he didn’t, you’d be a missing person. There’d be a manhunt for you. He’s known since we arrived. Which means some at the White House know, too,” Beth said steadily. “Headquarters would have access to the camera feeds—”
“Camera feeds?” the First Lady asked, confused, enraged.
“Ma’am, you know we’re under full surveillance here. For your safety, we need eyes, but it’s a highly secure feed.”
“Apparently not,” Anita Crusoe spat back. She noticed Anthony shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Anthony! Poor Anthony. He was in the video, too. They had exposed him.
“Oh my god,” she turned to him. “I’m so sorry. I never imagined I’d get you caught up like this!”
He held up a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry about me. It comes with the territory, I’ll be fine. I’m only worried about you.” He turned to Beth. “What would you like us to do?”
“We’d like you to hold in this room until we’ve swept the house to ensure there’s no physical breach. My guess is someone took this from the feed. The director will have the cyber guys on that back at home. But we have to check.”
“Thank you, Beth,” Anthony said.
The First Lady was lost in thought.
Of course, someone took it from the feed. Patrick’s people did this. It was a warning shot. They wanted her to know how displeased they were that she stymied their plans. And they didn’t mind exposing her and her secrets to keep this under control.
How far would they go? she wondered.
“What are you thinking?” Anthony asked warily.
“Patrick hates it when things don’t go as planned,” she said. “I think he’s underestimated me.”
THE EARLYBIRD™/ MONDAY / 5:43 A.M.
THE E-NEWSLETTER TRUSTED BY WASHINGTON'S POLITICAL ELITE
Good morning, EarlyBirders™. Here are the morning’s need-to-know stories:
SIREN: ILLICIT VIDEO OF THE FIRST LADY WITH ANOTHER MAN—WHITE HOUSE DOESN’T DENY AFFAIR—FIRST LADY’S OFFICE SILENT—DEVELOPING.
WHITE HOUSE BLASTS VIDEO: Adam Majors: “It’s a sad day when leading news organizations air illegally obtained surveillance footage of Mrs. Crusoe. This endangers the First Family. We will find and prosecute the leaker to the fullest extent of the law.”
RATINGS BONANZA: The video boosted cablers. Look for OVERNIGHT NUMBERS soon!
EarlyReaders™ Want to Know: Who’s the man in the video? What’s his relationship to the First Lady? What does the president know? Where is the First Lady now?
Paging All Lobbyists: The Washington Post reports on a secret White House plan to freeze oil imports from the Persian Gulf and boost our oil exports from Latin America.
Spotted: ATN newcomer Natalie Savage and Karima Sahadi confabbing at Salon Badem.
**EarlySponsor™: GlobalCom’s Gulf Alliance™. Creating Smart Solutions to Shifting Market Conditions. We Power the World for Peace and Prosperity.**
15
Band of Sisters
The website for the Bombay Club boasted of an environment that “emulates the characteristics of the old clubs of India.” An apt description, Natalie thought, of both its Raj-era decor and its clientele.
Sitting there, she felt as though she was radiating excitement. Today her hair surpassed her fantasies of smooth silky manageability. And the timing couldn’t have been better. She and Karima were seated at a prime corner table that commanded a view of the entire room—and allowed the entire room to see them. At the table on their left, Karima had explained, a lobbyist for the private prison industry was meeting with a lobbyist for the frozen foods industry. To their right, a deputy treasury secretary was meeting with a representative from the payday lending industry. Sprinkled among them were media celebrities who carried the regal bearing of representatives of the Crown, mingling with their subjects.
It didn’t escape Natalie’s notice that, even in the pinnacle of Empire ambiance, Karima seemed to occupy a place of honor. During the fifteen minutes since they’d been seated, a steady stream of well-wishers had been eddying past to thank the socialite for hosting a fantastic luncheon/cocktail/fund-raiser/ball which, each of them in turn insisted, was either “magical” or “pure perfection.”
The conversations followed a set pattern. First, Karima would say, “Not at all, my darling,” and then offer a thoughtful comment on a well-observed detail of their last conversation or something wonderful they’d worn. After a moment the visitor would lean in close and ask how Karima was handling the Terrible News in today’s Washington Post (which said that the administration was looking at a total shutdown of oil imports from the Middle East). The question was always delivered in the tone of a concerned friend but there was something almost gleefully predatory lurking behind it.
Karima seemed not to notice. In the same warm, generous tone, she would offer one of three replies: “Ah, this is the world we live in,” with the slightest arch of her delicate eyebrows; “It’s all a negotiation,” with a subtle shake of the head; or “Friends must remain friends. All will be well,” capped with a reassuring smile.
Finally, she’d turn and introduce them to Natalie, as ATN’s newest rising star. “You must get to know one another,” Karima would insist, with a wink. “I will connect you by email.”
Natalie understood that these introductions were worth Karima’s weight in career gold, catapulting her almost instantaneously into a new stratosphere of DC status and access. With Karima’s stamp of approval, she could officially become a person to know, and court. The only thing that marred the otherwise triumphant feel of this moment: her gratitude for Karima’s generosity was tempered, at the back of her mind, by a fear. It was the antsy concern of a guest who isn’t quite sure how much the hotel bill will be, or if she’ll be able to pay it. Because there was no question that an operator with the experience and connections of Karima Sahadi, wife of the ambassador to the Arab League, would want something in return.
Natalie’s best guess was that Karima would want her help with the Terrible News, which could mean a loss of trillions in oil wealth for the countries her husband represents, and Natalie was growing increasingly uneasy about the approaching moment when she would have to tell Karima that she did not cover energy or oil and probably couldn’t offer her anything even remotely useful.
When the stream of ill-wishers dissipated, Karima squeezed Natalie’s hand. “Thank you for your patience. Everyone is so hungry for bad news. It is why they all come. Also they know what they read in the papers is nothing. It is—” She made a gesture like she was pushing away dirty air. “It is the amuse-bouche. Everyone wants the main course.”
She lifted a single well-manicured finger to the maître d’, and silver dishes of food materialized out of nowhere, though Natalie was sure they hadn’t shown Karima a menu.
“The food here is quite good,” Karima said. “It is a pity so few of us eat.”
Natalie was uncertain whether that meant she should or shouldn’t eat the food, but asked instead, “How did you learn to handle all the prying questions and people?”
“Ah, they just want to know if I will continue to be useful t
o them. And of course I will be. It is what it is.” She winked. “But we are not here to talk about my troubles. We are here to talk about you and your career.” Karima placed saffron rice and mango curry chicken on Natalie’s plate, while leaving her own plate glaringly bare. “Since we met I have seen you on air. You are very good. Precise. Smart. Well informed. Why aren’t you standing outside the Colombian embassy right now? Why did you let this boy take the big story?”
Unsure how to explain—or justify—her predicament and increasingly ashamed, Natalie stammered, “The short answer is, because Ryan got the scoop. His dad had a connection and now he’s tight with Adam Majors.”
Natalie did not expect Karima’s big, genuine laugh. “I doubt it,” she said. “His father was not particularly well liked as governor. Surely you know how this works. Bibb Connaught speaks to the White House all day long.” She shook her head. “Adam Majors was an intern for Bibb’s husband many years ago. I would assume she got the information and passed it to her protégé. It is useful to know the history of people,” she said, tapping her forehead with a perfectly manicured nail.
Of course. She should have guessed Bibb was behind Ryan’s perfect placement. Matt had been right. She was fully Team Ryan.
“Do not look so concerned, my love. There are ways around this. You have one thing going for you that the boy does not.”
Natalie had to struggle to imagine what that might be. “A catchy last name?”
Karima chuckled. “No. You are a woman. In this town, women have a special kind of power.”
Natalie felt a crushing disappointment. Of course, that’s what Karima expected. She was an older generation.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for that,” Natalie said, aware how prudish she sounded. “Morality aside, I just can’t manage to fake interest in a guy if I’m not actually interested. It doesn’t go well.” She didn’t want Karima to start setting her up with married senators and lobbyists.
Savage News Page 14