by Kathy Myme
The President’s Wife
Kathy Myme
Contents
1. Veronica
2. David
3. Veronica
4. David
5. Veronica
6. Veronica
7. David
8. Veronica
9. David
10. Veronica
11. David
12. Veronica
13. David
14. Veronica
15. David
16. Veronica
17. David
18. Veronica
19. Veronica
20. David
21. Veronica
22. Veronica
23. David
24. Veronica
25. David
26. Veronica
27. David
28. Veronica
29. David
30. Veronica
31. David
32. Epilogue: Veronica
A message from the Author
Veronica
I take a deep breath, pulling nervously at the hem of my skirt. This is it. The moment that months and months of interviews and applications have been leading up to.
It’s my first day as a White House intern.
Run, my common sense hisses at me. Get out while you still can.
But I can’t let that little voice get the best of me. I’ve worked so hard to be where I am now. Graduating from college with a 4.0 GPA had meant saying bye-bye to my social life. I’d spent countless hours in the library, pouring over dusty old books and crying my eyes out over mock exams.
But it had all been worth it. Instead of graduating into a dead-end office job, I’m standing outside the gates to the White House armored with uncomfortable heels and my hair in a high ponytail.
No matter how prepared I am, I’ve never felt more terrified in my life.
Is it childish that I’m twenty-four years old and this is the first time I’ve seen the White House in person? But then California isn’t exactly down-the-road from the Oval Office. How am I supposed to react to something like this - something I’ve only ever seen before on TV - in person?
If the building alone is leaving me starstruck, how am I going to react to the people inside of it? Like every administration of the White House, the top figures in the Shepard administration are household faces known by people all over the world. The percentage of people inside that have their own Wikipedia page must be crazy high.
Just take President Shepard, for example. The media seem to document the man’s every move, and yet he still won the election in November after receiving the highest percentage of the popular vote ever recorded in the US. And while nobody talks about it, he’s like 99% of the reason the age candidacy rule for presidents was lowered to thirty. The man is a living legend. No matter what he does, his name will go down in the history books.
And to think if you Google search my name, all you get is spam.
But I’ve been chosen to be part of all of this. Me, just a girl fresh out of college. It’s all I’ve thought about in every waking moment lately and it still can’t be real.
It’s like nobody around me can believe it either. My dad called me three times last night alone, asking over and over exactly what I’d be doing here (“I don’t know yet, Dad.”) and who would be my boss (“They haven’t told me yet.”) and whether I’d get to meet the President (“Yeah, right.”) until I thought I’d burst. I can’t exactly blame him though. Ever since mom passed away, it’s like he’s been trying to do the worrying of two parents just so I don’t feel like I’m missing out. He’s probably sitting by his phone right now, waiting for me to text him.wasn't
And sometimes I think my boyfriend Trevor wishes it wasn’t real. Granted, I had to leave everything (including him) behind and move all the way from sunny California to Washington DC to make this happen. But every time we’ve talked since then he’s asked me when I’m coming home. When I’m going to stop ‘playing make-believe’.
Looking up at the White House, I’m starting to wonder that myself.
“Hello?” I approach the most awake-looking security guard hesitantly, although there’s no reason I should be nervous. Not yet, anyway. “I’m here for-“
“An intern?” The guard guesses, looking me up and down.
I frown, glancing at my clothing. This is the fanciest skirt suit I own, but is there something wrong with it? Something that gives me away?
“Yes,” I confirm. “My name is Veronica Waters. I think I’m a bit early?”
It’s a lie. I know I’m a bit early. The information in the email I’d received told me to get here for 8AM. It’s just gone 7:25AM, but it never hurts to be prepared. To come out on top, you have to work for it.
He looks down at a set of papers in a file. “Hmm…I see. Do you have any ID?”
I present him with my driver’s license. The photo always makes me cringe.
He types some information into a computer. There’s a whirring noise, and then he hands me my ID back along with a badge.
“Here’s your temporary visitor’s badge,” the guard says. “It’s only valid for today, so once you find the person supervising you then you’ll be given another one. Make sure you’ve received it by the end of the day or you’ll have trouble getting in tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I reply, taking in all the information.
“The other interns won’t be here for another thirty minutes, but I can take you inside. See if there’s someone in there who can show you where to go.”
I flash him a grateful smile. “Yes, please.”
He nods and guides me through the gates, allowing me past security. Now there’s nothing between me and the set of doors - the White House doors! - that might change my life forever. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred-thousand times over, but nothing could have prepared me. Not entirely.
“Stay close,” the guard warns. “It’s a big place. We wouldn’t want you getting lost.”
His voice is kind… but there’s also a hint of something else there. A warning.
When we go inside, we don’t go in by the big, fancy White House entrance that dominates every photo. He allows me through a far less impressive side door, but I don’t find myself quite as disappointed as I thought. The whole thing feels a lot more secretive. Like I’m special.
We approach a reception desk where a woman is sipping her morning coffee, clicking away at a screen.
“Amy?” The security guard gestures to me. “I have…”
“An intern,” the woman replies, looking me up and down.
Seriously, is it something I’m wearing? The plain white blouse and black pencil skirt aren’t exactly a hot new professional look. I vow to throw out my wardrobe at the earliest possible opportunity.
“Yes, ma’am.” I stand up a little straighter. “I’m-“
“Bethany Jones?”
“No, I’m-“
“Alice Smith-Brown?”
“It’s Ver-“
“Trina Santiago?”
“Ma’am-“
Her brow wrinkles, but she still doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in. “Then… Riley O’Brian? But that name is marked off as male on my list.”
“That’ll be because I’m not Riley,” I point out. “My name is Veronica Waters, ma’am.”
She stares hard at her computer and I hear a few swift clicks. “Veronica Waters, you said?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but your name isn’t on my list,” she says. “You are one of the interns meant to arrive today, aren’t you?”
I nod. I’m absolutely sure that today is the day. March 9th. I’ve had it written in my calendar, in my phone, in m
y entire mind ever since I found out that I’d been accepted a month ago.
“I’m early, if that helps,” I tell her. “I was meant to arrive at eight.”
“That doesn’t make a difference. There are four interns meant to start today: Jones, Smith-Brown, Santiago, and O’Brian.”
“Please could you check again?” I ask. “Veronica Waters. W-A-T-E-R-S.”
“I’m afraid you’re just not on my list,” she says. “If you leave your telephone number, I can see if I can get this sorted for you within a few days.” She gestures to the guard. “George, if you don’t mind…”
The guard, who I hadn’t realized is still here, touches me on the elbow. “I’ll show you out, miss.”
“Wait!” I rummage in my satchel bag like my life depends on it. “Here, this might clear things up.”
As usual, I’ve come prepared. The papers I pull out are a printed transcript of the information I’d been given about this internship. I hadn’t really believed that I’d need them, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Situations like this just prove that.
I hand them over and watch as the woman scrutinizes them like I’ve handed her top-secret government plans. Come to think of it, she’s probably used to holding top-secret government plans…
“Well, it does appear that there’s been some kind of a mix-up,” she says eventually. “I’ll call someone down who might know a bit more about this.”
“Can I speak to Mr Keating, please?” I ask hopefully.
Mr Keating led the interviews for this internship. He has to know a bit about what’s going on. At the very least, he’ll recognize me.
“Keating?” She shakes her head. “Keating resigned two weeks ago, miss. But his successor will be more than happy to see you. Feel free to take a seat.” She flashes a smile at the guard. “Thank you for your help, sir.”
I obediently find myself sitting in one of the leather chairs beside the desk, legs crossed. Hopefully someone who knows what they’re doing will be able to sort all of this out. I am not backing down. I earned this internship. I worked for it harder than I ever even thought possible.
“Miss… Waters?” A woman taps me on the shoulder.
She’s pretty and far younger than I’d usually expect a replacement for Mr Keating to be. The short blonde bob she sports looks worlds more sophisticated than the dark ponytail I now realize I’ve scraped back too tightly.
“That’s me,” I reply quickly. I stand up and shake her hand. “I’m here for the internship…?”
“Come this way.” She beckons me to follow her. Something about her voice makes me do it unquestioningly.
We head through a series of corridors. I watch in wonder at every wall we pass, gazing at paintings and decor that are probably worth more than my entire life savings. The woman marches forwards, unperturbed until we reach a particular office. The name ‘MRS HAMILTON’ is inscribed upon the door.
“My name is Rebecca Hamilton,” she says as we each take a seat. “I have some unfortunate news. There appears to have been a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I don’t move an inch but my heart pounds in my chest as if I’ve just run a marathon. “What’s wrong?”
“It seems your name has… how to best say it… well, ah, has been lost in the system.” She looks slightly flushed, apologetic. “We have records that show you were initially accepted for an internship here at the White House. But following that, it appears you’ve been accidentally excluded from the pool of successful applicants. It must have happened during the hand over with my predecessor.”
“Excluded?”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she sighs. “It’s been a long two weeks since I took this position. Keating’s departure was quite a surprise. But yes, it appears we’re in quite the unique situation.”
It’s like my world is falling apart around me. All the training I’ve done… all the preparation… has it all been for nothing? Am I going to have to trail back to my dad’s old house in California with nothing but a wasted plane ticket to show for it?
Maybe Rebecca sees my face fall because she moves on quickly.
“This isn’t the end, Miss Waters. It’ll be a challenge, but I promise to try to sort this out for you.”
My life stops falling apart. “Really? This can be fixed?”
Another agonizing minute of silence as she glares at the computer monitor.
“Unfortunately, all of the internship posts we had on offer are now filled or non-existent…” She turns on the computer on her desk, and within seconds she’s typing away frantically. “That will be a problem. I’m not sure we have a desk for you here. Have you ever thought about working in local government?”
Oh god. She’s going to ship me off to some office in who-knows-where, isn’t she?
“Umm,” I say, “not really.”
She shakes her head. “Then-“
“Hamilton, sweetheart, can I have a minute?” The door slams open and I almost jump out of my skin. The man who entered strides into the room as if he owns it.
There’s something weirdly familiar about him. Something I can’t quite place… The sandy brown hair, the dazzlingly white teeth… something about him seems to ring a far-off bell. If he wasn’t at least ten years older than me, I would wonder if he’d been in one of my classes at college.
The man notices me as well. His eyes fix on me, and then Rebecca, and then back to me again. Maybe he does know me somehow?
“Hamilton, you have company,” he says. “Rude of me to barge in, huh?”
“I’ll be ten minutes, Mr Andrews,” Rebecca assures him. “We’re just finishing up here.”
Finishing up? I try to read Rebecca’s face, but she’s looking straight at the other man. I didn’t think we’d even really begun.
But his name rings a bell. Andrews, Andrews, Andrews… oh, of course! No wonder he’s familiar. I pinch myself on the wrist in chastisement, as punishment for my stupidity.
How on earth could I have forgotten? Stephen Andrews is a face I’ve seen on TV a fair few times. The man standing before me is none other than the White House Press Secretary.
“Sir,” I say, bowing my head quickly in respect. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir.”
“It’s really not any trouble,” he replies. The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Now, if I’m not mistaken you strike me as an intern…”
My jaw almost drops to the floor. That’s it. As soon as I get home, I’m burning everything that I’m currently wearing. Is there a giant flashing neon sign screaming ‘I’M AN INTERN!’ floating above my head?
“Yes, sir,” Rebecca confirms. “We’re just sorting out her internship details. I won’t be long.”
But Mr Andrews still loiters in the doorway. “Her internship? Is there a problem?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Rebecca pinches her temples. “It appears that Keating, uh, accidentally discarded her name from the internship program. She’s meant to start today and I don’t have a place for her.” She shakes her head, making a face. “My apologies. I don’t mean to trouble you with this, sir.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Mr Andrews smiles widely, all self-assured charm and relaxation. Confidence comes off him in waves so strongly that I’m sure I could bottle it if I tried. “Internship problems, huh? You know, I could probably solve that for you.”
I blink. “You could?”
He looks me in the eyes, amused. “How would you like to be my intern over in the West Wing?”
The West Wing. He’s offering me the chance to work in the West Wing. The place where all the action happens. Where the decisions of state are made. Where the President of the United States spends most of his time. God, this can’t be real.
But I haven’t come this far to back out now.
“I accept,” I blurt out as quickly as possible. “Thank you! Thank you so much, sir.”
“It won’t be easy,” he warns. “I’ll work you hard, Miss…”
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br /> “Waters. Veronica Waters.”
“Miss Veronica Waters,” he finishes. He says my name slowly and sweetly like I’m some sort of exotic novelty. “But if you choose to work with me, I’ll be damned if you don’t get to taste greatness.”
When he reaches out his hand, I grab it eagerly. I walked into this place today expecting to intern for some boss-who-has-a-boss-who-has-a-boss that is important. It’s not even 8:30AM yet and I’m about to step inside rooms where history is made.
I accept the deal.
David
I haven’t had sex in four hundred and eighty-nine days.
From the very start of my campaign for the presidency, my life has been planned down to the very second. And not one of those seconds has been allocated for fucking.
In part, it’s a media thing. Starting the campaign as a single man means any dates I went on which caught the media’s attention would be all over the latest gossip sites. And ‘interviews with the President’s lover’, or whatever trash they’d use for the headline, would not play well to my image.
That’s the price of becoming president. Four hundred, and eighty-nine fucking days without sex.
“Mr President, your eleven am is here.”
I look up, brought back from my daydreams to the real world. My five-minute coffee break is over, and now I have to get my head back in the game.
“Send them in,” I reply, leaning forward onto my desk.
My desk. The President’s desk. The actual Resolute desk in the Oval Office. It doesn’t feel entirely real yet, even though I’ve been here for months.
As my next meeting enters the room, I can’t help but wonder how many women have been bent over this desk and fucked. It would have to be a few... and a fair few more than the public would guess. In the days back when everyone didn’t carry a camera connected to the internet on them at all times, you could get away with anything if you were the president.