Disclaimers
Copyright:
These characters originated in the deep dark recesses of TN and Advocate's
overworked brains.
Copyright © 2001 by T. Novan, Advocate. All Rights Reserved.
Sexual Content: It's in there and it involves two women. If you're under 18 or this
type of fiction is illegal in your neck of the woods, please move on. This
story is intended for an adult audience only.
Violence:
Mild
Language:
Mild profanity
Acknowledgements: To our beta readers, Barbara Davies and Maggie Sheridan - your
assistance was invaluable! And, of course, we had a blast working together. But
we won't bore you with our mutual admiration. While we've got your attention,
we'd like to offer a special 'I love you' to our respective spouses
The Book: We
are very pleased to announce that 'Madam President' is under contract for print
publication by a brand new publishing house called Jane Doe Press (www.janedoepress.com). An announcement
concerning preordering should hit the web very soon. Also, you should know that
the print version will contain additional scenes not included in the online
version. Don't worry, the online version is a complete story. Consider the
print version a 'directors' cut'
The Book: 2005 Update: Madam President (and it's sequel First Lady) are now available
from Cavalier Press http://www.cavalierpress.com/
Comments/Feedback: Tnovan@aol.com and
advocate8704@yahoo.com
Madam President
By
T. Novan and Advocate (Blayne Cooper)
Prologue
November 2020
Friday, November 6th
Her iron, slightly sweaty grip on the
chair's armrests clamped down even harder, causing white knuckles to stand out
in vivid relief against the dark blue vinyl. She would have chewed her lower
lip in consternation if she could have. But she couldn't. Right now all she
could do was pray. I'm gonna be okay. I am. I can do this. Children do this,
for Christ's sake! Her head snapped to one side, wrinkling the white, paper
bib tied round her neck, and gray eyes went impossibly wide at the sound of
footsteps. Oh, no. Someone's coming. It'll be him!
"Hello? Anybody
home?" A cheerful voice chuckled for just a split second before a balding
head, wreathed with white hair, peeked around the slightly open door. "Hi
there!" The man smiled amiably at the frightened woman and marched happily
into the room. "I'm Doctor Cardozo. So that means you must be..." He
discreetly peeked at his patient's chart, having forgotten the name already, as
he slipped into a pair of rubber gloves. Snapping the second glove loudly, he
scanned for the pertinent information that his assistant had emphasized with
hot pink highlighter.
Lauren Strayer
Blood diseases: None
reported
Last checkup:
Patient Assessment:
Complains of chronic pain in....
He glanced up from the chart
and at Lauren. "Ms. Strayer, I think when you were here the last time you
must have misunderstood one of my colleague's instructions. Checkup time comes
around every six months. Not every six years." He shook his head sadly.
His voice was mildly
chastising, and Lauren nodded but rolled her eyes. Asshole, she thought
tartly. I only come here because you're close to my apartment. One more
snotty comment, and I'm moving.
Dr. Cardozo scanned the
small diagram of the human mouth where an 'X' was placed on the lower left
wisdom tooth. He pursed his lips for a moment then set the chart down, pulling
up a stool next to Lauren.
"Well now, let's
see what we have." He grabbed a shiny silver pick from a tray full of
instruments and pointed it at Lauren's mouth, which was already being held open
by the jaw spreader that had been inserted by the dental assistant who had
prepped her. One look, and the assistant had known that tooth was coming out...
today.
Round, apprehensive eyes
followed the instrument as it moved closer to its target. When it got within an
inch or two of Lauren's mouth, she jerked her head away in pure reaction.
The dentist exhaled
tiredly. "Come on now, Ms. Strayer. This is just a probe." He held
out the pick for her to see. "I know you must be hurting. Your cheek is
all pink and swollen." A cold finger poked the body part in question and
Lauren winced, grunting her agreement.
She glared at him
evilly, but, knowing he was right, dutifully turned her head and presented him
with her wide-open mouth. Not that I have a choice with this thing holding
my mouth open like the catch of the day. He immediately made a hissing
noise that she correctly assumed meant something bad. Very bad.
"Needs to come
out," he informed her bluntly. And, while he didn't do what he was about
to do very often, he thought with this patient he'd make an exception. It was
the reason he still kept the old machine around. "This will help." He
reached over and turned a nozzle, then fiddled with a mask for a moment before
placing it over Lauren's nose and mouth. "Just breathe normally."
She looked startled for
a second, but then remembered getting laughing gas once as a child. Nice
bedside manner. You could have at least explained what you were doing first. Lauren
thought hard. Would they need to use the... she gulped... laser to extract a
tooth? She couldn't imagine why. And with that self-serving conclusion, the
woman felt her painfully ridged body begin to relax.
"You hold
this." The dentist pried Lauren's fingers from one of the armrests and
moved her hand to the mask. "I'll be back in a minute, and we'll fix you
right up. Would you like to watch television while you wait?"
Lauren nodded
gratefully. She would do anything to keep her mind off what was about to
happen.
"TV on," he
commanded. Three tiny, flat, gray boxes, each mounted strategically on a
different wall, shot angled beams that, when combined, formed a stunning,
three- dimensional picture whose edges simply fuzzed away into reality. Filling
the space in the corner of the room there was now a handsome anchorman and his
large paper-covered desk. 'Election 2020' was written in red, white and blue
block letters and hovered over his left shoulder.
Lauren groaned loudly,
but it was too late. Dr. Cardozo had already scuttled out of the room,
presumably to attend to his next victim. Irritably, she pulled the mask away
from her face and tried to give the voice command 'change channel' but the
current state of her mouth made it impossible, her efforts serving only to drip
saliva down her chin. Then she tried to curse, but that didn't work either.
Which only made her want to curse some more. Finally, she simply gave up and
pressed the gas mask tightly against her face. Inhaling deeply, she prayed
she'd be so stoned in a few seconds that she would miss the Ken doll-like
anchorman droning on and on about President-elect Marlowe.
The election music cued
up and, in the blink of an eye, Devlyn Marlowe, at her podium on the steps of
the Governor's mansion in
"Oh, God!" Not
her again! Every day. Day after day after day after day... The buzzing from
the room's fluorescent lights began to grow louder and louder, and Lauren felt
her body began to magically sink into the chair as a lovely sense of
dislocation overtook her. She stared at the charismatic woman dressed in a
long, black trench coat who appeared oblivious to the light drizzle dampening
her head and coat.
"How are you
feeling, Ms. Strayer?" Dr. Cardozo reappeared at her side, and she blinked
dazedly at him, not having heard him come in. He looked at her and grinned
knowingly, quite certain she was feeling no pain at the moment. "I think
we're finished with this now." The man gently pulled away Lauren's mask.
"Don't you just love her?" He motioned over his shoulder with an
instrument.
Lauren furrowed her
brow. Love her? Nooooooo. I'm sick of her and this entire election. She
allowed President-elect Marlowe's acceptance speech to roll right over her, the
low tone of the dark-haired woman's voice soothing her further. But even so,
her gaze remained focused on Marlowe's image. She's sure easy on the eyes.
Nice hair, tall, her mind rambled as the dentist began rooting around in
her mouth.
After a few moments, the
dentist began flushing Lauren's mouth with water and suctioning it back out,
the noise preventing him from hearing the television. "Volume up
two," he ordered absently.
Lauren jumped a little,
shocked back to the moment when Marlowe's voice suddenly grew too loud to
ignore.
Devlyn Marlowe leaned
forward on the podium, her hands resting on its edges. Although she was
physically exhausted from what had been a grueling campaign, one whose final
numbers were the closest since the Gore/Bush fiasco twenty years prior, she fed
off the crowd's energy, soaking up their excitement, the palpable charge in the
air reinvigorating frazzled nerves. "We did it!" She raised a fist in
victory, and the crowd roared.
The President-elect
laughed warmly, then raised her palms to quiet them so she could continue
speaking. Devlyn looked up and flashed a charismatic, heart-stopping smile at
someone in the crowd. And Lauren sucked in a breath; her drug-induced stupor
further adding to the feeling that Devlyn was smiling directly at her. Wow.
Marlowe's gaze dropped
from Lauren's, and she stuck her wet hands in her coat pockets, stepping down
several stairs so she could speak more directly to the crowd. A flurry of
activity around her made it clear that that move wasn't expected by the Secret
Service agents flanking the edge of the steps. And several of them moved
smoothly into new positions before disappearing from view. "As one of my
favorite authors wrote, 'When faced with what seems like an insurmountable
challenge, you have but one choice... to dig deeper within yourself than you
ever believed possible... to question the dedication and worthiness of your
very soul... and then to throw caution to the winds and take your fate in your
own two hands.' "
Lauren began choking
wildly, gasping for air, her flailing arms knocking into the instrument tray
and sending several tools onto her lap. Oh, my God!
The crowd had gone
respectfully silent, but exploded once again when Devlyn added, "We did
that, folks... and we made history in the process!" Her voice was drowned
out by the cheering masses, and the anchorman broke in to add his own
commentary.
"Dammit!" Dr.
Cardozo clumsily yanked his hand out of the convulsing woman's mouth, her tooth
trapped between the bloody tips of his shaking forceps. Thank God she didn't
swallow it. My malpractice insurance is already hell. "What's wrong?
Are you hurt?"
"Cu... Cu...
Cu...!!!"
"What? What?"
he asked desperately, beginning to panic over Lauren's agitated state. Maybe
she'd sue him anyway. He practically threw down the forceps onto the askew
tray, sending Lauren's wisdom tooth bouncing across the carpet.
Without warning, the
woman leaned over to a small porcelain basin and carelessly ripped the jaw
spreader from her mouth, spitting and hacking several times in the process. Her
lips were numb, and she could barely form the words. "Cu... Cu..."
She swallowed and smacked her unresponsive cheeks and lips with her hands.
"Lord have mercy,
girl. What is it?"
Lauren extended her
finger toward the image of the anchorman who was still chatting away happily. A
still head shot of Devlyn's was floating disembodied above him as election
result percentages ran in a continuous stream just below her neck, disappearing
into the area where Dr. Cardozo's coat rack stood.
"She cu...
cu..."
Dr. Cardozo stared at
her expectantly.
"She quoted
me!" Lauren was finally able to blurt out. She frowned and wiped away a
long string of saliva that was dangling freely from her chin.
The man rubbed his
forehead, starting to suspect that Lauren's revelation didn't have anything to
do with dentistry. "Huh?"
Lauren blinked in
confusion, the laughing gas making her tongue feel thick, and her senses dull.
"I'm the... the author." She ran a hand through wavy,
shoulder-length, blonde hair. "Sweet Jesus," she drawled, the words
taking on a slur at the end. "I didn't even vote for the Yankee!"
A glimpse of color
caught her eye, and Lauren suddenly peered down at her paper bib, which was
speckled with red dots and several good sized crimson smears. Her eyes widened,
and the color drained from her face. "Is that blo... bloo?"
"Blood," Dr.
Cardozo finished, looking down at Lauren's limp form which was lying peacefully
in the dental chair. "Shit." Stepping around the unconscious woman's
feet, he walked over to the doorway and motioned over the receptionist. "I
need a phone number."
The receptionist peered
inside the exam room. "Your lawyer?"
"My lawyer,"
he confirmed with a scowl.
* * *
Lauren pulled into her
designated parking space outside her apartment complex, shutting down the
engine with the voice command 'engine off' followed by '4213' which happened to
be the last four digits of her social security number. In an effort to make her
life simple, she used the same four numbers for every code she had, knowing
full well that any thief with minimal brainstem activity could wipe her out
financially in a heartbeat. Then again, she never got locked out of her
apartment or accidentally routed her grocery bill to the phone company. Simple
was good, she decided.
The fair-haired woman
slipped off small, silver, wire-framed glasses and leaned over, resting her
forehead against the steering wheel. After she had woken up at the dentist's
office, it had taken nearly thirty minutes to convince the man that she wasn't
going to sue him. She explained that passing out or throwing up was her typical
reaction to the sight of her own blood. Nothing like making a total and
complete fool of myself to start the day off right.
Lauren groaned slightly,
her jaw feeling like she'd been hit in the face with a two-by-four. She plucked
a small bottle of prescription pain pills she'd picked up on the way home out
of her jacket pocket. Squinting, she studied the label, then shook her head and
relented, sliding her glasses back into place. Three more hours until I can
take another one. Just great. Her head felt like it was going to explode
this very minute.
Stuffing the bottle back
in her pocket, she exited her car and slowly made her way up the outdoor
staircase to her second floor apartment. With one hand, she closed the lapels
of her suede jacket to ward off the chill. November in
She rounded a blind
corner to her apartment, digging in her purse for the keys she'd already put
away without thinking. When she glanced up, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Three slightly shivering men, two dressed in suits and one in khakis and a
sport coat, appeared to be waiting for her outside her apartment door.
The oldest of the trio,
a heavy-set man in his late fifties with a slightly graying goatee, caught
sight of Lauren and visibly relaxed. "Lauren! I'm glad we caught you. I
tried to call you, but I kept getting your service."
Lauren scrunched up her
face as she narrowed her eyes. "
"Damn, I need to
adjust the color on my machine. You're much more of a blonde than a
redhead." His eyes twinkled happily. "Hiya, sweetheart. Oooo... how
does the other guy look?" He grazed her slightly black and blue cheek with
his fingertips.
Lauren didn't bother to
answer his question. Instead, she grinned as much as her mouth packed with
cotton swabs would allow. His rapid speech and nasal,
He smiled back in
response and felt himself pulled into a tight, heartfelt hug, wishing, as he
had many times over the years, that he were young enough to turn this pretty
woman's head.
Lauren caught a whiff of
peppermint, and a light crunching sound near her ear confirmed that he was
chewing a piece of hard candy. "What are you doing here?" she asked
curiously, her hands grasping his biceps so she could push back and look him
over again. "I sent you those contract revisions three days ago. There was
no need to come all the way out here for that." She smacked his arm
lightly.
Remembering that there
were two strangers standing only a few feet away, Lauren's gaze traveled to the
other men who were both wearing navy blue, three-piece suits, and gray
overcoats. She frowned and stopped talking, pressing her lips against
At the word 'mob' the
two other men's ears seemed to perk up like a curious German Shepherd's.
"Kidding,"
* * *
"No."
Arching a pale, slender
eyebrow, Lauren crossed her arms over her chest. "It's a simple word,
"Please let
President-elect Marlowe know that I'm flattered beyond words that she wants me
to do her biography. But that I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline. I'm
sorry you had to come all the way to
Michael Oaks, one of
Devlyn's most trusted aides, and soon-to-be Social Secretary for the new
administration, reluctantly shook Lauren's hand, more than a little pissed off
that he'd flown from
But Michael knew his
boss would expect him to give Strayer the full court press, no matter how he
personally felt about the task. His dark eyes went serious. "Why, Ms.
Strayer? Why won't you consider President-elect Marlowe's request? This is an
unparalleled honor. Surely you don't have a better offer pending?" He
looked over at Wayne, who wildly shook his head 'no'.
The writer smiled
sweetly and did her best to hold her tongue. Honor, my ass. This is one of
those jobs where they tell you what to write, and then you slap your name on
the book cover. No, thanks... she can find herself another propaganda puppet. "I'm
simply not interested." Her tone was polite but cooling quickly.
"The compensation
offer is more than generous, but still negotiable. We consulted several major
publishing companies who indicated what we are offering is well above what
their highest paid historians and biographers command."
"I'm sure it is.
But the answer is still 'no'," she insisted. I don't respond well to
overly aggressive, buddy. And you've already crossed that line.
The young black man
tried again. "But-"
Lauren lifted her hands
in forestallment. "First of all, I don't specialize in politicians."
"If I'm not
mistaken, your last biography was of Cardinal James O'Roarke. Are you going to
stand here and tell me that the Catholic Church isn't a political
institution?" His voice was rising in volume and had taken on a slightly
sarcastic edge.
Lauren felt her temper
beginning to rise. Who did he think he was? The man next to him, who might as
well have had 'Secret Service' tattooed on his forehead, stepped closer to her,
invading her private space and looking at her with disapproving eyes. But she
refused to back down. Am I supposed to be intimidated by 'no neck'? I think
not. I can see how you operate, Devlyn Marlowe! "I've only been home
for a few months after spending nearly two years in
"It's important to
the nation that..." Mr. Oaks continued, not stopping when Lauren tried to
get a word in edgewise several times.
Wayne noticed the
woman's face turning pink, then, finally, a bright red. He crunched down a new
mint nervously. Oh, no. Here it comes. The IRS is going to audit
Starlight Publishing, and me personally, every single year from now until the
end of time! "Lauren, please. I know you had your heart set on Maya
Angelou. But this is the President of the United States for God's sake!"
"No means no,"
Lauren ground out forcefully, her temper snapping. She marched over to the
front door and flung it open with a loud bang. She automatically bent over and
used one arm to keep her rambunctious Pug, Gremlin, from escaping. "This
conversation is over."
Sunday, November 8th
The sedan slowed.
Actually, several sedans slowed. To the casual observer, they could've been
mistaken for a procession carrying a family mourning the loss of someone it
loved. And if it weren't for the identity of one of the people in the third
car, that might have been true. Before her car had even come to a complete
stop, men in dark suits surrounded it; the men who protected the life of the
President-elect. With a quick but thorough check, the area was deemed secure,
and two long legs appeared from behind an automobile door as Devlyn Marlowe
began to climb out of the car.
She leaned over, spoke
to the other occupants, and retrieved a bouquet of roses before slowly walking
to the stone that sat some thirty feet way. The men assigned to guard her were
dutiful, but extremely respectful of her privacy at this moment, keeping as far
away as safety permitted. She adjusted her scarf and tugged on the collar of
her coat, raising it over the back of her neck. Dev gripped the roses and
brought them to her nose, but most of their sweet, spicy fragrance was swept
away by the cold autumn air.
She settled down in
front of the gravestone, the damp, leaf-strewn grass soaking the knees of her
slacks. Devlyn placed the flowers in a ceramic vase attached to the stone and
brushed away a few twigs and leaves that had clustered around the base of the
headstone. "Hiya, beautiful. I had to come today because things are going
to get very nuts for me very shortly." Dev gave a slight chuckle as she
intently studied a bright orange leaf with gloved hands. "Look who I'm
trying to kid. Things are already nuts for me."
Dev let go of the leaf
and watched the wind carry it away. She leaned forward so her fingers could
trace the outline of the letters carved in stone. "I miss you. Sometimes
at night, I still wake up and reach for you." She smiled and her hand
dropped away. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I wouldn't be
where I am if it hadn't been for you. I wish we could be together now."
Her smile turned
wistful. "You'd make a great First Lady." Dev settled back on her
bottom, resting with her legs stretched before her. She crossed her ankles.
"Wonder how they would have handled that? At least I think they would have
called you First Lady." She sighed, shaking her head. "Doesn't
matter. You were, and always will be, my first lady, and that's what is
important."
"I don't think I'll
be coming back, Samantha. I'll bring the kids, of course. Anytime they
want," she quickly added. "But I think... for me... I need to try and
focus on the future for a while." She was silent for a long moment,
listening to the faint howl of the wind and the sound of passing cars in the distance.
"Yeah." She sighed and nodded a little. "I knew you'd
understand."
Dev glanced back to the
caravan and signaled. One of the agents opened the door to Dev's car, and
three, small children climbed out. Ashley, the dark-haired seven-year-old,
patiently waited for her little brothers to make their way out of the back seat
before carefully taking their hands.
The tall woman smiled
affectionately as the children walked toward her. She turned back to face the
stone. "You'd be so proud of all of them. They're very special. Aaron has
a picture of you on his nightstand. He kisses you goodnight before bed."
Her voice shook a little as she spoke. "I've made sure they know you. They
know both their Moms." She chuckled suddenly. "Ashley, bless her, has
learned to roll her eyes at me the same way you used to."
The children joined her,
and Aaron, the youngest at four, settled himself into Dev's lap, snuggling
round her neck, while the older two placed tiny bouquets of flowers on the
grass in front of the grave.
"Hi, Mommy,"
Ashley greeted easily, taking a seat Indian style. "I got an 'A' in math
today. Mom says I'm doing real good in math now."
On impulse,
five-year-old Christopher gave the cold stone a little kiss, then joined his
brother in Dev's lap. At five, the fair-haired little boy was by far the
quietest of the three kids. Ashley and Aaron seemed to take their monthly
visits in stride. But Christopher seemed to have as difficult a time as Dev
herself. Even though he never complained, she wondered if she should stop
bringing him.
But Devlyn knew it was
important to make these wonderful children understand that they had, indeed,
had two parents who loved them very much. Even if one had been cruelly ripped
away from them by a drunk driver just a few weeks after Aaron was born. It hurt
Devlyn's soul that none of them could really remember much about Samantha. Only
Ashley even had the smallest hint of remembrance. And Dev wasn't sure if those
were genuine or a product of their many family photos.
The family spent a few
more minutes together, then the President-elect sent the children back to the
car. She stood, leaning over to leave a soft kiss on the stone just as her son
had done. "I love you, Samantha. You'll be in my prayers. Just like
always." She took a deep breath and turned for the car. She didn't cry
anymore as she walked away, and she knew that was a good thing.
* * *
Devlyn settled down in
her padded seat at the head of the dining room table with the children and
their nanny. Emma was a godsend. Samantha had hired her right after Devlyn had
Ashley. And she had been right there to lend a hand when Samantha had
Christopher and Aaron. Dev's career kept her so busy that she never seemed to
have as much time to spend with the children as she wanted. Emma had helped
take up even more slack after Samantha's death, and Dev wasn't sure whether she
or the children would have made it without her.
Emma Drysdale was
exactly what you'd want a nanny to be. Dedicated and loving. Her generous smile
and heart were appreciated by all who knew her. She was a tiny woman, with a
fierce personality, ample hips and a matronly bosom. She had a thick head of
golden/gray hair and was as quick with a hug as she was to scold. Emma was more
of a grandmother to the Marlowe children than a paid employee. And that suited
Devlyn just fine. She was one of the family, and the older woman's wrath was
nearly as legendary as her chocolate chip cookies.
"Don't you dare
think you're gonna get up from this table until you've eaten every last bite on
your plate."
Dev looked at each of
the children, wondering which was in trouble. Then she glanced at her own
plate, and she knew who was in Dutch. "I'm eating, Emma," she
protested uselessly.
"You're too skinny
as it is." Emma tsked her and pinched at a broad shoulder that was
anything but skinny. "And you're not eating. You're pushing your food
around to make it look like you're eating." Emma raised a gray brow,
glancing down at the seated woman even as she moved over to Ashley and buttered
another roll for the child. "You don't want to make a bad impression on
your children now, do you?"
"You know,"
Dev stabbed a helpless stalk of asparagus, "I hate it when you do
that."
"I know." The
nanny nodded and refilled Aaron's milk. "That's why I do it."
"Sit down,
Emma," she groaned. "The kids are fine. Eat something yourself."
Dev shook her head and leaned back in her chair, knowing her protest would go
ignored on this night, just as it had on every other night. At least until Emma
was ready to sit down.
She wasn't mistaken.
Ashley giggled and
turned her large brown eyes on her mother. "Mom?"
"Yes,
sweetheart?" Dev decided to make an effort to eat her dinner, even though
she was so tired the only thought that really appealed to her was going
straight to bed.
"Do I have to take
her with me to the zoo tomorrow?"
"Huh?" Dev's
forehead creased as she tried to figure out who her was. "Oh, you mean
Agent Hamlin?"
Ashley scowled and Dev
blinked, startled to see herself so clearly in her daughter's expression.
"I'll take that as
a yes. And I'm afraid you will, sweetheart."
With her fork, the
little girl angrily smashed into the lava river she had created with her mashed
potatoes and gravy. "None of the other kids have to."
"I know, honey.
But...I'll tell you what, we'll tell her to wear jeans and a sweatshirt,
okay?"
Ashley thought about
that for a moment. It couldn't hurt, she figured. "Fine."
Christopher and Aaron
stopped eating so they could listen intently to this conversation. They both
had new bodyguards as well.
"You might as well
get used to Agent Hamlin and try to make friends with her. She's probably going
to be with you for the next four years."
"What about
Amy?"
"Look, Moppet. Amy
was a State Trooper. She took care of you before I was elected President. Now
it's going to be a Secret Service agent and it's going to be Agent
Hamlin." She patted the girl's hand and noticed that Christopher and Aaron
didn't look any more pleased with the prospect than Ashley. Her eyes softened,
and she smiled reassuringly. "You'll get to like her as much as you liked
Amy. I'm sure of it."
"'Kay," the
little girl muttered.
"Mom, can I go
too?" Christopher piped up from his spot directly on Dev's right. "I
want to go to the zoo."
"I'm sure you do,
buddy, but this is a class trip that Moppet is taking." She grasped his
small hand in hers. "But I'll tell you what, I'll try to arrange a trip
for you and Aaron, okay?"
"Yes," Aaron
and Chris cried simultaneously. The brothers gave each other the high five.
Unfortunately, Aaron's aim was a little low, and he ended up smacking Chris in
the head. Chris immediately struck back, and a mini slapping war ensued with
the boys laughing and yelling.
"All right. Time to
get ready for bed." Emma moved from her place at the end of the table and
began herding the children toward the stairs.
Dev stood up as well,
but sat back down like a chastised child when the older woman gave her a
disapproving look.
"I am the
President-elect you know!" the tall woman protested with a fake pout.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I'm very impressed, Madam President-elect." Emma pointed to the full
plate. "Now eat your dinner."
"Am I ever going to
do anything that impresses you?!" Dev called to the retreating form.
"You already have.
They're named Ashley, Christopher and Aaron. Now eat."
* * *
It was nearly three more
hours before Dev was finally finished for the day and wearily began climbing
the stairs toward her bedroom. An aide caught her before her foot landed on the
top step.
"Governor?"
She let her head drop.
"Yes?"
"The Secret Service
just brought this file in for you. They said you wanted it immediately."
It's just a file.
Thank you, God! I may get to bed yet tonight. "Thanks." She took it and
gave the index a quick glance. "Strayer, Lauren Anna. Lauren not Loren,
huh?" I figured 'L. Strayer' had to be a woman. The picture she drew in
my mind....
"Governor?"
The aide looked confused.
"Oh, nothing.
Sorry. Good night."
"Good night,
ma'am."
Devlyn made her way into
Ashley's room first. It was a typical little girl's room. Filled with stuffed
animals, doll houses and all the frills. The little canopy bed only served to
remind Dev how precious her first born truly was.
"Hey, Moppet,"
she whispered into the darkness. "You asleep yet?"
"No, ma'am."
The little girl rolled over, her soft, dark eyes glinting from the light coming
from the hallway.
The tall woman took a
seat on the bed, tucking the file under her arm. She studied her little girl,
brushing messy bangs that needed trimming. "I know you don't understand
everything that's going on right now, and it's kinda scary for you."
Ashley nodded.
"But I need you to
trust me, okay? This is all a very good thing."
"My teacher says
that you're gonna be the most powerful woman in the world. Is that true?"
Startled pale eyes
blinked. "Well..."
"Even more powerful
than Wonder Woman?" The little girl popped up in her bed.
Dev looked into her
daughter's round, brown eyes. "No. No way. Wonder Woman would kick my
butt. Besides she's got that great invisible jet," Dev reminded, giving
her daughter a friendly poke in the tummy.
Ashley nodded. "And
the golden lasso."
"Right." She
gently laid her little girl back down until her shoulders sank into her fluffy
pillow. Then she leaned over, and they rubbed noses. "But you trust me...
right, Moppet?"
"Always and forever."
Little arms tightened around her neck.
They held each other for
a long moment. "Did you tell Mommy good night?"
"Yes, ma'am. Right
after my prayers."
"Good girl."
"You really miss
her, don't you?"
Devlyn frowned. Today at
the cemetery had been very hard for her, and her astute daughter had obviously
picked up on that fact. She'd been trying to say goodbye to Samantha for over
three years, and she was never very good at goodbye. Especially when it came to
people she loved. "Sure, I do."
A pensive look crossed
Ashley's face. "Maybe sometime you'll find a new mommy for us."
A lump formed in Dev's
throat, and it took her several seconds to speak around it. "Maybe,
Moppet," she conceded doubtfully. "But your Mommy was very special.
And I loved her very much."
"So did I... I... I
think."
She tucked her daughter
in, smoothing the covers underneath her chin. "I know you did. And Mommy
knows you did, too. I'm sure of it."
Ashley yawned. "Do
you think she's lonely, like you?"
The innocent words
pierced Dev's heart, and she felt the beginnings of tears. "No, sweetie.
She's happy up in heaven with grandma and grandpa. She's never lonely."
"'Kay." Sleepy
eyes slipped shut.
Dev placed a kiss on her
forehead. "Love you, Ash," she said softly, watching as the girl's
breathing grew deep and even. "Sweet dreams." On her way out of the
room she clicked on a tiny night-light that cast the space in a muted blue
glow.
Next, Dev quietly padded
to the room the boys shared where they lay asleep, tucked down in matching
racecar beds. She knelt between the beds and felt the tears come in earnest.
These boys, with their blond hair and blue eyes, were the spitting image of the
woman who had given birth to them. And neither would ever know the mother who
loved them so much.
"Dammit,
Samantha," she growled under her breath. Dev angrily sprang to her feet.
"How could you just leave us?" She covered her face with trembling
hands, immediately ashamed of her outburst. She wiped away the tears. "I'm
sorry. I didn't mean it." The tired woman forced the tears to stop, wiping
the last of them away with the sleeve of her shirt. "I love you. I didn't
mean it."
She bent over and gave
each boy a soft kiss on the cheek. "Great adventures to you both tonight.
I love you."
Closing the door gently
behind her, she made her way to her own room. She tossed the file down on a
desk near the stone fireplace. Where, true to Mrs. Drysdale's mothering nature,
there was a sandwich and a glass of milk, waiting for the President-elect.
She snorted and threw
herself into a large recliner. She hoisted the milk to her lips, then paused to
take a moment and offer a toast. "To Emma Drysdale, I wouldn't get through
the days or nights without you." She leaned over, flipping open the file
as she sipped the creamy beverage.
"Well, well, Lauren
Strayer. Aren't you just the cutest thing?" There were several pictures of
the young woman, and she held up a 5" X 7" candid shot of Lauren in
the park with her dog. The blonde was wearing a baseball cap, and a short, wavy
ponytail was poking out the back. She had on gray sweats and a bright orange
and white,
Dev examined the date on
the back of the picture and confirmed it was taken only two weeks ago. She
flipped to the next photograph. In this one, Lauren was wearing a linen suit
with a fitted skirt that stopped a few inches above her knees. The more sophisticated
clothing made the writer look older, Dev considered. Lauren's suit jacket was
draped over her shoulder and tanned arms peeked out from beneath a sleeveless,
pale blue silk blouse. She was descending the steps of some office building and
talking to a woman alongside her. The writer's hand had been caught in mid-air
as she gestured. A smile edged its way across Devlyn's lips as she took a good
long moment to enjoy Lauren's youthful good looks, devastating gray eyes and a
smile that she was sure would melt butter.
The President-elect
lifted the last picture, which was obviously Lauren's drivers' license photo.
Making a face, she shivered and pushed a button on the edge of her desk. The
silent room was suddenly filled with a quiet hum. With one last grimace, she
slid the enlarged photo into a paper-thin slot that ran along the corner of the
desk, nodding happily as her shredder obliterated the unflattering shot.
She retrieved the
picture of Lauren in the park and spoke to it. "They'll retake it if you
ask them nicely, Lauren," she chuckled. Tossing down the photo, she picked
up the neatly typed report and glanced at the bio coversheet, but the words
began to blur. She rubbed her eyes, knowing she still had several hours of
pressing work ahead of her. Hell, they told you she passed the security
check last week, Dev. The rest can wait until tomorrow.
"Well, Lauren
Strayer, I don't need this file to tell me I want your help. I already knew
that."
Dev finished her milk,
ate her sandwich, and dug into a report on Chinese trade negotiations. She
finally dropped into bed shortly after
Monday, November 9th
"No? What do you
mean 'no'?" Dev scrawled her name at the bottom of a piece of paper and
handed it to one aide while another was briefing her about her next three
appointments.
Michael Oaks shook his
head, wishing he could say to President-elect Marlowe what Lauren had told her
publisher the day before. "She doesn't want the job, Dev." He
shrugged. "It's as simple as that."
Dev shot him a look.
"Nothing is ever 'as simple as that'. And you know it." She nodded
absently to her secretary, who was going around the room and taking coffee
orders from her staff. "Why doesn't she want it? No..." she told her
secretary. "That day is bad. Can we push it up to the twenty-first?"
Michael took a seat next
to the tall woman. "Strayer gave me a few lame reasons, but I think it
comes down to the fact that she just wasn't interested in writing your
biography."
"Then we need to
get her interested."
"Dev, what does it
matter? We can get someone else. Someone better. I know you love her work, but
the woman didn't even vote for you, for God's sake!"
Now that got
Dev's attention, and she looked up from her electronic organizer.
Her customary smile slid
from her face. "What do you mean she didn't vote for me? Why not?"
Michael nodded his
thanks when a pot of coffee was set down in front of him and Dev, then moved
his elbows to make room for a mammoth stack of papers. "Didn't you read
the report on her?" He poured Dev a cup, then one for himself, drawing in
a deep, appreciative sniff of the strong aroma.
"I looked at
it," Dev said, her brow furrowing. Okay, I looked at her picture.
Shit.. "Jane?" Blue eyes scanned the crowded room.
"Here it is,
Dev." Jane, Dev's personal secretary, thrust a manila folder into Dev's
hand.
Twin eyebrows rose.
"You frighten me sometimes, Jane. You do realize this, don't you?"
The plump woman smiled
and winked. "After fifteen years, I know you better than you know
yourself, Devlyn Marlowe." Her grin broadened. "And I can't wait to
be President of the
The room exploded in
laughter, with Dev joining in. "And a wonderful President you'll make,
too. Just give a me a little bump if I ever get in your way."
Dev took a sip of hot
coffee and plucked a blueberry bagel from a loaded tray that was now circling
the room. She opened the file. Who are you, Lauren Strayer? And why did you
turn me down? The room faded away as she began to concentrate on the words
before her. She speed read the coversheet bio before tackling the report in
toto.
Subject: Lauren Anna
Strayer
D.O.B.:
Ht.: 5'6" Wt.: 124
Eyes: Gray Hair: Blonde
Dev's eyes scanned
beyond the address, non-remarkable medical history, lack of criminal history
and employment information.
Marital Status: Divorced
(dates of marriage
Family: No children, no
siblings, no significant other, parents: still living
Her thoughts stopped
there for a moment. Sounds lonely.
Education: BA in
History, minor in English Literature,
Devlyn laughed as she
read about the eleven outstanding parking tickets the City of
She flipped to the back
of the file for the supplemental information she knew would be there, quickly
examining a photograph of Lauren's ex-husband, Judd Radison, an architect
living in Chicago who had remarried two months after his divorce from Lauren.
He now had a two-and-a-half-year-old-son. Dev did the math and stifled a curse.
Cheating rat bastard. She decided to shred his picture later, too.
She frowned when there
were no photographs of Lauren's parents, but the brief report indicated Howard
Strayer was a retired plumber and 45-year member, and former Union Steward, for
the American Plumbers'
When Dev looked up from
her reading, ten minutes later, she was alone in the conference room. Empty
cups were everywhere, paper plates were strewn around the room and for the
first time she noticed the ticking beeping of an alarm that had been set to
remind her of her first appointment. Her coffee was cold, and she pushed the
cup away with distaste.
Devlyn shuffled back to
the first page of the file and, taking a large bite of her bagel, she picked up
her phone.
* * *
Lauren began rooting
around in her purse, finally finding a small mirror. "Auto drive on.
Preset destination number 12. 4213." Lauren dropped her hand from the
wheel and pushed her seat back as the car signaled and made a smooth lane
change. She glanced at her watch. She was already late. "Increase speed by
10 miles per hour. 4213." She waited for the expected warning beep, then
overrode the automatic speed control system with a voice command. "Speed
override approved. 4213."
Holding up a small hand
mirror, she applied a light coat of pale lipstick. She jumped when her phone
rang, causing her to smear her chin with a streak of pink. "Uck." She
snagged a tissue from a holder between the seats, and let the phone continue to
ring as she wiped her face. On the fifth ring she answered, "Hello."
"Hello," a
strong but decidedly female voice burred. "Is this Ms. Lauren
Strayer?"
Lauren held the phone
away from her face and stared at it as though she'd never seen it before. I
know that voice.
"Hello? Ms.
Strayer?"
Lauren pressed the
receiver back to her ear, impressed, despite the fact that she truly didn't
want to be. "This..." She cleared her throat gently. "This is
Lauren Strayer."
Dev smiled, easily
picking up on the younger woman's surprise and instantly loving the sweet,
Southern drawl. "I'm glad to be talking with you myself. Oh, I'm sorry.
I'm..."
"The President of
the
"President-elect,
actually." Devlyn kicked her feet up on the table, wishing that her
always-ravenous staff hadn't scarfed down all the bagels. She found herself
wanting another. "You spoke with my aide, Michael Oaks, yesterday?"
Lauren nodded. "I
did." Her shock began to give way to remembered anger. "And I don't
appreciate being strong-armed," she said, her tone suddenly cool.
Dev sat up straight, her
feet sliding from the table and striking the ground with a loud thud.
"What do you mean 'strong-armed'?" What did you do, Michael?!
"Why else was Mr.
Oaks accompanied by Mighty Joe Young?"
Mighty Joe Young? Dev closed her eyes. Oh, God.
Tell me he didn't bring Francis. "Could you be referring to Francis
Davies? The very intense and unfortunate Secret Service agent, whose head
happens to grow directly out of his shoulders?"
A laugh escaped Lauren,
and she clamped down on it with the palm of her hand. A politician with a
genuine sense of humor? It's snowing in hell. "That name sounds
familiar," she offered noncommittally, not bothering to wipe the smile off
her face.
"Then please allow
me to immediately apologize. I'm certain that Francis' presence wasn't intended
to intimidate." Please don't ask me why else he was there then.
Lauren held the phone
out again and looked at it, wishing could see Devlyn Marlowe's face. She
sounded sincere enough. "Perhaps I misunderstood then," she heard
herself say.
"Ms. Strayer, your
work is both intelligent and insightful. I'm a huge fan."
Lauren was surprised
again by Dev's enthusiastic praise and felt her cheeks growing warm.
"Th... Thank you." What she didn't know was that Dev was sporting a
matching blush on the other end of the phone.
The President-elect
mentally scolded herself for sounding like a star-struck teenager. "I need
your help. I'm in a very unique position, Ms. Strayer. One that needs to be
skillfully and, more importantly, accurately recorded." Dev's alarm went
off, and she swatted at it with an irritated hand.
"I couldn't agree
more."
Dark eyebrows lifted in
surprise. "Then you'll do it?" People started filing into the
conference room.
"I didn't say
that."
Devlyn sighed in
frustration. "Please, Ms. Strayer, help me out here. I've got a meeting in
two minutes. Tell me what I need to do to get you to say yes."
Lauren's car came to a
stop outside the public library and waited dutifully for her to give the
command to kill the ignition. "I don't think there is anything you could
say," she replied honestly. "I'm flattered. Really, I am." And
curious as hell. "But I don't want to have my copy ghost written by
the Emancipation Party President. That's not the type of work I do. I'd be
happy to recommend someone..."
"What are you
talking about?"
Lauren could hear the
puzzlement in Devlyn's voice.
"That's not what I
want." What did Michael say to you?
The writer blew out a
breath, wanting to believe the other woman, but knowing better. "You say that
now. But..."
"But nothing! I
don't want a 'yes man' for the party. The party is paying you because I
couldn't see asking the taxpayers to do it. And if I paid you myself it would
call your professionalism into question, would it not?"
Lauren leaned forward,
listening intently. "Yes, it would."
"I want someone
with honesty and integrity and real talent. I want you, Ms Strayer. You'd have
free rein to write whatever you see fit." Dev waved in the woman who she
hoped would be the next head of the Department of Health and Human Services.
Cursing the time, she spoke rapidly. "I'm giving you full access to
everything and complete editorial control of the content. You're only
constraint will be working within the bounds of reasonable National Security."
Dev laughed. "And keeping up with me."
Lauren stared at the
phone for the third time, not believing what she was hearing.
Dev held up a single
finger, indicating to her people in the room she'd be just one more minute, as
the last person sat down at the table and Jane closed the conference room door.
The dark-haired woman turned her back to her guests and crossed her fingers.
"Was that what you needed to hear, Ms. Strayer?"
Lauren nodded dumbly. Full
access? Editorial control? And a 'subject' who is making history with
every thing she does? "Yeah." She swallowed hard. "That was
what I needed to hear."
~~~~~~~~~
Madam President
Chapter
I
January
2021
Thursday, January 21st
Dev took a deep breath and looked at
David McMillian, her oldest and most trusted friend, and the new White House
Chief of Staff. She'd known him since her undergraduate days at Harvard. They'd
studied and even roomed together for a semester, before Dev meet Samantha.
Their time together cemented a friendship that had become a permanent fixture
in both their lives.
While Devlyn's political
aspirations put her squarely in the spotlight, David was more than content to
play behind the scenes, where he often, and only half-jokingly, reminded Dev,
the realpower lay.
Dev reached out and
grasped the cool metal knob, an astonished smile playing on her lips. "We
did it."
"Yes, we did, Madam
President."
"Cut that
out." She scoffed at the title coming from him. They were beyond things
like that, at least in private. And David knew it. But still, she was fun to
tweak. "Or I'll make you call me Wonder Woman."
The tall, red-haired man
scratched his jaw, and his tobacco brown eyes went slightly round.
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
It was just after dawn,
and the offices were empty, an almost haunting quiet surrounding them. This was
just the way Dev had wanted it to be the first time she and David entered the
Oval Office as the President and the Chief of Staff. It had taken a horde of
people to get her here. But without the support of her best friend she never
would have made it. It was only appropriate that they should savor this moment
alone together.
She pushed the door open
but didn't step inside. David smiled broadly and gestured. "After you,
Wonder Woman."
"Smartass."
She stepped into the
office and took a deep breath, stopping in the middle of the room to enjoy
every crazy emotion, soaking in the pure thrill of it all. An almost giddy
laugh worked its way up from her chest. She turned around and found David
standing behind 'the chair'.
He gave her a grin and
patted the soft leather. "Come on. Try it out."
"I'm almost afraid
to," she admitted. "It's like, if I try to sit in that chair, I'll
wake up from the dream, and it'll all be gone."
"Nah. It's real.
You're here. And it's never gonna be the same again. You've already made
history, Madam President. Now let's give 'em four years they'll never
forget."
Devlyn took another
slightly shaky breath and made her way to the chair, sinking into the soft
leather with an inaudible sigh. She spread her hands over the desk in front of
her, feeling the cool, smooth surface under her palms. "I am the President
of the
"Yes, you are."
David sucked in a breath, biting the edge of his thick red mustache, fully
aware of the power of the moment.
She blinked and stared
across the room with unseeing eyes. "I've lost my mind."
"Yes, you
have." David cleared his throat. "I'll leave you now, so that you can
get your personal things out." He gestured as he moved back to the door.
"They're in those two white boxes in the corner."
"Thanks,
David." She looked up. "Hey, if we don't hate this too much, are we
going for eight?"
"Ask me in two years.
Have a good day, Madam President."
"David!" she
called after him.
He poked his head back
around the door. "Yes?"
"Thank you for
getting me here."
"We did it
together, Dev." Her friend gave her a smile and left the office.
Monday, January 25th
Dev had quickly adjusted
to the flock of people that always seemed to be on her heels no matter where
she was going. It was a lot like being Governor only to the nth degree.
Luckily, she had long ago learned to listen to everyone at once. Now, if
someone could scare me up a good corned beef on rye without my having to fly
back to
"You have a meeting
with the Secretary of Energy at
Dev had learned early in
her political career never to wear a watch. People read way too much into the
gesture of glancing at the timepiece, which she tended to do often if she wore
one. "What time is it now?" Dev eyed the door to the Oval Office,
which was growing larger and larger with every step. She hoped to make it
inside before someone declared war.
"
"Remind me about
the meeting at
"Yes, ma'am. You
have an appointment now as well. With Lauren Strayer."
The President stopped
dead in her tracks, turning to the young woman on her heels who nearly crashed
into her. "Is that today?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was
set for
Dev winced, and then
suddenly became very aware of her appearance. "Damn." She gave
herself a quick once over, straightening her jacket and smoothing back long,
ebony locks. "Do I look all right?"
The young woman's mind
derailed at the sudden change of topic. "Umm... of course," she
stammered. "I mean... yes, ma'am. You look fine."
"Good." She
handed all the files back to Liza, then wiped her palms on her slacks, chiding
herself for her nervousness. "How long is this scheduled to go?"
"Half an hour,
ma'am."
Dev pursed her lips.
That simply wouldn't do. "Push everything back and give me an hour here.
I'm gonna need it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Liza opened her notebook. This was only her second day, and she'd already
figured out that the President was always going to need some wiggle room in her
schedule. "That means you won't get back to the residence until sometime
after
"If I'm
lucky," Dev grumbled as she stood in front of the door to her office and
waited for an immaculately dressed man to let her in. She wondered if she'd
ever become accustomed to people whose sole purpose appeared to be to open
doors for her. Okay. There's nothing to be nervous about. You respect her
work. All right... you love her work. So what? You've met accomplished people
before. Dev drew in a deep breath. She was an expert at burying how she
felt. "I'll be ready to move on in an hour." She reached over and
tugged on Liza's sleeve. "Do me a favor and find me a corned beef
sandwich, huh? The food they served at the luncheon wasn't even close to
edible."
"Right away. What
about...?" Liza gestured to the door.
"Oh, yeah." Where
are my manners? "Hold on." Dev squared her shoulders and walked
into the Oval Office, pushing aside the immediate thrill she felt just from
entering the room. That's when the dark-haired woman got her first real life
glimpse of Lauren Strayer. Wow. Not just cute. Dev mentally amended her
assessment of Lauren's looks, based on her photograph. Beautiful. Dev
cleared her throat gently, and the writer's head turned, slate gray eyes
fastening on Dev's face. Dev's lips immediately curled into a smile, and she
greeted Lauren warmly while remaining at the door. "Hi. I've been looking
forward to meeting you. I'll be right with you, I promise. I'm just making sure
I get enough sustenance to keep from passing out." She stopped and took a
breath. Okay, I usually don't talk that quickly. "Would you like a
sandwich?"
Lauren practically
jumped to her feet. She hadn't even heard President Marlowe come in. It had
taken her all of two seconds to commit her first breach of White House etiquette.
"Hi." God, television does not do her justice.
Devlyn was wearing
fashionably wide-legged, worsted wool trousers in the darkest of greens.
Underneath a jacket that matched the slacks was a sleek-looking metallic silver
turtleneck that complemented Dev's lightly tanned complexion and glossy black
hair. She had the body of a track star, long and lean, with endless legs.
Lauren's eyes widened as she realized she hadn't heard a word past 'Hi.' Her
mind raced frantically. Shit! I know her lips were moving!
Devlyn wondered at the
sudden look of confusion coloring the younger woman's face. "
Right. That was it. "No, thank you, Madam
President. I already had lunch." The few bites that the bat-sized
butterflies in my stomach would allow, that is.
Sweet Southern
accent. "Do you mind if I indulge? The NRA failed in its attempt to poison
me over lunch. And I'm..."
"Of course,
Madam President." Lauren smiled and tucked a strand of pale behind her
ear. She slid off her glasses and began absently gnawing on the tip of one
earpiece as Dev turned around.
Just like Christopher
wears, the President mused. The boy was always fiddling with his glasses. Dev
smiled again. He'd like knowing someone else who wore them too. A lot. Glasses
were unusual nowadays, and she knew Chris hated wearing them, despite the fact
that the lenses would actually correct his near-sightedness, so that he
wouldn't have to wear them at all in a few years.
"Thanks,"
Dev said over her shoulder, breathing a slight sigh of relief. Yes! She's not
mad that I'm late. "I swear, I'll be right back." With that, Dev
pulled the door closed and stepped back out into the outer office. "One
sandwich and one hour," she told Liza, who was now explaining some White
House protocol to Jane Shultz, Dev's longtime secretary. The President gave
Jane a small wave and received a sympathetic smile in return.
"One sandwich,
fifty-six minutes." Liza grinned tentatively and tapped her large-faced,
gold watch.
Dev raised an
eyebrow, glad, and a little surprised, that the young woman was already growing
more at ease with her. Everyone had begun this new administration in a way that
was almost painfully formal, and although it was to be expected, and wholly
appropriate, it wasn't making her own adjustment any easier.
"Right.
Thanks." Dev re-entered her office. Leaning her shoulders against the door
to close it, her eyes slid shut and she exhaled a long, slow breath. The breath
turned into a happy whimper when the heavy door clicked shut, effectively
locking away the rest of a very demanding world for another fifty-five minutes.
Lauren, who stood
behind one of the rich leather chairs that sat in the center of the room,
looked appropriately amused. Her hands restlessly rubbed at the back of the
chair, and it looked as though she was trying very hard to stifle a laugh.
Dev stood up
straight, intent on recovering at least a shred of her Presidential demeanor.
But one look into understanding, even slightly indulgent eyes, and she gave up
instantly, grinning as she slumped back against the door. "Tell you what,
let's make a deal right now. You let me be myself when we're alone, and we both
might make it through the next few years without going insane." She smiled
at Lauren's intently interested look. "Besides, if I have to be the
President of the United States all of the time, the book's gonna be crap, and
we both know it."
"Deal."
Lauren was grinning now, but her smile quickly faded. "Does 'you' being
'you' equal 'off the record'?" Oh, boy. Here it comes. The biographer
instantly chastised herself for not listening to her first instincts and
turning down this assignment.
Dev pushed away from
the door. Padding over to the leather sofa across from Lauren, she gracelessly
dropped into it, sighing with satisfaction. "Nope," she replied
blithely, gesturing for Lauren to retake her seat. "The good, the bad, and
the ugly of my life are an open book to you, Ms. Strayer." Unexpectedly,
the President's voice grew serious, and she leveled a frank stare at the
writer; one that caused her to lean forward as she listened. "My children,
however..."
"You don't have
to be concerned about that, Madam President," Lauren interrupted urgently.
"I would never invade their privacy. As far as your biography is
concerned, they are only relevant in the ways that they directly affect
you."
Dev looked at her
curiously and barked out a tiny laugh. "Well, that would be in just about
every way, wouldn't it?"
Lauren was about to
disagree, but stopped herself. Shut up, Lauren. It's not like you have kids.
Well, at least ones that don't occasionally drink from the toilet. No
assumptions, remember?
The writer's first
biography had been of Karina Jacobs, the star of the 2016 Olympics who had been
born in
Lauren's second
biography had been of Peter Orlosky, the mega-nerd who had brought down the
Microsoft empire with his single, non-proprietary operating system. It could
handle everything from the desktop computer to the largest global networks –
instantly resolving the problems of interoperability that had plagued computer
and network operations people for years. Not only was he unmarried and childless,
but Lauren was pretty damned sure he'd never even had sex. With another human
being, that is. But ultimately that tidbit didn't make it into his biography
because she figured everyone could figure that out just by looking at or
listening to Peter. She certainly didn't need to tell them.
And, finally, her
most recent biographical subject had been Cardinal O'Roarke. While she was
certain that he and his long time male secretary, Andre Ricardo, had a very
up-close and personal relationship... as far as she could tell, he had never,
literally, fathered any children. So how exactly could she know how President
Marlowe's children affected her?
"Let me rephrase
that..." Lauren tried again, her tone every bit as serious as Devlyn's.
But unconsciously her gaze had softened. "You can trust me to know what's
private in your children's lives... and what could hurt them. I promise,"
she swore intently.
Dev nodded. "If
I weren't already certain of that, you wouldn't be here, Ms. Strayer. I don't
take chances with the well being of my babies."
Lauren smiled
engagingly, slightly taken aback by the President's choice of words. 'My
babies'... so personal. Maternal. For some reason, I didn't think she'd be that
way. "But I'd be pleased if you felt like you could be relaxed and be
yourself around me, despite my job." She raised a playful eyebrow at the
woman who was comfortably reclining in front of her, with pleasure so complete
it bordered on sensual... "I can see how hard that will be for you,"
Lauren teased gently.
Dev laughed, glad
that her genuine nervousness didn't appear to be showing. "Good. Because
this," she laid her hand on her abdomen and, as if on cue, it growled
ferociously, "is me... tired, hungry," she glanced at one of the
several clocks mounted on the wall, her eyes quickly finding the one showing
the correct time zone, "and a little late."
She's a talker. Thank
you, God!
"I really wanted
to make a good first impression. But being late kinda blew that, didn't
it?" Dev inquired sheepishly.
She wanted to impress
me? Lauren cocked her head slightly to the side as she regarded the leader of
the free world with ever-growing curiosity. "Some would say so." But
I wouldn't happen to be among them. You make a charming first impression,
President Devlyn Marlowe. But I'll bet you already knew that.
"Then I guess
all I can do is say I'm sorry, and hope you can find it in your heart to
forgive me." A flash of white teeth brought Dev's face to life.
The writer's mind was
already spinning, weaving a tapestry with words that would eventually form a
picture of Devlyn herself. And there was one word that Lauren could already see
was going to pop up again and again when it came to President Devlyn Marlowe.
Charisma... in spades. It fairly oozed from the tall woman's pores. But it was
in an understated kind of way that was both compelling and alluring. "I
think under the circumstances, I can forgive you, Madam President."
"Thanks."
The tall woman scooted forward a little on the sofa and leaned forward, her
arms resting on her thighs with her fingers interlaced. What she really wanted
to do was ask the writer about some of her work... especially a few pieces that
had been written under the pseudonym Lauren Gallager.
But now wasn't the
time to be a goofy fan. There was still one major wrinkle to iron out that Dev
had saved for a face to face discussion. Something she hoped would give this
biography a sense of intimacy and candor that she found lacking in so many
others. Just ask her Dev. The worst she can say is 'no'. Well, that's not quite
true. She could laugh, accuse you of being insane and wanting to micromanage
her work, and then say 'no'. "You just arrived in town this morning?"
the Dev began casually.
Lauren shook her
head. "Last night. The Emancipation Party is putting me up at the
Hay-Adams Hotel."
"And your room
is nice? You like it there, I mean?"
A wry smile wanted to
twitch at Lauren's lips, but she felt a tiny kernel of worry germinate in her
belly. Where is she going with this? "Well, it's Italian Renaissance. Not
exactly the Motel-6, but somehow I'm making do," she said drolly.
"Good...
good." Dev missed the joke. She was too wrapped up in what she was about
to ask. "I, um... well, actually, I had something a little closer in mind.
I mean, if you're going to follow me around on anything like a regular basis,
you'll need to be close." That was brilliant. Duh.
Pale eyebrows lifted.
"The Hay-Adams is less than 3 blocks away. Any closer and I'd be residing
in your back pocket."
"Hmm...
true..." Shut up, Dev. God, don't scare her off now. "Okay, maybe not
my back pocket, but how about in residence with me and my family?"
Lauren's jaw sagged.
"Inside the White House?"
Dev grinned.
"I've found inside the White House to be far more comfortable than outside
the White House. The park benches around here suck." When Lauren didn't
answer Dev pressed on. "Look, if you really want to get to know me and
understand what I do, you're going to have to tag along after me. And you can't
very well do that from the Hay-Adams Hotel. I don't exactly keep regular hours,
and there simply isn't enough time in the day for a lot of one-on-one research
discussions." And, while that was true, Dev knew instantly that if Lauren
Strayer asked, she'd make time for her anytime she wanted.
"I, umm... Madam
President, I don't know what to say," she admitted honestly. Sure it would
make things interesting, but Lauren knew she needed her privacy. She wasn't at
all sure that she could stand living in more of a fish bowl than she was already
subjecting herself to.
"Living here is
the only way to really know what I do," she said reasonably. "It
doesn't have to be for the entire term. Just until you feel like you've got a
good handle on my day-to-day life." C'mon, Lauren, say yes. Lauren's head
began to sway slightly, and Dev knew she was considering it. She went in for
the kill. "I want a totally honest and accurate accounting of the first
term of office for the first female, American President. I don't take my legacy
lightly, Ms. Strayer. The easiest way for me to give you full access is to have
you nearby. I don't want to pull any punches."
"Do you really
want that?" Lauren asked curiously. Giving her editorial control of the
book was an enormous risk, and she knew it.
Sky blue eyes
fastened on Lauren's with an almost painful honesty. "Yes. I really
do."
Lauren found it
nearly impossible to disbelieve the President's words. Damn, I'll bet that
comes in handy in her profession. But a tiny part of the writer still found
this opportunity too good to be true. "And no one is going to be
whispering in my ear, telling me what to write?"
The President smiled.
Don't even go there, Dev. Keep your mouth shut. "I promise you I won't
censure you in any way. And once the book is done, as long as nothing concerning
national security is revealed, I won't ask you to make any changes. There may
be a few others that make requests of you... but you can take them on as you
see fit."
"You'll back me
up?"
"One hundred
percent." It wasn't lost on Devlyn that Lauren hadn't agreed to move into
residence yet. But she was thinking about it. And something inside the
President told her that this was a woman who didn't respond well to being
pushed.
There was a gentle
knock on the door, and Dev dragged her gaze away from her guest.
"Come in."
A lunch table for two
was rolled in and quickly set up. "Anything else, Madam President?" a
young blond waiter asked, managing to sneak a peek at Lauren while he prepared
the table.
"No. I think
we're all set." Dev looked over at Liza, who was grinning. It was obvious
the assistant had ordered lunch for two. The President gave her a smile and a
wink. She nodded, and the small group left the room, once again leaving the two
women alone. "Are you sure you won't join me? I can see that my first executive
order for one sandwich was completely ignored." She laughed. "There's
plenty. Everyone around here has been trying to feed me for days."
Dev took a large bite
and groaned with undisguised ecstasy.
Lauren swallowed
hastily. "Well, if you insist."
Devlyn waved toward
the other sandwich and took another bite, the smell of corned beef and
horseradish wafting up to her nose. She drew in a deep, satisfied sniff. Liza
is getting a raise already. I'm in heaven.
The writer took a
bite, and immediately mimicked Dev's reaction with a happy groan. "Oh,
god," she mumbled, licking the corners of her lips. "This is so
good."
Lauren's mind firmly
told her living in the White House would give her fabulous access to the
President, but would wreak havoc on her ability to keep a professional distance
from her subject. She firmly told her mind to shut up. She held up half a
sandwich. "Will I get more of these if I say yes?"
Dev suddenly stopped
chewing and glanced up from her plate. "As many as you want," she
promised seriously.
Lauren picked up her
napkin and slid it over her knees. "Then set me up with a room, Madam
President. It's looks like you'll be having a guest for a while."
"Excellent!"
Dev's honest pleasure was written all over her face. "And my name is Devlyn
or Dev, not Madam President."
Unaccountably, the
blonde woman felt a blush rising to her cheeks. "Then please call me
Lauren."
Dev extended her hand
and when Lauren's found hers, she squeezed firmly, absorbing its warmth with
idle pleasure. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lauren."
"The pleasure is mine, Devlyn." Laure