Charlotte Kramer: Madam President Part 11

Clare shrugged, and Dale knew she was thinking that she wasn't the one who'd made the deal with the network, but she needed to direct her frustrations at someone.

Dale sat down and started typing an e-mail to Peter. She wanted to apologize for being tongue-tied and awkward and thank him for being so normal. She also wanted to tell him, once again, how happy she was that he was happy. Her iPhone vibrated on her desk.

Dale looked down and saw Warren's office number. She hit ignore and looked down at the e-mail message she'd started drafting to Peter. Then it hit her. She was acting like one of those delusional women she always rooted against in chick flicks. She deleted the message to Peter from her compose window and stood up. She looked out the window at the cameramen outside the door to the briefing room. They were smoking and laughing about something. Dale wished she could escape the confines of her office and sit outside in the morning sun. She picked up her phone to return Warren's call, but before he picked up, Clare barged in with the camera crew in tow, and Dale hung up.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Charlotte As they rolled through downtown D.C. in the giant armored limo, Charlotte tried to pinpoint the exact moment she'd started treating Penny like another disenchanted stakeholder. Whatever mothering instincts she'd once possessed had been replaced along the way by her desire to neutralize and contain Penny's hostility. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tried talking to her about anything other than the logistics of her life.

"Riding in this thing is like being trapped in a rolling meat locker. Aren't you two freezing?" Brooke complained.

"It keeps the mind sharp, darling. Maybe we should lower the temperature in our house to keep your head clear, like Char's." Mark snapped his fingers in front of Brooke's face while she swatted him away.

"How badly do you think I've screwed Penny up?" Charlotte asked her friends.

"Oh, Christ, everyone ends up in therapy, Char. If Mother Teresa had kids, even they would be screwed up in this day and age. It's the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Internet. These kids can't do anything without everyone in the world seeing it. Can you imagine if things like Twitter and Instagram had been around when we were in college? Oh, my G.o.d. They'd never allow little Brookie here into the White House complex."

Brooke gave Mark a dirty look and rubbed her goose-b.u.mp-covered arms.

"You weren't exactly running a 'Just say no' campaign from deep inside that pot den disguised as a fraternity," she jabbed.

"Ignore her. She's extra-nasty when she's cleansing," he explained.

The limo stopped in front of the Women's Museum. Brooke and Mark were ushered to their seats in the front row, while Charlotte waited for Monty, her lead advance man, to brief her. She could live for weeks without ever seeing most of her policy advisors, but she was fairly certain she couldn't get through an afternoon without Monty's skilled, near-invisible hand guiding her smoothly through every official interaction and event. It fell to Monty to remind her of the names of foreign dignitaries, small-state governors, and big-state congresspeople. He always remembered to bring the gift, the coat, the umbrella, or anything else that Charlotte might request. And while he had an answer to almost every question she posed, he never tried to spin her or make a situation appear more appealing than it actually was.

She liked that Monty had managed to hang on to some of his pre-Was.h.i.+ngton ident.i.ty. Monty was a former professional surfer from Santa Cruz, and while he'd adopted the D.C. uniform of blue suit, white dress s.h.i.+rt, Vineyard Vines tie, and loafers, he'd refused to trim his wavy blond hair. He wore it in a neat ponytail at the base of his neck. Monty had a dry sense of humor and never made idle chitchat. Charlotte had thought, on more than one occasion, that if Peter were able to read her moods half as well as Monty could, their relations.h.i.+p would be on firmer ground.

Once Brooke and Mark were out of the car, Monty nodded at the Secret Service agent holding Charlotte's door shut. The door opened, and Monty kneeled down so he was at eye level with her.

"CBS is probably filming us now, so as soon as you get out of the car, you're going to head toward Lucy and Richard and greet them. They'll be rolling on that. Then you go straight into the walk-and-talk, which starts where they're standing right now and ends backstage."

He pointed down at a map of the venue and ran his finger along the route she'd walk with the reporters.

"Richard and Lucy will break away after the interview and watch the speech from backstage, and then you'll do a longer, sit-down interview with them afterward."

"Don't they need to mic me?" Charlotte asked.

"No, we're too late. They agreed to do it with a boom, so everything you say as soon as you get out of the car will be picked up."

"How long do we have for this?"

"Five minutes, but we've kept them waiting, so we will let them go a couple minutes longer if you are in mid-sentence. They've agreed to keep it short."

Marguerite had appeared while Monty was talking to Charlotte.

"How are we doing, Marguerite?" Charlotte asked.

"They're going to ask you one question about Penny and then turn to the speech and all the controversy surrounding it."

Charlotte nodded and got out of the car.

Lucy greeted Charlotte with a smile that was oozing with phony sympathy, and Richard put his arm around her like she was a wounded bird. Charlotte was instantly annoyed. All of the good feelings she'd had about them earlier in the day evaporated.

"You've had a busy morning," Lucy said.

Mindful of the cameras, Charlotte smiled politely. "Never a dull moment."

"I need to ask you about Penny and her Facebook comments, but I can do it after the speech."

"Let's get it out of the way. I just spoke to her."

"How was that?"

"Being the commander in chief is just a t.i.tle, and not one that holds much weight inside your family. In the Kramer family, I'm obviously just the mother of two college freshmen." Charlotte smiled.

"It must have slayed you to see her take to Facebook instead of picking up the phone and calling you."

"A call would have been better," Charlotte admitted.

"But at least we all know how proud of you she is," Lucy said, winking.

Charlotte thought it was a cheap shot, but she fought the urge to cut off the interview.

"Did you punish her in any way?"

"I didn't, Lucy. Your kids are still in diapers, so I wouldn't expect you to understand, but at some point, you just hope that your children learn from their mistakes."

"So, in your view, obviously, Penny made a big mistake, but prochoice activists are saying she's brave beyond her years."

"Maybe they'll pay the rest of her tuition at Stanford," Charlotte said with a tight smile.

Charlotte was feeling ambushed by the interview. She saw Marguerite make a wrap it up sign with her fingers while she maintained a stoic gaze at Lucy. The reporters pretended that they didn't see Marguerite.

"All right, Madam President. I know you're already late. What can you tell us about the speech you're about to deliver? Is the political price you're paying worth the relief of finally sharing your true thoughts about reproductive rights with the public? And do you think your side can really advance a prochoice agenda if politicians wait until they don't face any further elections before they speak out on this issue?"

It had been a long time since Charlotte had been asked so many questions in a row that she found offensive, but Lucy had managed to press her b.u.t.tons in a way no one had for as long as she remembered. Lucy had essentially called her a fraud. Charlotte turned to Richard, who was standing silently next to Lucy.

He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, Don't look at me; I can't control her, either.

"Lucy, I'm looking forward to listening to the women who have come here today. Many of them are working hard to make sure that women and girls at all income levels have access to quality health care. As to the question about any political price I might pay, let me a.s.sure you that at this point in my presidency, I don't give a d.a.m.n about the political price to be paid for anything my administration does, as long as we're all doing what we believe to be in the best interest of the American people. As far as your other question about waiting until I didn't face any other elections, I think that if you look back at my record, you'll see that I typically did the most politically difficult thing, not the politically beneficial one, so I resent your suggestion. But I thank you for this opportunity to speak to you. To be continued. I need to get into the reception now."

Monty appeared by her side the moment Charlotte turned away from Lucy.

Charlotte was steaming.

"We're going to head into the hold for about two minutes of down time, and then you have photos and brief off-the-cuff remarks at the VIP reception," Monty said.

Charlotte nodded and followed him into a small office that had obviously been commandeered from someone on the museum staff.

"Where's Marguerite?" Charlotte demanded.

"She stayed behind to talk to Lucy."

"Ask her to come in here right now."

Monty covered his mouth and spoke into his sleeve. Seconds later, Marguerite appeared.

"What the h.e.l.l was that? I sure as h.e.l.l don't plan to do another interview with them after the speech now."

"I understand, Madam President."

"I don't know why I agreed to do this. Call Dale, and tell her she's going to have to come up with something else, because I am not sitting down with them after the speech."

"Yes, ma'am."

While Charlotte was venting, Craig had entered the room. He was still talking on his cell phone when Charlotte turned from Marguerite and glared at him.

"Are we keeping you from something?" she snapped.

"Sorry about that, Madam President. I heard the interview was nasty. And short." He slid his phone into his pocket.

"I told Marguerite to cancel the next one."

"Let's discuss it after the speech," he soothed.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Monty handed her a cup of coffee and a bottle of water. As Charlotte reached for the coffee, she noticed that Craig gave Marguerite a knowing look. Charlotte felt handled.

"I saw that. For the record, I'm not simply venting. I'm dead serious. I am not talking to them after the speech. Period. Let the geniuses in the press office come up with someone else for Lucy and Richard to hara.s.s. Maybe the vice president can take them to spin cla.s.s, where they will inadvertently spin themselves into cardiac arrest."

Charlotte saw Monty's face break into a smile.

"Monty, is there something you'd like to say?" she asked.

"No, ma'am."

"No? At least share with us what it is that you find funny."

"I was trying to figure out if Richard would die faster from the spinning or from being henpecked to death by Lucy during the cla.s.s. I can picture her yelling at him the whole time to spin faster and faster until his heart simply quits from the stress of it all."

"You are one dark dude," Craig remarked.

Charlotte turned away from all of them and pretended to study a painting on the wall so no one would see her smile.

"Thank you for that, Monty. I will bring that image with me as I head into the most important speech of my presidency. It's all on you if I screw it up," Charlotte said, with her back still to the group.

"Yes, ma'am."

A few minutes later, Monty led her into the VIP reception. After a quick h.e.l.lo to the museum director, Charlotte was positioned at the head of the photo line, where she'd pose for one hundred photos in about fifteen minutes. She was dreading it. Before she greeted the first VIP, Monty pulled out an official-looking briefing paper to show her the diagram of the stage one last time. She peered over to look and heard him whisper, "Faster, Richard, spin faster, G.o.d d.a.m.n it," under his breath in his best impersonation of Lucy. Charlotte greeted the president of Planned Parenthood with a huge grin.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Melanie Hi, honey, are you busy?" Melanie asked.

"I'm just waiting for Charlotte's speech to start," Brian replied.

"Where are you?"

"I'm standing on the press riser at the Women's Museum. Don't you follow me on Twitter?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I do."

"You're not covering the Penny stuff, are you?"

"Of course I'm covering it. Not with any vitriol or schadenfreude, like some of my esteemed colleagues, but I have to cover it."

"Her relations.h.i.+p with Penny is tortured."

"You're talking to me as my wife right now, not the former White House chief of staff?"

"Of course."

"Anything you want me to include as the White House correspondent for NBC News, you know, the job that pays our mortgage?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"I'll let you figure it out for yourself." He laughed.

"Thanks."