Charlotte Kramer: Madam President Part 8

Dale smiled appreciatively at her deputy. "I've been called an idiot by the secretary of defense, and I've lost an anchor team in the West Wing only to find them in the Oval Office. There really isn't too much more that can go wrong, is there?"

"Don't say that. You're going to jinx us!"

As if on cue, Dale's a.s.sistant knocked on Marguerite's door.

"Adam Leary from Buzzfeed said that you'd want to take his call," Clare said.

"When have I ever wanted to talk to Buzzfeed?" Dale scoffed.

Marguerite picked up the phone. "This better be good," she demanded. Dale watched Marguerite's face morph from annoyed to concerned. "I haven't seen it. Send it to me. Isn't her Facebook page private? How do you know it's legit? OK, OK, fine. I'll check it out as soon as you send it to me. I don't know how long it will take me. I'll call you back when I know something."

"What was that?" Dale asked.

"Hang on."

"Marguerite, I have to get in the motorcade in ten minutes."

"I'm waiting for his e-mail."

"What did he say?"

"Buzzfeed is claiming that Penelope Kramer posted something snarky on her Facebook page about how today is the first time in her life she's been proud to be Charlotte Kramer's daughter."

"You are kidding me, right?"

"Let's see if it's real before we freak out. I don't think kids her age use Facebook anymore, anyway."

"It might be the only social medium she's allowed to use."

The Secret Service was uncomfortable with the twins using social media. When the twins put up a fight and enlisted their parents' support, the head of the Secret Service had argued that Twitter and Instagram offered too many details about the twins' exact locations and could reveal security vulnerabilities. After extensive negotiations between the president, Peter, and the Secret Service, they'd finally agreed to let the twins use Facebook.

Clare stuck her head into Marguerite's office again.

"Dale, Craig is holding for you, and Marguerite, I have CNN, AP, and Politico holding. Do you want any of them?"

"No!" shouted Dale.

"No to Craig?"

"No, yes to Craig. I'll get it in here. No to the others until we know what the h.e.l.l is going on."

"Hi," Dale said to Craig, trying to sound calm.

"How's it going with CBS?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Just checking."

"How does the president think it's going?"

"She's having more fun than she'll admit."

"That's good." Dale was peering over Marguerite's chair to catch a glimpse of the e-mail from Adam.

"I heard you lost Lucy and Richard."

"Not exactly. The president brought them up from the Situation Room with her, and we temporarily misplaced them."

"In the Oval?"

"Was she upset?"

"I a.s.sured her that it wouldn't happen again."

"It won't."

"Dale?"

"What?" She could barely hide her impatience.

"Is there anything else cooking?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Just checking."

Dale considered telling Craig about the possibility of a social media crisis with the first daughter, but she'd learned to gather all of the information before she broke bad news to the White House chief of staff. She hung up before Craig detected anything else in her voice.

"Marguerite, come on, come on. What do we know? I have to get in the motorcade in five minutes now."

"Here it is. It looks legit. I'm verifying with the Secret Service that this is actually her Facebook page."

They both stood behind Marguerite's desk and read from her computer screen.

"Everyone wants to know how it feels to be the president's daughter and whether she's inspired me like she's inspired countless other young women and girls who will grow up thinking that they can be the president. The truth is that I never feel that way. But today she'll take a stand on an issue that affects every woman in this country. My mom has always believed in a woman's right to choose, but she never had the courage to speak up before. When she does so today, she'll be doing something far more important than any other speech she's given to date. Today, for the first time in my life, I'm proud to be Charlotte Kramer's daughter."

Dale read it a second time and then a third. She picked up a notepad and a pen. "Let's go," she ordered.

Marguerite followed. They went straight into the chief of staff's office and flashed fake smiles at the CBS crew in his waiting area.

"We need to talk to Craig about something that's still cla.s.sified - it's for a speech next week. We'll be in there for less than two minutes," Dale promised.

Craig was working at his standing desk in the corner of the room. He finished typing an e-mail on the MacBook Pro that Dale recognized as his personal computer before he looked up.

"Ladies?"

"We have a situation with Penelope Kramer," Dale announced.

"And this arose between the time I spoke to you two minutes ago and now?"

"Yes," Dale promised.

She handed Craig the page that Marguerite had printed in her office. He read it quickly and then glanced at his watch. He buzzed his a.s.sistant.

"Pick up, please. Ben, please tell Sam that Dale, Marguerite, and I are coming down to see the president, and we need five minutes before we leave for the speech," Craig instructed.

He slipped into his jacket as they walked the fifteen paces to the Oval Office.

The door was open, and Charlotte was skimming her speech when the three of them appeared in her doorway.

"Madam President, we have a situation. It's something we need to discuss with you before we depart for the Women's Museum."

"What is it?" she asked.

"We're getting press calls about this, and we wanted you to be aware."

Craig handed her the printout, and Dale watched the color drain from the president's face as she read Penny's post.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Charlotte Charlotte finished reading Penny's Facebook post and folded the paper in half and then in half again. She looked up at where Craig, Dale, and Marguerite hovered near the door.

"Madam President?" Craig offered.

"How much time until we leave for the Women's Museum?" she asked.

"I can push the speech back half an hour, Madam President."

"I think that's a good idea. Can you all give me a minute, please?"

They exited her office.

She walked to her desk and dialed Peter's extension in the residence. She forced herself to remain calm, but her teeth were clenched, and her overly caffeinated blood was starting to boil.

"Can you come down here?"

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Just come down here, please."

"I'm on my way."

Charlotte was fuming. It was bad enough that she'd overheard her husband and college-age daughter tras.h.i.+ng her earlier, but now Penny had made it clear that she didn't have a drop of respect for her. Charlotte was beyond exasperated. She was also embarra.s.sed that Penny had chosen to lash out in such a public way. She paced her office and thought about all the different ways the press would put her on the couch and a.n.a.lyze her relations.h.i.+ps with her kids. Penny had opened a Pandora's box. In her petulant eighteen-year-old mind, she'd simply inserted herself into a debate about abortion while taking a jab at her mother. But the press would quickly forget the narrow context of her Facebook statement. Everything she posted on Facebook and said in public or to her friends would now be fair game for press scrutiny. Penny was a summer intern at Google, and Charlotte wondered if her supervisor would consider her a distraction from the rest of the intern cla.s.s and dismiss her. It would serve her right, Charlotte decided.

"What's going on?" Peter asked, stepping into the Oval Office. Charlotte handed him the folded-up piece of paper. Peter pulled out his phone and started to punch in Penny's number as soon as he'd read it.

"Don't," Charlotte protested.

"Why not? She needs to fix this, Char."

"Fix it? She can't 'fix' this, Peter. This will be the news today. The fact that Penny is proud to be our daughter for the first time in her life - sorry, my daughter - will be the only story today. I've spent eighteen years protecting her from the prying eyes of the press, and now, in one b.i.t.c.hy post on Facebook, she has exposed herself to every critical, petty, and unforgiving reporter and pundit in the country, not to mention changing the topic from women's rights to herself."

"Maybe then she'll have a better understanding of everything you put up with."

Charlotte turned away from Peter so that he couldn't see how undone she was. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice to a near whisper.

"I thought you had a conversation with her specifically about this."

"I did, but I don't control her. She's her own person. She's practically an adult."

"She's going to feel like one tonight when she leads the network news."

"I'm sorry, Char. I told you I would handle her."

"I thought she was smarter than this."

"She made a mistake," Peter insisted.

Charlotte spun around and faced him with all the fury that had been building since Craig had handed her Penny's statement.

"Are you seriously defending this stunt? Because if you are, we have even bigger problems than I'd thought."

"I'm not defending her at all. I think you should send her to Gitmo if you want. But when the press no longer gives a d.a.m.n about anything you say or do, she will still be our daughter," he said tightly.

"She is trying to punish me, and she knew that it would have the effect of driving us farther apart. You can let her know that she accomplished both missions."

Peter was about to say something when Brooke and Mark barged into the Oval Office. Sam followed close behind and tried to redirect them into the Cabinet Room next door.

"It's fine," Charlotte a.s.sured Sam. Brooke and Mark wouldn't have stayed out even if she'd asked them to.

"Char, it's not that bad," Brooke offered.

"You saw it?"

"It's on the Internet," Mark confirmed.

"Anyone who has ever had a teenage daughter will totally sympathize with you," Brooke added.

Charlotte smiled ruefully at her friends and recognized that their arrival had guaranteed that the simmering tensions between her and Peter would have to be addressed another time.