Eighteen Acres: A Novel (31 page)

Now, Annie cleared her throat and stood up when the newscast was over. Melanie refocused on her e-mail inbox.

“Want me to place a dinner order from the Mess?” Annie asked.

“Sure. The usual,” Melanie said.

As soon as Annie stepped out of her office, Melanie reached for the remote and replayed Brian’s report. He looked as if he was enjoying himself. His network released a poll as part of its newscast that showed Charlotte two points behind her opponent among women and tied among men.
If those numbers hold, Charlotte might win,
Melanie thought. She couldn’t believe how backward everything seemed. Roger was dead, Charlotte and Peter were separated, the president was upstairs having a breakdown, and her running mate—an eccentric Democrat from New York who said “y’all” ten times a day, even though she’d never lived or worked in the South—had hijacked the campaign.

Melanie disliked everything about Tara. She was loud, tacky, and rude. She seemed to calculate the least presidential approach to every situation and pursue it with vigor.

Melanie nibbled on a veggie burger and reviewed the debate-prep book—four hundred pages of policy papers on every topic from global warming to assisted suicide. At around nine
P.M.
, she stood to stretch her legs.

She wandered down to the Sit Room one floor below and chatted with the smokers who inhaled cigarettes two at a time and e-mailed furiously outside the West Wing basement door.

“Melanie, the president is on the phone for you,” a breathless Annie said, appearing suddenly.

“OK, take it easy. I’ll take it in the Sit Room,” Melanie said. She stepped into the Situation Room and picked up the phone. “Madam President?”

“Melanie, I want to get back out there,” Charlotte said. Her voice was groggy, but she sounded determined.

“I’m already working on it,” Melanie said, grateful for Brooke’s e-mail. “I think I can get you to the evening rally tomorrow,” she said.

“I want to be at the first event tomorrow,” Charlotte said through a yawn.

Melanie looked at her watch. The event was in twelve hours. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

Dale

Dale had friends who planned date nights with their husbands after they had kids, but she didn’t think she and Peter would turn to such an artificial device so soon in their newly outed relationship. He’d suggested it, though, so she went along.

Dale rehearsed what she’d say to Peter at dinner. She was nervous. She knew she bore most of the responsibility for the strain between them, but it still bothered her that on top of everything else, she had to worry about his feelings all the time.

She dressed for dinner in black pants and a gray sweater. Something about the layer of fog that always hung over San Francisco in the evenings made her colorful television clothes feel all wrong. When she walked into the entryway to greet Peter, he looked surprised that she’d dressed with such care.

“We really are having a date night tonight,” he said.

She examined his face for sarcasm but didn’t see anything but affection and a bit of boyish excitement.
What is wrong with me?
she thought for the thousandth time.

She smiled and tried to look equally excited. “I’m really looking forward to trying this place,” she said.

Peter came to her and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he said.

She smiled and tried to relax.

They were seated at a table in the corner. She knew she needed to tell him about the job she’d accepted, or it would hang between them all night.

“Charlotte is feeling pretty good about things,” Peter said.

“Did you talk to her again today?” Dale asked. She knew how it sounded, and she didn’t intend for it to come out like an accusation.

“The election is a month away. The kids are on the road with her, and I checked in. It’s pretty exciting to think that she might actually win.”

Dale drained her wine glass and looked up for the waiter to order another glass. “I met with one of the local stations this week,” she said.

“That’s great. I mean, if you think you want to do some freelancing, it’s probably good to have relationships at the affiliates out here, right?” He was smiling at her and trying to sound supportive, but she could tell he was annoyed that she had surprised him again.

“I interviewed for a job covering the last month of the campaign for the ABC affiliate out here, and they offered it to me on the spot,” she said.

“Of course they did. You are a network anchor.”

“Was a network anchor,” she corrected him.

He finished his glass of wine.

“They want me to start Monday.”

“You’re not considering it, are you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I never would have before, but it’s not like there are any networks knocking down my door,” she said.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

“Is freelancing for a local San Francisco television station what I want? Yes, it’s a dream come true. Of course, it isn’t what I want. What I want is my old job back, but that isn’t in the cards for me.”

“It sounds like you made a bum trade, Dale,” he said.

“No, that isn’t what I mean. I love that we’re together. I just don’t know how you can love me when I’m like this.”

“Some days are easier than others,” he admitted.

“I’m serious. I have nothing to give to you because I feel as though I don’t have anything for myself anymore. I need to do this. I need you to understand and support me.”

He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t discern. She thought he looked indifferent—a look she’d never seen cross his face since they’d first met. “I always support you, but that’s not what you’re asking me to do,” he said.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do, and if this is you supporting me, then I’m afraid for the day I make a choice you don’t support or understand.”

“You’ve already made a choice?” he asked.

“I’m trying to do that here, with you,” she said, exasperated.

“What you’re asking me to do is to let you go,” he said.

“That’s not true, Peter.” But his words had sucked all the air out of her lungs. She breathed shallowly and didn’t look up.

“You might not be ready to admit it, but that’s what you want. I have known that for a while, and I think you have, too,” he told her.

“I don’t agree with you,” she said in a very small voice.

Their food arrived, and they made mostly small talk for the rest of the night. They didn’t touch their meals. Dale asked questions about the campaign, and he asked what kind of stories she had in mind for her first week.

When they got home, Dale changed into pajamas and crawled into bed. Peter kissed her good night and went into his office to do some work. She was still awake when he came to bed an hour later. He didn’t move toward her, and she debated whether to move closer to him. She inched toward him and slid her body into its usual spot behind his. She put an arm around him, and he took her hand in his. They lay there awake until sunrise and then he got out of bed without so much as looking at her. He took a shower, dressed, and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” she said. “I’ll be back the day after the election ends.”

“Have fun,” he said to her before turning to leave.

Charlotte

It’s the best high in the world,
Charlotte thought to herself as a screaming crowd of more than twenty-five thousand supporters in Milwaukee chanted “Four more years” and the advance crew blasted a Shania Twain song so loudly Charlotte could feel the ground shaking beneath her.

Since she’d rejoined the “Conversation with America” tour, the rallies had grown larger and the crowds more enthusiastic by the day. Charlotte’s return had been kept a surprise until an hour before Air Force One touched down in Pensacola, Florida, five days earlier. When news had broken that she was en route from Washington, the crowd grew so fast the advance team had to build a second stage in an overflow arena.

Charlotte believed that politicians either loved the trail or hated it. She’d always loved it. Peter thought she loved it too much, but she knew voters responded to candidates who left everything they had on the campaign trail.

As she looked out at their faces—mothers standing with their daughters, couples holding hands, a group of men from a local construction site standing together with their hard hats on—she saw something different from what she’d seen four years ago. They were
taking her measure, and their intensity crowded out the doubt that had crippled her since Roger died.

When the crowd refused her repeated attempts to quiet them down, she laughed and called Tara down from the bleachers behind her. They waved and pointed to signs from the mostly female supporters in the front rows that said “Women Do It Better” and “Kramer-Meyers on Nov. 4.”

Picking Tara as her vice-presidential nominee was a decision that Charlotte never revisited. Once she was on the ticket, Tara was a natural fit. Charlotte and Tara occupied the same dangerous swath of their respective parties: the center. As a result, they both had more enemies in their own parties than from across the aisle. They’d both been celebrated and vilified by the media, and they knew how to use the press without mistaking them for friends or allies. And they saw eye-to-eye on the issues Charlotte was most passionate about.

When the crowd finally quieted down, Tara returned to her seat.

“Let me tell you a little bit about the woman I picked to serve as my vice president,” Charlotte said to cheers from the crowd. “If we are fortunate enough to win on Election Day and to serve as your president and vice president for the next four years, we will do our best to protect you from harm. We will assemble the best business minds from across this land—not from places like Wall Street and Washington but from places like Reno, Nevada; Miami, Florida; and Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

The crowd roared again.

“Tara Meyers has a record of taking down and locking up those who threaten this great country,” Charlotte said. “Tara Meyers has a record of working across the aisle with members of both parties and of cracking heads when that’s what’s necessary to get things done on behalf of her constituents,” she said to even louder cheers. “And Tara Meyers has a record of putting the people she serves ahead of personal interests, political interests, and polite interests.” The crowd was on its feet.

Charlotte was wise enough not to make any attempts to emulate Tara’s toughness, but she did enjoy pumping up the crowd by talking up her running mate.

When they were back on the bus, Charlotte still felt the adrenaline in her blood.

“Sam, do you mind getting me some tea? Chamomile, if they have it,” she requested. “Melanie, what did you think? The crowd was really fired up.” Charlotte beamed.

“It was a good event,” Melanie said.

“If that’s good, honey, I can’t wait to see what you call great,” Tara said, plopping down onto the bench seat next to Charlotte.

Charlotte saw Melanie give her an annoyed look, but Tara didn’t appear to notice.

“You were awesome, Madam President,” Tara gushed.

“Please call me Charlotte, in here and out there,” Charlotte said, patting her knee warmly.

“You kicked some serious ass up there, Charlotte, am I allowed to say that?” Tara giggled.

Melanie glared at her and watched as Charlotte put her arm on Tara’s.

“Yes. It’s been a while since anyone has said that to me, but thank you, I think. That’s a compliment, right, Ralph?” Charlotte asked as Ralph joined the group, taking a seat next to Tara.

“Yes, Madam President. I just got the overnight poll numbers, and you are both kicking some serious what she said,” Ralph said, gesturing toward Tara.

Charlotte saw Melanie roll her eyes again.

“The overnights are unreliable, though, aren’t they, Ralph?” Melanie said. “I thought the only numbers that really tell us anything are the three night rolls.”

“Technically, that’s correct,” Ralph said, looking at Tara as he spoke. “But the overnights show our numbers moving among all categories of voters, and that’s a good trend even without the other two nights. Now, of course, Melanie’s right, and we won’t know for two more days whether this is a durable surge or just our numbers popping because of the debate last night or because of something in the news, but it’s still a good sign.”

“Beats an overnight dip in the numbers, right?” Tara said.

Melanie sighed loudly and started to make her way toward the front of the bus.

“Where are you going, Mel?” Charlotte asked.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to make a couple of calls.”

“Hurry back. We need to discuss the pros and cons of amending the no-campaign pledge here in the final weeks.”

Charlotte could see Melanie’s face tighten as she shot a nasty look at Ralph and Tara. Charlotte knew that Melanie felt threatened by her growing reliance on Ralph’s political judgment, but he had a better sense of what was going on outside Washington than Melanie did. What took Charlotte by surprise was the hostility she sensed that Melanie felt toward Tara.

“I wasn’t aware that we were seriously considering a reversal, but I’m happy to discuss it when I get back,” Melanie said before turning and walking toward the front of the bus.

Melanie and Ralph had bickered like siblings for the past three and a half years. Charlotte knew how to make both of them feel essential. But Melanie’s resentment toward Tara was something Charlotte hoped would dissipate.

Melanie was dead set against reversing course on the no-campaign pledge, but Charlotte had had a decent political radar of her own at one time, and every instinct told her that the voters would forgive her. She sensed that her supporters desperately wanted her to spend the final days blasting her opponent for smearing her record and attacking her personally. Now that she was out of Washington, she understood what Tara described in her nightly calls to Charlotte. The voters needed Charlotte to prove that she still had the stomach for the fights that would surely come if she was reelected.