Eighteen Acres: A Novel (35 page)

Charlotte

What is taking so long?” Tara moaned, pacing back and forth across the Roosevelt Room, where the political affairs staff had set up computers to monitor the election returns.

“I’m sure Fran is checking all the numbers one last time and making sure none of the states from the last round of calls is close enough to demand a recount, right, Melanie?” Charlotte said.

“I guess so, but the networks called the election twenty minutes ago, so I’m not sure what Fran is seeing that no one else is,” Melanie said, scanning the returns from Ohio while Ralph pored over the returns from Florida and Nevada.

Michael had called half an hour earlier to say that Fran was calling within the hour to concede. Melanie’s phone finally rang.

“Hello,” she said, with a hundred pairs of eyes on her. “Yes, the president is right here. Thank you. Yes, you, too.” She handed Charlotte the phone and mouthed “Fran.”

“Fran?” Charlotte said. “Thanks so much for calling. Yes, you are kind to say that. It was a very spirited debate, indeed. Yes, of course. Tara and I look forward to working with you as well. God bless you and your family.”

She hung up, and the room erupted in cheers. Charlotte pulled
the twins toward her. Tara and her husband hopped up and down in a celebratory embrace.

“We did it,” Charlotte said to Melanie. “I could not have done it without you.”

Melanie wiped tears from her eyes and hugged Charlotte and then the twins and Brooke and Mark.

“You did it, baby cakes,” Mark said to Charlotte. “Four more years in this place.” He popped open a bottle of champagne.

Penelope handed Charlotte her cell phone. “It’s Dad,” she said.

“Peter, Peter, hi,” Charlotte said, plugging her other ear so she could hear over the noise in the room. “Yes, it’s official. Fran just called. Thank you, Peter. You, too. Give my best to Dale.”

She handed the phone back to Penelope to take a call from the British prime minister on the secretary of state’s cell phone.

The congratulatory calls continued for thirty minutes.

“Madam President, it’s time for the speech to our supporters,” Ralph said. “Tara, why don’t you ad-lib an intro for the president and then, Madam President, you should thank supporters and praise Fran and talk a little bit about the next four years.”

“Actually, Melanie wrote something already,” Charlotte said, looking around the room for Melanie. “Where did Melanie go?” Charlotte asked Annie.

Annie’s eyes were red, and Charlotte knew the answer.

“She said she had to meet someone. She said to tell you she’ll be watching,” Annie said.

Charlotte nodded knowingly.

“Penelope, Harry, Brooke, Mark, Tara, I want all of you standing with me,” Charlotte said. “Let’s go.”

She clutched the speech Melanie had drafted earlier in the day as she walked out to the South Lawn to make her first remarks as the newly reelected president.

Melanie

She was having a hard time seeing the road through her tears, but she made her way to Reagan National and parked in the hourly lot. She had about eight hours before she was supposed to meet Brian, but she didn’t want to screw things up this time.

She turned up the radio when she heard the announcer introduce Charlotte. “And now, live from the South Lawn of the White House, we bring you President Charlotte Kramer and Vice President-elect Tara Meyers.”

Melanie sat in the car and listened to the speech she’d written for Charlotte. She’d gone to her office that morning to write her resignation letter, but there were no words to capture what she felt about leaving her position as Charlotte’s chief of staff. It had been so much more than a job. But now, it was time for Melanie to get a life. She patted her Dior bag to make sure her passport was inside. She’d grabbed it days earlier and zipped it into her purse’s side pocket. She’d picked up a bathing suit at the hotel gift shop in Sarasota the weekend before the election, and she figured she could buy everything else there, wherever there was.

She pulled out her personal cell phone and wondered if anyone was looking for her. Most people called or e-mailed her on her White House numbers—the numbers she’d had for years now. She’d left all of her official equipment with Annie.

Melanie thought about taking a short nap in the car, but she was afraid she’d oversleep, so she got out of the car and headed inside to wait for Brian.

She must have fallen asleep at the gate area, because at around seven
A.M.
, he was standing above her. “I’ve been calling you for hours,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I turned in my phones and BlackBerrys.” She rubbed her eyes.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said.

“No. I’ve been here.”

“Since last night?” he asked, taking in her suit and smudged makeup.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling embarrassed about not going home to freshen up.

Brian laughed.

“I need to go brush my teeth,” she said, covering her mouth.

“Melanie, you are going to pay for all sorts of things on this trip. Starting with your elaborate ploy to get me up to your room and ending with hiding here all night while I searched all over northwest Washington, D.C., for you,” Brian warned.

“I hope you don’t harbor any hidden desire to get me to spill the beans on Charlotte’s transition plans,” Melanie said.

“Are you kidding? You are the worst source I have ever had anywhere, at any point in my entire career.”

Melanie laughed. “Then you won’t mind that I’m unemployed,” she said.

Brian looked stunned. “You quit?” he asked.

“Yes. I quit,” Melanie said. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Not at all. If this is what you want, I’m proud of you,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the line of passengers waiting to board the flight.

“This is what I want,” she said, more to herself than to Brian, but she saw him smile.

Dale

Dale leaned her head against the window and stared at the San Francisco skyline as it became visible through the fog. She’d left Peter a message telling him when she’d be back, but she hadn’t left the flight number or the airline because she didn’t want him to think that she expected to be picked up.

The flight attendant handed Dale her coat as the plane touched down, and Dale watched everyone around her turn on their phones and BlackBerrys. She left hers off. She pulled her garment bag out of the overhead compartment and walked off the plane. She saw Peter before he saw her. Her body took over, as it always did when he was in proximity, and she rushed toward him. He took her in his arms, and they embraced.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come?” he asked.

“I didn’t know, you know, where we were with everything, so I figured I’d meet you at the house, but I’m glad you’re here,” she said, leaning into his familiar body and resting her head against his chest. She inhaled his good smell and closed her eyes.

“I thought we’d go up to Napa. I made a dinner reservation at French Laundry, but we can go somewhere else if you want to do something more low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said.

“Do you have luggage downstairs?” he asked.

“No, I left some of my bags in D.C.”

“Oh, OK,” he said.

They walked to Peter’s Range Rover holding hands and climbed in. Both were working hard at directing the conversation away from the topic that hung between them: what Dale would do next and where it left their relationship. He put a hand on her knee, and she placed her hand on top of his while they sped to the resort in Napa where they’d once hidden out for a long weekend before their relationship was public.

They checked into a private house at Auberge du Soleil. Dale didn’t have to work hard to remember everything she loved about Peter. They gravitated toward each other like magnets as soon as the doting hotel staff finished pouring each of them a flight of wine and unpacking their bags. She pulled him closer and pressed her body against his with an urgency that took them both by surprise. They couldn’t get enough of each other. When Peter looked at the clock in the room, he laughed.

“I hope you weren’t looking forward to dinner at French Laundry. We missed our reservation by an hour and a half,” he said.

“I wasn’t that hungry,” she said.

“We can drive to Mustards and eat at the bar,” he said.

“Or order in,” she said.

“Or order in,” he repeated, smiling at her.

They didn’t leave their room for the next two days. They slept, ate, made love, and sat out on the deck staring at the lush vineyards below. They kept the television off, but they were both keenly aware of what was happening outside their cocoon in Napa Valley.

On Sunday afternoon, they dressed for a walk around the property. Dale was sitting on the bed trying to script the whole thing out in her head.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

“Tara Meyers called me before I left Washington,” she told him.

“Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you knew her,” he said.

“I got to know her a little bit on the road.”

He stared straight ahead, as though he knew what was coming. Maybe he did. Dale would wonder after.

“She asked me if I’d think about coming to work for her,” she said.

“Oh, yeah? Doing what?” he asked.

“As her communications director,” she said.

Peter was silent.

Dale knew he wouldn’t speak first, so she broke the news to him. “I accepted the job.”

Charlotte

Hi, Mel, it’s Charlotte. I don’t know how often you’re checking this, but please give me a call when you get a chance. I have a, uh, situation that I could use your help with. I’m sorry to bother you on your extended vacation, but it’s not something Ralph can handle.”

Charlotte put the phone down and walked into Sam’s workspace outside the Oval Office.

“Did you leave another message?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Did we try her at her sister’s?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said.

“And we sent an e-mail to her personal account?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam said.

“Should we try her mom?”

“If you’d like me to call her again, I will, Madam President, but we just spoke to her a couple of hours ago, and she hadn’t heard from Melanie in three days,” Sam said.

“She’ll call here before she calls her mother,” Charlotte said, striding back into the Oval. She was wearing a black suit with black high heels. Her messy ponytail was the only clue that she wasn’t planning on being seen by the public. It was her last day in the office before her inaugural address, and Melanie hadn’t called her back about the speech. She hadn’t delivered a speech to so much as a Rotary Club
that hadn’t been written by Melanie, rewritten by Melanie, edited by Melanie, or approved by Melanie in four years. “How can she abandon me before the most important speech of my life?” Charlotte said to Sam for the fifth time that morning.

“We’ll track her down, Madam President,” Sam said.

“I don’t know. Maybe she got hurt. Keep Googling her to see if any police reports come up. I’m serious,” Charlotte said.

Sam smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Can I send Ralph down? He’s been waiting to see you.”

“What are my other options?” Charlotte asked.

“Tara would like to speak to you about her inaugural activities,” Sam said.

“Send Ralph down,” Charlotte said.

Sam turned to call Ralph’s assistant and saw Melanie’s reflection in the window behind her desk. She hung up before Ralph’s assistant picked up. “Where have you been? She’s been trying to reach you for a week,” Sam said.

“I’ve been on vacation, Sam. I told her I’d be back for the big speech,” Melanie said, smiling.

“Sam, can you bring me some coffee? With cream!” the president yelled from her desk in the Oval.

“Go in,” Sam said. “She is going to die.”

Melanie pushed open the door and stood in the doorway until Charlotte looked up.

Charlotte’s face melted into a huge grin when she saw Melanie standing in the Oval Office in flip-flops, white linen pants, and a turquoise cashmere cardigan. “You bitch,” Charlotte said. “You look amazing. What have you been doing? Don’t tell me. Not here, at least. I want to hear all about it, but I need your help on the speech. It’s a mess.”

“I told you I’d be here in time to help you,” Melanie said.

“You sure cut it close,” Charlotte said, looking at her wrist. She didn’t wear a watch, so Melanie knew it was for effect.

“I’m sorry if I made you nervous. I didn’t mean to,” she said, walking over to the couch and sitting down.

“I saw that they named Brian the full-time White House correspondent,” Charlotte said.

“Yes. I’m really excited for him,” Melanie said.

“What does this mean for you?” Charlotte said.

“We’re going to make a go at a real relationship. I mean, as real as it can be when you’re dating someone who covers the White House.”

“I think that’s great. I’m happy for you, really,” Charlotte said, her face barely masking her disappointment that Melanie hadn’t missed the White House as much as it—and she—had missed Melanie. She wasn’t really all that happy for her at all. Why did Melanie have to launch her search for balance now?

“I am really happy, and I appreciate that you didn’t try to lure me back with some offer I wouldn’t be able to turn down,” Melanie said.

“You mean like Supreme Court justice?” Charlotte said.

“Exactly.”

Charlotte buzzed Sam and asked her to bring in a copy of the inaugural address for Melanie’s review.

“Maybe you can huddle with the speechwriters and polish this up a bit,” Charlotte suggested.

“Sure. Has Ralph been involved with the speech?” Melanie asked.

“What do you think?”

Melanie laughed. “Right. I forgot. The miscast message man. I bet he’s driving the speechwriters crazy.” She flipped through the pages Sam had handed her. “Draft number sixty-seven?” she asked.

“We had a hard time getting started,” Charlotte said. “I’m curious to know what you think of it.”