Madam President (17 page)

She’d stormed out that night. Now the memory made her laugh out loud.

“What?” The
Washington Post
reporter wanted to know why she was laughing.

She handed him a piece of cake that was covered with wax from the candles.

“I assume this is nontoxic wax?”

“I’d call that a known unknown,” Melanie joked, quoting one of her predecessors.

He smiled. “Is that why you’re laughing? You finally found a way to get rid of us?”

“I was remembering a fight I’d had with Brian when we first started dating. He accused me of making people drink the sand, a reference to—”

“
The American President
,” Sandy and the
Washington Post
reporter said in unison before Melanie could finish her sentence.

“Exactly. Anyway, he accused me of being the person on the White House staff in charge of making people drink the sand, and I flew off the handle. I was laughing just now because that was exactly what I did, and on days like today, I’m so damn relieved not to have those responsibilities anymore.”

“It’s ironic that he’s the one drinking the sand these days,” Sandy said.

“It’s funny how things turn out,” Melanie agreed.

Melanie always rewarded her press corps for traveling to the far-away locations that summon a secretary of defense with off-the-
record candor on long flights. In her eighteen months as secretary of defense, no one had ever violated the off-the-record ground rules of these conversations. It was not in either side’s interests to see these exchanges chilled or cut off by a leak.

Besides, Melanie understood how powerful the relationships could be. She had worked in government long enough to understand not just how to work with the press instead of against them but also how to co-opt some of their most explosive reports to further her own policy objectives. She’d harnessed the momentum created by a five-part newspaper series on the staggering suicide rates of former service members by hosting town hall meetings across the country on the topic. With Warren’s assistance, she mobilized Congress, the business community, and mental health professionals to fund a massive public awareness campaign about the early warning signs of PTSD and depression. Melanie had also hijacked an investigative report on conditions at the schools on military bases by announcing the creation of a blue-ribbon panel made up of civilian and military leaders to develop a set of recommendations for on-base education reform the day before the report was published. She appointed the journalist who’d done the reporting to the panel. She understood that without them, her work and, more important, the wars themselves would go unnoticed.

“My kids would be in deep shit if they pulled a stunt like what Penelope Kramer pulled today,” Sandy remarked.

“Penny and Charlotte have always had a love-hate relationship,” Melanie said.

Her press was obsessed with the behind-the-curtain details about the Kramer family. Despite Melanie’s best attempts to redirect the conversation to the trip to Iraq, her reporters wanted to gossip about the president.

“Why did she take her husband back after he carried on for years with a White House reporter?” another reporter asked.

“And why the hell did she hire his former mistress as her spokesperson?”

Melanie shook her head. “Come on, guys. We’ve beaten these issues to death. And it’s not as if President Kramer is the first politician to experience challenges in her personal life. There are more power
couples in marriage counseling in Washington, D.C., than anywhere else in the world. It’s unavoidable when people work in jobs that force them to spend so much time with their colleagues and on the road with the likes of you guys.”

“Madam Secretary, we’re off the record here, right?”

“I hope so.”

“You’re a high-profile woman working at the highest levels of government.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I know we’ve discussed it before, but I’m curious what you think it says to other women that she takes her husband back, acts like a doormat when her teenage daughter rebels against her, and invites her husband’s former girlfriend onto the White House staff?”

Melanie shook her head with mock exasperation. She knew they would never tire of asking these sorts of questions, but she refused to divulge any information about the inner workings of Charlotte’s tortured soul.

“It says that she is a glutton for punishment,” Sandy remarked.

Melanie’s theory wasn’t too far off from Sandy’s observation. Melanie believed that Charlotte felt she deserved to be treated badly by Peter and Penny as punishment for having a job that took her away from them when she felt that they’d needed her most. The truth was more complicated than that. Charlotte had a right to pursue her career. Melanie wished that she’d stop accepting responsibility for everything that went wrong in the lives of her husband and children.

“One thing I observed that makes Kramer unique is that she doesn’t blame anyone else for the things that transpire in her life. She sees herself as the only person who determines the outcome of her relationships. I’m certain that she didn’t call Penny and yell at her this morning. In fact, she probably called Penny and had a pretty adult conversation with her.”

“I don’t get it. It doesn’t say anything good about female leadership if they have to put up with this kind of crap,” Sandy added.

“Charlotte doesn’t offer herself up as an example for anyone. To her credit, she’s honest about her shortcomings and doesn’t spend a
lot of time thinking about how her decisions about her personal life are viewed by others.”

“I bet she thinks about it more than she lets on. I’ve heard that her closest staffer these days is Warren.
Politico
ran a story last week saying that he does focus groups for everything. Did you guys do that when you were chief of staff?”

“In the interest of disclosure, Warren is my husband’s best friend, and I am quite fond of him myself.”

“Do you accept these new polls that show the president and vice president hovering above sixty-percent job approval, or do you think those are honeymoon numbers?” Sandy asked.

Before Melanie could answer, the three-star general who served as her senior military assistant entered the press cabin.

“Madam Secretary, there’s a call for you up front.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I’m sorry, Madam Secretary, it’s urgent.”

Melanie stood up and excused herself. As she left the press cabin, she heard one of the radio reporters make a mock announcement.

“This is CNN Breaking News. The White House announced today that it has shut down the Internet indefinitely, or at least until the first children are out of college.”

Melanie turned and waved as she headed toward the front of the plane. “Happy birthday, Sandy. I hope you always remember celebrating it at thirty thousand feet with your closest friends.” Melanie winked.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dale

B
efore she even hung up the phone, Dale knew exactly what she wanted to happen once she was alone with Peter. It had been almost two years since they’d stood face-to-face, and all of the feelings that she’d worked overtime to squash had rushed to the surface when they’d been together earlier. The timing was terrible. She had CBS trailing her, and the first daughter’s Facebook crisis had added to her already nearly unmanageable workload. But she’d replayed the fantasy in her mind too many times to pass up an opportunity to make it come true. She’d imagined that they would simply run into each other and that they’d both realize that there was much left unsaid between them. The knowledge that this emotional reunion could never take place while Peter was with Charlotte, and Dale was with Warren, never dimmed Dale’s hopes that a chance meeting would bring them back together. She’d long hoped that he had as many unresolved feelings about her as she had about him, but he’d regarded her with such indifference in the Oval Office that she’d been convinced he had finally moved on. It had been surprising and satisfying that he’d been the one to call her after their awkward conversation in the Oval Office and that he’d agreed to meet her in the place they’d once rendezvoused during a state dinner years earlier.

That encounter had taken place during the first state dinner Dale
had ever attended. She would have done anything not to be at the dinner that night, since she was secretly sleeping with the husband of the woman she covered for the network. Dale had come through the photo line, and Peter had asked her to meet him in the theater. Against all of her better instincts, she’d traveled down the flight of stairs from the grand rooms of the White House residence to the ground level. She’d looked around to make sure that no one was looking, and then she’d pushed the door to the theater open to find Peter waiting inside. He’d had to convince her that they wouldn’t get caught. Dale’s date had been waiting for her upstairs; Peter’s Secret Service agent had been right outside the door; and ultimately, Charlotte had ended up in the hallway outside the theater speaking to her cabinet member. They hadn’t been caught, but it had revealed to Dale just how reckless Peter had become. In hindsight, it was clear that he’d wanted Charlotte to find out about the affair. Dale wondered sometimes if their entire relationship had been an elaborate scheme to get Charlotte’s attention.

This time, she entered the family theater determined to explain her reaction on the day nearly two years earlier when Peter had surprised her by purchasing and refurbishing the house in Stinson Beach. When he’d proudly shown her around, pointing out all the little details of the house that he’d hoped would please her, she could barely muster any enthusiasm. Instead of seeing the house as their haven, she’d felt too disconnected from the round-the-clock demands of her job, and she’d lashed out at him for buying it without consulting her. Now she had an opportunity to tell him how much she regretted everything that had happened that day. Even if he couldn’t forgive her, he’d know that she was sorry and that she still had feelings for him.

“I should have been appreciative of the effort you put into making such a beautiful home for us. I’m still so sorry,” she blurted as soon as she saw him.

He was leaning against the back of one of the oversized theater chairs. Dale’s eyes were still adjusting to the dim light. She couldn’t make out the look on his face. When he spoke, she could tell that he wasn’t interested in her apologies.

“I don’t care anymore, Dale. It was just a house.”

“It was supposed to be
our
house. A place for us to spend time together when I visited,” she said.

“The house was a bad idea. You were getting pulled in too many different directions. I shouldn’t have added another one.”

“No, the house would have been perfect. I was there, you know. When you and Charlotte went there after the impeachment stuff. I was down on the beach in the staff trailer, and I looked up, and all I could think of was that Charlotte was in my house.”

Peter moved closer to her. “It was just a house,” he said again.

“Stop saying that.”

“Dale, we don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, we do. It was my house, and I want my house back.”

There. She’d said it. Dale was certain that the little smile on his face was an invitation. Their physical attraction to each other had always been the central pillar of their relationship. While it hadn’t proven sufficient to keep their relationship together, Dale was sure that it was too strong to keep them apart. She moved closer to him and waited for the familiar feel of his lips on hers.

When she looked up at him, he shook his head. “Dale, come on.”

“I thought . . . when you called, I thought that you . . .”

“You thought that I wanted to have sex with you in the family theater while Charlotte delivers a speech a mile away?”

Dale’s shock at being rejected was turning into anger about being led on. “You make it sound so implausible. Have you forgotten what happened here?”

“Unfortunately, I remember everything. Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’ll excuse me for not feeling sentimental.”

“Why did you call me, then?” She was fighting the impulse to raise her voice.

“I thought we could have a normal conversation. I don’t have too many of those.” He said it with enough of an edge to blunt Dale’s anger. She’d been so focused on what she wanted from him that it never dawned on her that he might need something from her, something as simple as someone to talk to.

She was still reeling from his rejection, but there was something
sad about him. He had snuck down to the family theater to see her with no intention of being intimate with her. He simply wanted to talk. He was either screwing with her as payback for her near-inhumane treatment of him at the end of their relationship, or he was back at square one with Charlotte and feeling emotionally isolated, which was where he’d been when they’d first met nearly six years earlier. Her mind was spinning, and while she was mortified that she’d misread his signs and awash with guilt that she was being so hideous to her own boyfriend, she was intrigued that he had gone through so much effort to be alone with her. It was still something that would get both of them into mountains of trouble if anyone found out. Dale took a deep breath and glanced down at her phone. It had been going crazy since she’d walked in. She’d noticed the red light flashing on her BlackBerry and had felt the phone vibrate several times.

When she finally looked down at her devices, she noticed that Marguerite had texted her “911” and that the missed calls were from the Situation Room operator. It was ringing again.

“I’m sorry, but I have to get this.”

“Go ahead.” Peter looked down at his phone, too.

“Hello?”

“Miss Smith, the national security advisor has been trying to reach you for the last ten minutes.”

“You can put him through.”

“He’s on another call, but he asked that you come directly to the Situation Room.”

“I’m on my way.”

She looked at Peter and felt like crying. After nearly two years of no contact, he’d called her because he needed someone to talk to, and now she had to go.