I walked into the West Wing, already feeling the chaos brewing before me. Several desks were positioned in the great room, side by side. People in various states of panic were calling into their phones, even at 9 o’ clock at night, spitting words with anger. I blinked my eyes wildly, wondering where to turn. Had I gotten the job? Or was this some sort of mad ruse?
Suddenly, a man approached me. He was wearing this suit that seemed nearly lived-in. He was a bit overweight and bald. His mouth was nearly barking at me as he spoke. “Thank God you’re here. Finally, he made a decision on who to lead us.” He brought his hand forward and grabbed mine, shaking it. “I’m Jason Ritz. Your second-in-command.”
My mind spun with the news. “So wonderful to meet you,” I declared, nodding with affirmation. I knew, in that moment, that I had to act like the smartest in the room. I was their leader. “Please. Brief me on what’s going on.”
Jason led me through the hallway, back toward the Oval Office. He stopped at a glass door and we swept inside, into a small conference room. “Okay. First of all, welcome to the team,” he began, pacing back and forth. “It seems you’ve been hired on a very dramatic day.” He swept his hand through his balding hair. “We’ve dropped in the polls significantly in the previous 12 hours. The drop seems incredibly random—as in, we don’t quite know where it originated.”
I brought my hands into my pocket and took out a notepad and a pen. I began scribbling. I oriented myself with great authority. “We’ll craft a statement and get it out for the morning news. And then we’re on serious damage control. Agreed?” I said to him, my eyes on fire. I still felt the wine buzzing in my head. But I felt the anger mixed with power fuel me. I was going to get the president out of this mess.
Jason’s eyes widened at me. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, I knew: not with this sudden knowledge that I—this young, 29-year-old woman—could handle this near-catastrophe. A bead of sweat rolled down his face.
Suddenly, he shot forward and opened the door. “MR. PRESIDENT!” he called down the hall. Xavier had just walked past the small room we were in, on his way toward the West Wing. My heart began to beat so quickly. I continued to scribble my first formation of a statement for him for the following morning—an outline to pass on to the public relations specialists. But even through the noise of my beating heart, I could hear Xavier sp
eak the words: “Follow me” in the hallway.
Jason sped out into the hall and I followed, tapping quickly.
“Amanda’s beginning to draft the statement,” Jason said succinctly, sniffing toward the president.
For all the chaos surrounding him, Xavier seemed so calm, so cool. He simply nodded toward me. Eyeing me in that peculiar way he always did. “Good start, Amanda. Welcome to the team,” he stated.
We walked into the swarms of people—the campaign team I’d been a part of only four years before. Now, I led them.
I stood at the helm of the swarming crew and I tapped my hand on a desk, allowing it to rattle back and forth. The people slowed down, placed their phones on their desks. They blinked up at us.
“Okay, crew,” I called to them, utilizing that firm voice. The president stood beside me, and I could feel his attention like a blanket, wrapped so firmly around me. “My name is Amanda Martin. Many of you know me from the last round of elections. Those of you I don’t know, I look forward to getting to know you.” I nodded to them, driving my speech forward. “As you know, we lost a few notches in the polls today. Nothing we can’t jump up from. Nothing at all. I will be stopping in with each of you as the night goes on to see what you are doing and to work on an action plan.” I passed my pencil over them, sort of like a wand. “Let’s get this thing under control.”
With that, I nodded toward them once more, allowing them freedom to continue on their phone calls, their tap-tappings on the keyboard. I turned toward the president and nearly bit my lip with anticipation.
But all he said was this, “Let’s get started on this statement.” He sat at the desk before me, offering me a chair beside him. I gulped, feeling a bit naked before him.
I started wishing I had thrown my tights back on.
“Here are my initial thoughts,” I began, my mind whirring. “We are not going to apologize for the dip in votes or outwardly acknowledge it in any way. We don’t even know the cause for the sudden drop yet, but my guess is it might have something to do with your stance on education getting a bit more focus from the 24-hour news networks, so I think that should be our focus. Let’s confront the fact that your revolutionary ideas about education are worrisome in people’s minds—and let’s tell the American people that you have a plan to keep going, to keep charging forward to make change, that there cannot be improvement without a move towards progress. Let’s anticipate what they might be worried about, and maybe convince a few more voters along the way that you’re enacting good change.”
The president’s eyes were stern, so serious. “Amanda.” He tapped the paper before me. “This is assuredly the best plan. Let me speak to Jason.” He gestured for Jason to come toward him. Jason leapt up from his chair by the door and rushed toward us both, looking a bit like a schoolboy—or an excited puppy. I felt embarrassed for him. “This is Amanda’s rough plan,” Xavier began, stating the words I had just spoken with sincere precision. “What are your thoughts?” The president asked him, his eyebrows furrowed.
Jason nodded, again padding at his hair with his right hand. “It’s brilliant, Mr. President. If you think it’ll work, I do.”
Xavier turned his head back toward me, nodding. “Shall we proceed with the plan?”
I began writing, then, feeling nervous with the president’s breath hot on my neck. I felt so earnest, so unsure in his presence. I wanted to create a smooth transition for him from this presidency to the next. I swallowed as I wrote, listening to the president as he continued his conversation with Jason. I wondered why he was there—why he was still there. Generally, Xavier hadn’t spent much time with the election crew the last time around.
I began thinking, abstractly, that the president was only spending all this time with the election crew in order to see me. I felt the thought pass through me, and then I flung it to the side. These thoughts were so useless—so baseless. Don’t go there, I thought. He probably just wants to get away from his wife, after all. Camille probably made his life a living hell. He yearned for excitement. Or maybe just a friend.
Certainly, he didn’t yearn for a lover.
At three in the morning, after the statement was outlined, flushed out, critiqued and tweaked, I said goodnight to the bleary-eyed president. I walked outside, where Dimitri was waiting with a car in the lot. I popped into the rear seat, and I forced my eyes to stay open until we arrived home. Dimitri spun his head around and smiled at me. “I heard you did well in there,” he gestured with his head.
I nodded, yawning wildly. I stretched my arms over my head. “I can’t even think straight. They’ll release the statement in the morning. Will you send the car for me, or are you off tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” Dimitri said, laughing. “Come on, now. I don’t have a life.”
I shook my head, feeling the heat from the president’s soul. I felt like there was so much I wanted to know about him—so much I wanted from him. I shook the thoughts from my head. “Neither do I, of course.”
I jumped from the black car and ran toward my apartment, where I fell onto my bedspread and fell instantly asleep.
Chapter Five