Chapter 10
ten
Alex
I have to know the policy points of the speech like the back of my hand, but my job tonight is to clap.
It’s similar to my mom’s role at my younger sister’s wedding a few years ago. It was her job to lead the rest of the crowd in standing when the bride came down the aisle and show everyone when to take the floor after the first dance. The vice president is basically the mother of the bride at the State of the Union. I show everyone when it’s time to clap, and lead the crowd when it’s time to give a standing ovation.
I also have to attend a lot of events surrounding the big one on Tuesday night. And every time I walk into a reception—at the Library of Congress or the House Speaker’s office—I wonder if I’ll run into Cindy Wight.
Cindy and I haven’t talked on the phone all week, due to the intense pace of my schedule leading up to the president’s speech. So far I haven’t bumped into her, though she’s left a trail of irritated representatives as evidence of her presence. I can’t help but find it amusing she’s got a bunch of grown men in suits ruffled over the threat of change.
It doesn’t surprise me that she would try to sway votes even while telling me she was polling the votes already on her side. But there’s little evidence of headway.
Few things ever really change in Congress, an institution that prides itself on tradition. I see small ones in the House Chamber since the last time I was here, this time last year, like the chairs refinished in a slightly darker shade. Little difference.
I’m in the Senate Chamber more often, especially last session when I needed to break ties fairly often because of the 50/50 split. I miss the structure of working in that chamber sometimes, despite the dress code and temptation of the Candy Desk.
There’s plenty of time to scan the room during the endless clapping as the president enters the chamber, shakes hands and exchanges a few words with members lining the aisle. The Speaker and I stand side-by-side watching the doorway as we abuse our palms.
I’d joked with Tim beforehand that he needs to start sprinting for the rostrum to save everyone the extended hand-bruising before his speech. Tim, who hates the performative parts of politics in the first place, bet me $5 he would do it this time. Looks like I’m winning a small coffee from the president tonight.
An endless four and a half minutes later, the president reaches us. Tim reaches out to shake hands with me, and then the Speaker.
“I tried to get here sooner,” he tells me with a grin. I shake my head without answering, both because my face is on camera and because it’s such a lie.
Tim reaches behind him and picks up copies of his speech in manila envelopes already placed on the rostrum and hands one to each of us—another bit of theater, since we could easily pull up the pre-released text on our phones.
The room is still clapping. I gaze up into the gallery, which runs around the top of the room, and spot Anita standing in the first lady’s box. She would ordinarily be seated with the vice president’s wife as well as her guests. I wonder if Anita ever misses the built-in companionship she would have had if I married. The vice president’s spouse must be the one person who comes close to understanding what it’s like to be married to a president.
Finally, the Speaker raises her gavel. “I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting the president of the United States,” she says, once the room quiets.
Everyone starts clapping again, myself included. My palms already hurt and I’ve got another hour to ask of them.
“Thank you,” Tim says after a long moment of applause. “Please, everybody take your seats.”
I sit down, making sure my back is against the tall frame of the chair. Experience has taught me to get comfortable immediately, so I’m not shifting around while on camera the rest of the speech. I put one hand on the padded armrest and start tracing the carvings on the wood underneath. This is my trick for retaining a focused expression for the next hour.
“Madame Speaker, Mr. Vice President, members of Congress,” Tim begins, speaking with his back to me.
Tim is delivering his list of legislative priorities for the coming year. I picture myself, briefly, as the one up here giving the speech. But in my head, the possibility sits far away on the horizon, not somewhere in the next few years.
I scan the room without moving my head. It is packed with members from both chambers of Congress. Senate and House leadership is up front, along with the Supreme Court justices. Seating for the rest of the House members is first-come, first-served. Most of the members who shook the president’s hand as he walked down the aisle likely camped out to save their chairs.
If Cindy’s here, I can’t quite see her around the rostrum and Tim’s back. Unfortunately, as vice president I really can’t shift around in my chair in an attempt to lay eyes on my crush.
And that’s what she is. Of course. Because I don’t casually think about any other members of Congress at least once a day.
Of all the times and places to have an epiphany. Fortunately, the president is talking about Russia when I frown.
Cindy
I can see the vice president’s shoulder and left arm.
It’s a nice shoulder, as I know from joining him to lift weights. Strong and rounded in all the right ways. But that’s not the point. I’m annoyed that my prime seating cuts off the best view. I hadn’t wanted to be on the aisle, where I’d be pressed from all sides to shake the president’s hand, but had ended up too close to observe more than the president at the front of the room.
Some of the other members of the Freshman Six had suggested skipping the State of the Union entirely, as a statement of misalignment with the president’s positions. I’d reminded them that I need the White House’s support for our current top priority legislation, which somehow led to Steven offering to camp out in the chamber to save us six seats up front. My young allies vacillate wildly between fed up with Washington and awed by it.
I’m nervous. I’m 99 percent certain Alex or someone would have warned me if the president planned to mention cannabis in his speech. He’d probably only do so if he planned on cutting my goals out of the bill. My jaw feels sore from how tightly I’m gritting my teeth. Just let me take it one step at a time, Alex.
Oh. I called him by his first name in my head for the first time.
It’s usually not hot on the House Floor, but I’m sweating under my blazer. Around me, everyone is standing from both parties, so the president must have mentioned the troops or people beating poverty: the only causes that earn bipartisan ovations. I follow the crowd. I can see Alex’s—the vice president’s—face as he stands, as well. It is excruciatingly neutral, even as he claps emphatically. The politician expression. I miss the openness of his face when we were in the gym, out of these dress clothes and talking about things other than politics.
He’s scanning the crowd, eyes lightly dusting over everyone. But then he finds my eyes. I miss a beat and have to catch up with the rhythm of the clapping. Is he looking at me on purpose?
I sit back down with everyone else and miss the physical sense of his gaze. I’m back on my feet a few minutes later to clap for the strong economy, smoothing my skirt as I stand, my eyes drawn like a magnet to the back of the rostrum.
Standing framed in front of the giant American flag, the blue eyes of the vice president are on me in the middle of this crowded room, airing live on every network TV station and C-SPAN. His expression doesn't change, but he’s definitely staring at me. Suddenly, the clapping is happening in my heart.
It’s a good thing when I can sit back down. My legs are about to give out. I swallow several times, still feeling caught in the gaze I can no longer see.
The next time my party all stands to give the president a standing ovation, I rise dutifully with everyone else. But I’m eager to regain my view of Alex’s face. His eyes are right there, steady on me, despite the room filled with people and the cameras and lights. I’m flooded with warmth under his gaze. I almost collapse back in my seat this time.
Alex sits as well, disappearing from my view, and I realize when I re-cross my legs that I’m more than flushed, I’m aroused. Based on nothing but the vice president giving me a look in public, I’m imagining being stretched out over the blue carpet in front of these chairs, pencil skirt hiked up over my hips, taken from behind while I’m bowed over the rostrum. The thong I’m wearing shoved to the side, the need too urgent to wait...
Swallowing and forcing the images out of my mind, I tell myself to tune into the president. I’m going to have to read this speech again later for all I’m hearing now.
I must have let the conversation at my birthday happy hour go to my head. I have a working relationship with the vice president and nothing more. We disagree on so many things. He’s cautious and measured where I’m bold and impulsive. He tries to please the crowd; I care about the underdog. He’s a career politician; I’m only here as long as it serves my activism.
The president must mention the military again, because the whole chamber is starting to stand. I follow, a little unsteady on my heels. The vice president catches my eyes again. His expression does not change and heat trickles down my back imagining him plowing into me with that same dispassionate gaze hiding, I hope, uncontrollable intensity.
This time, there might be a tiny smirk on his face. He knows. But no. We shared a moment but it’s impossible his thoughts shared the same vivid mental image.
I swallow and re-take my seat with everyone else. I need to escape and put a cold washcloth on the back of my neck. But I’m trapped until the end of this speech, and then there’s the rebuttal to watch and I have a scheduled interview from the rotunda with a broadcast network. I’m supposed to talk about where the president didn’t go far enough in his speech and I’ve barely heard a word of it so far.
Push Alex Drake out of your head, Cindy, and concentrate on the job.