Chapter 14
fourteen
Alex
Because I’m the vice president, I have little control over my schedule. So while what I want to do is clear the way for a full weekend alone with Cindy, what I end up doing is planning a trip to Detroit for a tour of a new factory.
“Why don’t you come with me,” I tell Cindy on the phone Tuesday night. I’m standing in the park, as usual. Ted is close enough to overhear the conversation but I’m not worried about him sharing it. “We can debrief on the bill. We’ll have a chance to talk privately. And I’ll have you back on Sunday.”
“Seems risky,” she says.
“Nah,” I insist. “It’s Air Force Two . People barely notice who’s flying around with me.”
“You still have a press pool.”
“And they’ll check you out, but it’ll remind people that the cannabis legislation is still happening. It’s a good thing. Raise the profile.”
Her voice sharpens. “You think people have already forgotten the bill?”
I wrestle the ball away from Thor so I can throw it again, buying myself time. I need to be diplomatic here. “I think Washington has a short memory.”
She sighs, and when she agrees I’m not sure if it’s for my sake or business. But that’s OK. I’m a master of reframing. I have, more than once, turned an argument about censorship or school choice at a fundraiser into a donation. Finally, I’ll be able to use my powers for good.
Cindy
“ He invited you on Air Force Two? ” Lizzie’s voice achieves a pitch I’ve only ever heard for votes after midnight. “What does this mean?”
“He said it underlines the White House commitment to a legislative compromise,” I recite, thankful I’m on a conference call and Lizzie is the only member of my staff physically in my office. My face can’t be very convincing. “It’s mostly time-efficient. I asked for more face time and he said this was how he could give it to me.”
I roll the pen between my fingers, staring hard at it while using the phrase give it to me and hoping I’m not blushing.
“How much publicity do we want?” Max asks, over the speakerphone. “I’m not sure how impressed Coloradans will really be that you’re on a fancy jet flying to another state, to be honest.”
“Right, I agree,” I say quickly. “I wanted you two to know but I don’t think we want to spread it around that I’m going. It’s a quick trip, no public appearances. I’m just going because the only time the vice president has available is while he’s traveling. The White House will release my name to the media, along with the topic we’re discussing, but I don’t expect any major announcements out of the trip. And I don’t want to be one of those lawmakers who posts a picture with the presidential seal every time they’re near one. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds reasonable to me. But send me a selfie with the seal,” Max suggests. “Are you taking staff with you? I am so jealous right now.”
“You are not,” I retort. “You get 300 days of sunshine a year.”
“Hey, April is D.C.’s one good month,” Lizzie pipes up. “Max is missing out on cherry blossoms.”
“I am not going to take anyone with me,” I say, answering the question and my own guilty conscience. “It’s a taxpayer-funded trip, technically, and I can’t justify staff.”
I’m walking a narrow line here, between constituent and personal priorities. In my defense, it’s a line I walk daily as a human being who is also a symbol of the public interest. Taking time to eat, sleep, or use the bathroom could be considered stealing time from the reason I’m in this office. In this case, I promise myself I’ll earn enough benefit for Colorado taxpayers from the trip to make anything else that takes place a bonus.
We hang up with Max, and Lizzie perches on the edge of my desk. “Can I help with anything else?” she asks.
Is Lizzie suspicious? I’d considered telling my staff this trip was sort of...kind of...a date. I could safely tell Max and Lizzie, my two closest and most trustworthy staffers. But it could also turn into a one-night stand, in which case I don’t want the information I had sex with the vice president to spread.
“I don’t think so?” I tell Lizzie.
Her brow wrinkles. “You don’t want...a proposal drafted or the spreadsheet on votes to take with you?”
“Oh!” I manage to smile. “Sorry. I guess maybe I’m a little frazzled over this trip, even though I don’t want it to be a big deal. Yes, please, let’s tidy up our notes and print them for me to take with me. I don’t know what the Wi-Fi situation is like on Air Force Two.”
“Great!” Lizzie pops to her feet, smiling. “I’ll work on that.”
I put my head in my hands after Lizzie exits. This is the problem with mixing business and pleasure. I need to be counting votes, but all I want to worry about is what lingerie to wear.
The buzzer over my office door goes off, calling me to a vote on the Floor. I grab my blazer and purse and head down the hall, my heels harmonizing with all the others exiting nearby offices and heading for the tunnel to the Capitol.
The floor of the hallway outside my office is marble, but the rest of the decor is dull. Door after matching door is marked with a brown and gold plaque next to it spelling out the member’s name, some with a flag or two on the opposite side. I nod and smile at several people joining me for the walk to the lower chamber.
Steven, one of the Freshman Six, falls into step with me.
“Getting some face time with the vice president this weekend,” I tell him proactively. “I’m hopeful we’ll make some progress. Did you talk to anyone about potentially dropping one provision or the other?”
He makes a face. “No one wants to talk about it. They think the time is right to go for everything.”
I sigh. We pass the entrance to the cafeteria on our way to the tunnels. “I don’t think we get to roll up in Congress one year and win everything we want the next.”
He glances at me. “That’s not what you used to say.”
Low blow. “Well, I’m learning,” I say, mildly. Steven doesn’t have anything else to say after that. He takes the subway and I keep walking down the tunnel to the Capitol.
Keeping an eye out to ensure I don’t run into anyone else, I’m thumbing through social media on my personal phone as I walk. I pause to read a story about the vice president and Zack Ryder. “VP to Cameo in the Sequel to Attack on the White House ?” reads the headline.
The members of Congress on their way to a vote have priority after the buzzer goes off, so the tunnel is clear coming from the other direction and I can be swept along in the tide.
Using my thumbs, I zoom in on the picture on my phone. Alex Drake looks as delicious as I remember him in that dark suit with the pink tie. His hand is on Zack’s shoulder and they’re smiling at each other, belying how annoyed I remember the vice president seemed with the actor at the time.
The pink panties. The ones that match my bra. With the straps that come up over my hips. Just in case he sees them. I study the picture two seconds longer before I turn off my phone, decision made.
I don’t remember what vote I’m going to. I switch to my BlackBerry, at the same time consciously switching my brain into work mode.
Alex
The cherry blossoms are beautiful, but my spring allergies are making themselves known as I walk up the long steps to Air Force Two. I focus on energetic posture and not tripping, the nightmare faced by everyone who is filmed on these long walks. Tim still says the president before him lost his second term because Americans judged him for tripping on the Air Force One stairs. Twice. Both times went viral.
It’s a lot of pressure to walk up the red-carpeted steps safely.
After I check walking off the mental to-do list—again—I have time to worry about how pissed Cindy’s going to be about the travel arrangements. I couldn’t not invite the Michigan delegation to join me on a trip to their state. But now I’m going to have to share my public time with both her and her colleagues, or risk suspicion and rumors. The press would probably love to sniff out a story about me snubbing a committee chairman—and why.
Maggie, my traveling press secretary, walks with me to my office, carrying the print-outs of everyone on board she’ll hand out to reporters. “Did you want to come back to talk to the press once we’re in the air?” she asks, once she’s asked me for updates on the topics she expects from reporters.
I catch myself before I run a hand through my hair. “No, I’ve got too much to do on this flight,” I say.
“No problem,” she says, noting something on her pad.
Is it selfish, as a full-time public servant, to want a bit of privacy to explore whatever I’m building with Cindy? In an ideal world, I’d have checked the “significant other” box before I became vice president. We would have agreed, together, that the job came first in this season of life, after already building a strong foundation between us. Perhaps I would have built my schedule, as much as possible, around my relationship, instead of the other way around. Now it’s borderline impossible to fit one into my life.
It doesn’t feel quite right, taking Cindy on a 500 mile joyride without giving her anything to take home from it. “This is the job,” my father would say. “She better know what she’s signing up for.”
But she hasn’t signed up yet. That’s the whole point of spending time with each other.
I lean outside the door to my stateroom. “Maggie,” I say, when she’s almost down the hall. She turns back. “Would you suggest to the Michigan delegation that they might want to talk to the media on board? Could be a win-win. ”
She smiles. “Good idea, sir.”
Win-win indeed, if it keeps the lawmakers from Michigan busy while I get, well, busy with Cindy. I didn’t become vice president by being a complete idiot.
Cindy
I should have known. The House Judiciary Chair—Randy—is from Michigan. He’s the first person I spot when I step off the Osprey at Andrews Air Force Base ahead of boarding Air Force Two. He must have been in the other helicopter. It would have been easy to miss him in the crowd at the White House, with all the staff shuffling us around and me trying to avoid questions from the reporters boarding with us.
It’s loud by the twin Ospreys and I wave and hope he’ll leave it at that, but Randy walks over and yells to me, “If it isn’t the Freshman One!” He chuckles at his own joke and then explains it, “Used to be the Freshman Six!”
I pretend I can’t hear him over the rotor blades.
We are herded away from the landing pad, White House staff diligently explaining the process even though I can’t hear anything. It’s moving lips and a lot of pointing.
“You here to talk to the VP about marijuana?” Randy asks, once we’re far enough from the rotors to speak normally.
“Yes,” I say. “We need to discuss a new date to release the cannabis legislation.” I knew we were going to blow past the deadline weeks ago, sometime in March when the House adjourned and I realized I couldn’t schedule any meetings with members who were back in their districts. Not without the leadership of my party jumping behind the bill or Alex stealing the baton in a way I don’t want. It still burns to acknowledge to Randy that we missed it.
He’s scoffing. “You’re never going to get the votes if you stick with your bill. Washington works slow for a reason and your crusade will be short-lived here.”
I nod, like his point is thoughtful, watching the concrete landing pad as we’re crossing it. “I think there’s room to find common ground and make progress.”
He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in me. “There hasn’t been common ground in Congress for the last five years. I’d think you’d have picked up a few more things in your time here.”
We’re interrupted by one of his aides—Randy apparently does not travel alone—so I don’t have to defend my experience.
I walk a little faster to move ahead of him and glance up at Air Force Two standing on the airfield in front of us. The blue and white Boeing startles me with how massive it appears, bigger than in pictures. I’ve never been on it or even near it.
The White House staffer keeps leading us forward, and the surreality of the trip sinks into my mind. The man who kissed me in the bathroom is on that plane, or somewhere nearby. I don’t know if the vice president boards first or his guests do, but the moveable steps with a red carpet are set up at the front door of the plane. I can’t stop obsessing over his hands, those long fingers and how he touched me with them. The way he smelled like a hint of smoked wood and tasted like chocolate. The vice president. I can’t believe I’m allowed to touch him at all. Who the hell am I—just some girl from Colorado who, according to Randy, doesn’t understand how politics work.
We board through the middle door of the plane, along with the media. The journalists are escorted toward the back, while I’m taken, along with the other lawmakers, to the equivalent of first class. I sit down in a cushioned chair and take out my phone to hide how I want to gawk at my surroundings. I start reading a celebrity gossip site. A little light reading doesn’t disqualify me for my job.
Zack Ryder is in the news again for allegedly romancing the co-star of his new movie. There are pictures of him shirtless on some tropical beach. But I’m distracted, irritated at yet another man casually challenging my abilities. It wouldn’t matter what I tried to do in Washington, there would always be a Randy to scoff and doubt and feel justified doing it. Yet I do worry that Alex and I are trying to reach a compromise starting from different places. I worry about that for more than the bill.
But it’s not like the compromise has to hold forever, right? Only long enough to get this one thing done. I sigh softly, because now I’m making accidental double entendres about myself. Sex and legislation—is that asking too much?
I try to keep focusing on the celebrity vacation pictures I’m scrolling through on my phone, but I’m wondering—no, knowing —what Randy’s reaction would be if he found out my presence here was in response to a booty call from the vice president.
He’s already harrying the staff, his rounded belly taking up his entire seat. There’s no way Randy flies economy in a regular airplane, even when flying on the taxpayer’s dime. I try not to judge on appearances, having been judged many times that way myself, but from what I know about Randy, it’s hard not to view him as an entitled, comfortable snob.
I won’t back down because someone smug tries to shame me out of my plans. It’s hardly the first attempt. Holding my phone though I’m no longer using it, I tap my fingers against the little table by my chair until I notice I’m doing it and stop.
Maggie, the primary press aide for the vice president’s office, walks back into our section and smiles at me. “Good afternoon, congresswoman.” She turns to the others. “The vice president wondered if the Michigan delegation would like to speak to the press today? Give some background on the factory and the state economy, that kind of thing.”
From under my eyelashes, I observe as Randy and his fellow representatives react enthusiastically. If the vice president planned this, he’s clever. The Michigan lawmakers will clear out of this section long enough for me to see him without anyone the wiser. If they come back before I do, they might not even realize why I’m gone. My need to touch the vice president again—something we can only do when alone—pulses under my skin.
I hide my smile, but inwardly, I’m pumping my fists in victory.