by J J Arias
Mila dropped her smile, tightening her chiseled jaw as if the time for games was over. “Listen, let’s cut to the chase,” she said like a practiced high-stakes negotiator. “I have serious interest in a political future. I am not interested in being silenced in exchange for an unearned credit to list in my resume. You can tell her I will only accept if it’s legitimate. Not some sham, but a real chance to work in government and make meaningful contributions.”
Josephine tipped her head forward in acknowledgement. “Ms. Dortch, I can assure you it’s the real deal,” she explained while holding eye contact. “You will be expected to fulfill the same responsibilities as the other program members.” She held up a hand as she continued. “Now, I want to be clear. This will be like starting at the bottom of the food chain. You’ll only be more senior than the high school pages and college interns.”
There was no change in Mila’s facial expression as an icy silence cropped up between them. Josephine wondered what she was going to demand in exchange for her cooperation.
“Then what’s the catch?” Mila asked after apparently having run through some scenarios in her mind without locating the downside.
“No catch,” she replied, dropping her shoulders. “You’ll be required to sign a standard nondisclosure agreement of course.” Anticipating her next question, Josephine went on. “It does not cover anything before or after your participation in the program, but as you represent the office during your term, any public statements you make should go through the press secretary. Any social media accounts should be set to private, and no post can give the appearance of representing any official position.”
“And for the time before my tenure in the Executive Office?” she asked, both eyebrows raised expectantly.
Josephine selected her words carefully. “Should you be asked about your involvement with Nathan Jones, and should you feel inclined to furnish a response, it would be beneficial if you explained that he arrived at your workplace to extend the news of your appointment to such a selective program.”
Mila’s face changed again. Her pure stoicism gave way to a hint of amusement. “I suppose the first rule of politics is that there is always a trade off,” she acknowledged, though Josephine couldn’t read her expression.
“I’d much rather like to think of it as compromise. A win-win,” she replied as she stood. Surprised to find her bag hadn’t been tampered with, she opened it to pull out a stack of papers. “You will need to bring all of these forms with you signed and notarized on Monday.”
“Is that all?” she replied sarcastically as she scanned the thick folder.
Josephine nodded. “Plus, your social security card and two forms of government-issued ID.”
“Thank you, Ms. Peters,” Mila said as she rose from her seat and extended her hand.
Josephine shook it firmly. “Welcome aboard,” she said as she slung the bag onto her shoulder. “In your acceptance letter you’ll see where and what time to report.” She turned and headed for the door. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said as she paused in the doorway. “This is a paid position. By law, no participant is allowed to maintain dual employment. If you accept this opportunity, you’ll have to quit any jobs you might have,” she added as if she were ignorant of her career.
Mila’s bright blue eyes flashed with an incomprehensible expression. “There’s the shoe,” she replied dryly after a beat. “I was beginning to worry it wouldn’t drop.” She offered her a restrained smirk.
“I look forward to seeing you on Monday, Ms. Dortch. Don’t be late,” Josephine tossed over her shoulder as she left.
* * *
“This is kinda awesome, huh?” a man with a youthful voice said from behind Mila as they stood in line for the metal detector. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy, but I noticed your name tag when we were walking in. We’re going to the same place,” he explained excitedly.
At the revelation, Mila turned and craned her head toward a baby-faced man easily six inches taller than her five-foot-nine-inch frame. Relieved he wasn’t the tabloid reporter who had been practically stalking her lately, she offered a tight smile before turning back around.
“It’s pretty cool, right?” he asked again, his tanned skin was so smooth Mila wondered if he followed a strict moisturizing regimen. “I didn’t even think they were doing the future leaders immersion thing anymore, and then out of nowhere, the First Dude showed up at my apartment and told me I was in!” He babbled on as if Mila had given him some subliminal message. “Were you surprised too?”
“Definitely,” she replied, realizing he hadn’t recognized her from the news. She chalked it up to the light gray pantsuit. Most people didn’t recognize her with so many clothes on.
“I’m Tim,” he said, thrusting a clammy hand in her direction once they’d cleared security. His suit rode up his exceptionally long arm as he waited for her.
“Mila,” she replied, returning his shake.
If her name rang any bells, he hid it well. Nothing in his sweet demeanor faltered, not even his enormous, toothy smile.
Packing into the elevator with a dozen black suits, Mila was a bright dot of blonde hair and light-colored fabric. Twenty floors later, she and her new tall friend were the first to report to the glass door with the state seal etched on it. One by one, the other three recent college grads joined them.
Babes in the woods, Mila thought as she took stock of her fellow staffers. Not only were they all younger than her, she could sense the naivety cultivated by sheltered youths unsullied by the harsh realities of life.
At exactly eight o’clock, and not a moment sooner, a loud buzzing preceded an opening door. Mila half expected a movie scene, with smoke billowing behind a doorman in coattails as he unlocked the door to a mystical universe. Instead, a stocky woman incapable of concealing a terrible mood collected them without fanfare and led them down a maze of half-walled cubicles. A symphony of ringing phones proved a subpar soundtrack for their expedition.
“I’m gonna need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs,” Tim whispered as the sameness of every tight corridor made her head spin.
Mila nodded. “Same.”
“She’ll be in charge of you,” the cranky woman nearly a foot shorter than Mila grumbled as she dumped them on the Director of Executive Staff’s doorstep, as the name on the glass read.
Before Mila could locate her bearings and orient herself to where they were inside the massive government complex, the door opened to a frazzled looking redhead in a garish peach-colored suit that had definitely time-traveled from 1987.
“Welcome Larry Payne Fellows,” she greeted excitedly, pink lipstick displayed prominently on her front tooth.
Mila ran the tip of her tongue across her own teeth, the international signal for girl check your face, but her warning wasn’t heeded. The woman failed to stop her darting eyes on her for even a moment as she seemed to address everyone but her.
Before Mila could decide whether she was being slighted or if the director was just terrible at speaking to a group, they were whisked away to a cramped conference room where they each took a seat around an oblong table. Once there, they were subjected to icebreaker games and a lecture about former Governor Payne and his dream of preparing the future leaders of tomorrow. Complete with slideshow.
By the time they got down the list of all the fellowship’s famous alumni, Mila was sure the director was intentionally avoiding eye contact with her, and most of her compatriots were taking some none-too-sneaky glimpses.
Guess they can’t all be as oblivious as Tim, she thought as she shot a glance at the only person not actively trying to figure out if she was that woman in the picture with the governor’s husband. The stripper. She was sure they were eager to hurl the word at her like an epithet. It’s not that she hadn’t anticipated some curiosity, but it was more irritating than she expected.
The heat rose in Mila’s pale face when two of the other fellows whispered to each other, glancing at her with a knowi
ng look as they shook their heads in open disapproval. She ignored them despite their obvious rudeness and did her best to focus on her purpose, reminding herself that they were younger and immature.
It wasn’t until the guy scanned her from head to toe, much like a wolf might eye a half-open chicken coop, that she snapped her head to the side and glowered. If they’d thought themselves discrete, she was happy to disabuse them of that notion. All but restraining the urge to sneer, her cold glare was enough for them to finally look away, though the girl giggled despite herself.
“Alight,” the director clasped her hands together loudly enough to pull everyone’s diverted attention back to her. “Now, for a real treat, you all get to meet Governor Fernandez!” Her huge grin displayed the longest lasting lipstick Mila had ever seen. Despite well over an hour of talking, the mark clung to her enamel like a stain.
The labyrinth formed from cubicles continued to pose a challenge as they crossed into a new, but identical, part of the office. Every now and then, a sliver of blue sky would appear in a distant window to remind them color existed beyond the pain of gray.
Mila used the physical activity of walking to calm herself. Though she wished she could run, rather than be trapped in the slow-moving herd bombarded by the director’s endless chatter. It was better than sitting in the suffocating conference room.
Don’t let these idiots get to you, she advised herself. They don’t know shit about shit. After a few calming breaths, she’d manage to corral her racing heart and relieve some of her anger. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don’t let anyone ruin it for you.
By the time they’d stopped at a rather isolated part of the office, Mila was almost composed again. It helped to use Tim as a meat shield to obstruct her view of the two hyenas she could sense were still gawking at her. They seemed to be the only ones unable to do anything other than look at her and whisper. Flotsam and Jetsam, she christened them.
Mila straightened her suit jacket and ensured her light blue shirt collar, starched to within an inch of its life, was still in the right place, before walking in behind the group.
“Welcome,” Governor Fernandez said with a politician’s grin as they stepped into a classic law library surrounded by old books and fitted with long wood tables in the center. With the advent of computer research, Mila wondered how long it had been since anyone touched any of the physical books.
Governor Fernandez was dressed in a bright, navy blue dress and matching blazer. The color was a nice contrast to her olive skin, Mila noted. She kept her eyes on her as they moved around the room to take their seats, but the governor never looked at her directly.
Without moving from behind the podium, she offered pleasant greetings to each of them individually as they settled in. When it was her turn for a salutation, Mila watched the woman’s back go rigid and her jaw tighten. There was hardly a second syllable to her hello.
The disappointment flipped Mila’s stomach. Is it going to be like this the entire time? A whole year of this treatment would be unbearable given that she wasn’t sure she’d make it to the end of the day without telling someone off. She wasn’t accustomed to biting her tongue, and it was draining her energy reserves too quickly to keep herself buttoned up in the face of unfairness.
Opening remarks from the governor were short and surprisingly devoid of substance. With every word she spoke, Mila’s frustration grew exponentially. Josephine, standing sentinel behind the governor, was the only person besides Tim who’d treated her with the respect of normal eye contact.
When Governor Fernandez finished her little spiel, bringing them no closer to understanding their position in the office, she asked for questions. The end had dovetailed into the pinnacle of Mila’s frustration.
If Mila was good at anything, it was reading a room. So when she raised her hand, it wasn’t out of ignorance for the rhetorical nature of the offer. She could see Josephine’s subtle head shake and sense the governor’s strong desire to flee, perhaps away from Mila or toward more important matters than a bunch of glorified interns with no relevant experience. Or both. But she raised her hand because she refused to be the sole target of discomfort, and she wasn’t one for punching down.
When she raised her hand, heads swiveled in her direction, and even Flotsam and Jetsam looked at a loss for words. She wondered if they worried that she would complain about their behavior.
“Yes, Miss . . .” The governor stumbled in an uncharacteristic display of memory loss as she finally looked at her for the first time. As the only person with a raised hand, she was impossible to ignore. “Uh. . .” Her mouth remained open as the seconds ticked by, but nothing was forthcoming.
“Dortch,” Josephine whispered as she leaned in from over her shoulder.
“Yes, I’m sorry, of course. Ms. Dortch, you have a question?” Governor Fernandez asked, shifting her weight between her high-heeled feet.
Mila pondered her reaction for a moment. Had she really forgotten her name, or was it a power play aimed at making her feel small and unimportant? Deciding that there was no way an accomplished woman would stumble in that moment, Mila guessed it was the latter. Her throat became tight and dry with the onset of her irritation. The question would have to go from tee-ball to major league.
“I’ve been wondering whether you plan on addressing the fact that your administration promised to protect the Everglades ecosystem, and instead you’ve loosened regulations, allowing developers to build over once protected land. Do empty shopping centers, created for the big box stores no one shops at anymore, really mean more than the environmental health of this state?”
The accusation hovered above the room like a toxic cloud. Mila hadn’t exactly intended to go nuclear on the first day, but the pressure of ostracization was more than she’d accounted for, and she felt frustrated and vulnerable.
“Since coming into office, I have signed more than—”
“You’ve lost almost a hundred square miles of previously protected land,” she interrupted, much to the audible shock of the young woman sitting next to her.
The governor’s stare seared into her as if willing her to stand down. Mila didn’t know why she couldn’t back away from the challenge; the environment wasn’t even her top issue, it had just come out. Despite knowing better, she kept her back straight, her chin high, and maintained unflinching eye contact.
“Alright, well, part of what you’re here to do is see how policy gets enacted,” Josephine said warmly as she stepped out from behind the governor. “So let’s pause this very important conversation for right now and have you all come up and say hello before you’re assigned to your workstations. Okay? Great,” she said without waiting for anyone’s reply.
Tim was the first to jump up from his seat and contort like Gumby around the tables and podium to shake hands and pose for his photo with Governor Fernandez. Mila moved slowly to ensure she’d be last in line. She watched as the dark-haired, perfectly quaffed woman posed with each of the fellows while the photographer took their photo. With the appearance of putting her hand on their backs, the governor held herself away, making no physical contact with any of them.
By the time it was Mila’s turn, the governor had concealed her annoyance and extended her hand along with a warm greeting and compliment about her application essay. Anyone who hadn’t been there for the seemingly unprovoked cross-examination would have thought nothing of their interaction.
“Very nice to meet you, Ms. Dortch. It’s lovely to see another accomplished Goode Girl go far,” Governor Fernandez added, referencing their alma mater.
Mila glanced down to her open hand before taking it, warming its coldness with her own body heat, and making direct eye contact again. Observing her almond-shaped eyes, and the understated fullness of her lips, Mila swallowed hard.
With their hands still gripping each other, as if neither wanted to be the first to yield, they turned for their picture. Mila was the only one to put her hand on the woman’s back, a
nd as if on reflex or because she didn’t want Mila to get one over on her, the Governor rested her palm between Mila’s shoulder blades.
“Thank you for this opportunity, Governor,” Mila finally offered with a husky tone when her group began filing out of the room. “It is so nice to see you again.”
* * *
“This was a mistake,” George ranted as she paced her office. Passing the untouched lunch on her desk as light streamed in from the corner window and warmed her already overheated skin. “She has to go,” she said as she kicked off her shoes to better stomp around the room.
Despite the raging, Josephine remained cross-legged on the sofa in the small seating area catty-corner to George’s enormous, ornate desk. The thing had been built during a rather ostentatious period but was so massive no governor wanted to be the one responsible for damaging it while having it dismantled for moving. George had been no different, having kept the tacky thing. The new sofa, armchairs, coffee table, lamps and drapes, although modern and tasteful, did little to counteract the shiny, maple-colored monstrosity.
“Jo, are you listening to me?” George asked when her zoned out expression remained unchanged during her tirade.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, clearing her throat and sitting up from her reclined position. “I understand your concerns,” she started like a generic autoresponder. “But I don’t think we can do anything until the news cycle has well and truly moved on to something else,” she explained with a serious tone. “And even then, it may look worse if we let her go before the fellowship term is complete. The vultures haven’t stopped circling in hopes of sinking their teeth into some juicy scandal. After Nathan delivered the good news to the other fellows, I had to send him to The Keys to help with construction on a new community center for at-risk youth.”
Plopping down next to her, George tucked her stockinged feet under herself and rested her head in her hand. “And that dirtbag Blankenship won’t give this a rest. It’s like fuel for his soulless existence,” she grumbled. “Nathan showed me some of those me-me things he’s been putting out. I don’t even understand how they’re supposed to be funny.”
