Regardless of their differences, she hated leaving Michael without saying goodbye in person and, worse, leaving with so much animosity between them. They’d fought before; what couple hadn’t? But this was the first time they’d been unable to find some sort of halfway solution on which they could both agree.
Ashley laid her head back on the headrest of the black SUV that was transporting her from the airport to her apartment in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. This, too, was something she resented. How in the hell could she live her life and conduct her business with the Secret Service always in the way? She barely tolerated their presence during the campaign, and now they were going to be a permanent fixture in her life. Swell, just swell.
Thinking about her lack of freedom made her want to scream. She was used to coming and going as she pleased, but the Secret Service made clear that she no longer had that option. She was expected to give them a daily itinerary listing where she would be going and with whom she’d be meeting so they could secure the areas where she’d appear. Ashley felt depressed thinking about the impact the Secret Service was going to have on her life.
She obviously needed to have a serious talk with the agents assigned to her. She knew they were under orders, that their job was to protect her, and that most likely they weren’t any more fond of being assigned to her than she was of having them around. Maybe a compromise could be made. She would not live like a prisoner.
The SUV stopped in front of her apartment building, and she noticed two other agents talking to her doorman. Great. Agents seemed to be multiplying like cockroaches. She reached for the door handle to exit, but before she could open the door, an agent opened the door and offered her his hand. She knew he was being polite, but she couldn’t stand being treated like a delicate flower. Childishly she ignored his hand, grabbed her briefcase and purse, and got out of the van without making eye contact. She was embarrassing herself. It wasn’t like her to be so ungracious. She needed an attitude adjustment.
“Hi, Gordon,” Ashley said to her doorman. “Are these two guys causing you trouble?” Ashley asked in a teasing voice, trying to make light of the situation.
“Not at all, Mrs. Taylor. They were explaining to me some of the additional precautions that we’ll need to take now that you’re the First Lady. Congratulations, by the way, on Senator Taylor’s, I mean, President Taylor’s victory. I voted for him, you know.” Gordon beamed and stood a little taller, indicating his importance was greater now that the president’s wife lived in his building.
A bright flash made Ashley turn in the direction from where it had come. Agents immediately surrounded her as other agents went after a scruffy-looking man with a camera hanging around his neck.
“Hey, let go of me. I’m protected under the Constitution. This is still America, and I have the right to walk on this street and take pictures of what I want.” The photographer continued to rant. “You can’t stop me from taking pictures. There’s no harm in that. I can sue you for assault.”
The agent released him and said something softly to him that Ashley couldn’t hear. The man smiled and saluted him, turned, and bowed to Ashley before saying, “It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Taylor. Do you have any comments for the press?”
“I have a lot of comments, but none of them are printable. Stay away from me,” Ashley said as she turned and walked into the building.
Ashley could have kicked herself. Ed and Jack had told her repeatedly not to respond to the press, to say simply “No comment.” She just proved she couldn’t even handle that. Unfortunately it wasn’t in her DNA. Her response had been automatic. Surely what she’d said would appear in the newspaper tomorrow morning, adding more fuel to the media blaze.
Once she was in the foyer of her building, she turned to the agents who evidently planned to accompany her to her apartment. “Where does this end? You’re not staying in my apartment with me, and I don’t want you at the museum. Just how is all of this security going to work? I know that sounds ungracious, and I’m sorry, but can you imagine how you would feel if this were to happen to you and you hadn’t signed on for any of it?” Ashley asked.
The taller of the two agents spoke to her calmly. “We understand that this feels like an invasion of your privacy. Anyone would feel the same way. However, that doesn’t change the fact that you need to be protected, and it’s our job to see that you are. We’ll try to accommodate you as best we can.”
“What’s your name?”
“Agent Campton, ma’am.”
“Dear God, did you just call me ma’am?” Ashley shook her head. “Please, no more. Call me Ashley. Ma’am is for some old lady down the block. I’m only forty-four. I think I have a few years to go before I’ll be in the ma’am category.” Ashley shook her head. “Oh, and the hits just keep on coming. What’s your first name, Agent Campton?”
“Matt.”
“Then, may I call you Matt?” Not waiting for his answer, she turned to the other agent, “And, you? What’s your name?”
“Agent Felts, I mean, Dave.”
“Okay, Matt and Dave, I will try to keep you informed of where I’m going to be and any appointments I may have. And I’d appreciate your presence at the museum to be indiscernible. I have a business to run. The Cameron Museum of Art is like the Guggenheim. It’s a huge, beautiful, and distinctive architectural building on the outside and filled with world-renowned art treasures. It’s one of the few privately owned chains of museums in the world. I don’t know how agents in your position managed other people they have protected, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in the background and keep a low profile.
“Now, I’d like to go up to my apartment and relax. I’m going in to work tomorrow, and I’ll be working there until I feel I’m somewhat caught up. Is there anything else we need to discuss before I go?”
“Mrs. Taylor, we’ll be accompanying you up to your apartment. There will always be at least two agents outside of your apartment day or night. We’ve already made sure your apartment is safe,” Matt said.
“What does that mean?”
“While you were in Washington, New York field agents went through your apartment and made sure it was safe. We made a few alterations here and there to make the apartment more secure.”
Ashley looked up, shaking her head and searching the heavens for the right words for her indignation. She knew their job was to protect her and they were only doing their job, but each additional adjustment seemed like another affront to her privacy. She teased, “Have you bugged my apartment? Did you install hidden cameras? Am I not to have any privacy?”
Agent Campton answered. “Your apartment isn’t bugged, nor are there any hidden cameras. We needed to assess the risk of someone gaining access to your apartment other than by the front door. We made a few adjustments, all for your protection and your safety. It’s nothing invasive at all.”
Matt pressed the elevator button. What he’d heard about Mrs. Taylor was true. They were told she wouldn’t be an easy assignment. That was an understatement. He and Dave and the other agents were going to have their hands full. She was just the kind of woman who might try to give them the slip. Truthfully, he thought, she was capable of anything. What kind of woman would make the decision not to be the First Lady?
When the elevator arrived, Ashley and the two agents stepped into its compartment. Ashley leaned over to press the button for her floor, only to be stopped by Agent Felts.
“Excuse me, ma’am, I mean Mrs. Taylor. One of the adjustments we made to your living situation was to program the elevator to stop only on your floor when a key is inserted here.” Dave pointed to the circular keyhole next to the button for her floor. “Here’s your key. We have our keys, and we have additional keys for your children and the president. It’s just another precaution. Would you like me to use my key, or would you prefer to use yours?”
Ashley pursed her lips and shook her head, speechless for a nanosecond. She swallowed. “This is not being invasive? Wha
t’s next? Secret panels in the walls of my apartment? Damn it! Go ahead; use your key. I’m sure you’re getting a kick out of this.”
Agent Felts stepped forward and inserted his key while Agent Campton answered Ashley’s accusation. “No, Mrs. Taylor, we aren’t getting a kick out of this.”
Ashley said under her breath, “Like hell you aren’t.”
Agent Campton asked, “What’s that? I apologize; I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Oh, nothing.” Ashley clamped her mouth shut.
When the elevator stopped, she rushed to get out of the confined space. Her outer foyer had been changed or rather modified. An additional table had been added, plus two more chairs. There was a clipboard on the table, and a telephone had been installed that was obviously a landline. Two other agents immediately arose from the chairs and walked toward her.
Agent Campton made the introductions. She had to keep reminding herself: none of this was their fault. They were only carrying out the duties assigned to them.
All Ashley wanted to do was to get into her apartment and be alone. She took out the key for her door and inserted it in the lock. Before going in, she turned to look at the agents. “Goodnight. I’ll be going to work around seven in the morning.” She gave what may have passed for a smile and went in and shut the door, leaning against the other side of it.
She let out a long breath. She wanted to cry but wouldn’t. She knew that was only her initial reaction. She depended on her sense of righteous indignation to come riding in to save her. She was in this prison despite everything she’d done to avoid it. At least she wasn’t living in Washington, DC, and hadn’t been sequestered in a world she despised. She needed to focus on her work and that’s what she’d do. Tomorrow would be a new day, and with any luck, the public would tire of her as a worthy news item. God, she hoped so.
She shook her head to clear it. How could she have ever imagined when she first met Michael and fell in love where it would take them? They were both from working-class families. Both of her parents worked. Her father worked in construction, and her mother was a pharmacy assistant. Michael’s father was a pastor, and his mother was a housewife. The most she and Michael had hoped for was a college education and working in careers they loved. Never in their wildest dreams could they have imagined the future in which they now lived.
12
Ashley awoke the following morning feeling anxious, feeling as though she’d spent the entire night dreaming of the summer when she and Michael met. It was a vivid reminder of how tenuous their relationship had been at another time in their lives, but the fragility of a teenage crush couldn’t compare to the strength and power of their love now or their current situation. Her unconscious mind was obviously working overtime, picking and pulling at the issue dividing her and Michael. Even in sleep, she found no respite from the pressure of living in a fishbowl.
She wished she had time to get away from all of the chaos swirling around her. She needed time to think objectively about possible compromises, but the day-to-day pressure was like a rabid dog waiting just outside her door ready to nip at her heels. Today was no better. She was meeting Steve, a friend and event planner, for breakfast. She wanted to run through her ideas again for this year’s annual Black Tie Dinner for the museum.
Running late, she breezed through the door of the City Bakery, well known for its sinfully delicious food. The mouthwatering smells made her stomach growl. She hadn’t allowed time for more than a cup of coffee, set on her vanity as a companion, while she dressed for the day.
She scanned the restaurant. Steve waved from the second floor. He’d apparently commandeered a private spot upstairs where there would be less people traffic.
He kissed her on her cheek and whispered, “My, my, your secret service agents blend in about as well as a pair of horses in the middle of the lingerie department at Saks.”
“I know. Don’t remind me.” Chuckling, Ashley sat down. The silky chords of jazz playing quietly in the background released the stiffness already building between her shoulders and neck.
“So, what’s your pleasure this morning?” Steve asked. “My treat.”
“How about a hot chocolate and a croissant.”
“Will do. I’ll be back in a minute, and we can get down to business.”
While Steve was getting their food, Ashley leaned back into the soft beige cushions and closed her eyes. She had this brief moment to herself before the day began its steady and relentless climb to pandemonium. Michael popped into her wandering mind. She vowed she would call him as soon as she got to her office. The standoff had gone on long enough. It was time to de-escalate the situation and get things back on a more normal footing, if that were possible.
The days and nights were beginning to blend into one continuous stream, and she knew it was probably worse for Michael. She was the one who left without saying goodbye in person, so she should be the one to bring this stalemate to a close.
“Earth to Ashley.” Steve’s voice broke through her trance.
“Sorry. I was trying to block out the world for a few minutes. Other than my apartment, it’s hard to find a place where I can unwind without being followed and photographed.”
“I know how much you hate the press, but you are rather the ‘It Girl’ at the moment.
“What did you think would happen after you announced to the world you wanted nothing to do with the White House? Did you think someone was going to rush forward with a bouquet of roses?” Steve shook his head and continued.
“If you ever decide you absolutely need to get away, I have a cabin in Ludlow, Vermont. It’s fairly isolated. You’re always welcome to use it. I consider it my lifeline to sanity and try to get up there as often as I can. A nice retired couple maintains it for me and keeps it well stocked with food. It’s available anytime you need it.”
“Thanks. It sounds wonderful. Don’t be surprised if I take you up on it someday. At the moment, I have too much to do for the fund-raiser and Michael’s inauguration, but after that, who knows?
“Speaking of the fund-raiser, I’m anxious to go over my ideas again. I hope anything I’ve changed is still within my budget.”
Steve took out his pad and started making notes as he and Ashley discussed this year’s black tie fund-raiser. They worked together for the next couple of hours, bouncing ideas off one another, completely engaged in their conversation.
Ashley looked at her watch. “My God, I didn’t realize the time. If I don’t get to the office soon, I might as well go back home. Can you come to the museum and see where I want things to go?”
“I can’t right now, but I could be there around four, if that will work for you?”
Ashley said, “I’ll make it work. Unless you hear from me, I’ll see you at four.”
“I need to run or I’d see you out, but then the black-suited goons might think I’m invading their territory and vying for their jobs. Poor babies. You know they’ve got to love their job.” Steve grinned.
“I’m sure they hate being assigned to me. It’s not very glamorous guarding the future president’s wife. And there’s nothing poor about them. They’re quite self-sufficient. See you this afternoon.”
Ashley had the overwhelming desire to throw in the towel for the day. How incredible it would be to have a day entirely to herself without any agenda. Where time was concerned, it was either feast or famine.
As she collected her things, she reminded herself once again that as soon as she got to the office, she would call Michael. However, once at the museum, an avalanche of issues was waiting to bury her. Ashley plunged headfirst into her day.
13
Ashley had been back at work for two days, and she’d yet to return all of the calls received in her absence. Her mantra: I’ll just handle one more phone call, one more piece of mail, one more thing, and then I’ll go home.
She was stalling. She still hadn’t called Michael, which she’d promised herself she would do. They’d always talked
to each other at least every other night when they were separated. It made being apart more bearable. This time, however, Michael seemed to be managing just fine without her.
Undoubtedly he’d seen her picture and the comment she’d made to the photographer in the newspaper. She was sure he wasn’t any happier about it than she was. The reporter had caught her off guard outside her apartment, and instead of replying, “No, comment,” she’d flung sarcasm over her shoulder. The reporter used her comment to further tarnish her and worse had dubbed her the “Reluctant First Lady.” Even Ed and Jack hadn’t contacted her to remind her, once again, she was to say “No comment” when reporters approached her. It was a small thing to ask of her, and she’d blown it.
Getting back to work had helped to distract her from all of the animosity that had grown between them. However, there were moments when the magnitude of the situation came crashing down around her. It took her breath away. Yes, she’d stood up for her beliefs, but at what price? Her marriage?
Ashley looked through the phone messages she’d yet to return, which were mostly from the media. Everyone wanted an interview; everyone wanted a piece of her. She debated the merits of giving no interviews or doing just one with a journalist she felt she could trust. Thankfully she didn’t have to decide anything right now.
There was one message that was a no-brainer. It was from her cousin Sienna. Talking to family was just the panacea she needed right now. Sienna picked up the phone on the third ring.
“Hi, it’s your disgraceful cousin. I’m thinking of going into exile in another country. Wanna come?”
“Absolutely. When do we leave, and may I suggest Verona, Italy?” Sienna answered.
“We should have left yesterday. Actually I wanted to bounce a couple of ideas off you. Do you have a minute?”
The Reluctant First Lady Page 7
