FIRST LADY
By
Blayne Cooper
& T. Novan
Ebook by
PDAFiction.com
Disclaimers
Copyright: These characters originated in the deep dark recesses of Blayne and TN’s overworked brains. This is a work of original fiction. Any likeness to anything or anyone real is all in your imagination. We promise. Copyright © 2003 by Blayne Cooper and T. Novan. All Rights Reserved.
Sexual Content: It’s in there and it involves two women. If you’re under 18 or this type of fiction is illegal in your neck of the woods, please move on. This story is intended for an adult audience only. Please note that we’re not disclaiming love. If we didn’t truly believe it was what made the world go ‘round, we couldn’t spout the next three hundred plus pages of drivel and still live with ourselves.
Violence: None.
Language: Mild profanity.
Acknowledgements: We had a small army of beta readers giving us a hand with this. We are truly in their debt. Alison Carpenter, Barbara Davies, Medora MacD, Judith Kuwatch, Ken Rogers – your assistance was invaluable! They dedicated countless hours toward making First Lady a better story. If you’d seen the drafts that they saw, you’d know how wonderfully they succeeded and would fall on your knees to thank them. As it is, we proudly take this opportunity to say once again, and from the bottom of our hearts, thank you. To the many friends who offered encouragement, suggestions, and good advice — you continue to be appreciated. Finally, we would be remiss if we didn’t mention the many readers who stalked us relentlessly after reading Madam President. This story is for you.
Dedication: We’d like to offer an enormous “thank you” and even bigger “I love you” to our respective spouses. If it weren’t for their unyielding patience and support, most of our free time for close to a year couldn’t have been shared with you through this project. We both know how very lucky we are.
The Book: Will there be or won’t there be? We hope there will. And yes, if we go that route, you will get new material not seen here. But don’t worry. This story is complete.
Comments/Feedback to:
Blayne Cooper : [email protected]
&
T.Novan : [email protected]
We’d love to hear what you thought.
* * *
FIRST LADY
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
JANUARY
Sunday, January 2, 2022
THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING, broken only by the inordinately loud ticking of the wall-mounted clock.
Dr. Rothschild turned to the President, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m afraid… well, there’s nothing more I can do, Madam President.” He exhaled wearily. “I’m sorry.”
Devlyn Marlowe crossed sweater-clad arms over her chest and lifted a single dark eyebrow at the sheepish, but still defiant, patient. “Are you happy now?”
A blonde head shook.
Dev’s gaze softened. “Honey, it won’t hurt.” Her lips twitched a little but, with effort, she held her smile at bay. “Be my big girl and let the doctor do his job.”
“Nuh huh.”
Dev sighed. This was not the way she wanted to spend her Sunday morning, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “He’s the best in the business!”
“No.” This said between clenched teeth, which was hard to do considering how woozy the patient was. “NONONONONONONONONO.”
“When you’re finished you can have…” the doctor cast a desperate glance at his nurse, who was straightening the tray of instruments that hadn’t been touched yet.
She blinked a few times, realizing that he was actually addressing her. “Ummm… A balloon?”
There were three children in the room, but none of their eyes lit up like Aaron Marlowe’s.
“Not for you,” his brother said, jabbing an elbow into Aaron’s mid-section.
As any self-respecting 5-year-old would do, Aaron kicked Christopher’s foot in retaliation.
“Ouch!”
“Boys.” The warning in Dev’s voice was clear.
Ashley Marlowe, the oldest of the children, stepped forward and put a small hand on Lauren’s arm. “It’s only a filling.” She didn’t have any of those. She didn’t even know anyone who did. But her mother had assured her it was common in the “olden days” and no big deal. “You can be brave. I know it.”
Lauren Strayer, the President’s biographer and fiancée, smiled warmly at the dark-haired girl who so closely resembled her mother. Of course, the action caused a long string of drool to drip from the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t feel lips, gums, or most of her tongue, but that didn’t matter. Jesus Christ himself could step down from the mount, but if he held a dental drill in one hand Lauren was going to run in the opposite direction. That’s just the way it was. And no fancy dentist, with his high-tech laser equipment, was going to change that. Inwardly, she cursed her own fear, knowing that it had been more than a year since her last appointment and that she had probably made things worse for herself.
“Eww!” Christopher and Aaron chorused when they caught sight of the drool. Then they laughed and pointed.
Lauren shot Devlyn a look of pure ice for bringing the children along to her appointment.
Devlyn shrugged one shoulder, correctly interpreting the die-die-die look Lauren was giving her. “Sorry, I had to play dirty.” Of course, she wasn’t sorry at all, but it sounded good. This was for Lauren’s own good, no matter how much her lover fought it. “I love you too much to let you become a toothless old hag.” A beat. “Before your time.”
“Why you—” Lauren began to sit up, intent on killing Devlyn then and there and thus delaying the replacement of an old filling for 20 to life, but Ashley blocked her way. The sudden movement caused Lauren’s small, wire-rimmed glasses to end up hanging crookedly from her face.
The nurse deftly plucked them off and set them on the tray alongside the instruments so they wouldn’t get broken, giving Lauren a reproachful look for being so much trouble.
Chuckling at Lauren, Devlyn jumped back a step, just in case she got a second wind.
Lauren closed her eyes in the hope that the room would stop spinning. She was allergic to the super-strength topical numbing agent applied for most dental work. That left her two choices: an old fashioned shot of novocaine or gas. She’d passed out cold the last time someone came close to her with a needle — so gas it was. “If I wasn’t so stoned, you’d be in deep trouble,” she murmured.
“Fine. Fine.” Devlyn lifted her hands in supplication. “I’m giving up.”
The dentist, his nurse, Lauren, and the Secret Service agent standing unobtrusively in front of the window all gaped at Dev and said in unison, “You are?”
Dev nodded. Sorry, sweetheart. “I sure am. Go to it, kids.”
Like von Trapp family clones, the children lined up by age and size and stood before Lauren, who broke into a rousing, drooling chorus of “Edelweiss” before they could even say a word.
Dev covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders still shook with silent laughter.
Realizing that nobody was singing but her and that the gas she’d been gulping down only moments before like there was no tomorrow was just a teensy bit more potent than the last stuff they’d had to special order her back home in Tennessee, Lauren quieted. Fair brows drew together. “Party poopers.”
Ashley, the children’s spokesperson, looked at her future stepmother with serious brown eyes. “If you won’t go to the dentist and let him to his job, then how can you expect us to?”
Aaron and Christopher nodded their agreement.
Lauren gasped and pointed a shaking finger at Devlyn. “That’s… why that’s horri
ble! You trained them to say that,” she accused, more drool leaking onto the blue paper bib around her neck.
“Did it work?” Dev asked.
Lauren looked back at the three little conspiring monsters before her, whom she loved with all her heart. Crap. She sighed and grumbled, “Yes, it worked.”
The children cheered.
“But I need more gas.” Lauren turned pleading eyes on Devlyn and the tall woman’s demeanor changed instantly, all traces of teasing vanishing before her next heartbeat. Lauren wasn’t joking; she was truly afraid.
Dev took a step closer to Dr. Rothschild and pinned him with a serious stare. “Can she have more and still be okay?”
“Define okay.”
“Alive.”
“She can have more.”
This time it was Lauren who cheered, scaring the nurse so badly that she backed into the tray of instruments and sent them clattering to the floor. The woman mumbled something to Lauren, who mumbled something back, only twice as loudly.
Christopher looked at his mother in confusion. “Mom, what’s a Nazi?”
Dev shook her head. It was going to be a long morning.
* * *
Lauren sat in a pair of worn jeans and a sweatshirt in front of her computer. She stared intently at the wide, crystal clear screen. Finally, she sighed. “File close.” She tapped her finger on the desk as she thought. “Open file name: Marlowe 2010-2015.”
The sound was turned off, so, silently and dutifully, the small machine obeyed her voice commands.
Lauren found her place at the bottom of a plain text document and began to type, her fingers moving in a steady blur. But after only a few moments, her fingers paused over the keyboard. She frowned and took off her glasses to rub tired gray eyes. “Close file. Open story notes file: Marlowe.” The screen before her flashed and changed. “Deactivate keyboard.”
Gremlin, her chubby pug, recognized the command as his opportunity for some attention, since his own canine partner, Princess, was sleeping at the other end of the bed and paying him no mind whatsoever. He jumped down from his spot squarely in the center of Lauren’s tall bed and lazily walked to his mistress.
Lauren looked down at the animal with a small smile. She could see the gears in Gremlin’s head turning.
He looked up at her lap and the jump he’d have to make and then promptly dropped down on top of Lauren’s feet. “Slug,” she said affectionately, reaching down to scratch Gremlin’s short, coarse fur. “Let’s see if I can remember how to use this fancy new machine Devlyn bought me for Christmas.” She’d been resisting it over the past few weeks but knew if she put it off much longer it would hurt Dev’s feelings.
Gremlin let out a low growl at the mention of the President’s name.
Lauren snorted. “That’s what I love about you, Gremlin, consistency.” She reached for a thick manual on her desk and quickly found the voice command she wanted. “Activate dictation.”
Ready when you are… appeared at the top of her screen for several seconds, then disappeared.
Lauren nodded a little, obnoxiously pleased with herself for getting this far. She tossed the manual back on her desk and steepled her fingers. Then she began to pour her thoughts out into space and into her computer’s memory.
The hardest part of this story is not telling who Devlyn is. I know who she is. Or at least I know her better than anyone else on earth doing this job would. I’ve given up hope of really capturing her in a single book. But she’s easy to know and easier to love, and what I’ll be able to share will be enough for the outside world. But I can’t approach this story the way I have my other biographies. I’m not disinterested. I’m way over the top in love interested.
I’ve already deleted five times as much text as I’ve kept, especially when it comes to the “Marlowe For President: A Voice for the People” campaign. I feel like my being out of the country for most of her campaign is really hurting my ability to chronicle that part of her story. Sure, I can read the papers, interview people, and talk to Devlyn herself — but I didn’t “live” those last few years with the rest of America. I didn’t “feel” it like the rest of America did. Up to that point, and after that point, I’m fine. I think. Though putting her term or, God help me, two terms in office into some sort of historical perspective is going to be a challenge. Too many people are still walking around with their mouths hanging open, not believing that it happened at all… much less understanding how or why.
The first female president… that makes Devlyn the most powerful, and probably most famous, woman in American history. Sorry, Jackie and Marilyn. And I haven’t even touched on her being the first open lesbian to take a stand squarely in the center of the world political stage. Sure, there’ve been a lot of actresses and singers, but never a woman politician at anywhere near her level of success. Though I think of Canadian Prime Minister Martin Allaire coming out of the closet after his male lover died… what, eight or nine years ago? It wasn’t quite the same because he was already in office when he made the announcement, but it still paved the way.
Lauren sighed deeply.
It makes me sick to think about what happened to him and… God knows, I don’t need another reason to worry for Devlyn. I’ve got enough already. We’ve come so far in just a single generation, but there is still so much hate. It wasn’t even a Canadian who stabbed Allaire, but an American. Anyway…
Certainly the social and economic revolution spurred by the recession of 2008 set the stage for the Emancipation Party’s rise to power. But how does a party that nobody had ever heard of 20 years ago elect a president? How did the Republican and Democratic parties lose so much that they allowed this to happen? Isn’t that beyond the scope of this book? Do I care? I’ve never had to write so much back history before. Will readers buy it simply because it actually happened or will they require more? I’m not —
A gentle knock on Lauren’s door interrupted her. She looked at the screen and nervously licked her lips, unsure of how to preserve her work. “Save file,” she said, and SAVED flashed at the top before disappearing. She silently uttered a little prayer of thanks. “Close file. Activate screensaver.”
“Coming,” she called, hearing another knock at her door. She extracted her socked feet from beneath Gremlin’s warm belly, missing his warmth instantly as she jogged across the floor. Lauren opened the door to find a Secret Service agent standing there with a thick envelope in his hand.
“Ms. Strayer,” he greeted her cordially.
Lauren smiled at him. His short, nearly military haircut, clean-shaven face and dark suit would have given away his job had the writer not known exactly who he was. “Hello, Jeff.”
“I have something that came for you special delivery and something from the President as well.”
Lauren took the large envelope, a little startled by its weight. The label read Starlight Publishing. Her brow creased. She wasn’t expecting a manuscript back.
“And these are from the President.” The young man couldn’t suppress his grin when he reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out two Hershey Bars.
Lauren laughed but happily took the chocolate. “And was there a message with this important presidential delivery?”
“There was.” Jeff blushed a little.
Lauren’s eyebrows jumped. “Well?”
“Umm… she umm… She said to tell you she was sorry for playing dirty.” He peered down uncertainly at Lauren. “And that you’d know what she meant.”
Lauren’s eyes narrowed as she remembered. “I most certainly do know what she meant. I was supposed to have an appointment to get my hair trimmed and somehow the driver, who I didn’t want in the first place, I might add, ended up taking me to the dentist! And then—”
“Ma’am?”
“Uh… yes.”
“That’s more information than I really needed.”
Lauren’s mouth clicked shut. She winced. “Oh. Sorry, Jeff.” She squeezed his arm and her gaze softened.
“I know I keep telling you and you keep ignoring me, but you can call me Lauren, you know. I’ve known you for nearly a year already.”
“I know, Ms. Strayer. Thank you.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. Why did she bother? “Thanks for the goodies.”
Jeff bit his lower lip in a gesture that Lauren found oddly adolescent for a man with a fully loaded Glock .40 strapped to his side. “I’m supposed to report back to the President and tell her if she and the children are forgiven.”
Lauren sucked in a surprised breath. “What is she talking about? The children never needed to be forgiven. Could you ask them if they’d like to come over to my room and…, I dunno, do kid things?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rocked back on his heels and decided to be bold. “And the President? Can she come over and play?”
Lauren laughed, thinking that his choice of words was perfect. “Of course, Jeff.”
He looked relieved.
Lauren lifted her chin a little. “As soon as she comes and apologizes on her own.”
The man couldn’t stop the wide grin that split his face.
Lauren blinked for a few seconds, surprised by his reaction, until realization dawned. “What time did you pick?”
Uh oh. “Pick? I’m not sure I understand, Ms. Strayer,” he lied, glancing down at his wristwatch uncertainly.
“Uh huh.” Lauren pursed her lips. “In the pool,” she prodded, gesturing with one hand. “What time are Devlyn and I supposed to make up today and how much will you win if you’re right?”
Jeff’s face turned bright red. “Umm…”
“Don’t bullshit me, Jeff. I’ve had a recent dental experience. After the way Devlyn tricked me, killing you would be anticlimactic.”
“I have 3:30 and I’ll win $75,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Cheapsters,” Lauren snorted. She’d made $240 the week before when she correctly selected the exact moment during Devlyn’s meeting with the Secretary of Defense when that little vein in the President’s forehead would pop out, signaling doom for whomever the tall woman was talking to.
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