“So how are things going with your new hot prospect?” Lauren asked as she took a seat and cracked open a bottle of water from an ice bucket in the center of the table.
“You mean Bobby?” Robert Rivera was Starlight’s new golden boy and his novel-turned-play was set to open in less than a week.
Lauren dug around in her laptop case until she emerged with her wire-rimmed glasses and carefully put them on. “Who else?”
Wayne grabbed a handful of Lauren’s last biography out of its box and passed them over to her along with a pen. “I’ll tell you, it’s been wild. And here I thought things were crazy with you.”
Lauren snorted as she penned her name on the cover page. “It’s hard to imagine anyone surpassing my media circus.” She started a pile with the signed book, then reached for another.
“Can you stay for tonight’s dinner? I’d love a beautiful escort.” Wayne’s eyebrows bounced as he scooted his chair a little closer to Lauren’s so that Mike could pass behind them.
The neatly dressed intern and general gopher from Starlight Publishing began distributing note pads and pencils at the tables.
“Sorry.” Affectionately, Lauren bumped shoulders with the bulky man. “I’m due back in Washington by 6 to be present when Devlyn becomes the first person ever to have her blood taken for the DNA Registration Act.” She kept her voice light and soft, not wanting to let on how uncomfortable events like that made her.
Wayne didn’t miss the hesitancy in Lauren’s normally vibrant voice. He raised his eyebrows and leaned close, covertly glancing around to make sure they were alone. And except for a few strategically placed agents who had taken up places around the stage, they were. “What about you, kid? Are they going to poke you?” He knew how his young client felt about needles.
“No,” Lauren said quietly, her relief palpable. “I’ll just be there for the show.”
“So why the long face?”
Lauren finished writing her name and her gaze flicked around to make certain Mike was long gone before she spoke. She grabbed another book. “Because I disagree with the entire thing.”
Wayne blinked. “And the President knows this?”
“Sure.” Lauren shrugged a sweater-clad shoulder. “I’m allowed my own opinion, Wayne.” She hesitated over a book whose cover was creased. With a wrinkled nose, she handed it back to Wayne, who nodded his agreement and put it in separate pile.
“So why participate in a publicity stunt at all then?” he questioned curiously, well aware of Lauren’s headstrong tendencies and, frankly, surprised that she would be present to promote something she didn’t believe in. “Getting you to do any promotion at all has been hell. And God knows I tried.”
Lauren sighed. Wayne’s question was a very valid one. Fortunately, however, she had a couple of good answers. “First, I’m not married to you.”
“My loss.”
“True.” She winked. “Second, the bill is already law. Nothing short of repealing it can undo it now, and my kicking up a fuss would only undermine the people whose job it is to enforce and implement it.” She gave him a half smile, trying not to cringe at the hollow sound of her words. “How did that sound?”
“Pretty good,” Wayne allowed, moving his head from side to side. “A few more days’ practice and I’ll actually begin to believe you believe it. No confusing who the politician in your family is.”
Lauren chuckled. “I do believe that. I just don’t like it. But here’s the bottom line: I support my wife, even when we disagree. And this legislation is important to her. I respect that, and her, and if that means that I have to make nice for the cameras every once in a while, then so be it. Ugh!” She held up Wayne’s pen and shook it. “Couldn’t you have stolen a pen from your bank that actually worked?”
Wayne grumbled as he fished another pen out of his pocket. “Here.” He passed it over. “I can’t believe the government not only wants to ban my precious smokes, but now it wants my blood, even if it is just a drop.” He whimpered at the mere thought of having to quit smoking. “Next they’ll outlaw coffee, sex, and good books, and then we all might as well be dead.”
Lauren rolled her eyes at her agent's flare for drama. “Wayne, the DNA registration is voluntary unless you get arrested.”
“It’s voluntary now,” he clarified. “The next logical step is registering everyone at birth, and then everyone period. Besides, do you have any idea how many unpaid parking tickets I have? Arrest is a serious possibility in my future.”
“You could pay the tickets,” Lauren said reasonably, more preoccupied by trying to make her signature legible with a second cheap pen than by their conversation.
Wayne visibly scoffed at the ridiculous idea. “I dunno. There’s just something that makes me uncomfortable about the entire thing. I mean, I trust our current president, but what about the next bozo who gets her job?”
For testing purposes, and via a gallery in the back of the room, Mike switched on the microphones that had been placed in front of each panelist’s seat.
Lauren nodded, agreeing completely. Devlyn was far more moderate than many members of her own party and certainly most Republicans. Who knew what some future administration might use the samples for? Cloning? Behavior modification through gene therapy? It was, she readily admitted, startlingly easy for her creative mind to spin out of control when it came to manufacturing chilling scenarios. Still, the possibilities for abuse were no joke. "The DNA Registration Act is unreasonable and invasive, and I admit that the thought of Big Brother wanting my blood makes me shiver."
Wayne’s eyes suddenly formed twin moons as Lauren’s words rang out around the large room and all eyes, including several news cameras that were busy interviewing Bobby Rivera, trained themselves on the stage.
Lauren’s mouth sagged as a thunderous silence roared in her ears and the blood drained from her face.
Wayne quickly reached down and yanked the cord from the microphone, vowing to kill Mike the first chance he got.
Lauren lifted one of her books and held it in front of her face as though she was reading it, but with her peripheral vision she could still see several Secret Service agents doing their best not to blanch. “Oh, my fucking God,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes closing. “Please tell me what I think just happened did not happen. Please, Wayne.”
Wayne let out a slow, speculative breath. “That depends on whether you think you let the entire room, including that news crew who was taping live, know that you think the President’s pet project is crap.”
Lauren lowered the book in her hands, to see the news crew falling over themselves to scramble out of the room. Every other member of the press was now on his or her cell phone, sharing the joy. “I uh…” She swallowed hard. “I think I need to call the White House.”
“And then escape the country?”
Lauren cringed, her mind reeling over what she’d just done. “Oh, yeah.”
* * *
Dev sat at her desk in the Oval Office with her chin resting on steepled fingers. Her eyes closed momentarily. “She said what?”
The words were uttered so softly, David wasn’t quite sure what Dev had asked. He loosened his tie and crossed the room to take a seat in front of the desk. “What was that, Dev?”
Her jaw worked and this time she spoke with a slightly louder voice. “I want you to repeat exactly what she said.”
David felt a twinge in his stomach. Dev was being eerily quiet and it was nothing short of unnerving. He repeated Lauren’s quoted statement that had already hit the television, radio, and wire services.
Dev let out a shaky breath and made her way to the window. She stood alongside Old Glory, her dark gray pantsuit looking grim next to the flag’s bold colors, and presented David with her back. Her shoulders were rigid as she took a silent sip of coffee.
It didn’t take long for David to be unable to stand the stillness in the room or the thick, cloying tension that hung in the air. “You need to issue
a statement to the press. We’ve already got data from an unscientific poll showing support for DNA registrations has dropped from 76 to 38 percent.”
Devlyn could feel frustration laced with hurt welling up within her. Her nostrils flared and her grip on her mug increased until her knuckles stood out in vivid relief against the hot, bright red ceramic.
Outside Dev’s office, Lauren arrived at the same time as Press Secretary Allen, Beth, and her new assistant Carol. They were all panting from their dashes inside the building, and Lauren could feel a bead of perspiration at the nape of her neck as it began slowly trickling down her back.
Liza and Jane were quietly conferring with each other at the head secretary’s desk.
Beth glanced around, expecting to see David waiting for them. “Okay,” she gave up looking. “We’re here.” In a gesture of silent support, she squeezed Lauren’s shoulder.
Lauren reached up and patted Beth’s hand affectionately. Message received.
“Where’s the meeting?” Beth asked, still slightly breathless. She passed Jane her briefcase and the older woman locked it in a cabinet behind her desk. Then she slipped out of her coat and gathered the other women’s coats to hang up.
Everyone looked at Liza, who merely threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know yet. Chief of Staff McMillian is briefing the President on the situation now.”
Lauren licked her lips nervously. “Just now?” She’d called the White House over an hour ago to give them as much notice as possible on what was sure to be a firestorm in the press.
“The President was in a meeting with the Secretary of Commerce until five minutes ago, ma’am. She’d asked not to be disturbed.”
“That’s not good,” Lauren mumbled, cursing her indiscretion for the thousandth time and knowing she’d get down on her knees and beg if she could only turn back the hands of time.
Beth couldn’t help but agree. Dev usually needed some time to process bad news before being at her most effective. At first, the President was likely to be quiet and broody, followed quickly by anger.
Everyone jumped at the sound of a loud crash and the raised but indistinguishable voices coming from inside the Oval Office. But no one made a move towards the door.
* * *
“Son of a bitch!” In disgust, Dev turned away from her coffee-stained wall and the now decapitated bust of George W. Bush.
“Dev—”
“I can’t believe she did that, David,” she seethed. “You know how much time, planning, and money has gone into the DNA Registration campaign so that people will feel comfortable volunteering a sample. In one single sentence she’s set us back months!”
David ran a hand through his hair. "It's not that bad."
"The hell it's not!” Dev stalked over to her seat and sat down, eyeing her pencil holder with evil intent.
David’s eyes widened and he debated whether it was safe to sit this close to his friend.
Dev caught the look and despite the throbbing vein that was very visible in the center of her forehead quirked a weak grin at her friend. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. This is just me trying not to repress my feelings by expressing them freely.”
David recognized therapist-speak when he heard it, and his eyes widened further. “My God. Were you ever repressed when it came to expressing your anger?”
Dev glared at him. “Not as far as I’m concerned. Either way, it doesn’t appear that I’m repressed anymore, does it!”
“Does breaking things help?” David asked carefully, willing to see that Devlyn had plenty of mugs at her disposal if smashing really helped her deal with stress.
A scowl firmly planted itself on Dev’s face. “I don’t think so.” To test her theory she snatched a pencil from the holder and viciously snapped it in half. She sighed. “Nope, not helping.”
David got up and circled the desk.
Dev stood up and gratefully allowed her dear friend to pull her into a heartfelt hug. It was a rare moment of tactile comfort between them, despite the close-knit nature of their friendship. The dark-haired woman pulled away just enough to rest her forehead on David’s broad shoulder. She soaked in the understanding that was so freely given that it oftentimes was under-appreciated.
"Lauren was really upset when she called,” David said. “She apologized over and over again and she swore she’d explain.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, David. But, Christ, how could she be so careless?”
Dev was calming down quickly, and David let out a relieved breath, well aware that that throbbing vein in her forehead could not bode well for her high blood pressure.
Soothingly, he rubbed his hand in small circles on Devlyn’s back, feeling the cool silk of her blouse. "Let me tell you, pal, if this is the worst thing she says in public while you’re in office, you can consider yourself lucky."
Dev snorted. This, she was forced to acknowledge, was very true.
David smiled. “Besides, don’t you remember when—?”
Dev’s head jerked up. “Don’t you dare say it,” she threatened. But there was little heat behind the words. “I was a 23-year-old Ohio State representative who didn’t know my head from my arse! Lauren is a mature woman who has been living in the White House for the past two years. I hold her to a higher standard.”
“Okay, okay,” David conceded, lifting his hands in supplication. “Be that as it may, we still have to deal with things.”
Dev nodded and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "You're right. But I need to talk to my wife before we decide what to do." Dev surprised David by dropping a quick kiss on his cheek before pressing the intercom button and waiting for Jane to answer. “Who’s out there waiting for David to finish breaking the news, Jane?”
Jane rattled off a list of people, and Dev’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. She turned to David. “The gang’s all here.”
David straightened his tie and buttoned his jacket as Dev grabbed her jacket off the rack near her desk and shrugged into it with her friend’s help. Then she eased back into her leather chair. “Jane, could you please send the First Lady in alone? And have someone bring Michael Oaks over to join the party. I’ll be speaking to the group shortly.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
The Oval Office door opened, and a shamefaced Lauren padded into the room. She moved with all the enthusiasm and speed of a participant in the Battaan Death March.
David slipped out of the room behind her, whispering a wan “Good luck” as he went.
After he closed the heavy wooden door, Lauren took her place in the hot-seat in front of Dev’s desk. With an audible gulp, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.
They stared at each other in silence for a solid minute before Devlyn arched an eyebrow and asked, “Aren’t you going to say hello to Big Brother?"
Lauren cringed, and her apology exploded from within her. “Oh, God, I am so, so sorry!"
The smaller woman was nearly in tears, and Dev felt a good part of her anger deflate in the face of her partner’s obvious, heartfelt regret.
Lauren lay her head on Devlyn’s desk and turned it sideways, exposing her neck. Half joking she said, “Here, cut if off. Just make it quick.”
“Sit up, you nut.” Dev crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m not going to chop off your head… though it was touch and go about 10 minutes ago.”
Lauren’s gaze strayed to George W. sans his head. “Thank goodness I was hiding in the outer office 10 minutes ago.”
Dev followed Lauren’s eyes and shrugged dismissively. “I actually think it’s much improved now,” she said seriously, drawing a hesitant smile from Lauren.
The President uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, pinning Lauren with an intense but not unkind stare. “What the hell happened? I thought you were in Baltimore to attend a writers’ conference, not toss a grenade into my campaign to encourage voluntary registration.” She leaned forward a little further, reaching out and caressing Lauren’s c
heek to take the sting from her words. “Hmm?”
Lauren’s eyes closed at the gentle touch. "I can’t think of anything to say but how sorry I am. The microphones were off and Wayne and I were alone on stage. We were just talking. DNA registration came up in our conversation, and without my knowing it, someone switched on my microphone just in time to blast my poorly articulated opinion to the entire room.” She sighed, her hands shaping fists. "I- I felt comfortable with Wayne. The room was filled with other writers and people I know. I didn’t feel like I had to be on guard every single damn second!” Lauren’s expression hardened. “I was wrong.”
“I don’t want you to be paranoid, honey. But some bastard is always going to be lurking, waiting for you to slip up so they can crush you like a roach in their next article or newscast. “
Lauren blinked. “No paranoia there.”
“Tell me it’s not true,” Dev challenged.
Lauren opened her mouth, then closed it quickly, gracefully accepting defeat.
“You’ve got to make it harder for them to do that to you than you did today, Lauren!"
Her cheeks colored. “I know.”
The older woman reached out for Lauren’s hand and her eyebrows furrowed at the unpleasant sensation of cool clammy skin. Despite her own anger, Dev found it virtually impossible to let her beloved friend continue to twist in the wind. Her gaze softened. “I’m angry, yes. But I accept your apology, sweetheart. I know you wouldn’t have done something like that on purpose.”
Lauren looked as though she might pass out from relief. “Thank God you know that. I would never intentionally torpedo something you’re involved in just because we disagree.”
“I know you wouldn’t, and you haven’t torpedoed anything.” Dev relaxed back in her chair. “But you’ve got to be more careful than you were today, Lauren. What you said made me look bad in a lot of peoples’ eyes. If I can’t convince you of something I feel so strongly about, then you must know some big bad government secret that they don’t, right?”
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