The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

  “This is the central hall of the third floor,” Susan said, “but it’s used as a sort of extra living room, as you can see.”

  Taylor wanted to linger, to take it all in, but Susan had already opened one of the doors down towards the further end.

  “This will be your home until this assignment is over,” she said, waiting for her to enter the room and then closing the door after them.

  They were in a spacious bedroom, not cluttered with furniture, as was the hall. A four-poster bed complete with canopy dominated one wall to the right of the door. Three windows which began at shoulder height were along the wall opposite the door, allowing in light, though no sunlight shone through yet this early morning. The walls were painted a soft peach color. A bureau, a small table with an uncomfortable looking chair beside it, a television set, a Queen Anne type chair that faced the television, and a secretary/china cabinet completed the furnishings, leaving ample empty space in the middle to move around. Everything was antique, down to the lamps, bedside tables, and pictures on the walls.

  Taylor went over to one of the windows to look out. Floral printed drapes hung at the sides of the windows, with white sheers drawn across in between. When she pulled one aside, she saw a white balustrade, which she supposed encircled the top of the White House. It obscured her view, allowing her to see only the tops of the tall trees and part of the lawn.

  “This room looks out on the south side of the White House. There’s the Washington Monument,” Susan said, standing beside her.

  A pleasant view. Taylor wondered how long she would be looking at it.

  “This is your closet,” Susan said, holding the door open. Taylor craned her neck to look inside. It was tiny.

  “I’m afraid it’s small, but you actually have two of them; there’s another one in the sitting room.” Susan next opened a door beside the secretary. A picture hung half on the door and half on the wall, in an attempt to conceal the door. “For some reason, the bathroom in this suite is concealed,” she laughed, as she beckoned Taylor to follow her.

  The bathroom consisted of a tub with a shower, an antique dresser with a marble top, graced by an antique mirror above, a toilet, and a sink built into a small cupboard. The cream colored walls were made brighter by overhead fluorescent bulbs, but there was no window, and although the bathroom was large, it was not modernized in any respect. Taylor noted there was a lock on the inside of the door.

  “Nearly all the furniture purchased down through the years is stored in the basement of the White House,” Susan explained. “Each new president and first lady choose items from there, hence all the antiques.”

  “Actually, I like antiques,” Taylor said. “I guess I’m surprised about the old fashioned bathroom.”

  Susan laughed. “Well, Congress has to allocate money for the upkeep of the White House and everyone has different priorities, I guess.”

  Before she had proper time to look around further, Susan was on the move again. Taylor wondered whether the woman ever slowed down.

  “The bedroom next door has been fixed up as a sitting room for you,” Susan said, once more rushing her on as she opened a connecting door. “Because it is sometimes a bedroom, it also has a bathroom, so you can take your pick!” she added, laughing again.

  It was nice this woman had such a good nature, Taylor reflected. It was unexpected; she had the idea that all these undercover people were grim and serious. Not that Josh had been that way, but he hadn’t shown much sense of humor either in their short acquaintance. Looking around the room, she simply remarked, “Very nice.” The sitting room had another television set, a much sturdier looking desk, a small sofa, two comfortable looking arm chairs and a small end table.

  “This is a safe,” Susan said, opening the door of the end table to reveal a solid metal cube with a dial in its face. “Whenever you leave your room, you are to put your laptop and anything else that is private in here. This is very, very important.”

  Taylor nodded, beginning to feel numb.

  Susan showed her how to open the safe and wrote down the combination. “Memorize this today and then burn it,” she said, indicating the small piece of paper on which the combination was written. “There’s a small box of matches in the bottom desk drawer and an ashtray so that you can burn things like this.”

  “Can’t I shred papers?” Taylor asked. “Josh told me I wasn’t to keep any notes, any records.”

  “Yes, there’s a shredder here as well, but for really important things, like the combination to this safe, burning is safer. There may be reasons you don’t want anyone to read what is on your laptop and above all, we don’t want your laptop stolen. Here is your key. You must take it with you whenever you leave your quarters. If you ever lose it, you must report it to Lillian, the First Lady’s chief of staff, who should be here to meet you any minute.”

  Taylor glanced over to the door. “Does the door lock automatically when you shut it?”

  “Yes, it does, so you need to be careful that you don’t lock yourself out.” Susan smiled, but then her face changed to one of concern. She stood up, beckoning Taylor to come to the door with her. “I’m afraid there’s no lock on the inside. But don’t worry; only you and my department, the secret service, have a key. The cleaning lady doesn’t come in here unless you are in your rooms.”

  Taylor felt the familiar quiver of anxiety, the one she had lived with many years now. There was no safety lock on the inside of the door, but after all, she reassured herself, there were guards outside her door, so what on earth could happen? I’m probably in the safest environment I’ve ever been in.

  A gentle knock on the door preceded Lillian’s arrival. She was a tiny, thin woman, not young by any means, with short grey hair, perfectly coiffed. She wore very large pearl-rimmed spectacles and was dressed in a black woolen suit that looked like a St. John knit. “Welcome,” she said, smiling warmly and extending her hand.

  Taylor shook her hand and smiled back.

  “Why don’t we all sit down? I know you’ve been briefed and after I’m through here, Susan will take you on a tour of this floor. I’m afraid a tour of the rest of the White House will have to wait for a more suitable day. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Yes, thank you, on the plane before we landed.”

  “I know you will probably be jet-lagged,” Lillian said, “so we’ll give you time to settle in and get some rest.” She handed Taylor a plastic identification card attached to a cloth ribbon, to be worn around her neck. “This is to be worn at all times when you leave your room, but must not, of course, be worn when you leave the White House.”

  Taylor looked at the badge. Her none too flattering passport picture was on it, but the name was not hers—it read Tracy Lowry. She looked up questioningly.

  Lillian nodded. “This is your name while you are here. It is doubtful anyone will call you by name, but the secret service may ask from time to time to look at the badge more closely. When they do this, do not take it off. The chord is long enough so that you can just hand it to them in order for them to look closer. We can’t have anyone know your true identity, you see.”

  Well, that made sense. Tracy—that was going to take getting used to, along with everything else. She was impressed by the efficiency and the amount of work done to get her here.

  “Maybe it would be best if you just asked questions,” Lillian continued. “I know this has all been very rushed and you haven’t had time to catch your breath.”

  Taylor nodded, thinking that certainly was true. “Is there a cover story as to why I’m here?” she asked. The false name made her realize someone, cleaning people or staff, might wonder why a guest was staying so long. Josh told her the third floor had guest quarters, which were used sometimes in the past as bedrooms for children of the president’s family. The present first family, however, had a grown daughter who lived in New York and a son who was
at university.

  “If anyone asks you why you are here,” Lillian responded, “you should act mysterious and say you are not allowed to talk about it. However, if I am asked, I will say you are collaborating with Mrs. Carlson on a book,” The look on her face was serious. “You must understand what risks we’ve taken, bringing you into the White House like this. It would not have been done unless there were very strong reasons.”

  Very strong reasons. Was the President’s wife suicidal? Had she made an attempt? Taylor’s mind was spinning with questions about the First Lady, but she didn’t think this was the proper time to ask, so decided to switch topics. “I guess I’m puzzled about how much freedom I’ll have and where I can go outside the White House, that sort of thing,” she said.

  “Anywhere you want to go has to be cleared through me,” Lillian replied, “so when I’m not here, you will phone me on my cell phone and I will clear it for you. You can sightsee, go shopping, to the Kennedy Centre, anywhere, actually. We want to make this as comfortable for you as possible, but you will be driven wherever you go and you will have ‘company ’shall we say.”

  Well, that didn’t sound too bad. She could go anywhere she liked, all she had to do was ask. And she’d have a private chauffeur. Not bad at all. “And here,” she asked, “how do I avoid the President? The White House doesn’t seem all that large now that I’m here.”

  Lillian’s lips compressed into a thin line before she said, “We always know where the President is,” she said. “The President never goes anywhere without his private detail. So anytime you even leave your quarters, and by that, I mean anytime you even step out your door, you must clear it with me. I know this seems restrictive, but it is the parameter within which you will have to work.” Then she smiled as she continued, “And let me say what I should have said right away, I’m very grateful that you’ve come here. We, all of us, who know and love the First Lady, want her to get well, to be the woman she used to be. She has a very generous heart.”

  Grateful, it was nice to hear that; it honed into Taylor’s need for approval. ”Meals?” she asked, feeling a bit foolish for asking such a mundane question.

  “A menu will be under your door every day and you can choose from several options. Your meals will be delivered by the protective detail, as well as anything you want for your fridge. Did you show her the fridge?” she asked Susan.

  “No, I forgot,” Susan said, getting up quickly from her chair. Taylor followed her into the bedroom, where she showed her the fridge, disguised as a bedside table. Was everything disguised, she wondered?

  As they came back to the sitting room, Lillian said, “So if you want milk, cheese, snacks, anything you desire, just list it and it will be delivered to you. Even a pizza; our cooking staff make a great pizza. Anything else?”

  Taylor shook her head. “I’m feeling rather overwhelmed at the moment. If you don’t mind, I’d like to settle in first and I’m sure I’ll think of more questions later.”

  Lillian stood up and Susan did as well. “Why don’t we leave you alone to unpack and relax for a couple of hours?”

  Taylor nodded. “Yes, I think I’ll forgo the tour for now if that’s all right. But, when do I begin…”

  “To see the First Lady?” Lillian interrupted, “This afternoon, if you feel up to it.”

  “Yes, I’m anxious to see her. That will be fine.”

  Lillian seemed pleased. When she smiled, all the fine lines of wrinkles on her face changed shape and direction. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you the time yet. The room where you will meet with Mrs. Carlson is not her office, which is located in the East Wing. There is a small room at the end of the corridor in the residence, called the Queen’s sitting room, as it is next to the bedroom called the Queen’s Bedroom,” she smiled as she said this. “Rooms around here tend to have names and although actual queens have slept there, it is a guest room for important visitors. We, the First Lady and I, decided this was an unobtrusive place where the President would be unlikely to ever visit. I will escort you to there the first time and I will always give you as much notice as I possibly can.”

  With that, they both left and Taylor’s luggage arrived almost simultaneously. She was relieved to be alone. She wanted to kick off her shoes and lie on the bed and take all this in. She wanted to unpack and explore her quarters on her own, and she wanted to have time to think. And part of what she wanted to think about was Josh.

  ***

  Susan returned two hours later, pushing a trolley with their lunch. The sun was out now, shining through Taylor’s windows, and she had finished unpacking. “How many people work here?” Taylor asked, as they sat down in the armchairs with plates on their laps.

  “A lot. There are many volunteers who come in every day to sort mail and do various jobs, then there are all the offices in the West and East wing.”

  Taylor took another bite of a delicious roasted vegetable sandwich, appreciating the taste and noting that all her future meals would be coming from the same source. Between swallows, she asked, “Is anyone else on my floor up here?”

  Susan smiled, “Well, you’re never alone, but that’s not what you asked. No, sometimes these rooms have been for the children of the first family and actually, Ben, the son who is away at college, does have a room on this floor. But you will be warned if he’s coming and he mostly tries to visit his parents at Camp David, the mountain retreat in Maryland for all presidents. They, the first family, often go there on weekends. I think he doesn’t like the…shall we say, atmosphere, of the White House.”

  Interesting fact, that the son doesn’t like the atmosphere here. Taylor wondered what that was about. “So how many floors are there?”

  “Six actually. We are on the top floor now, and there are two floors below the main, ground floor. The kitchen is on one of these and the pressroom is on one of those lower floors. I wondered if you would you like some books on the history of this place as well as books about previous first ladies?”

  “Yes, please,” Taylor replied. She did want to read about other president’s wives; she wanted to know if any of them were ever depressed or had any mental health problem.

  When they were finished eating, Susan said, “Should I give you a tour now of your floor? I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise to tour the White House today, but we’ll do it some other time.”

  Taylor nodded an eager yes. Now that she was rested and had caught her breath, she was curious about the entire place, but at least the floor she was on was a start. They stepped out into the cluttered hall.

  “This is called a hall, but it is furnished like a living room,” Susan said, smiling. It’s so wide and I guess they just felt they had to fill it up.” Moving down one side, Susan opened doors and they peaked in. Most were bedrooms with attached sitting rooms and bathrooms, but there was also a small gym with a stair-stepper, a tread- mill, a set of weights and a large television set.

  Will I be allowed to use this?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes, I think so, with Lillian’s permission, of course. The President only uses it occasionally. He prefers jogging and golf for his exercise.”

  Next, they entered a game room dominated by a full sized billiard table. Lastly, Susan led her into what she called the Sun Room. “This room is used by the first family often. It’s very nice on a sunny day like today,” she said.

  The room was oval in shape, faced south, and was indeed cheery. Large windows surrounded the walls letting in the light and warmth of the afternoon sun. Taylor noticed the furniture here was much more modern, with comfortable looking chairs and a sofa. Bamboo chairs surrounded a glass topped dining table and a chess set was placed on one side table.

  “This room may be your saving grace,” Susan said.

  Taylor looked at her questioningly.

  “If the President is gone from the White House, you will be able to relax in here, to get out o
f your room,” she explained, “I imagine you will really begin to look forward to those times.”

  Well, no one said life wasn’t interesting, Taylor thought, as she looked around. This room, the wide hall filled with furniture, her two rooms and two bathrooms, the gym, these rooms were going to circumscribe her life here. Interesting, yes—different, yes, but already, being told by Lillian that she couldn’t step out her door without permission—what was that going to be like?

  Chapter Four

  Lillian phoned about an hour later, saying she would come to escort Taylor to see Mrs. Carlson in ten minutes. She arrived, punctual to the second, and led Taylor down the stairs to the second floor. They emerged from the staircase into a broad hall, similar to the one on the third floor. As they walked briskly to the very end, Taylor tried to glance here and there, but couldn’t really see any rooms clearly. Just as in the hall on the third floor, there was furniture, chairs, sofas, and tables placed at various points.

  “The room you’re meeting in is at the other end of the corridor,” Lillian explained, “but it isn’t safe for you to use the main stairway near there. The back stairway we just came down is the safest, in that the President never uses it. He usually takes the elevator. But don’t worry, you won’t be asked to come here unless it is safe.”

  When they reached the end of the hall, Taylor found herself in a pleasant, rather spacious sitting room similar to the one directly above it on her floor. An old fashioned fan-shaped window allowed the sunlight to flood in. Bright yellow furniture with matching drapes mimicked the sun’s brightness and brought inviting warmth to the room.

  A door opened off to the left. Lillian entered without knocking and Taylor followed. Sitting in front of them was a woman familiar to Taylor from a thousand photographs and television news. The First Lady rose as they entered.