"Hmm. Absolutely. A bunch of the kids and several great ones of you. Not that just about any picture of you isn't great."
"Right," Dev snorted.
Lauren rolled her eyes at the suddenly bashful look that had overtaken Dev's face. "Trust me, Devlyn. You and the camera are carrying on a love affair that should make me green with jealousy. You're gorgeous, and you damn well know it."
Dev's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Lauren laughed in earnest, retaking her lover's hand and twining their fingers together. She wanted to talk more about how Dev felt about the shooting. Dev needed that. But she also sensed that the President wasn't quite ready. She needed more time, and that was okay by Lauren. She could be patient when she had to be, and she had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.
The women approached the front of a brightly-bannered concession stand that smelled so good Lauren was sure she had gained five pounds just by being within sniffing distance. Thank God we work out so much. There were no lines, and Lauren walked right up ahead of Dev, taking a spot at the counter. "Pick your poison, Madam President," she said brightly. "I'm buying."
Dev sighed happily. God, she's wonderful. I'm keeping her. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around Lauren from behind, and rested her chin on the shorter woman's shoulder as she considered the menu. She pressed her lips against Lauren's ear and in a sexy purr said, "Fudgesicle."
Oooo... Lauren nearly swooned on the spot. She held her fingers up for the vendor, who was openly staring at his most famous customer. "Make that two."
Wednesday, October 13th
"She looks nervous." Dev elbowed David, who was perched next to her on the edge of her desk in the Oval Office. "Don't you think she looks nervous?"
David nodded. "Oh, yeah. She's nervous." The man winced. "And that was just the promo."
Lauren was about to be interviewed by the nation's number one, live, early morning talk show, Wake Up, America. It was a 'feel good' program that eased millions of Americans into the day. The show's anchor, the irrepressible and ever-so-palatable-before-breakfast, Debbie Charles, was a personal friend of Dev's, who had interviewed her several times over the years, first as Governor of Ohio, then as President-Elect. The woman was fair and likeable and knew how to stick to relevant topics, never letting her questions drift into areas that were too personal or gossip-laden.
Dev's face grew pensive. "Lauren will be fine, right?" Her glance flicked sideways to David just as the promo for the show ended and a coffee commercial took its place. "I mean, she's done tons of personal appearances to promote her biographies. She told me so herself. This is just like that."
"Were they televised?" David asked absently, wishing he had a big, jumbo mug for his coffee like the incredibly happy-looking man on television.
Dev chewed her lip as she thought. "Umm... now that I think of it, I guess they wouldn't have been. There was no tape included with her background check. If she'd done TV it would have been there." Dev chastised herself for being so busy the last few days that she hadn't really bothered to find out how Lauren felt about the interview ."She seemed fine with it, right?" Other than the younger woman's mentioning it earlier in the week, during breakfast, the subject had never even come up.
"Well, she was a little reluctant to do it when she found out it was going to be televised nationally. Especially since it was live." David frowned, resigning himself to his own, now apparently inadequate, coffee mug. "But once I explained how good publicity that showed her in a professional, rather than personal, light would be – and how it would go a long way towards keeping the party dogs off your back about your relationship," he shrugged, "she didn't seem to have a problem with it."
Dev sprang to her feet, knocking a folder containing the day's agenda to the floor in the process. "You said what?!"
David looked up in surprise. "What?" His eyes widened at the look on Dev's face. "It's the truth, Dev. Lauren's a big girl. She asked me if this would help you, and I said yes."
"I don't care if it is the truth." Dev's gaze hardened. "I don't want you pressuring her."
"And I didn't!" David defended, slightly miffed.
Jane and Liza, who were sitting on a sofa that had been pulled over next to Dev's desk so that they could have a better view of the television, both looked at each other knowingly. If David and Dev didn't have at least three good disagreements a day, the world as they knew it might come crashing to a halt.
The commercials ended, and the music for Wake Up, America started. Lauren and the show's co-host, a young, clean-cut man in a cable knit sweater, were now sitting in side-by-side chairs, chatting quietly over their morning coffee. "Jesus Christ." Dev pointed at the image. "Does that freakin' coffee company own the world or what?" She reached behind her, picking up her steaming mug of that exact brand and sighed with pleasure as both she and Lauren took sips simultaneously.
David narrowed his eyes enviously at Lauren's enormous, super-sized mug . I don't care if it is nothing more than mug envy. After the show, I'm calling Beth. Beth knew the proper store for everything and its exact location.
"Wow. She looks good on TV," Jane commented appreciatively. "I don't see that extra ten pounds people are always complaining about."
Liza squinted. "Me neither."
"Shhhhh!" Dev leaned forward eagerly.
The man sitting next to Lauren turned to the camera and smiled brightly, his blindingly white teeth fairly sparkling in contrast to his tanned skin. "And next, Traci Corbin will be filling in for Debbie Charles, who called in sick with... if you can believe it... the chickenpox! Our very special guest this morning is Lauren Strayer, biographer to the President."
Jaws dropped in the Oval Office.
"But first," the young man continued, "the weather." A large map of the United States appeared and Wake Up, America's much beloved weatherman materialized right along with it.
"David!" Dev growled, her entire body shaking.
"I'm on it!" Liza thrust a phone into the Chief of Staff's hand, and he frantically began calling to find out whose head was going to roll, and how they could stop this interview before the portly weatherman worked his way to California.
Lauren shifted uncomfortably in her chair, running a nervous hand through her hair the second the camera panned over to the weatherman.
Traci Corbin brushed past the show's male co-host, who was on his way for a makeup retouch before his interview with the Washington Redskins' quarterback, which was going to take place in the next segment. She took the seat opposite the writer and extended her hand. "I'm Traci. Sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce myself earlier."
Lauren grasped the chilled palm and gave it a companionable squeeze. "Lauren Strayer. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Traci looked slightly harried. "I just got the call they needed me to come in an hour ago, and I had to make a mad dash for the studio." The forty-something woman needed all the time in makeup she could get. "I made a few notes while they were fixing my hair." She smiled. "I hope you don't mind if my questions are a little rough."
The older woman's friendly demeanor instantly put Lauren at ease. "No... I ..." She blushed slightly and forced her hands to stop twitching. "That's fine. As long as you don't mind a slightly nervous guest. I don't really do TV interviews, so this will be something of a first."
Traci nodded and gave Lauren's arm a sympathetic squeeze. "Live TV is always a little nerve racking. But you'll do fine."
A man suddenly appeared a few feet in front of Lauren and Traci, but well off camera. He held up five fingers. Then four, three, two, one. Traci smiled. "Welcome back to Wake Up, America. I'm Traci Corbin, filling in for Debby, who is home sick today. With us this morning, we have Presidential biographer, Lauren Strayer." She turned to face Lauren. "Good morning."
"Mornin'."
"That's quite a job you have, Ms. Strayer! Following around after President Marlowe. Is it as exciting as it sounds?"
Lauren smiled as just
a little more of her nervousness floated away with the simple question. "Sure. Sometimes. The White House is a whirlwind of activity. Always. And sometimes it's just a lot of hard work. I spend most of my time experiencing what the President does throughout her day, and the rest of my time doing research and organizing what I learned, so that, in the end, I'll be able to distill four years into a single book that's an accurate portrait of President Marlowe."
"Interesting." Traci tapped her chin as though she were truly considering her next question. "So how do you produce an," her fingers fashioned quote marks in the air, and her eyes took on a slightly predatory gleam, "'accurate portrait' when you're sleeping with your subject?"
Dev's face dropped to her hands as she groaned. "Oh, my God."
The sounds of the President's groans were nearly drowned by the other moans echoing around her.
Dev peeked between her fingers so she could continue to watch the interview. "Come on, Mighty Mouse; don't let that bitch fluster you. You're better than that, sweetheart."
Lauren blinked at the interviewer, momentarily stunned by the blunt question.
Traci stared back at Lauren and a tiny, almost imperceptible smile twitched at her lips . I just got my Associated Press quote. Fuck 'Wake Up America'! I want my own show. And Marlowe can kiss my ass.
Dev had denied Traci's repeated requests for a one-on-one interview. Traci had been persistent. Too persistent, actually. And she'd gotten a little visit from the Secret Service, who not so politely asked her to tone it down or risk prosecution under DC's stalking laws and a host of other federal statutes enacted to protect the President. They'd even revoked her press credentials for a short while, placing her on a probationary status. Her! Traci Corbin!
"Ms. Strayer?" Tracey reminded, absolutely loving the long seconds of stunned silence that were ticking away.
For a split second Lauren was confused. She'd been promised this interview would be about her work, and wouldn't venture into private matters like who she slept with. Then she caught a glimpse of the look on Traci's face. Her eyes narrowed at the sight as a flash of understanding passed between the women.
Dev paled. "Uh oh. She's pissed."
David finished yelling into his phone. He furiously snapped the cover closed and threw it to the floor at his feet. Stomping it. Twice. " Wake Up, America claims they didn't know that her press credentials had been pulled earlier this year. Apparently, the show's other correspondents refused to do the interview with Lauren. They didn't want to look unprepared. The show has used Traci in the past, and she was the best they could do on an hour's notice." He glared at his phone as though this were all its fault. He stomped on it again.
Lauren shifted in her chair, meeting Traci's gaze directly. "That's a good question, Ms. Corbin. And, to be truthful, I don't think I can be totally objective."
Traci smiled triumphantly. "You don't?"
Dev, David, Liza, and Jane all grimaced.
"No. But then again, no writer is one hundred percent objective, is he?" Lauren picked up the gauntlet and ran with it. "Everyone brings his own life experiences to bear on what she writes, despite the best intentions. We're only human, after all." Unlike the members of certain professions! Lauren began to warm to her topic. "I think the keys to being as accurate and honest as possible are good editorial support, meticulous research, and a heartfelt commitment to serve your readers."
Traci's smile began to slip.
"You can still maintain those things no matter what your relationship is with your subject," Lauren drew out the last word with evident distaste. Not that she hadn't used it herself in the past. She had. But she was sure she'd never said it in a way that conveyed that the people she wrote about were laboratory rats... to be dissected. Lauren grinned sweetly. "Did that answer your question, Ms. Corbin?" she asked innocently, knowing full well she'd just rained on the interviewer's parade. Bitch.
"That's my girl!" Dev shouted gleefully.
"Go get her, Mighty Mouse! Ask about her boob job and nose jobs!"
All three women stared at David.
"What?" he complained. "I'm Chief of Staff. I know things!"
Traci glanced down at her notes. "Um... yes, actually, it does." She looked up and smiled at the camera.
Dev shivered.
"Ah... yes. Now, Lauren-"
Lauren bit her lip to keep from asking 'Who in the hell said you could call me by my first name?' Instead, she tried to look interested, wondering how long a three-minute interview could possibly last.
"President Marlowe is the first female President."
Lauren nodded, fighting hard not to roll her eyes. And you said you didn't have time to do research.
"She's also a very attractive woman, wouldn't you agree?"
Lauren's eyebrow twitched. "Anyone with eyes would agree, Traci."
"They sure would! Can you tell America what President Marlowe thinks about being named the world's most eligible woman?"
The temperature in the studio dropped ten degrees. What? She is not eligible, and you know it! “I’m not sure what Devlyn thinks about that." Lauren's hands shaped into fists, though her face remained impassive.
"Don't take the bait, Lauren," Dev said to the image in front of her. "I'm not eligible!"
Jane nodded. "Off the market."
"Totally taken," Liza agreed fervently.
Lauren leaned forward in her chair, looking at the magazine Traci had suddenly thrust in front of her. Dev was pictured on the cover with her arm wrapped around Hollywood's newest starlet, Takesha Vasquez. It was clear that the picture was doctored and merely intended to show how good the two women looked together. Which, Lauren admitted reluctantly, they did. "This is total and utter crap," she announced crisply, tossing the magazine down on a small table that sat between her and Traci.
Dev's eyes widened, and she sucked in a nervous breath. "Don't kill her on live TV."
"I could fix that," David stated confidently.
Everyone in America waited for Lauren to blow a gasket. Instead, she smiled charmingly and said in a soft, southern accent, "I happen to know that President Marlowe prefers blondes."
Several members of Wake Up, America's crew chuckled. And Traci joined in reluctantly.
Off camera, a man held up his hand and began counting down on his fingers.
Traci dutifully read the teleprompter. "Thank you, Lauren. Join us in our next segment where America gets to wake up and meet Redskins star quarterback, Elvis Simpson."
On the television in the Oval Office a commercial replaced Traci and Lauren's images. Dev turned to David. "She did okay, right?" No bloodshed. Yet. I'd be running if I were you, Ms. Corbin.
"Oh, yeah, very professional." Thank you, God! “She was wonderful. And she only looked like she was going to hit Traci for a minute there."
"Too bad she'll never hear those compliments, pal," Dev said wryly.
Liza and Jane turned sympathetic glances towards David.
The red-haired man frowned, but took the implication seriously. "She's going to kill me, isn't she?"
Dev nodded and slapped her best friend hard between the shoulder blades. "I regret that you have but one life to give for your country... and that my girlfriend is going to snuff it out when she gets home."
* * *
Traci marched off the set in a huff, upset she hadn't gotten more of a reaction out of Lauren. What could have been a lead story on the news had been reduced to a meaningless sound bite that wasn't sensational in the least. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of a hard voice coming from behind her.
Madam President Page 44
