Georgie
My first day as first lady was a complete disaster. The only thing I didn’t manage to fuck up was having breakfast with Avon. I had to coordinate the rest of our things being moved into the White House, and when Avon advised me to just, “Call the chief usher, he’ll know what to do,” I had no fucking clue who he was! I had met so many people over the past few weeks and days, and all their names and faces blurred together in one big mess.
I tried contacting Jameson, but that was next to impossible. Lauren, a pretty blonde addition to his communications team informed me Jameson was holding classified meetings all day regarding some arms deal President Arden made and could not be disturbed. No big deal, right? I was a teacher; I should be able to problem solve my way out of a paper bag, right? Wrong.
I did, however, manage to introduce myself to the new White House chef Archie Zanetti and provide him with a list of all my favorite comfort foods. “I’m going to need you to whip some of these up ASAP. It’s going to be a long day,” I informed him.
“Ms. Washington,” said a deep voice behind me. I was sitting in the kitchen of the private residence, testing out the milkshake skills of Chef Zanetti. I turned and saw the biggest man I have ever seen in my entire life.
“Yes?” I replied hesitantly. His size scared me, but then he smiled and immediately put me at ease.
“I’m Barrett Lawson, the chief usher. I heard you were looking for me?”
Relief filled me instantly. “YES! Yes, I’ve been looking for you, and I had no idea where to even look for you. And I couldn’t remember your name, and everyone around here is just as new as I am, so no one else knew who you were.”
I was rambling, but sweet Barrett Lawson just listened to me intently. “I’ve met so many people over the past few weeks that all their names and faces have kind of blended together. But I don’t think we’ve met yet because I’d remember meeting you. It’s hard to forget someone who’s your, uh, size.”
A deep, rumbling laugh came out of his gut, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. “I am pretty hard to miss. And you’re right, we haven’t been introduced yet. I was quite busy yesterday. How can I help you?”
“I wanted to check on the arrival of some items from New Hampshire. Jameson ... I mean, President Martin arranged their transport.”
“Certainly. What are the items you’re expecting?”
I explained to him about my father’s desk and the other items I selected while I was home in New Hampshire. Barrett nodded and told me he would look into it and report back when he had information.
“Uh, Barrett? What do first ladies do?”
“Everyone is different. What do you want to do?”
“Change our country’s public education system.”
“Oh. Well, I can’t help you there. I can help you with hiring staff and hanging paintings.”
“Thank you, Barrett. I’ll figure it out.”
That was when my day turned from “meh” to “holy shit, what did I get myself into?”
Before the election, I jokingly googled “what does the first lady do?” and read through a list of all the responsibilities. I was way too selfish to think I would be doing things like planning state dinners. That’s not the role I wanted to play, but suddenly, I had people popping in and asking me for things, and I had no fucking clue what to tell them.
“This is why you have to hire a staff.” The cool voice of Maxwell Edison startled me.
“How did you get in here?” I looked up at the doorway where he was standing, looking quite handsome in a black suit tailored to perfection for his lean frame.
“I knocked?” he offered, walking farther into the room.
I sat in a very formal, very uncomfortable chair that had probably been in the White House since Washington was president, with stacks and stacks of files in front of me.
“Seriously, though, how did you get in? I haven’t provided Secret Service with a list of approved visitors. It’s on my very long to-do list.”
“I’m friends with Lauren Thompson. She’s President Martin’s new deputy communications director. She got me in.” I rolled my eyes. Her again.
I should probably let Jameson know about their friendship. “How can I help you today, Mr. Edison?”
“Mr. Edison? We’re back to formalities now, Ms. Washington?” Max sat down in a matching chair next to mine and picked up a folder from the top of my stack. I snatched it from him quickly because he was not a member of this administration yet.
“I didn’t expect you to be in Washington so soon,” I told him, tucking the folder into the seat cushion next to me.
“I arrived last night. I have a full schedule of meetings with members of Congress but I’m free today. I came to see if I could interest you in a little field trip,” he informed me.
“Where?” My curiosity got the best of me. Not even a full day in the White House, and I wanted to get out and avoid the commitment I had made to the American people and to Jameson. Pathetic. That didn’t stop me from listening to Max’s idea.
“There’s an amazing school just outside the city that’s doing some pretty spectacular work. I wanted to introduce you to the principal.”
I bit nervously at my thumbnail. My gut was telling me this was a bad idea, and alarm bells were going off all around me. “Sorry, Max. Maybe we could schedule something for the end of the week if you’re available? I’ve only been here a day. I should really figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
Max’s jaw tensed, as if he was angry, but it only lasted a moment. “Sure. I’ll check my schedule. Can I at least help you sort through whatever it is you’ve got in front of you?”
I desperately wanted to accept his help because the task hiring my very own chief of staff seemed overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I don’t think that is such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I just have to figure this out for myself. But I’ll definitely put you on my nonexistent schedule for the end of the week. I’d love to be able to visit a local school.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. And if I need help, then the chief usher is here.”
“Okay. Congratulations, Georgie, you deserve this.”
* * *
The part of the West Wing where the offices for the White House press corps were located was one of my least favorite places. While some of the reporters in the press corps were familiar to me, since they were also members of the press pool that followed the campaign, some of the new reporters made me uneasy. They seemed to watch me with scrutinizing gazes whenever I walked past.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Washington,” a few of them commented as I walked past. I nodded and smiled at them. I didn’t want to engage any of them in conversation because that meant spending more time with their eyes on me.
“Do you have a comment about your outing with Mr. Edison today?” one reporter, Tom Clayton, asked me. He was my least favorite of the press corps members and often wrote unflattering things about me. And he creeped me the fuck out.
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” I replied politely but clearly, he wasn’t finished because he stepped directly into my path.
“You visited a public charter school, correct?”
“Yes, I did. Excuse me.” I tried to veer to the side to get around him, but he moved right with me.
“But don’t you oppose public charter schools?”
“No, I’m opposed to taxpayer dollars being used to fund charter schools. Excuse me,” I repeated again forcefully.
“Then why did you visit a charter school today?”
“Mr. Clayton, if you’d like to officially interview me regarding this matter, then please call my chief of staff Mallory, to schedule an appointment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a meeting with President Martin.”
That was a lie. I actually didn’t have plans to meet Jameson. I just needed an excuse to get away from him and to hopefully propel him to move out of my way.
“Thanks for the chat, Ms. Washington,” he said with a sneer before stepping away from me.
I scurried away, hoping my eagerness to leave looked more like a fear of being late rather than the fear he instilled in me. I made it up the stairs and into the hall just outside the press briefing room in record time. I stopped to catch my breath and to let my frayed nerves settle down.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” A woman’s voice startled me. I opened my tightly clenched eyes and saw the worried expression of Lauren Thompson.
I gave her my best fake smile. “Yes, thank you. I guess I’m pretty out of shape if that flight of stairs has me winded. I’ll need to tell the chef to cut back on the sweets.”
“Yeah, right. Your sweet tooth is infamous.”
“Is it? Well, you’re probably right. I can’t give up baked goods any more than Jameson can give up his god-awful compression tights.”
Lauren and I both snickered because despite Jameson’s deliciously sinful body and lean legs, he looked like an idiot running in compression tights.
“Are you sure that everything is okay, though, Ms. Washington? You didn’t look winded; you look frightened.”
“It’s nothing to worry about, Lauren. Thank you. If it ever becomes a problem, I’ll talk to Jameson.” I smiled tightly and then walked up another flight of stairs toward the Secret Service office.
The White House sometimes felt like a maze, and on more than one occasion, I got lost. Secretly, I wondered if Secret Service could put a tracking device in my clothing in the event I couldn’t find my way back. I made the mistake of sharing that idea with Jameson, who gave me a look that said, “Are you fucking nuts?” and then he proceeded to lecture me on all the ways my idea was, in fact, fucking nuts.
“Maple’s been located,” I heard behind me. I stopped and turned, coming face to face with a young agent.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Who’s looking for me?”
“Me.” Jameson’s voice, deep and smooth like velvet, came from the opposite direction. I spun on my heel and nearly tripped over my feet. Luckily, a president and two Secret Service agents were there to break my fall. “Whoa. Watch yourself, little darling.”
Jameson’s hands lightly cupped my elbows and both agents hovered nearby. Humiliation heated my cheeks.
“Why were you looking for me?” I asked, once I finally righted myself.
“We have a dinner to attend tonight. I called your office, but Mallory said you were out.”
“I went to visit a school today.”
“By yourself?”
I hated what I was about to admit. “No, I went with Maxwell Edison. He knows the administrators and arranged the visit with me.”
Jameson growled his displeasure. “Anytime you want to visit a school, just have Mallory arrange it. You’re the first lady; you don’t need someone like Maxwell Edison to do that for you.”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was kind of him.”
“Trust me, he didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He wants what is mine.”
I rolled my eyes. “I told you once that Maxwell Edison doesn’t want me; he wants power.”
“And you’ve just given him more power by accepting his invitation. Watch yourself.”
“I’m capable of handling myself around him. There is something I want to talk to you about, though …” My voice trailed off because I was nervous about talking to Jameson about my run-in with Tom Clayton. He was already in alpha mode, and it was possible that once I told him about Clayton, Jameson would run down to the press corps cubicles and murder him.
“What is it?” We were walking back toward the private residence, my hand firmly nestled inside his, our pace brisk but slow enough to carry on conversation.
“Can you fire a reporter in the White House press corps?”
“Not really. A reporter can be suspended for their behavior, but I can’t ‘fire’ any reporter. Why?”
“I know some of the reporters in the press corps because they were in the press pool that followed us around. But there’s a new reporter who …”
Jameson stopped dead in his tracks, tugging on my hand to stop me as well. “Tell me, Georgie.”
“His name is Tom Clayton. He works for one of the more conservative media outlets. He hasn’t written the most flattering pieces about my presence and role in the White House. Today, he kind of cornered me.”
Jameson nodded, but I could see anger filling his eyes, turning his normally icy blue eyes the color of an angry sea. “I’ll have him investigated. If they’re in the White House, they have to pass another background check completed by the Secret Service. I’ll tell Lauren to get on that right away.”
“Thank you, Jameson.”
He pulled me close and placed a light kiss on my forehead. “I want you to tell me if he bothers you again, okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
The unpleasantness of Tom Clayton and Jameson’s anger over my trip with Maxwell Edison dissolved into the marble floors of the hall and were soon forgotten. All that was left were our official duties for the evening, which were easy enough to perform.
I honestly forgot about Jameson’s promise to have Secret Service run a background check on Tom Clayton until I saw him milling around the White House Briefing Room a week later. I was scheduled to address the press corps that day to inform them of some initiatives Avon and I developed to help and support victims of sexual assault. As soon as I caught sight of him, my nerves went into overdrive. Avon was there with me, but suddenly, I didn’t think I could get up in front of a room full of reporters and speak.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I told her, panic filling my voice.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Concern lined her face and her eyes studied me carefully.
“I-I don’t feel good. I’m feeling really nauseous,” I lied, clutching my stomach.
“Are you going to throw up right now?” Her head swiveled to the side, searching for the nearest trash can.
“I don’t think so. I’m just going to sit down.” I found a chair nearby and hurried toward it.
“Do you want me to have Secret Service escort you back to the residence?”
She was essentially asking me if I wanted to run away, and my answer was a quiet, “Yes.”
Two agents assigned to me walked with me back to the private residence. They assured me that Jameson would be informed of my illness, and all I did was nod lamely while I feigned illness.
These days, I rarely went anywhere alone. Avon and I were together frequently, since our positions naturally paired us together, or I accompanied Jameson on official business when necessary. During the moments I was alone, the reporters hounded me, forcing me further into the protective shield of my Secret Service detail. But the screaming and the shouting were always there. Even when they weren’t, their voices echoed constantly in my mind. The day I visited the school with Max was the first time I had been out in public without Jameson or Avon since the attack in Memphis, and look how that was received.
I didn’t bother Jameson with any of this. He had enough to worry about, and I knew his caveman reaction would be to forbid me from leaving the private residence. He didn’t need the weight of my personal turmoil added to the enormity of his job.
It would also be just another reason for him to go apeshit every time I wanted to attend a meeting with Max. I wanted to be involved so badly with Max’s efforts at overhauling education that I was willing to endure a little bit of personal turmoil.
I took refuge in the Queens’ Bedroom and watched Avon speak at the press conference I was supposed to give. I watched her explain my proposals and initiatives, and while she so eloquently delivered my speech, I cried because I was weak.