Jameson
When I returned that evening, Georgie struck the moment I stepped foot in the bedroom.
“Did you ask Lauren to have Secret Service perform a background check on Tom Clayton?” Her voice was high, and her eyes were a little … crazy. I expected to come home and find her asleep. Secret Service informed me that she abruptly left her press conference because of illness. So I had Sean clear my evening plans so I could take care of her. The woman shuffling from foot to foot in front of me didn’t look sick at all. She looked manic.
“Uhh, yes. Why?”
“Because he attended my press conference today, and I freaked the fuck out and couldn’t do it.”
A flurry of emotion surged through me. I was angry because clearly this reporter frightened her. But I also felt concerned. Was she so scared of him that she would eventually retreat to the zombie-like state she was in prior to the election? “Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”
“Jameson, you’re the president. You don’t have time to deal with the big, bad ugly dude who writes horrible shit about me on a daily basis.”
“WHAT? Georgie, what the fuck is he writing about you?”
“You can search his column and read it for yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I was going to spend some time on the internet tonight, reading this guy’s articles, but first, I was going to ensure that background check was completed.
I pulled my primitive secured cell phone from my pocket and looked down at it with disgust. I hated this thing. It was so clunky and ancient, but it was the only way I was allowed to communicate. Having a phone “smarter” than what I was given was too high of a security risk.
I hunt-and-pecked out a message to Sean, asking him to check on the status of Clayton’s background check because I had to know; not only for Georgie’s sake, but for mine too.
“There. I sent Sean a text asking him to check in with Secret Service and find out when his background check is going to be done.”
“Thank you.” Her features softened, and the crazy left her eyes as relief filled her. Her entire body seemed to go limp as she flopped down onto the bed.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw that Sean replied.
SEAN: SS doesn’t have a background check request for Clayton.
ME: WTF?! I asked Lauren to request that a week ago!
SEAN: Well, the request is in now. They’re also combing through all his columns.
ME: Thanks. Whatever this guy has been saying about Georgie has got her scared.
SEAN: Just doing my job.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and squeezed my eyes shut. Sometimes being president was so damn hard. When I opened them, I looked at the woman sprawled on my bed, sleeping peacefully. When had she fallen asleep? And then it dawned on me; she must have been hiding quite a bit of this from me. Some invisible weight must have been lifted from her shoulders tonight.
* * *
“Lauren, I want to see you in the Oval Office. Now.”
Lauren teetered in on her too-high heels that made me roll my eyes every time I saw her wearing them. She came highly recommended and had impeccable credentials, but I was starting to think she only got those things because of her looks. And after the epic fuckup of not asking Secret Service to perform a background check on someone … well, I was beginning to think she lacked a brain.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you recall me asking you to request Secret Service perform a background check on Tom Clayton last week?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me. Sean checked on its status last night, and they informed him that no such request was ever made.”
I could see the wheels in her head spinning as she tried to find a believable excuse. “You’re right, Mr. President. I didn’t submit that request. I am so sorry. It will never happen again.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “Ms. Washington is not only the first lady, but she’s also my fiancée, and I’ll protect her with my life if I have to. Mr. Clayton’s inflammatory columns have been recently brought to my attention, and what he writes could be considered a security threat.”
“I understand, sir.”
“If something like this ever happens again, you’re fired. Consider this your only warning.”
Her red lips trembled slightly, but then she sucked in a deep breath and left my office.
Business wasn’t finished, though. Standing, I lifted my suit jacket from the back of my chair and slipped it on, snapping it into place. I walked briskly from my office, a man on a mission, and headed toward the press briefing room. This was either going to be fun or a shit show.
Bart Davidson, my press secretary, was more than a little shocked when I interrupted the briefing he was giving to the pool of press. They were oblivious to me at first, eating up everything he was giving them about my first few weeks in office. Well, I was about to give them an earful.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Bart, I’m sorry to interrupt, but something has recently been brought to my attention and I’d like to address it personally.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” Bart stepped aside, and I eagerly stepped forward.
“I’d like to make a request. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been oblivious to some of the things that you’re writing about my fiancée. Now, some of you have been kind and courteous because you know her. You were members of the press pool that followed the campaign, and now you’re here, covering the White House. Georgie and I appreciate the job you’re doing. There is nothing wrong with criticism. It’s how we learn and grow in order to become better. But when you’re using words like ‘whore’ to describe the first lady of the United States, that’s not criticism; that’s mean.”
I held up a hand because I could sense a few of the reporters getting ready to jump on the “Freedom of Speech” bandwagon. They were twitching in their seats, but they could squirm a little longer. “There are consequences to what you say, to what we all say. Freedom of speech matters until it becomes a threat. I hope you’ll think about that the next time you write something inflammatory about the first lady.”
I left the podium because I didn’t want to call Tom Clayton out publicly. That would only humiliate us both. But I knew that as soon as I stepped out of the press briefing room, he would receive an email instructing him to report to the Oval Office. And sure enough, twenty minutes after I sat down behind my desk, he arrived.
“Good afternoon, sir. I got an email that said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Tom. I did. I wanted to personally let you know that your White House privileges have been revoked.”
“Excuse me, sir?” The nervousness that he walked in with quickly faded away to righteous anger.
“The Secret Service failed to do a background check prior to issuing your clearance, which was an oversight on their part. It has been taken care of, and they also took a look at those lovely articles you’ve been writing for Right America. They think, and I’m inclined to agree, that what you wrote about the first lady could be considered a security threat.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. Now get the fuck out of my office. Secret Service will escort you from the White House and confiscate your badge.”
He wanted to say something else, make some kind of threat, but that would only make things worse for him. I stared at him patiently until he finally left.
Today felt like a win.