FIRST LADY
Charlotte
I’m so wicked. Bagging the president by night and being a devoted first lady by day.
I step out of the Virginia elementary school to a gust of wind and a bevy of reporters, some of whom were actually allowed into the classroom by the school as I read books to the kids, and told them how reading has improved my life dramatically, giving me knowledge of the things I liked and those I wanted to change in the world, too.
A little girl with cute curly pigtails mentioned that she wanted to grow up to be me, and I laughed, but told her I had a better idea—that she would make a far better her than she would anyone else.
I can’t stop thinking about that as I ride in the back of the state car to the White House.
I ride with Stacey beside me. I love how efficient she is, always whispering into her mic, opening and closing the doors, carving a path for me.
“My life used to be a little bit more normal,” I tell her, peering out the window at the White House as the gates open for us. “Have you worked at the White House for long?”
“Four years. I was on the previous first lady’s detail.”
“What can one expect from the life of a first lady?”
“The reality is a little messier than the cameras show. But . . .” She pauses.
“Tell me,” I prod.
She seems to hesitate, as if wondering whether she’s overstepping, but I suspect my eager eyes and smile encourage her to speak freely. “Mrs. Jacobs wasn’t as warm with the people as you are.”
I take a moment for this.
“You’re one of the people. They like that. You and President Hamilton. You both are.” She nods respectfully, then adds, “So many of us, especially women, dream of fitting in your glass slipper. Having the attention of the young, attractive president.”
“Matthew doesn’t—” I cut myself off, then say, “So the rumors have started already.”
“Everyone’s hoping, ever since he named you acting first lady.” She laughs, then says, “We respect him. And you. The White House is not only a place of business; we’ve taken care of whole families for a long time.”
Families. The thought sort of pricks me in the heart and makes me wonder what a family with my country’s president, the man I love, would be like. “Thank you for telling me this.”
She smiles. She’s been my shadow, along with other members of the Secret Service, and I’m always humbled and almost uncomfortable by the dedication they show. I’ve learned they speak in codes, and especially use codes for Matt and me. Stacey’s also unmarried at forty-four, eats a high-protein diet, and has eyes for Johnson, another member of my Secret Service team.
The rest of the week I spend making plans with Clarissa. I adore visiting places and having a chance to speak and interact with everyone, but I also notice people look at my detail and me with a bit of reverence. Whenever I mention the president, their eyes go wide and it feels like I just mentioned God.
I want them to know that the president is not only their driven and intelligent leader, but a human being as well—as am I.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the job of the first lady is determined by the first lady herself. I’ve been thinking of my predecessors, what they’re remembered for, and wondering what I will stand for as a first lady.
Jackie Kennedy turned the White House into a showcase of the evolution of America’s style and taste. She was a fashion icon, poised and elegant, who was the first to bring a curator into the White House.
Eleanor Roosevelt was a rogue in her time. She spoke about civil rights and women’s rights, and to this day she’s probably the most powerful first lady to have ever served. At the time, there weren’t any female reporters—they were barred from White House press conferences. But Eleanor held her own press conferences, aimed toward female reporters, in turn forcing the media to hire them.
Other first ladies have sat in cabinet meetings. Many of them have been hostesses, planning the state dinners—but most have done so much more. Pushing for schools without drugs. Improvements in healthcare and nutrition.
So I sit down with Clarissa and tell her I want to define the role the way I feel capable of doing—that I want to represent the president with the same vitality he exudes, keep myself busy and active, having a White House presence in as many states as possible, and not only scheduling talks and visits to schools, hospitals, and workplaces, but inviting citizens over to the White House as well.
I’ve found the time I’ve been here so exciting—so inspiring. I wish more people had the opportunity to be so close to all this history and the pulsing heart of America.
“I discussed with the president the fact that I want to make this house open to the public. I want to stay in contact with the people. I also plan to ask him permission to personally address some of the letters that arrive at the White House.”
Clarissa is nodding rapidly, taking notes. “Also,” she says, “they want to know more about you. Your job is unofficial; the press wonders how much influence you have, if you’ve got the president’s ear. They want to know more about their first lady. Lola is setting up some interviews here in the East Wing.”
Nerves hit me—but this is an opportunity to shed light on things I care about, not to focus on me. So I agree.
“Excellent!” Clarissa says.