She crumpled the paper and tossed it onto the pile of balled-up newspapers on the floor by her bed. "Arrrggghhhhhh! You—slimy—sons of bitches!" Then she read the byline and snorted angrily, tearing the article with her name and horrific college yearbook photo right out of the paper. "You were an asshole in college, Marjorie. And you're still one!"
Gremlin whined and buried himself under Lauren's pillow.
A toneless but soothing female voice rang out in Lauren's room. "Estimated time to press conference, one minute. Activate image feed."
"Activation authorized... umm... um... crap... 186... um... 1868... ugh! Pause activation."
She tried valiantly to remember the number, her hands flailing the entire time. Michael Oaks had informed her that the last four digits of her social security number were an unacceptable password and had insisted she come up with another one. Lauren agreed just so he would shut up and leave her room. She'd been sorry ever since.
Grabbing Gremlin by his back legs, she pulled the pooch out from under her pillow. "Get...," she snatched a squirming leg and gave another tug as he tried to scramble back under her pillow, "...get out of there, you coward! I'm not mad at you!"
Once she freed him, she flipped him over and peered down at his dog collar, the shiny tags reflecting off her glasses. She raised her voice and read aloud his license number. "Activation authorized 18686GH89ZDC."
Let someone figure out that code!
she thought defiantly.
The video image popped into being, and a life-size Devlyn was now standing next to Press Secretary Allen, a few feet from her podium in the press room, and in front of Lauren's desk. The writer's first thought was that the image that had once seemed so vivid and intense, paled in comparison to the real woman.
Of course, I was stoned at the time.
Gremlin began to growl at the dark-haired women. Though even in the best of circumstances, he couldn't quite muster 'ferocious'.
"Hush!" Lauren wrapped her palm around Gremlin's slightly damp mouth and pulled him into her lap. "And for the last time, you can't bite that... it's just an image."
He gave a hopeful whine, wiggling his bottom as he got comfortable.
Lauren rolled her eyes. "You can't bite the real thing either. It's about to start... quiet." She absently kissed the top of his head and folded her legs up underneath her Indian style, staring intently. "Devlyn will take care of this." Lauren nodded. "They won't know what hit 'em."
Dev shifted back and forth, waiting for the Press Secretary to introduce her. She couldn't help but wonder how Lauren was taking this news.
Lauren is a reasonable, mature woman. She'll understand that this was inevitable and really couldn't be helped.
"Tear 'em to shreds, Dev!" Lauren crowed eagerly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, President Marlowe will now take a few questions on the topics we've covered this morning." Press Secretary Allen adjusted the microphone on the podium so that it was more suitable for the President's height.
Dev stepped out, and the cameras were turned on her. When she took her place, her gaze immediately drifted to where Lauren usually stood. Holding in the sigh, and hoping the disappointment didn't show on her face, Devlyn greeted the press. "Good morning."
Murmurs of 'Madam President' and 'Mornin’ answered her.
Devlyn shuffled her notes on the podium. "Let's start with the DNA Registration Act, shall we?" She pointed to a man in the front row and smiled. "Let's have it, Bill. I know you're dying to get into this."
The balding reporter from the Chicago Tribune stood and adjusted the mini-recorder he held in one hand and the notepad he held in the other, jumbling them for just a second as he settled himself. "Actually, Madam President, what can you tell us about Lauren Strayer?"
Lauren all but snarled. "Set him straight, Dev."
Dev's expression hardened just a bit, but she answered smoothly, "She's a very talented biographer, and I'm delighted she's agreed to write mine."
"What?" Lauren exclaimed to Dev's image. She released Gremlin, who stuck his non-existent nose under the edge of the comforter and scooted underneath it to hide again. "That's it?" The writer's tone was incredulous. "That's all you're going to say?"
Dev gestured to a woman in the middle of the room. "C'mon, Kathleen. I'm sure you can do better than that."
The correspondent from CNN rose to her feet, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. "I don't know about that, Madam President. Maybe you could fill us in on the details, like when did Ms. Strayer move into the White House, and why wasn't she put in VIP quarters? Why the residence? There was no press release to that effect. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing, you moron! We're hiding nothing!" Lauren tore her glasses from her face and tossed them onto the bed.
Dev raised a sharp eyebrow at the CNN reporter. "Just because I don't disclose every detail of my private life to the press, does not mean I'm hiding anything," Dev growled.
"Oh, my God," Lauren muttered, covering her face with her hands.
Press Secretary Allen, who was waiting in the wings, closed her eyes briefly as she let out a long string of expletives under her breath. She turned to David. "Tell me she didn't use the word 'private'."
David threw his hands in the air. "I don't think she meant it like it sounded." He shook his head. "Out of the frying pan, into the fire, my friend."
Dev immediately knew she had misspoken, and it wasn't just because the room exploded with questions.
"Where did you meet Ms. Strayer?
"How long have you known her?"
"What's it like trying to go out on a date as the President of the United States?"
"Is she a real blonde?"
Two pale eyebrows disappeared into Lauren's hairline. "You'll never have the pleasure of knowing, buddy," she answered tartly.
Dev silently endured the barrage of questions. She did consider what happened in her private residence to be private, despite the fact that Lauren was there on a professional basis.
But why do I think the press isn't going to take it that way? Shit!
"How do your children like her, and how do they feel about her living with you?"
With that question, the color rose to Dev's cheeks, and she drew in a deep, calming breath before speaking. "Ladies and gentleman, I know Press Secretary Allen came out here and gave you a full briefing about five very important pieces of legislation I'm working on. I came here to answer questions about those and other important issues facing our nation."
Lauren's eyes were drawn to Dev's white-knuckled grip on the podium.
"I did
not
come here to answer questions about something that is of no significance at all."
"No significance?" Lauren sprang to her feet, knocking her glasses onto the carpet. "I've just been crucified in every major newspaper in the country, and it's not
significant
?!" she shouted at Dev's hologram. "Thanks so much!"
A chorus of voices protested, and Dev raised her hands to silence them. "I'm sure, overall, that the American public is far more interested in how I intend to make sure every child has adequate health care, and whether or not there will be a social security program at the end of my time in office."
Press Secretary Allen and David looked at each other, rolling knowing eyes simultaneously.
"And when you're ready to talk about those, you let Press Secretary Allen know, and I'll be back. Your current line of questioning is a waste of my time, and, therefore, the public's money. Good day, ladies and gentlemen."
And with that, she left the room.
I need to see Lauren.
*
*
*
Lauren sat on her bed with her head in her hands. Her career was dying on the vine. What good was an historian and biographer who couldn't be trusted to be objective and honest? None.
Jesus, I'm going to end up doing Ricky Martin's life story. I know it.
The blonde woman heard a light rapping on her door. "Go away."
Devlyn pressed her forehead against Lauren's door, not caring who saw her. "Lauren, please give me a moment."
"You had your moment. And, if I recall, you decided to go with 'no comment'." But, despite herself, she was drawn to the door. She took several steps toward it, but decided she wasn't ready to see Devlyn yet. Instead, she gracelessly plopped down on the coffee table, only to have it collapse under her weight.
Devlyn pounded on the door several more times, but waved away a Secret Service agent who had jumped to her assistance. When he was back at his post she called softly, "Are you all right?"
God, she's stubborn.
"C'mon, please let me in. At least let me apologize to you face to face."
Lauren pushed up from the rubble.
Great.
There go my next ten pay checks. I hope Gremlin can learn to appreciate generic dog food.
Her gaze traveled to the door. Dev sounded sincere enough. Brushing off her pants, she reluctantly crossed the room and pulled the door open just a crack. "Yes?"
Now that they were face-to-face Dev found herself a little tongue-tied. But one look into flashing gray eyes and she got over it quickly. "I'm sorry."
Lauren felt a pang in her chest at the look of regret etched across Dev's face and fought the urge to accept Devlyn's apology on the spot. But the words from the press conference were still too fresh in the writer's mind. She turned her back on the President and moved deeper into her room with Dev trailing behind her, the door left open just a crack. "Why are you sorry about such an
insignificant
little thing as the career I've worked my ass off for, President Marlowe?"
Devlyn flinched at Lauren's icy tone and the use of her title. Not to mention that she didn't particularly enjoy having her own words thrown back at her.
Patience.
"Yeah." She sighed. "I know that came out wrong. Lauren, I didn't mean to say, or even imply, that you or your career were insignificant. I just meant that this was something the public didn't need to concern itself with. I am sorry."
Lauren shook her head. Apologies were all well and good, but Devlyn didn't seem to grasp what this meant for both of them. "I record. I observe. I can't be the subject of speculation!"
How blind am I, that I didn't even see this coming?
"You had one chance to nip this in the bud, and you didn't do it. You promised you'd go to bat for me, and you didn't. If I'm not credible, I'm worthless as your biographer."
And anyone else's.
The President straightened as Lauren's accusations hit home. "You are not worthless, and you never will be! Lauren, if I take the time to address this issue, it won't just go away. The best thing to do is let it run its course, and let it die a slow, quiet death. Trust me. Tomorrow," she paused. "Okay, maybe not tomorrow, but next week or next month, this will just be a memory, and the world will move on to other pieces of gossip."
Devlyn ignored the slumped set of Lauren's shoulders and pressed on when all she really wanted to do was give the woman a hug. "Haven't you been paying attention these last few weeks? Haven't you watched me jump from one issue to the next so quickly that sometimes I feel like a trick pony? If you haven't, then maybe you aren't the person for the job after all."
The dark-haired woman's jaw worked for a few seconds, and she let out an explosive breath. She didn't want to say the next part, but she knew she had to. She stared at the wall beyond Lauren with unseeing eyes. "We're not involved and... well... of course... you're not a prisoner. You're free to leave anytime you like with the highest recommendation I can offer."