"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.
"That wasn't very nice." Lauren stood three paces behind the slender, older woman, her facial muscles twitching with the force of her pent up anger and frustration. She'd taken enough shit from the Press over the past ten months. But now... now there was finally a face attached to that malicious, big mouth.
Slowly, Traci turned to face the woman behind her. "I'm a news correspondent, Ms. Strayer. I'm paid to get a story, not to be 'nice'. If I wanted to be 'nice', I'd write biographies for a living."
Lauren took another menacing step forward. "I don't think you were trying to get a story at all. You were trying to get a reaction."
And you almost did.
“Those were nothing more than cheap shots. And something I'd expect more from the tabloids than a supposed 'news correspondent'." Another step forward. "It takes skill and talent to write for a living, Ms. Corbin. Don't kid yourself. Your obvious inadequacies are the reason you can't do it."
"Oooo, ouch!" The reporter gave Lauren a less than sincere smile. "I can die happy now. The President's girlfriend has told me off. Are you finished having your little tantrum, Ms. Strayer? Because I'm going home. Besides, I'm sure you're due back at the White House to do a little Chief Executive back scratching."
Lauren's face turned an angry shade of purple. She calmly slid off her glasses and tucked them safely into the pocket of her jacket. "Oh, there's going to be scratching." The writer's eyes glittered with rage. "But I was thinking more along the lines of bloody streaks down your face." Lauren smiled a cold smile, enjoying the look of shock and poorly masked concern on Traci Corbin's face. "Though I'll be sure to give Devlyn your regards tonight."
"Hi, Lauren!" A nervous and very familiar voice interrupted their conversation.
Lauren didn't even turn her head; she just continued to burn holes through a wide-eyed Traci with her withering glare.
Oh, shit. David was right. Thank God I was so close to the studio.
David’s frantic call had reached his wife when she was only two blocks away from the studio and on her way to a downtown meeting. She could be there more quickly than anyone else, and by the tone of David's voice she knew she needed to hurry. Beth rushed forward and stepped into the small space that remained between the women. "Hi, I'm Beth McMillian." She reached out and took Traci's hand, shaking it vigorously. "And if I were you, I'd leave now, before my friend Lauren claws your eyes out, and my husband has to find a place to hide your worthless," her gaze dropped to Traci's chest, "silicon-filled body."
"Oh, the cavalry!" Traci leaned in and stage-whispered to Beth, her bravado returning now that it appeared she wasn't about to be pounded within an inch of her life. "And just in time too. I would hate to have broken blondie's nose." She took a deep breath and looked over Beth's shoulder at Lauren. "Give the President my best, won't you?" Traci smirked.
Lauren finally snapped and lunged forward, but Beth turned around more quickly than anyone would have thought possible for a basically sedentary history professor. She used her greater weight to hold Lauren back by the shoulders. The younger woman looked as though she was going to spontaneously combust if she didn't kill someone.
"Let. Me. GO!" The writer watched angrily as Tracy took this as her cue to leave.
"Lauren, don't do it," Beth soothed. "The legitimate media will tear you and Dev apart. Take a deep breath and think of Dev and the kids." She could see her words having an immediate effect. "That's it. She's not worth it."
Lauren blew out an unhappy breath and tried to calm herself. "Bitch," she seethed in a whisper, feeling hot tears spring to her eyes. "It's always something. They're always lurking and lying and distorting. And they never stop, even when you try to play their game!"
"No, they don't." Beth sighed, glad that when Lauren finally had this meltdown she was away from the White House. Beth had seen it building over the past few weeks as Dev's popularity began to slip further in the polls. In addition to the furor over the bombings and subsequent FBI raid, Dev's own party, along with the Republicans and several conservative Democrats, had begun to question the President's morals. After all, she was shacked up with her girlfriend in what was considered by most people to be a public residence. "If you intend to have any kind of a relationship with Dev, you're going to have to learn to ignore most of this."
"Easier said than done," Lauren admitted. She brought shaking hands to her eyes to wipe the tears away, then to her temples, where she was developing a horrendous headache.
God, what is wrong with me?
She let out a ragged breath, more upset by her lack of control than Traci Corbin. "You're right, Beth. Let's go." The two women began walking towards the exit. "I'm not even going to ask why or how in the hell you got here not thirty seconds after that joke of an interview ended."
Beth laughed. "My loving hubby called me on my cell phone." She shrugged. "I just happened to be nearby. He told me that if I didn't get over to this studio A.S.A.P. he was never coming home again because he'd be busy trying to explain how a simple interview turned into a homicide."
Lauren nodded. "David is a smart man. Too bad he has to die for talking me into this." A small grin edged onto Lauren's face. "He knows the early morning hours are when I'm most likely to commit murder."
Beth chuckled, linking her arm through Lauren's. "I suggest we let him live and just torture him for the rest of our natural lives. It's far more fun that way. Never let them see you sweat and never let them forget it when they do something stupid. Now, how about I buy you breakfast?"