It's funny how fast our plans can change. Today- I was supposed to be answering letters from the American people, and some from overseas. Today, we are honoring the Vice President of the United States.
I'll still find time to answer those letters afterwards, just not as many. Now, I'm pacing back and forth across my sitting room while a speech writer goes through and crosses out parts of my eulogy. As much as we want this to be for the family, who agreed to have a state funeral with full honors- it's not.
This has impacted hundred of millions of people. Those hundreds of millions of people will be watching, hanging on to every word that is said. This needs to be perfect. She deserves nothing less.
The speechwriter crosses out another, larger section.
"What's wrong with that one?"
"It's too personal. People don't want to know about their dead Vice President's grandchildren." He shakes his head. "You've got plenty of your own personal stories about her. What's one more we could put in to replace it?"
I lean against the wall, wracking my memories of her for something funeral-friendly. She was a woman who could be composed and (mostly) constrain her potty-mouth in public, but would let it go free as soon as she was away from cameras.
No. That would be a story to tell away from the cameras. She would also donate millions of dollars to various charities every week- almost ninety percent of her income from the book. That was the type of person she was. Far better than I am- and far better than I will ever be.
"I could...talk about her donations."
"Good- try to remember that we're... almost out of time so you won't be able to read my hand writing." He says as he scribbles stuff down.
I watch him, only now observing how he works. We haven't had another chance to work together yet- this is our first. I believe it's a universal feeling when I say how depressing it is. Most president's get to use their speech writers for state of the union addresses promoting unity- mine isn't for another few weeks.
I don't even know this guys name, and here he is helping me write a eulogy. "Uhm...what's your name?"
"Namibia, Ma'm." He smiles. "Feeling sentimental today?"
"A little bit." I shrug. "This whole...funeral things is...fucking depressing."
"Yeah, I don't remember ever-" I hear the signature beep of a fingerchip scanner, and then the double doors open. Lilith steps in, nods her head- and that's how I know it's time.
I move from my spot on the wall. Namibia hands me the redacted and scribbled on script, and I thank him. He follows behind me- not to go the funeral, but to prepare a speech for Morgan's press conference later on. When we pass by her office, he waves goodbye- and I turn the corner.
The White House stylists stops me for a second before I go outside. She fixes a single wrinkle around my waist area and touches up a spot on my forehead where I sweated her masterpiece off, then steps back- satisfied.
I take a deep breath as the marines open the door for me. As soon as I walk out, I hear the signature clicks of a thousand professional grade cameras and a few iPhone's in there. I'm suddenly glad the stylist stopped me.
I couldn't begin to count how many reporters are on White House grounds today if I tried. I make a few small comments on their questions here and there, but for the most part- ignore them as I walk across the south lawn. Like the last time, a few members of my security team are waiting at the helicopter. Except now- I'll be traveling without staff members.
Most of them have been given the day off, besides the ones who's absence would be a national security issue. I grip onto a handle as I get in- which is easier than getting out. There are at least three videos of Lauren Wells stumbling as she did, and being caught by her head of security.
After a minute or two of just sitting there, the ground gets smaller and smaller. Soon, I can see all of D.C's national monuments- the things I see every time I travel that most are lucky to see two or three of in their lives.
Then, because the helicopter's flight is so short- it starts an immediate descent towards the church she attended. I haven't been inside of one in years. I never intended on it, but here we are. She was a religious woman- the type that actually cared about people and wasn't just pretending, the type that didn't push her faith on others. I always respected that about her.
We land in the church's parking lot, in an area that's been kept empty for our descent. Lilith said it would be better to take the helicopter, since the motorcade would take up twenty parking spaces instead of the ten from right now. With how many people and politicians are attending, and how many secret service are all over the place- her line of thinking was reasonable.
I need to take Lilith's hand again to get out. Across the parking lot, I spot Ethan walking towards the security checkpoint. He has to pass through the metal detector like all other attendees, passing through when he's cleared.
"Madam President?" An agent asks. "Are you okay?"
Well it depends. I'm not hungry. I have more money than most people every dream of, and I could retire right now without giving it a second thought. Mentally? I'm strained, and nearly suicidal.
No, I am not fucking okay.
"Mhmn." I nod. "Thank you for asking."
They escort me in. I'm seated at the front, right next to her family and other world leaders - who will also be giving speeches.
I glance behind me for a second. My eyes meet with Meg and Taylor- and I turn around. They were named the most iconic lesbian couple of 2040, though they're both bi. I get it. Meg's still the top paid reporter in the entire world- while Taylor is the top payed actress in Hollywood. Combined, their net worth gained from this year is bigger than mine or Natalie's combined.
On the right side of me- her youngest granddaughter, who's just fifteen. On the left- the president of Russia. He's been named their most liberal head of state ever. If he were American, I would nominate him to be the next Vice President.
That's something else I'll have to think about. There's a long list of potential choices, but each have a small disqualifying factor. For example- Mina Wells. She has the education, public support and love, but she is not old enough. The secretary of defense has no political experience- only military's
The governor of New York accidentally made a sexist comment last month. Though he apologized and you could tell he regretted it as soon as he said it, I need somebody who's past won't be brought up and risk my reelection chances.
There's Ethan.... who's nomination would be almost perfect, aside from what we did. Because of that, we can never happen. I turn my attention to the front as her priest begins. His voice is calming in a room of emotional people. I'm sure all of them are glad, with how fucked this whole day feels.
She was old, sure- but who could've guessed that it was her time to die? I didn't.
Then the time comes for family speeches, and her granddaughter stands up. Though most people have managed to control theirs, a tear rolls down her cheek and a sound comes from her throat that makes it clear she's in pain.
"Hey-" I reach out to her as she takes a step towards the podium. "You'll do fine. Get through it quickly and you'll be able to have more time to mourn in private."
She nods, finally getting the guts to go forward without hesitation. She has a moment of stage fright looking at the thousand something people in attendance, and the cameras hanging from the balcony- but from her facial expressions, decides to suck it up.
"My grandmother was... the biggest motivator in my life. The first time I told her I wanted to go to law school she gave me her entire collection and money to...buy more books on case studies. She also...paid for me to attend a future law student's summer camp and...tied enough money to me in her will that I won't have to work until I get board certified... so I can focus on studying. To the public- you may hear many things about her today, but that was the type of person she was. She always wanted to help people, women specifically- achieve at a young age what she was not able to because of the time period she grew up in. I've seen endless news stories about how she'd want to be remembered, so let me tell you. She wouldn't give a shit. She'd want every single person watching this to keep the opinions they had of her while alive and not... pretend to be a supporter just because she's....dead."
With that, her granddaughter leaves the podium, in danger of crying. When she's reseated next to me, she looks down, not wanting the cameras to be. I'd comfort her, but I've never been good at that. So instead- I face forward and wait on my turn to speak.
I'm after her sister, who keeps it together until the end- then has a panic attack. She has to be guided away by a secret service agent and her husband, not able to sit through any life of the funeral. Now I feel a sense of pressure- like my speech really has to be perfect.
"...and next, the president of the United States." Her preacher says.
Suddenly, I'm hit with that same stage fright I saw on her granddaughter, but the I remember I can't afford it. For fucks sake- I stood in front of ten thousand people at certain campaign stops. I'm fine. This totally isn't different.
I clear my throat, look at the prepared speech- and can't bring myself to say it. As I lower the thing, I can feel Namibia cursing me in his head.
"I picked Natalie Heath for the vice presidential nomination because I respected her work...as I believed we needed somebody like her in the vice presidential spot." I say. "Though she was only in it for a... short week, I believe she would have been the most influential in history if she had the time, because like her granddaughter said earlier- that's just the type of person she was. I remember this one time on the campaign trail- we were both sleep deprived and needed a break, but she didn't stop or slow down. In fact, she made me keep going because we were so close to the finish line. If it weren't for her...I don't know how we would have won the election, because she wouldn't stop until she achieved the thing she wanted to achieve. That's the type of person she was."
I plop myself back in between the Russian president and her granddaughter.
"That was... amazing. Thank you." Her granddaughter says.
"Because it was all true." I shrug.
The rest of the ceremony goes by quickly, then it's time for her send off- to the place where she will be buried. I stand in the front of a crowd of world leader, watching as they load her casket into a motorcade vehicle. She is protected- even in death apparently.
"She was the reason I decided to run." The Australian prime minister says.
I nod. If there's anything we all have in common despite our differences- it's that the woman in that casket inspired us.
For that, we will always remember her.
—-
I look at the stack of letters on my desk, really not feeling like it today- though I don't have a choice. That was one of my campaign promises; always responding to Instagram DM's and letters.
An intern deals with the DM's for me, most of the time. I answer a few as soon as I wake up- and if I don't look like shit, I'll video chat them every now and then. The look on their faces are always ones of surprise. Some hang up out of shock- while most stutter during the five or so minutes I'll have to talk.
I force myself to pick up the first letter. Each one is scanned for dangerous devices and poisons before it gets to me, so I don't have to worry about any of those things. Inside- a thin piece of paper is folded in half, the handwriting of somebody who is clearly a child on it.
Dear Madam President,
My family is not supportive of my plans to enter politics. I've been following you since I was five years old, and if you ever get this- I have one question. How do you deal with those who still do not believe in you?
Love,
Anna Bella
I smile. The events of today are no less depressing, but I draw joy from moments like these. If you're not able to, life gets really pointless really fast.
Anna Bella-
Thank you for the kind words. I really needed that right now. As for your family- fuck them. This is your life. Do what you want to with it, because it does not belong to them. If you know this is what you're destined to do, do it and don't let anybody tell you different- but don't expect it to be easy, because politics is one of the hardest career paths. Once you need funding for your campaigns and are of age, do not hesitate to contact me.
-Ally Feinstein
I force myself to use the neater handwriting, which takes longer because I'm so used to writing fast. I feel Morgan standing over my shoulder, reading.
"What?" I ask, annoyed and claustrophobic.
"You can't send that back." She shakes her head. "The press would have a field day with you telling a child to openly disrespect their family."
"Fuck them too." I fold my letter in half, reaching for an envelope. Morgan sighs, knowing her efforts are pointless.
I get six more letters done before I need a break. The sun's starting to set, but most of my senior staff is still in the west wing. I told them to set their own schedules. Usually, that means coming in at nine and leaving at nine, because of how much work there is to do. I glance at the clock- I've got ten minutes left to answer letters before our final, evening meeting.
I look over at the stack and know there's no way in hell I'll be able to finish them in time, so I pick one from the middle and get it done in less than sixty seconds, ignoring the ache in my right hand. I walk across the room, hesitating before I open my office doors. Outside of it, the secretary is filling out her own paperwork- a few yards away from my security.
Her stack isn't nearly as big as mine, but her shifts are twelve hours because she's always answering the phones. Our night shift secretary will be here in two hours.
"Evening, Callie." I say. Her head snaps up, a look in her eyes that makes her look like she's losing her mind, only for a second though.
"Evening, Madam President. Retiring to the residence for the night?" She asks.
"Not quite yet- still have a meeting to go to."
"Well then- I won't keep you from it." She clicks her pen, flipping over to the next page.
I nod. That's one of the nicest possible ways you could tell the president to fuck off. I take the hint, fill up my water bottle at one of our stations, and take a moment before the staff meeting.
I have no idea what this one is about- probably general briefings and advice.
I let the water run down my throat, mouth wide open. People don't stare at the president unless they're giving a speech- yet another benefit. I get to do the weirdest shit and nobody blinks an eye. When I bring my head back down, I come face to face with Meg and nearly jump.
"Christ- where did you come from?"
"Harassing your press secretary." She shrugs. "She's really good at keeping her shit together. You made a good choice with that one."
"Thanks?"
"Yeah yeah, look, I was wondering if I could get a comment on who you plan to have replace Ms.Heath?" Meg is ready with a voice recorder.
Of course- that woman never takes a damn break.
"I believe I already answers that question...but to refresh your memory... We will not announce our pick immediately. I believe that would be disrespectful to the family so we're waiting at least a few weeks but we do have a short list."
"Is Ethan Briggs on that short-list?" She asks. I almost choke on my own saliva. Does she know? No. She couldn't.
Even Tao, who was in my room for a few minutes, does not know. I'm growing paranoid- another reason we shouldn't have done what we did.
"Pardon?"
"He's just about the most qualified out there and has a higher IQ than Einstein. If he's not on the short-list, why the hell not?"
"We...will not be revealing our list of..potential candidates at this time. Excuse me." I squeeze past her.
"What is the White House hiding?" She yells after me.
That's all it takes for me to spin around. "Nothing. And if we were, there would be a good reason."
I ignore her as I take the few steps necessary to reach the end of the hallway. Before I enter, it passes through my mind what this meeting is most likely about.
I lean against the door, pull my hair up so I look more professional and less sweaty- then press my finger to the reader. It lets me in instantly.
Almost every high ranking staff member is present. Ethan, Tao, Morgan, my political and general advisors, the communications director.... I now know what they will say.
My position on the matter will not change, no matter how much they try to argue me down . I will not choose today.
"Evening." They all stand up at once. "What brings...all of you to the same room at the same time?"
Morgan and my chief political advisor eye each other, a "you do it, I don't want to" look in their faces.
"What?" I sit down. With everybody here, this is probably going to take a while. Neither of them volunteer information until Morgan steps forward.
"We all think... you should make the decision as soon as possible." She says. "Of course- wait until the state of the union to announce your pick but... we can't waste any time."
"That was my plan to begin with and you know it. What is this meeting really about?" I lean my head back.
She spends a second trying to find the right words, stuck on how to make them come out.
"We think it should be Ethan Briggs." Morgan continues. So they really don't know- if they did they wouldn't even suggest it. "He's currently the most qualified individual- with his career experience and working in multiple government departments over the years. The media is already calling on us to nominate him, too."
I glance at him. He's sitting on the opposite side of the table, his head turned- he clearly wasn't expecting that.
"If I may interrupt..." he says. "I'm not a politician and I never have been."
"Nobody is- until they are. You were in charge of one of the largest government agencies for years. Even though you weren't elected... that's politics." Tao states.
And they're all right. His nomination is perfect- with the one exception. I'm stuck in between telling them and keeping my mouth shut, but then Ethan nods- seemingly giving me permission.
"We have to tell them." I imagine him saying. "It's the only way to shut them up."
I stand up for this one. They start to follow until I gesture for them to sit back down. "It can't be Ethan."
"Why not? His brain is amazing and that's what the people want." Morgan starts.
"We had...sexual relations." I confess. The room goes silent, more so than before- if that's even possible. "The media would have a field day if they ever caught wind of... a president and Vice President...doing that."
After ten seconds of nobody saying anything, Morgan's the first to speak up. "We'll just have to move down the list then."
"I'll...make one." My political advisor says.
"So..I take it this meeting is over?" Ethan uncomfortably shifts.
I nod. Everybody starts dispersing. My goal was to have a work place where people are honest, and where they also mind their own business. It looks like both of those things are coming true.
On the way out, I bump straight into Ethan. His arm quickly juts out to steady himself on a side table, and he apologizes all over himself.
"I'm so sorry-" he starts.
"Ethan, don't." I shake my head. "It was my clumsy ass."
He smirks. I look around- everybody's gone except secret service, so I hit him on the arm, hard. He laughs.
"That's for making a comment about my ass."
"Oh come on, you walked right into it and it was funny. What happened to that sense of humor?"
I try not to look at him, but he lifts my chin up with his fingers. Then- I can't help but stare him down. "Fine. It was a little funny."
There's that expression again.
Contrary to popular belief, because of how casual I am about sexuality- I haven't slept with many people. Four off the top of my head, though I'm sure there's more if we went back into my teenage years.
Ethan was- is the best I've ever had. I'm so tempted to just... no. I will be professional...at least in that sense.
Because it's the end of the day, I hold out a joint.
"Oh what the hell-" he mumbles under his breath. With that, I shove it back into my pocket and we go up the elevator to my residence. Those who are still here do not care- they have work to focus on.
Instead of going straight for the bed, this time we head out to the balcony. I provide the flame, with those who don't live here being unable to bring hazardous items in.
He takes the second hit. I realize how much I like this too- just relaxing with a friend. He may be older, but we're both adults. We relate in the sense that he does know what stress I'm going through, and knowing breaks are needed so I don't lose my damn mind.
"You ever think about... what you'll do after you've really retired?" He asks.
A few times. I assume the question comes from him thinking about the fact that he could be retired right now- had he not taken my offer.
"Sometimes." I take another hit, leaning against the balcony's edge. "Maybe I'll.....move to Italy or Costa Rica. They're both such beautiful places. I might get back into painting like I did when I was a teenager or I could write a few more books. You?"
He turns to me. "I'll take naps all day. Stay right here in D.C- it's home to me."
"I'd still live in New York or Houston if I had the choice."
Then it happens again.