Confessions of a First Daughter (11 page)

Mom’s private line chirped again.

“It’s Humberto,” she said with a glance at the LCD identification screen. “I think we’re ready to test this plan out. If you can fool Humberto, you can fool anyone.”

“Are we?” I took a bite of one of the Snickers bars Mom keeps stashed in her nightstand. The hairs on the bob-cut wig kept tickling the corner of my mouth, and somehow I got caramel on the fibers. At least Mom had let me put on some presidential sweats for the Humberto encounter.

Hannah, who’d been filing her nails since Mom started coaching me, examined her cuticles. “You were ready about an hour ago, Morgan. Relax, you got this down.”

Mom picked up the phone. “Come on up,” she told Humberto. “But keep your distance. I don’t want you to get this bug I seem to have picked up.”

A minute later, the Secret Service agent buzzed him up to the residence wing.

Mom and Hannah headed to the walk-in closet when a knock rattled the bedroom door. “Get rid of the candy,” Mom whispered. I chucked the half-eaten bar in the trash.

Hannah gave me a thumbs-up before sliding the closet door nearly shut.

Adrenaline shot through me. I could pull this off. I knew I could.

“Come in,” I called. I picked up my mom’s cell phone and held it to my ear as if I’d just taken a super important call. I kept my profile to Humberto when he entered.

“Thanks, Humberto. Just set the files on the nightstand, will you?” I’d gotten my mom’s rapid-fire voice patterns down really well by now. I turned slightly away and spoke into the inactivated cell phone. “Sam, honey, we’ll talk about it when you get back from London. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take my NyQuil and kick this bug.”

I flipped the phone shut.

Humberto stood in the doorway, hands folded in front as was his custom. He raked my face with his eyes as if something puzzled him.

I kept my expression under control, but sweat started to bead under my wig. Maybe I wasn’t as good at impersonating my mother as I thought.

Then he said: “I’m glad you listened to reason and canceled the Africa trip, Sara.”

Whew!

“Are you?” I judiciously sneezed and reached for a tissue.

Humberto took a tiny step back. “CENTCOM sent a briefing over from the Pentagon. The whole region’s devolving into chaos. General Mfuso’s ordered troops to the borders. The CIA thinks that war is about to break out. Not only are our strategic interests threatened, but famine is almost certainly guaranteed for the people of the Delta Valley, and there’s no sign of the missing yellowcake. It’s far too dangerous now—though I can’t help but feel that having that meeting with Mfuso and Bishop Welak would have made all the difference.”

“I know.” I folded my arms and tapped the knuckle of my index finger over my pursed lips like Mom did when she was thinking hard. “This crisis is my highest priority today. There may be a way yet to solve it. Keep me informed of any updates.”

“Will do.”

“And could you keep the aides from bothering me with congressional requests today? I need to focus. Plus”—I sneezed again—“I don’t want anyone else to catch this cold.”

“You got it.”

Humberto barely got the door shut behind him when Mom popped out of the closet. “I’m flabbergasted,” she said.

“She fooled him, all right.” Hannah emerged with one of Mom’s Hermès scarves twined around her throat. “Like there was any doubt.”

Mom beamed and a warm feeling spread through me. I loved surprising my mom in a good way for once. “Piece of cake,” I said modestly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think we can pull off a switch.” Mom dug her handheld scheduling device out of the pocket of her robe and started rearranging things on the touchpad. “Maybe I’m crazy, but…”

“You’re not crazy,” I assured her. “This is the right thing to do.”

Mom nodded. “I think a week is enough time to get Mfuso and Welak to the negotiating table, but I’ll have to send in the CIA to guarantee their safety if we’re to bring them to Camp David….” Mom started to pace, muttering about Air Force 2, CENTCOM, high-level security, a media blackout, and the best way to break it to her chief of staff that her eighteen-year-old daughter just fooled him into thinking she was the president of the United States.

Meanwhile, Hannah gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You rock, President Morgan,” she said.

“Frankly, I was skeptical,” Mom interjected. “But you two proved me wrong.” She smiled. “Hmm, after I finish briefing Humberto, I’ll have to inform both your Secret Service detail and mine, of course.”

“Tell Max?” My enthusiasm for the plan came to a screeching halt. For some reason, the thought of Max seeing me in my mom’s getup sent the heebie-jeebies through me. I could already hear him telling me the plan would never work.

“Do we have to?” I asked. “Maybe we should do another test run first.”

“Good idea, sweetie.” Mom beamed at me again like I was a rocket scientist. “I know what we can do. I’m supposed to host a reception for Prince Richard of Great Britain tonight. Why don’t you stand in for me for a few minutes, just to test this out? If you can pull it off, we’ll know for certain you can impersonate me successfully.”

Hannah gasped. I mean, literally, audibly gasped. Which was weird, because normally Hannah was too cool to geek out over anything. “Prince Richard,
the
Prince Richard, is coming here? Tonight?”

“With his cute British accent,” I teased. “And wavy black hair. One of Celebricity.com’s one hundred and one most handsome hotties.
That
Prince Richard.”

“Whoa, Morgan.” Hannah picked up a copy of
Congressional Quarterly
and started fanning herself. “I hope you don’t burst into flames standing next to him. Remember, you’re supposed to be married to your dad.”

“Now that’s just gross, Hannah. You’re letting the prince’s hottitude fry your mind.”

Mom started cracking up. “Oh, to be eighteen again,” she laughed. “I hope you can keep it together because if you can pull off this event, then maybe, just maybe, this crazy plan will work.”

“Relax, Mom.” My words were braver than I felt. “I can pull it off.”

“I hope so, sweetie.” Mom sobered up. “Because a lot of lives are on the line.”

“I know.”

Mom and I shared a look of understanding. We were Abbott women. We were strong. And together we could handle whatever the world chose to throw at us.

But what I couldn’t handle was telling Max that I was impersonating my mother. I don’t know why his opinion of me mattered so much, but it did.

In the end Mom was the one to tell him and she said he took the news like a professional. Sure, how else could he act? She was the commander in chief, after all. But I had no doubt that inside he was feeling the full force of another Tornado strike.

Chapter Fifteen

Luckily, the reception was to be a low-key affair
at the prince’s request. Just a few diplomats from the British embassy and the prince’s entourage.

Hannah had to be home before dinner to attend an ACLU forum with her parents, so Mom picked out my clothes this time, insisting I wear her yellow St. John pantsuit for the reception. The one that made her—and now me—look like a stick of butter. I vowed then and there to toss any yellow items of clothing and dye my hair green when this was all over.

“It’s conservative and appropriate for this occasion,” Mom said while pinning an ugly jeweled lizard brooch, a gift from the queen, on the yellow lapel. She wore her robe so she’d be ready to quickly slip on the hideous pantsuit when I returned. “Don’t forget to mention our initiative to raise international emissions standards to Prince Richard.”

I giggled. “Sounds like you want me to talk about fart suppression…maybe a ban on chili consumption in public places—”

“Would you be serious, Morgan?”

“Sorry.” I cracked inappropriate jokes when I was nervous. Which, despite my big words of confidence, I was. Super nervous.

Mom’s intercom system chirped.

“That means the guests are arriving,” Mom said. She smoothed her hair. Then she smoothed mine. “I’ll be watching everything from the security monitor. You’re to spend fifteen minutes circulating and shaking hands. Then excuse yourself and have Special Agent Parker escort you back to the family wing. Humberto will cover while you and I swap back.”

“Mom, we’ve gone over the plan a hundred times already!”

“I know. I know.” She gave me an encouraging smile, which wobbled a little. “Showtime, sweetie. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath before I opened her bedroom door. “Here goes.”

I straightened my spine and hit the hallway leading out of the residence with my mother’s trademark quick step. To my surprise, staff members either nodded at me or stood aside. Parker, the lead agent on Mom’s Secret Service detail, waited for me at the elevator that would take me from the third-floor residence to the second floor where the reception was to be held. He didn’t even bat an eye.

So far, so good. The plan was going off without a hitch.

Already, guests were filing into the Yellow Oval Room, which is where Mom liked to hold private receptions for important dignitaries. Now I got it. Yellow pantsuit to match the yellow Louis XVI decor.

Good thing Mom was a gifted politician. Because her fashion sense needed help.

Humberto approached. Nervously, I smoothed the front of the suit.

“Feeling better,
President Abbott?
” he inquired ironically.

I’ll say this for Humberto. Mom chose him well, because earlier today he met the news that I was impersonating my mother so she could broker a secret peace deal between two warring African juntas with barely a ripple of emotion. Either he thought it was a good idea or Humberto was really good at hiding an internal freak-out.

Smart money on the latter.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s the prince?”

“On the balcony. He’s impressed with the view.”

Of course. The view from the Truman Balcony happened to be the best in Washington, D.C. In the setting sun, the Washington Monument glowed pink and gold, while lights from jets landing at Reagan International Airport twinkled like stars in the twilit sky. A pond with a lighted fountain added a splash of color on the swath of green lawn rolling toward Capitol Hill.

Humberto took my elbow and whispered, “Morgan, are you sure you can do this?”

“Yes.”
Stop asking questions, Humberto!
He was starting to flip me out. “I mustn’t keep the prince waiting any longer. Mom, I mean,
I
wouldn’t approve.”

I plunged into the gathering and headed straight to the balcony. I’d shake hands later, but for now I deftly weaved and dodged the ambassador to the United Kingdom and her husband and a couple of embassy diplomats. Parker stationed himself by the doorway, ready to intervene in case things went awry. I almost missed Max’s disapproving frown, but it would be a dead giveaway to have him shadowing me at the reception instead of Mom’s agent.

Let me state for the record that Prince Richard looks nothing like the photos I’ve seen of him in the celebrity mags. He’s much, much hotter. No wonder Hannah freaked out…the next king of England should have been modeling underwear on a billboard in Times Square.

Too bad he seemed bored out of his skull.

Prince Richard’s famous sapphire eyes were glazed over with a dull stare of polite interest as he spoke to one of the dignitaries. It was an expression I’d worn a bajillion times at these types of functions.

I greeted the prince with what I hoped was motherly presidential interest. “And how has your visit been progressing?” I asked after we’d worn out the usual pleasantries about airplane travel and the weather.

“It’s been smashing,” he said in his chippy British accent. “The ribbon cutting at the new U.K./U.S. appliance-manufacturing factory in Utica was quite enthralling, as was the North Atlantic Fisheries conference in Bangor. Lovely places, Bangor and Utica.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. I feel as though our two countries are close on an accord regarding, erm, cod and haddock quotas.”

“Excellent.” God, how did Mom keep from passing out with boredom? And poor Prince Richard looked as if his brain was atrophying before my eyes.

I opened my mouth to discuss the international emissions standards Mom insisted I mention, and found myself saying: “Would you like to have some fun?”

Prince Richard choked on a sip of spring water. “Pardon?”

I repeated myself. “My daughter, Morgan, is about your age—perhaps you two could hang out and have some fun.” I gave him what I hoped was a motherly wink. “It’s a little boring around here, isn’t it?”

Prince Richard took a moment to politely consider the offer, but he couldn’t conceal the relief rippling over his face. “I’d be delighted to meet your daughter, Madam President.”

“Excellent.” Suddenly I realized Humberto was at my elbow. He shot me a meaningful look. My fifteen minutes as leader of the free world was up. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Your Highness? I need to make a few arrangements.”

“Of course.” Prince Richard gave the cutest formal bow, totally Old World European.

Parker appeared at my other elbow.

These guys didn’t mess around. Before I knew it, I’d been whisked away back upstairs to my parents’ room, where my mother waited anxiously.

“Well? How’d it go?” she asked as I handed over the suit. “It looked successful from what I could see on the security feed.”

“Pretty good. No one gave me funny looks at all. Oh, by the way, I made a date tonight. With Prince Richard.”

Mom shrugged into her pantsuit jacket. “You work fast. Konner who?”

I laughed and handed Mom her sensible pumps. “It’s not like that. I feel sorry for the guy. He had to attend a conference on fishing
and
appliance manufacturing.”

“Purgatory,” Mom agreed. “Just keep the fun low-key, Morgan. Okay?”

“Sure, Mom. We’ll play pinochle in the Treaty Room or croquet on the North Lawn.”

“I was thinking you two could go bowling in the White House bowling alley.”