Eighteen Acres: A Novel (23 page)

She hung up with the salon and tried to wipe the smile off her face before she grabbed her binder off Annie’s desk and ran down the flight of stairs to the Situation Room.

All of the national security players in the Cabinet were meeting to discuss the parameters of the internal investigation Charlotte had called for in her address to Congress the week before. The strategy was for Charlotte to get ahead of the congressional investigations into the crash. Even though Charlotte had spent hours with the committee chairmen from the House and the Senate in the immediate aftermath of the crash, the investigations were unavoidable in a politically charged election year.

Charlotte had insisted on announcing her own investigation so she could present herself to the voters as standing on the same side as her political opponents in wanting to know exactly what had happened in the hours and minutes before Marine One was attacked. So far, Charlotte’s political survival skills had kept her one step ahead of the Democrats, but her charm offensive had its limits. She’d invited the different committee chairmen and their families to Camp David in the weeks since she’d been home, and she’d been filling Air Force One to capacity with members of Congress every time she left D.C. While these things smoothed her relations with Congress and made governing easier, it was clear that the Democrats who hoped to take her job in the November election smelled blood in the water. If they could lay blame for the helicopter switch at Charlotte’s feet, they could dismantle her advantage on national security issues and beat her in November.

While a policy advisor from DOD droned on, Melanie looked over a stack of polling data Ralph had churned out the night before. Charlotte’s poll numbers on questions about her ability to relate to the problems of everyday Americans had leaped twelve points since her return from Afghanistan. Melanie thought it was a typo. Charlotte never polled well in that category. Women found her aloof, and men couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of a woman in charge of two wars.

She e-mailed Ralph to get the verbatim responses, the detailed answers that respondents offered to the questions asked in the polls.

He wrote back right away: “I came by earlier to point that out to
you, but Annie said you were on the phone. There’s some puzzling stuff buried in the data. Her numbers are still bad, but there are bright spots. Seems the public feels sorry for her over the whole Peter and Dale thing, and others are rallying around her at a moment of crisis. Do you want to meet tonight to discuss?”

“I can’t meet tonight. How’s tomorrow morning?” she typed, despite the fact that BlackBerrys were banned in the Sit Room.

“I have church in the morning. How about one
P.M.
?”

“See you then,” she responded.

The poll numbers could be a fluke, and it wasn’t enough to change the dynamics of a national election, but it was the first piece of evidence she’d seen that the public was open to changing its mind about Charlotte.

“Melanie, do you agree with the proposal DOD laid out?” asked the national security advisor.

Melanie hadn’t been paying attention to the back-and-forth in the meeting in the Situation Room for at least fifteen minutes.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. Do you mind recapping it? I was dealing with something for Charlotte,” she said.

“We’re all dealing with things for Charlotte,” snapped the secretary of state.

The national security advisor shushed her.

“Sure. We decided to allow the Dems in Congress to appoint four members to the bipartisan commission. Then we’d allow the Republicans in Congress to do the same, and we would appoint the final four members. How does that sound, Melanie?”

“Bold,” Melanie said sarcastically. “Why would the public give Charlotte political courage points if she stacked the commission with members of her own party?”

“You’ll lose total control if you do it any other way,” the secretary of state said.

“I’m sorry. Did you say we’d lose control?” Melanie said.

“Yes. And you know that, Melanie, so I’m not sure why you’re resisting the consensus decision,” the secretary of state said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Madam Secretary, we have already
lost control. Split the commission in half. The president wants this to be real. Half Democrats, half Republicans—two cochairs, one Dem and one R—and we’ll let the Congress pick all of its members,” Melanie said, pushing her chair back from the table.

“Melanie, this is very constructive feedback,” the national security advisor said. “What time can you reconvene tomorrow to finalize this?”

“I have to do the Sunday shows, and then I have a one
P.M.
and a four
P.M.
, but I could do something after those meetings wrap up,” Melanie said.

The secretary of state sighed loudly. Melanie ignored her and hurried from the Situation Room. She took the stairs to her office two at a time, grabbed her purse, and ran out to West Exec to where Walter and Sherry were waiting for her.

“Can you drop me off at the Four Seasons?” she asked.

“We’ll wait for you,” he said.

“Thanks, Walter,” she said, pulling out her BlackBerry and scanning the messages.

She made it home at seven-thirty and took a long, hot shower. Melanie dressed carefully in skinny black Calvin Klein pants that only fit after a few days of not eating and a fitted white blouse, and left more buttons unbuttoned than she would have if she’d planned to leave her apartment. She was barefoot, and her hair was still wet, when the doorbell rang at ten minutes before eight.

“You’re early,” she said when she opened the door.

“I know. And the sad truth is that I’ve been walking around M Street for the last twenty minutes, killing time before I came up here,” Brian said, smiling at her.

“Really? You were just walking up and down the street?”

“Yeah. Walter and Sherry drove by twice, which was when I decided to come up. I was afraid they’d pick me up for suspicious behavior or something.”

She laughed.

“So, how have you been? It feels like a lifetime ago when I was here last,” he said, smiling again, this time a little shyly.

“I’m doing fine. There’s a certain order that sets in when things go this far off the rails, you know?”

“Actually, I do. In a lot of ways, a crisis is easier to manage than sustained chaos, because you get everyone’s attention,” he said.

“Exactly,” she said, remembering how easy he was to talk to and how much she enjoyed telling him things about her job.

“How is Dale doing?” he asked.

“I think she’s OK. Charlotte checks in with her doctors all the time,” she said.

“Really?”

He looked surprised, and Melanie reminded herself that he was a reporter tasked with breaking news about the White House. He was covering for Dale while the network figured out what to do.

“What was the reaction at the network to the news about Peter and Dale?” Melanie asked.

“There were a lot of ‘aha’ moments for people who suspected that something was going on with her but could never quite figure out what. She was always one step ahead of the competition on any story about the White House, and she didn’t seem to have any rapport with Charlotte, so it makes sense now. I think people might have figured it out if they hadn’t been so blinded by her looks and big-time scoops.”

“What’s going to happen while she’s out?” Melanie asked.

“There’s a mad dash to get her gig. Everyone in the Washington bureau is lining up for the White House job, and everyone in New York is lining up for her weekend anchor gig. It’s unseemly. It’s not like she died,” he said, shaking his head.

“And you?” Melanie asked.

“As you know, I’m helping out on the White House beat a few days a week and still figuring out the Pentagon beat. With the Taylor drama there, I’m not sure it isn’t as good a place as any.”

“That makes sense,” she said.

“I’m not going to push, but if there’s anything you feel comfortable talking about on the Roger and Charlotte front, I’m all ears. I’d love to understand what the hell happened.”

“You know, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know exactly what happened.”

“Everyone knows the administrative-leave thing was a trap—a very good trap but a trap all the same,” he said.

Melanie smiled at him.

“And the rumor over at the Pentagon is that Stephanie Taylor was behind the
Dispatch
story about the affair between Roger and Charlotte. Apparently, once Roger found out the story came from his wife, he moved out with his dogs,” Brian said.

“It sounds like you’ve got perfectly good sources already,” she said.

“Not really. I just don’t want you to think I’m trading sex for scoop.”

“Who said anything about scoop?” she said.

He laughed.

“Can I get you a drink?” Melanie asked.

“That would be great. I brought some wine,” he said, handing her two bottles. She went into the kitchen to open one of them.

They sat on her balcony and talked until the bottle was empty. She stood up to bring out the second bottle. He hadn’t made any attempts to get her into bed, and Melanie was beginning to wonder if she’d missed her opportunity to be more than a well-placed source to him.

When she came back to the balcony, he was standing and looking out toward the Potomac River. He walked toward her, took the bottle from her hands, and put it on the table. He took both of her hands in his and pulled her toward him. He wasn’t as tall as he looked on television, and her mouth was barely an inch from his. She felt herself melting into him, but she didn’t want to kiss him first.

“Melanie,” he said in a very low, soft voice.

“What?” she said.

“I have wanted to kiss you since the first time we talked, but you were sitting in your fancy West Wing office with your dress unzipped,” he said, smiling at her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she wanted someone to kiss her as much as she wanted him to kiss her.

“And then, the last time I made it up here, the presidential helicopter crashed,” he said. He was kissing her neck now, and she was trying to keep her breathing even. “Melanie,” he said in a low whisper.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you think it’s possible that no one will need you for a few hours?” he asked.

“I hope so,” she said.

Dale

Billy, it’s a simple yes-or-no question. Do I still have a job or not?” Dale asked.

“Dale, you have been through so much. Why don’t you focus on getting well, and we’ll figure out the work piece down the road—when you’re ready to come back?”

“Billy, please don’t bullshit me. I’m going to be well enough to start working again in a month or so. I want to know if I have a job at the network,” Dale insisted.

“I don’t know exactly where, but yes, you will always have a job here.”

“You don’t know where? What in the world does that mean?” Dale practically shrieked.

Peter stood up and walked toward her.

“Dale, let’s talk when you’re released. I’d like to come see you next week, either at Bethesda or at home.”

“Fine. That’s fine. I’ll see you next week,” Dale said, placing the phone in its cradle.

“What did he say?” Peter asked.

“Nothing. He said nothing. How did this happen? I left here with an exclusive interview with the president, and somehow I’ve returned without a job,” she said bitterly.

Peter put his hands over hers, which were still gripping the phone. “You’re forgetting something,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re stuck with me now, too,” he said, smiling.

She tried to smile back at him, but having their relationship out in the open was turning out to be more difficult than she’d imagined.

He sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry for all of this,” he said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is. You’re getting hate mail from all the right-wing nuts, and your face has been plastered all over the tabloids. And your big crime is being with me. I’m so sorry for all the ways this is going to change your life.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You can’t blame Billy for not wanting to put you back at the White House. Charlotte is going to be dealing with the fallout from the crash every day until the election, and it’s not like you can cover that story with a reporter’s objectivity, Dale.”

She didn’t say anything.

“And from Billy’s perspective, there’s the fact that you’ve been engaged in a secret affair with the president’s husband,” Peter said. “I’m sure there are viewers who want to see you get fired.”

Dale remained silent. Slowly, it was sinking in. Her career as a network correspondent and anchor was probably over. Of course, they couldn’t stand her in front of the White House and ask her to report on the president’s day or sit her at the anchor desk and expect the viewers to take her seriously. She was the first husband’s secret mistress, and she’d played a role in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan that could result in the president being impeached. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes down to her pillowcase. Peter pushed her hair away from her eyes and sat with her while she cried. The tears kept coming. She cried for what she’d lost, but she also cried tears of shame. If she’d been given a choice between being with Peter and never working again as a correspondent and giving up Peter to keep her job, she wasn’t sure what she’d choose. And fueling her tears was the fact that she hadn’t been given a choice at all.

While Peter seemed to fall naturally into the new public phase of
their relationship, Dale cringed every time someone described her as Peter’s girlfriend. She was starting to remember things from the day of the crash. One of the thoughts she’d had that day was to request a rotation in the Mideast bureau to hone her skills as a foreign correspondent. She remembered thinking, as she flew low over the Afghan mountains, that it just might give her the upper hand in the competition for weeknight anchor. None of that mattered now. She was on the outside looking in at the world she’d worked so hard to penetrate.