White House Rhapsody started out as a novel that wouldn’t end. The romantic fiction serial was a popular blog site on its own and it’s being featured here on my main blog.
Very early that next morning had Sharon walking up to the White House employee entrance with her stomach in knots. The afternoon before, she had been led around the West Wing by Ms. Washington, first to complete the box loads of virtual paperwork – the forms were actually on the computer – then to see her office. Ms. Washington said that Sharon’s predecessor had hired a staff, but since he had passed before the office could begin functioning, they hadn’t been officially working.
The office, itself, was made up of a pod of cubicles clustered, more or less, around her main office. The staff included four researchers and a personal assistant. Ms. Washington had said that she would see to calling the staff members and telling them to come in the next day. Then Ms. Washington slapped a flash drive with samples of the rest of the advisory team’s reports into Sharon’s hand and sent her on her way.
Sharon had spent the night poring over the reports. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t expected to present one on her very first day on the job, she still was determined to make a good impression.
Now, as she approached the guard gate at 6:30 a.m., she swallowed and put on her formidable best. So what if her stomach was doing loop the loops and that soft malevolent voice in the back of her brain whispered that it had all been a dream and the second she presented herself at the gate she would be immediately arrested for impersonating a successful woman?
Fortunately, the guard at the gate had no clue what the malevolent voice was saying and handed Sharon her temporary badge, explaining that she would need to go straight from the gate to the security office so that she could pick up her permanent badge and ID.
Sharon flashed the guard a smile, but he didn’t see. He was too busy waving in another woman behind her.
The woman was fairly short but carried herself with authority. Her hair was shiny, deep black and perfectly straight, falling just below her shoulders. She wore a dark wool top coat over black dress slacks and boots, with a matching fuzzy hat perched on the top of her head. She stopped as she saw Sharon fumbling with her box and her temp badge.
“Are you Wheatly?” the woman asked. She was Asian, with an oval face that belied her age.
“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”
“Newbie badge, box. You’re moving in.” The woman held out her right hand, which was covered with a black kid glove. “I’m Karen Tanaka.”
“Oh. You research pop culture.” Sharon shook the offered hand and then readjusted her box.
Tanaka’s right eyebrow lifted. “And you’re up on your homework. That’s good. You’ll need to be on your toes around here.”
“I’ve done it before.”
Tanaka laughed. “Yeah. We all have. But there’s nothing like this. Don’t let the guys fool you. We’re all a little freaked out about being here. Even the boss. But they keep saying we’ll get used to it. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
They started off toward the side door of the all-too-famous building. There had been a good snow the night before and the lawn was glittering with a fresh foot or so.
“Thanks,” Sharon said. “I figured there might be some early arrivals, but I was hoping to get in first.”
“You almost made it. Most of us don’t get in until seven or so. The boss said that he doesn’t want a lot of working late, either. He wants the entire staff out of the office by seven p.m. unless absolutely necessary.”
“I’d heard that.”
Tanaka nodded. “It’s a good idea, in theory. Keeps us more well-rounded, prevents tunnel-vision.”
“And does it work?”
“Mostly. I’m early today because my kid had to be at school early for some planning meeting.”
Sharon remembered that Tanaka was a single mom with two children, one in middle school, one a freshman in high school. Sharon was about to ask for more details when a snowball caught her hard in the back of the neck. Sharon yelped and Tanaka whirled.
Behind them, an average-sized Black man in a tan trench coat and an ugly tweed hat approached them from the gate. There were still remnants of snow on his dark, woolen gloves.
“Coop!” Tanaka hollered. “What the heck do you think you’re doing? I got the newbie with me.”
Coop grinned, his teeth mostly white against his dark skin with an even darker pencil-line mustache on his upper lip.
“I meant to hit you,” he hollered back, good-naturedly.
Karen, smiling, rolled her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Ignore him,” she told Sharon.
But Sharon knew that one ignored Dr. Edward Cooper at one’s peril. And it wasn’t because he was President Jerguessen’s best friend. Dr. Cooper was fairly widely acknowledged as being a beyond brilliant economist. He was also fairly widely acknowledged for his tendency toward practical jokes.
“So you’re the newbie,” Cooper said as he came up to the two women. “Welcome. I’m Eddie Cooper.”
Sharon finished brushing snow off the back of her neck. “Thanks. I’m Sharon Wheatly.”
“Making an early start, huh?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t hurt on a first day,” Sharon said. They were almost to the door.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” Cooper answered, grinning. “You’ll end up old and ugly like me.”
Sharon grinned in spite of herself. Cooper was 46 years old and hardly unattractive, not that it mattered. He was married and had several children, by all reports.
Sharon dropped her badge and bent quickly to pick it up. Cooper dove, as well, but Sharon got the badge first. She also got a nice chunk of ice, which she quickly slipped underneath the collar of his suit. Cooper yelped as the ice hit the warmth of his skin, but he stood up, laughing.
“Man, that’s cold!” he said.
Tanaka laughed hard. “Wheatly, you and I are going to be very good friends.”
She held up her hand for a high five and Sharon swatted it.
“Be that as it may,” said Cooper, still smiling. “Both you ladies better remember, you’re playing in the big leagues now.”
And he swooped inside the West Wing entrance.
Tanaka laughed again, but it was more than a little hesitant. “Yipes. We’re in for it.”
“Oh.” Sharon swallowed her own fear. “Well. He’ll have to be very careful if he wants to mess with me.”
Tanaka opened the office door. “I like your spirit. Good luck, but I like your spirit.”
She pointed Sharon to the security office, then went on to her own. Sharon finished the final computer forms and got her badge and ID and directions to her own office.
It was blessedly empty. Sharon set her box on her new desk and fell into the padded, but aging swivel chair, all pretense at being strong and formidable gone.
What had she done? She’d dropped the snow down Cooper’s neck on instinct. And she had built her career on having razor-sharp instincts and the ability to take risks. Only, Sharon suddenly realized, the reason she hadn’t been afraid to take risks was that she had never worried about losing whatever job she’d held at the time. It had never mattered before because she had a fabulously wealthy rock star brother who would have been happy to support her. The fact that she and her sisters preferred to make their own way was their choice. And she had put away some serious money and made some excellent investments, which meant work was almost a matter of preference these days.
But now things were very, very different, she realized with a shock. For the first time in her life, she now had a job that she wanted to keep. Assuming Dr. Cooper would let her.
Sharon shook it off. Being scared wasn’t the answer. She had a staff coming in and research to finalize, not to mention an office to set up.
She looked around and cringed a little. She’d heard West Wing offices were cramped, and the windowless room was certainly that: wide and shallow with a fairly large dark wood desk in the center that faced the door. There wasn’t room for chairs in front, but there was a couch along one of the narrow walls, with empty bookshelves over the couch. On the facing narrow wall was a chalkboard and more shelves under that. Everything was painted a dull, institutional eggshell color, contrasting with the dark gray institutional carpet.
It wasn’t directly behind the desk because there wouldn’t have been room, but along the back wall of the office and to the side nearest the couch, was a dark wood credenza that sort of matched the desk. On top of that were a rather nice coffeemaker, a better than average grinder, and a couple bottles of water. Next to those was a brown bag folded over and hand-labeled, from K-Street Koffee, Kenyan AA. The soft scent of roasted coffee beans tickled Sharon’s nose. She picked up the note.
“Some of Cecil’s best for a fellow fan,” it said in a cramped scribble. “Welcome to the team.”
Sharon smiled. It was a nice touch and somehow, just right. She looked at the grinder. It wasn’t one of the top-of-the-line burr grinders like the president had in his office, that would have been too much. But it wasn’t your basic cheap model, either. Just enough to say welcome without any inappropriate overtones. Personal enough to show thoughtfulness, but not enough to imply a deeper intimacy was apparent or wanted.
There was only one thing to do and Sharon did it. In no time, some of the Kenyan AA had been ground and the coffeemaker was happily dripping away, filling the office with a comforting scent. Further inspection of the credenza revealed mugs, spoons, and sugar. There was even a small refrigerator at the end of the credenza that Sharon hadn’t seen at first and, sure enough, a small carton each of cream and milk were inside. Somebody else must have put those there.
With coffee on the brew, Sharon turned to unpacking her box, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. A young African American man dressed in a dark suit stood politely in the doorway.
“I’m here with your laptop, ma’am,” he said quietly. “If you’ve got a second, I can show you how to get on the system and get your passwords set up.”
“May as well,” Sharon said.
He came in and gently placed the computer on her desk, along with a sheet of paper.
“I also need you to sign this. It’s giving the Secret Service permission to enter your home and install secure wi-fi there.”
And so it went on. In fact, the young man was still working with her when the first of her staff members began to filter in shortly before eight a.m. The printer was down the hall and around the corner, partly because staffers were being strongly encouraged to do as much electronically as possible.
“Notes, memos, everything will be coming via email,” the young man said.
“Good. I think I’d better send one right now. Now, where was that list of my group’s emails?”
The young man disappeared shortly after, just as Sharon turned to thank him and ask his name. It seemed odd, but Sharon was more than distracted a moment later by the sound of someone clattering into the cubicle outside her door, muttering curses and other foul imprecations on the city’s subway system. Sharon stepped out of her office and into the cubicle. It was crammed with two desks, each facing opposite walls, and filled with the usual office paraphernalia, much of which was empty for the time being. The young female someone who had just come in was busy stripping off her coat as fast as she could while digging through the box on her desk to find something.
“Oh, hi,” she said, noticing Sharon. She was in her mid-twenties and dressed in a dark skirt and tan blouse that was somewhat more chic than the usual Washington business-wear. She pulled a hangar from the box and hung her coat on it. Her hair was long, brown and in a thick braid down her back. “I’m Julie. Think the boss knows I’m late?”
“I’m sure I do,” said Sharon.
Julie groaned and flopped into her chair. “I left early. I swear I did. But there was a killer pothole on the freeway, had traffic all backed up all the way to the Metro station. Then the freaking train just sat there for twenty minutes. Apparently, there was a problem at the Pentagon stop.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“At the moment, no. Are you one of the researchers?”
Julie laughed. “Heck, no! I’m not smart enough for that. I’m your assistant.”
“Great. Good to meet you. I’m Sharon Wheatly.”
“Actually, Julie, I just realized there is something you can help me with. I want to have a quick staff meeting in about ten minutes and we need to figure out how we’re going to get everyone into my office. And staff meeting will always include you unless I say otherwise.”
“Sure, Ms. Wheatly.”
“Call me Sharon.”
Julie grinned. “Okay.” She got up. “It’s going to be tricky. Would you believe you got one of the bigger offices?”
Sharon looked at her, surprised. “I thought you were just starting today.”
“Working for you, yeah. But I’ve been at the White House for about seven years now.”
“I thought every administration re-staffed.”
“Us clerical stiffs are always here. There’re some assistants in budget who’ve been here through three administrations already. I was working for one of the speechwriters before. I’m really liking the new president. You know, they dim the lights in the evening as the sun goes down? So people will actually go home at night? The president says he wants people to stay fresh and they can’t be fresh if they’re constantly burning the midnight oil.”
“Oh,” said Sharon. “Well, let’s figure out the meeting situation.”
It took Julie five seconds to look over Sharon’s office, propose a solution, then get the chairs needed to make it work. They were older, dark wood and decidedly old-fashioned. Sharon wondered how long the chairs had been in the building. They looked like they might have been new when Calvin Coolidge was president.
Sharon’s four staff researchers were pleasant enough and seemed to respond to her well. Faiza Moussel was a tall, slender woman with intense dark eyes. She wore a bright green and yellow hajib over her hair and was otherwise conservatively dressed in a tan suit with slacks. She had been born and raised in the U.S., but her parents were Algerian. She focused mostly on the Middle East and some parts of Asia.
Katie Minor was as short, stout and fair as Faiza was dark, tall and slender. Katie’s area of focus was Africa, although she was more interested in Eastern Asia, as well. Raoul Mendoza was a dour-looking older man with a bald top and dark hair underneath. He focused on Europe, Canada, and Australia. Leonidas Bertonetti was the South American expert, a handsome man in his mid-thirties with dark hair and a very Italian smoothness, probably because his family, though long in Argentina, was of Italian ancestry.
The meeting was very short and in less than half an hour, everyone had gone back to her or his desk to do some final updates
By nine-thirty, Sharon had her report amended and filed onto the server. Which was just as well because Karen Tanaka popped up in the office door right about that time.
“The boss asked me to bring you to the meeting,” Tanaka said. “I thought we could swing by the cafeteria first and get some coffee or something.”
“Or something.” Sharon stood up and refilled her mug. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about your laptop. Your assistant can bring it over before the meeting starts.”
“Sure.” Taking her mug, Sharon left the office. “Julie?”
Sharon paused and looked at Tanaka. “Are you sure that’s okay? I got the impression from the guy that brought me the laptop that to let it out of my sight was tantamount to high treason.”
Tanaka laughed and rolled her eyes. “Consider Julie your second set of eyes.” She led the way down a nearby corridor. “By the way, who was your computer guy?”
“I have no idea,” said Sharon. “He never said his name. But he was tall and wore a dark suit.”
“Oh, that really narrows it down. They’re all tall and wear dark suits.”
“Ooh. Kinda creepy.”
“You said it.” Tanaka led Sharon through a pair of swinging double doors into a large, brightly-lit room with plastic and chrome tables and chair, and a steam table line at one end.
Tanaka went straight for the nook bearing air pots, other coffee paraphernalia and a basket piled high with plastic-wrapped Danish.
“The food’s pretty good here,” Tanaka said. “So’s the coffee, believe it or not. Turns out the boss is a coffee geek and a foodie. Rumor has it, he ran rough-shod over the budget office to get some real food in here and buys the coffee, himself.”
“A foodie, too, huh?” Sharon mused.
Tanaka turned on her. “You knew about the coffee?”
Sharon flushed. “It came up in the interview.”
Tanaka looked at Sharon’s mug and nodded. “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. He’s real good at making you feel right at home. With me, it was the food thing. We met at some campaign event at school, someone had set up this really bad sushi bar. And we both laughed at how trite it was. So when he called me in for the interview last December, he had brought in eel and octopus and some of the nicest sashimi you’ve ever tasted.” Tanaka filled a mug from one of the airpots. “The guy can even use chopsticks. He’ll be great if we get over to Asia. I’m kinda surprised he asked me to bring you to the meeting. He usually brings the newbies in, himself.”
“Really.” Sharon didn’t say anything more, but in the back of her mind, she decided she was relieved. If the president was still feeling the effects of that all too strange meeting, then she was perfectly happy he was keeping his distance.
Tanaka led her over to a table. “By the way, you played it perfectly with the Coop this morning.”
“I did?” Sharon sat down, trying to hide her fear.
“Oh, yeah.” Tanaka paused long enough to grab a few danishes from the basket and drop them on the table. “Here’s the thing. The idea behind the Advisory Board is interactivity.”
“Yeah, I’d heard.”
“But that doesn’t mean we’re all on the same page, opinion-wise. We all joke that the boss took Doris Kearns Goodwin too seriously.”
“Oh. You mean that historian who wrote that book about Lincoln’s cabinet.”
“Yeah, that Lincoln purposely stacked with people he didn’t agree with. The boss did the same, not only with the cabinet, but with the Advisory Board, too. Consider, you’ve got the Ed-man.”
Tanaka nodded. “Yeah. That guy is a hard-core Libertarian, for crying out loud. The only role for government is military and postal service, and he’d privatize the postal service if he thought he could. On the other end of the spectrum is Whitey, John Whitesand. Government should pay for everything. Both of these guys are hyper-intelligent, both are convinced they’re right. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Sharon hesitated. “I got the impression from Ms. Washington that everyone got along really well.”
“Whitey and the Ed-man are best friends.”
“They are. That’s the genius of the Coop.” Tanaka stuffed half a danish in her mouth. “He was aiming at me, by the way. Guy can’t hit the broadside of a barn.”
“I don’t get it,” said Sharon, who had decided to abandon reason and was attacking another danish, herself.
“It’s all the practical jokes and teasing. So no one takes him or herself that seriously. Then it becomes all about the work. No one has to stick to their territory because their ego is at stake. It doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t agree with you because it’s not about you.”
“Oh, I get it. It’s like corporate games retreats.”
Tanaka laughed very loudly. “I’m sorry. It’s kind of the same idea, but I wouldn’t say so in front of the others.”
Tanaka looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. “Because of Her. Marian Jefferson. The boss brought her in to run operations, and she’s really good. Kicked the stuffing out of the policy office and got it running worth something. And she actually got the budget office straightened out. And one of the ways she got those two offices working was that she had everyone, including the press office, do the corporate games thing.”
Sharon winced. “They are pretty effective.”
“And you look like you just tasted some bad wasabi.”
“I don’t really like them, myself.”
“None of us advisory folks do. It’s one of the reasons why the Ed-man works at home. So Ms. Jefferson finally tells the president that it’s only fair that the advisory group do the games and team-building thing.”
Sharon’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m getting the impression it didn’t go over well.”
“Ed-man flat out refused to show and sent out a notice to his staff that they didn’t have to, either. The rest of us dragged our sorry butts in that Saturday.” Tanaka shook her head and chuckled. “Coop was out and out docile, wouldn’t tease her, wouldn’t make faces, nothing. Until she gets us doing this stupid group project – we were supposed to build something out of snow. As soon as her back is turned, Coop says we should divide up into our respective sub-groups, each build our own fort and have a snowball fight. Ms. Jefferson had a cow. He just ignored her and we had the baddest snowball fight you ever saw. Coop damn near got frostbit when I rubbed his nose in it. That’s why he was aiming at me this morning. But that’s also how I know you played it right. He threatened to get you back. I’ve noticed. He doesn’t play jokes on people he doesn’t respect. He just ignores them. And advisory folks get that. We’re not here to toe the line and play nice. We’re here to think and to help the president get the best information he can get. Ed-man said it’s kinda like the Marines. They tear you down, then build you back up the way they want you. Coop tears you down, but then he builds you back up as part of something bigger than yourself.”
Sharon sat back. “Okay. That’s not quite what I expected, but that’s interesting.”
“Yep, but that’s part of the boss’s genius, too. He knows how to pick the right kind of people. We haven’t had a bad apple yet.”
Sharon stuffed back a momentary qualm then looked up at the clock. “Well, I guess it’s baptism of fire time.”
Tanaka grinned. “Good. You’re terrified. Coop will be so happy with me.”
Sharon laughed and followed Tanaka to the Advisory Board’s conference room. Julie was outside the door with Sharon’s laptop, which she handed to Sharon and then left. Sharon took a deep breath and entered the room.
The president had not yet arrived, but there was a laptop ready for him at the head of the table. The others had theirs open and ready, cords snaking across the table to a hole in the middle. Tanaka, whose own assistant had brought her laptop and a bag, took her place near the middle of the table, across from Eddie Cooper, who was smiling warmly. There was an empty chair next to him, closest to the head of the table, behind which a portrait of Abraham Lincoln hung on the wall. Across from the empty seat sat an elderly White man sitting ramrod straight, but rolling a pen in his fingers as if it were a cigarette.
Tanaka sat next to him, quietly crocheting some lace, and on her other side was a medium-sized man of Hispanic heritage and a decidedly boxy shape to him. He was doodling on a pad of paper next to his open laptop. Across from the Hispanic man was another who could have been his twin, except that he had the high cheekbones of a Native American. He was folding a piece of paper into what was starting to look like a bird of some sort.
“Greetings, newbie,” Coop said warmly and gesturing at the empty seat next to him. “Today, you get the seat of honor.”
“Why, thank you, Dr. Cooper,” Sharon replied.
As she sat, however, a very loud, very rude noise erupted from underneath her. Fortunately, Sharon had already set down her laptop. She paused.
“What do you know,” she said finally. “I’d call that at least a seven-pointer.” She got up and removed the whoopee cushion. “Frankly, Dr. Cooper, I’m disappointed in you.”
Coop’s eyebrows shot up. Sharon felt gratified that he had clearly not expected that response.
“A whoopee cushion?” she continued. “You can do better than that.”
She dropped the bladder in his lap as the rest of the board began breaking up.
“You are good, young lady,” Coop conceded between giggles. “But to the business at hand. Since our beloved fearless leader is currently detained, let me effect the introductions. Sitting directly across from you is Dr. Al Eddington, properly known in this forum as the Ed-man. Specialty the military, which is why he is sometimes known as the Warmonger. Next to him is Tanks, popular culture, whom you’ve met. Next to her is Augusto Guerrero, media specialist, properly known as Augie. Across from him is Whitey, aka John Whitesand, social justice. I specialize in economics. I am properly known as The Coop”
“The Chicken Coop,” said Augie, mildly. “And what shall we call you, Ms. Sharon Wheatly, specialist in world affairs?”
“Wheaties,” said Ed-man abruptly.
“Wheaties sounds good,” said Coop.
“As long as no one calls me Breakfast of Champions,” Sharon said.
“Why not?” Ed-man asked, insinuating that he had been thinking exactly that.
“Because you’re not getting any,” Sharon shot back.
“Ow!” howled Coop in joy. “The newbie scores big. And you’re already buying her lunch, Ed-man.”
“He is?” Sharon asked, eyeing Eddington.
“All I said was that I hoped you had good legs,” Ed-man replied.
“He’s an unrepentant sexist,” Tanks sighed.
At that moment, the door was opened by Gen Forrest. The rest recognized their cue and immediately go to their feet, Sharon scrambling to hers somewhat belatedly. It was just as well. The second she saw Mark, her heart skipped a beat in spite of herself.
“Good morning, Mr. President,” the group sing-songed together.
“Good morning, children, and how are we today?” Mark went to his place and sat down.
The others followed his lead. Mark noticed with a sudden jump in his stomach that Sharon was sitting next to him. It was where newbies and part-timers always landed. But he desperately hoped that the sudden dance going on in his gut wasn’t obvious to any of the others.
All seemed relatively normal. Mark deeply appreciated the balance between the respect for the office and the protocols, which oddly enough Al Eddington had been the one to insist on, and the friendly irreverence that put it all into perspective.
The meeting went on, as usual. There were a couple reports sent in from some of the part-time advisors to go over. No one had been expecting Sharon to give a report, but she had one ready and was able to back it up for the Ed-man when he questioned one aspect of it.
It broke up just before lunch, and in spite of her lunch date, Sharon lingered behind as the others filed out ahead of her and the president.
“Sir, Ms. Washington just sent me an email asking me to brief you later this afternoon on next week’s visit from the French foreign minister,” she said.
“I saw that. Kent’s got it set up for 3:45. Will that work?” he said.
“I serve at your pleasure, sir.”
Mark’s shoulders fell. “I know.” He glanced at her. “I never could pull off the autocratic thing.”
“It’s not usually that effective as a management style.” Sharon smiled at him softly. “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I’m supposed to go to lunch with the board.”
He smiled back, with an odd sadness in his eyes. “Yeah. Well, have fun.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You like them?”
“The other board members. Do you like them?”
Sharon looked into his soft green eyes, not quite sure why he was asking. She briefly debated trying to put a glossy spin on the situation, then decided that not only did she not have to, he really wanted her honest opinion.
“I do. They’re pretty intense and kinda rowdy, but I think that’s what I like about them.”
“Then I guess that means you’ll be around for a while.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“Good.” Mark turned away. Beyond the normal concerns involved in working the political game effectively, Mark seldom worried about what others thought of him or his decisions. But why Wheatly’s opinion should matter, he couldn’t understand, except that it did, especially if it meant she was going to be around. “I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
“I’ll see you then. Oh. Sir?”
“Thanks for the Kenyan and the other stuff. It was really thoughtful of you.”
Mark smiled. “You’re welcome, but be careful. The others seem to think the coffee thing borders on the unstable.”
Sharon chuckled. “And they should know from unstable. I guess since I’ll be out, I could swing by K-Street Koffee and pick up some extra beans.”
“Ethiopian Yrga Cheffe?” Mark’s eyes lit up. “City roast?”
Sharon left the room wondering why she had made such a silly offer. It wasn’t like the president couldn’t pick up the phone and get exactly what he wanted. But at the same time, it dawned on her that he couldn’t just go down to the coffee store and pick the beans up, himself, either. She shuddered. All the more reason to keep distance from him. And yet he was so sweet. And lonely.
To: email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org
Subject: New Email, Etc.
Dear Niecy and Carla;
Sorry it’s taken so long for me to get an email off to you guys. We had a little bit of a problem with the super secure wireless that’s currently installed at the house. Hope you don’t mind the upgrade, Carla. But naturally, it was so secure, I couldn’t get online at all. The nice thing about having the Secret Service as part of your tech support team, however, is that you get really fast service. I can get online with both my work and my personal laptop, although since the work one is so nice, I suspect I’m not going to be doing much on my old one.
I’m mostly sending this so you guys have my work email. I’ll still be using the personal one, but occasionally, I might have a professional question for you guys.
Well, the first day at work was pretty interesting. I’m really going to like it here. It’s intense and the rest of the board is scary smart, but they’re a lot of fun and the whole point is not to take yourself too seriously.
As for the president, don’t bother asking. Yes, I had that little heart flutter, but that is so not going anywhere. Maybe in eight years, but don’t count on it. He’s too busy and I do not want to give up my privacy.
Let me know what’s going on with you guys.
World Affairs Advisor
The White House
Subject: So Not Going Anywhere?