Welcome to romantic fiction serial White House Rhapsody. Love in the White House? Who would have thought. Join us as President Mark Jerguessen and his aide World Affairs Advisor Sharon Wheatly try to navigate a relationship. Click here to read a synopsis of the whole story that’s been blogged so far.
Mark got Sharon’s text on the day after New Year’s and his heart leaped. Still, he texted back to get her permission to be at the townhouse before she got home, and was even happier when she agreed.
He had dinner ready when Sharon arrived, even though it was getting late by the time her limousine pulled up outside the townhouse belonging to her good friend, Carla Danford, who was working in Africa at the time.
“Have you gotten any rest since I last saw you?” Sharon asked sitting at the place setting on the counter between the kitchen and the dining room.
“I’ve done well enough,” Mark said, opening a bottle of California pinot noir. “I’m just glad you got in when you did. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve got a nasty storm coming in. They’re predicting almost a foot of snow overnight.”
“Oh, dear,” Sharon said. “Are you going to be able to get back to the White House?”
Mark’s smile went smug. “Probably not, darn it. Matt’s already at his school, and Roy canceled services tomorrow. I’ll just have to stay here all night and probably most of tomorrow.”
“I’m devastated.” Sharon giggled.
Outside, the wind whipped up. Inside, Sharon and Mark sipped a thick, creamy mushroom soup, and after that, enjoyed boeuf Bourguignon. After dinner, they cleaned up, played a game of chess, then settled into bed to read.
The next morning, Sharon opened her eyes to dull, gray light and Mark lying on his side watching her.
“What’s up?” she mumbled through her waking fog.
He touched her face. “Just really liking this.”
“Mmm. I like it, too.”
“I love waking up next to you.” His green eyes shone with warmth. “I could do this for the rest of my life.”
She blinked, then forced a smile. “You’re getting awfully close to the M-word.”
“M-word?”
“Marriage.”
Mark slid onto his back. “Huh.”
Sharon held her breath, but he didn’t say anything more.
“So, are we getting up?” she asked after a couple minutes.
“Yeah. Why don’t I shower first, then I can get us some breakfast together. I’ve got multi-grain oatmeal and that maple-cured bacon you like so much.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll get the water boiling and the coffee ground while you’re in the shower.”
The morning seemed normal enough, but Sharon couldn’t stop thinking about what Mark had said when she’d woken up. As the two sat down to eat at the counter between the kitchen and dining room, she noticed Mark watching her.
“You seem pensive,” he said after he’d taken a couple bites.
“I am,” Sharon said. “The M-word. It won’t let me go.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s what you said.” She stopped eating for a moment, then looked at him. “I could happily wake up next to you for the rest of my life, too.”
“Wow.” Mark took a deep breath. “Anything stopping you?”
“Besides living in a fish bowl?” Sharon made a face. “Which is about to happen whether I marry you or not.” Her brow creased again. “Anything stopping you?”
“That’s a good question.” Mark bit off some bacon and chewed slowly. “I can’t think of anything stopping me. But I already live in the fish bowl. The kid thing would be the biggest reason to get married, and I’d really like that. But I also don’t want to pressure you that way. That’s not right.”
“I don’t think you’re pressuring me,” Sharon said. “You have to be honest about how you feel.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just how do we manage kids if I’m still doing the advisor thing? I mean, without having a nanny raise them?”
“Good question.” Mark frowned. “I can’t imagine not needing childcare even without the fancy job. And that is one good thing about being the big boss. We can bring the kids to work any time we want.”
Sharon laughed. “True.” She looked at him. “So, are we both on board with getting married?”
“I do believe we are.” Mark leaned over and gently kissed her. “I guess we’re now officially engaged.”
Oddly enough, the decision they’d just made didn’t change things between them. They spent the day doing the usual things they liked to do, reading, chatting, cuddling. After lunch, they made cookies. Sharon found the ordinariness very comforting. Yes, there would be life in a fish bowl. But closed into her townhouse, she felt shielded from all of that. Even in the White House, the private residence would provide a safe space, removed from the noise and notoriety. At least, she hoped it would.
The Tuesday after New Year’s Day, June burst into Sharon’s office shortly before noon.
“Today’s the day,” June announced.
“For what?” Sharon asked, barely glancing up from her laptop screen.
“They’re announcing who’s doing the official presidential portrait,” June said.
“Okay,” Sharon said slowly. “And why do I care about that?”
“Oh, come on,” June said. “Tanks is coming to the conference. The committee has been keeping it so tightly under wraps, even the CIA doesn’t know who the artist is.”
“Doesn’t your brother get a say in it?”
“He made the final selection from the proposals, but he doesn’t know who the artist is. I don’t either, and I’m dying to find out. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
The conference had been set up in the East Room. At the head of the room, the five final proposals were displayed on easels. When June and Sharon arrived, reporters milled around the easels, muttering amongst themselves. A minute later, they were shooed to their places, then stood as Mark was announced.
“Please be seated,” he said after taking his place at the small podium set up at the side of the displays. He paused for the room to quiet. “I have to say, this was a really tough choice. I want to thank the portrait committee for the phenomenal job they have done, getting these proposals together. It was no small task. The committee vetted over twenty different artists in a completely blind process. In fact, even now, the only person who knows the name of the chosen artist is Dana Wall, the East Wing’s arts, history and environment specialist. The displays in front of you were done by some of the top professionals in the field of portraiture, and a very talented student who made the final cut.” Mark paused and smiled. “I also want to reiterate that I made my choice based solely on the proposals in front of you. And I have to do that because I’ve been told that my good friend Lawrence Dabney is among the finalists. Which is weird because I have no idea which proposal is his. So, Larry, I think I got it, but can’t say for sure.”
Karen Tanaka slid up next to June and Sharon.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered.
Mark walked over to the proposal featuring a photo-realistic picture of himself in a Renaissance style pose, with a window looking out onto a pastoral vista.
“It was tough to decide, but this is the one I like the best,” Mark said.
At the back of the room, Sharon gulped.
“What’s the matter?” June asked. “It’s wonderful.”
“It’s Sarah,” Sharon hissed.
“She does abstracts,” Karen whispered, her voice taking on a nervous edge.
“She does photo-realistic portraits, too.”
The three women looked at each other and cursed softly.
Mark turned back to the podium. “All right, everyone, let me introduce Dana Wall, who will let us know who the artist is.”
Dana, a tall, thin man with glasses and a slight stoop, stepped up to a podium on the other side of the displays.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” he said, leaning over to speak directly into the microphone on the stand. “Our artist started doing portraits as a sideline to fund other projects. What started as an occasional gig for the money turned into almost a full-time career. The artist has won numerous awards, but most recently was named the best portrait artist in the country by Good Things magazine. Our artist is fully booked out on commissions for the next six months, but has graciously agreed to squeeze this commission in. Ladies and gentleman, I present Sarah W.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Sharon growled. “It’s not like she didn’t have the chance.”
Sarah W. or Sarah Wheatly, entered the room from the side. Sharon could see Mark covering his shock and awkwardness. He shook Sarah’s hand, then leaned over and whispered something to her. Sarah laughed and shook her head.
“Nobody asked,” she said out loud.
Dana looked panicked.
Mark went to the presidential podium. “Okay. This one’s even more embarrassing than I thought. Not only did I not pick my friend, turns out that Sarah W is related to one of my advisors. Her sister, in fact.”
Dana looked over at Sharon and swallowed. Sarah went over to the podium where Dana was still standing.
“Hi, everyone,” she said. “I don’t want poor Mr. Wall to get into trouble. We and all the finalists were sworn to secrecy, so I couldn’t say anything. And thanks to certain other of my family members, I almost never use my full name. So, it’s not his fault that Mr. Wall didn’t know. And I don’t mind stepping down if it’s too much of a conflict of interest. That everyone seems to like my proposal without knowing who I am is reward enough.”
Mark nodded. “We’ll take a poll soon. As I understand it, between you, your brother, your other sister and your parents, the family joke is that World Affairs Advisor Sharon Wheatly is considered the underachiever. Coming from that kind of notoriety, I appreciate wanting to be recognized on your own merits apart from your family. Nonetheless, I want to congratulate you on a spectacular proposal.”
“I’m going to kill her,” Sharon muttered as she hurried from the room before any of the reporters spotted her, Karen on her heels.
Behind her, she could hear the roar of questions. As she got to her office, she told Julie not to let anyone but June or the president in.
“I’m going to kill her,” Sharon said again as Karen shut the office door.
“You really didn’t know?” Karen asked. “Why didn’t she say anything?”
“I have no idea!” Sharon squeaked. “She is so dead. Like she couldn’t have figured out there might be a problem?”
“It sounded like she might have.” Karen sat her laptop on the edge of Sharon’s desk and opened it. “Oh, goody. It’s lighting up on social media.” Karen gazed at the screen filled with multiple feeds. “No pix of the actual proposal.”
“What about Mrs. What’s-Her-Name who was on the committee? Her husband’s the Florida senator?”
Karen rolled her eyes. “She’s claiming that she didn’t want Sarah W on the list.” Karen suddenly laughed. “Wall’s posted a screenshot of her email about the Best of article, and her demanding to know why Sarah wasn’t on the list, and that she be included in the group they were considering.”
“Even better. Dueling social.” Sharon shuddered. “Can this get any worse?”
Sharon’s phone buzzed with a text from Jean Bouyer.
– Got this. In our favor, Sarah really did get the big nod from that magazine. June wants to put the poll online.
Sharon showed the text to Karen. “They can’t possibly keep the photos from the conference under wraps. There’ll be all sort of people voting against her just because it’s her.”
“Who knows?”
“I’m going to kill her.”
Mark, for his part, once he got over the shock, found the situation funny. He had Sarah in for lunch in the Oval Office, and invited Sharon and June to join them.
“Mr. Wall swore us to complete secrecy,” Sarah said quickly as Sharon entered the office. “He wanted it to be a total surprise.”
“Do you have any idea…?” Sharon began.
“It will blow over,” Mark said calmly. “We’ll do the polling on it, and it will be fine. It’s still a damned good proposal. It was selected by a blind jury. That’s the bottom line here. Now, let’s eat.”
Mark was right about the portrait uproar. It died down when several prominent art critics pronounced Sarah’s proposal the best, and that it was no wonder Mark had picked it. Sharon was still not happy, but she and her sister had an extended conversation about the situation and Sarah promised to be more careful. She also agreed to do the portrait.
Still, Sharon brought up the situation during the first class with media strategist Carlynn Dobbs, late Saturday afternoon.
“It is more difficult when it’s your family causing the news,” said Dobbs, a medium sized woman with cafe au lait skin. “But sometimes you want to go with it. Did you comment yourself?”
“I’m not on social media that much. My brother spoke for the family when he congratulated Sarah,” Sharon said.
“You have that outlet,” Dobbs said. “But you may want to consider a press release next time.”
Class had barely let out when Sharon hurried back to her townhouse, where Mark had dinner ready.
“I’m so glad,” she gasped after he kissed her hello. “I still don’t know when Carla’s going to get here and I have some packing to do before we leave for Australia tomorrow.”
Sharon had gotten the call from her friend Carla Danford that morning, and had called Mark to let him know.
“How did class go?” Mark asked, laying her plate on the bar in front of her.
“Fine.” Sharon dug into her pork chop and avocado sauce. “And we can talk about it later. Carla said that she’d text me when her plane in L.A. took off. But we’re going to have to figure out how to meet and whatever for the time being. This is her place and I can’t really tell her not to stay here.”
“You’ll just be working late a lot for the next month or so.” Mark shrugged and began to eat. “So what happened with Carla? I thought she was going to be in Africa another couple of years.”
“So did she.” Sharon’s eyes rolled. “The charity that she works for setting up the micro-loans for women in poverty? They ran out of money because the group over-extended themselves. Carla is furious. Just when they were starting to have a real impact and the loans were getting paid back. They’re just not being repaid fast enough to float the business, let alone expand it. So Carla’s going to focus on fundraising here because the group doesn’t have the business sense of a goldfish, she said.” Sharon suddenly looked at him. “You’re not really paying attention, are you?”
“I am.” His grin grew hot. “I’m just thinking about something else I’d like to be doing as soon as we’re done eating.”
Some time later, Carla Danford, a thin woman with light brown skin and off-dark, curly hair, dragged her overnight case up the front stoop of the townhouse. The rest of her luggage would arrive on the later flight she’d planned to take. Exhaustion oozed out of every pore in her body and she couldn’t wait to settle into her bedroom on the top floor of the townhouse. She’d picked the room because it was the quietest, and she longed for the silence.
She opened the front door, then the foyer door and walked into three men in dark suits, guns drawn on her.
“I live here!” she screamed, whipping her hands above her head.
From inside the living room, she heard Sharon yelp and a male voice cursing.
“Stand down, guys,” he said.
Sharon appeared behind the men, a blanket wrapped around her.
“She really does live here,” Sharon cried.
Carla’s jaw dropped when Mark slid into the hall wearing nothing but a small afghan.
“Stand down,” Mark ordered again. “She’s legit.”
The Secret Service agents looked back at Mark, then slowly holstered their guns.
“Where did you guys all come from?” Sharon groaned, her face flushing a deep red.
“Uh, we’re around,” said one tall, burly fellow.
The three quietly withdrew into the back of the townhouse.
Carla looked at Mark and Sharon in shock.
“What are you doing here?” Sharon groaned. “I thought you said you weren’t getting in until tomorrow morning.”
“I found an earlier flight in L.A.,” Carla said. “What are you doing? I mean, I know what you’re doing, but I thought you weren’t doing it.”
“Not tonight we’re not,” Mark sighed.
“Don’t let me stop you.” Carla flushed almost as red as Sharon.
“Uh, Carla, do you mind going to another room so that Sharon and I can get some clothes on?” Mark asked.
Carla hurried to the dining room. Sharon came into the room first, wearing her day-off slacks and blouse.
“I’m so sorry,” Carla sniffed. “I had no idea.”
“It’s your house,” Sharon replied tiredly. “You have every right to come home when you want.”
“I know, but I feel awful that I interrupted you.”
Mark laughed ruefully as he wandered in, wearing the jeans he’d been wearing earlier with a t-shirt over it and his running shoes.
“It’s alright,” he said. “It was bound to happen.” He sighed. “We just really need you to keep this under your hat.”
“We don’t want it to leak before I’m used to the idea of becoming a public figure.” Sharon’s face grew pained. “It’s a really long story.”
Carla couldn’t help smiling. “Actually, I think I’m good with keeping it quiet. The last thing I want is a press circus outside on the sidewalk.”
“That’s why you can’t even tell Niecy or June,” Sharon said. “Not that they’d say anything, but we don’t want to put them in the position of lying or something.”
“Anyway, I’d better get going,” Mark said quietly.
“No!” Carla gasped. “It’s okay. I’m on the third floor to the back. I won’t hear a thing. I promise. That’s why I’m up there. It’s the least I can do after cutting in on you guys. And, really, if you want to use here as a hideout, that’s okay. As long as the Secret Service doesn’t mind.”
Mark smiled gently. “I’ll make sure that they don’t.”
Even so, while Mark and Sharon got their time together, he left shortly after. Later the next morning, both he and Sharon had to get on Air Force One for the trip to Australia.
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