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.
Six days had been blocked out for the visit to Australia, but the long flight time and the time change cut into the time the U.S. group would actually spend in Canberra and, later, Sydney.
Even though Australia was one of the governments that Raul Mendoza was watching, Sharon had asked him to stay behind in Washington. He had messed up badly on a previous trip and Sharon didn’t want to take a chance on his performance. Her assistant Julie had joined the party instead.
It was actually Tuesday morning, local time, when Air Force One landed in Canberra. The Americans were taken on a quick tour of the area, then Mark addressed the Parliament. The state dinner following ran smoothly until one of the cabinet members grabbed Sharon’s backside in front of a host of reporters. Sharon moved away quickly with a forced smile. Unfortunately, the next day the photo was all over the Australian tabloids and social media with Sharon’s face not visible.
“Just what we don’t need,” Sharon groaned as the party rode through some of the surrounding wine areas in a special tour bus.
“Looks like they’re implying you were receptive to the pat, too,” said Yesmenia Alvarez, the president’s public message head, who often traveled with the president so that Press Secretary Jean Bouyer could hold down the fort at home.
Gen Flowers, the president’s personal assistant, appeared next to the seats where Sharon and Yesmenia were sitting.
“Ms. Wheatly, the boss would like to talk to you.”
“Crap,” Sharon groaned, but followed Gen to the tiny office suite in the back of the bus. Mark dismissed Gen.
“I’ve already talked to Jean and Tanks about the incident,” Mark told Sharon once they were alone. “They agree I should take a hard line on the incident last night, but I thought I’d check in with you first.”
“Why?”
“I said I’d be there for you.” Mark smiled softly at her. “So what would you find the most supportive right now?”
Sharon sighed. “I don’t know. I wish you could just ignore it, but that’s not going to help.”
“Probably not. How are you feeling about it?”
“Embarrassed. It’s bad enough what Naldi did. But what’s really annoying me is the idea that I was okay with it. Here I am, the tramp again.”
“I think that’s what’s pissing me off.” Mark fidgeted with his mobile phone. “He was totally in the wrong. Do you mind me saying so? I think I need to. It needs to be clear that I will not tolerate people bashing you.”
“If you think you can without raising too many eyebrows about us.”
“I can. Jean and I have ironed that part out.”
Sharon nodded and left the office feeling reassured.
Sure enough, as the group returned to the American Embassy in Canberra, a huge pack of reporters converged on Sharon as she got off the tour bus, badgering her with questions.
Mark’s security detail pushed the reporters away, then Mark got off the bus.
“Ms. Wheatly will not be making any statement about Mr. Naldi’s inappropriate behavior last night,” Mark said firmly to the crowd. “While I am leaving the matter of official censure to the premier and/or the parliament, I want to emphasize that the advance was not welcome. Neither I nor Ms. Wheatly appreciate the implication that it was. Ms. Wheatly is a valued member of my staff, and deserves to be respected as such. I expect that a full public apology will be forthcoming promptly.”
Shortly after, Naldi held a press conference falling all over himself to apologize. Yesmenia sent out a release that Sharon had accepted the apology. But the incident made for some decided tension for the next few days of the trip, as the Australian premier also fell over himself to make up for Naldi.
When Air Force One was finally headed back to the U.S., Sharon spent some time thinking about the incident. Mark had been there for her. It was very reassuring.
The week after the Presidential party returned from Australia was remarkable for how quiet it was. At least, it was for Sharon. The rest of the West Wing staff were in a tizzy preparing for the State of the Union address, which would happen the following week. Sharon felt somewhat complacent about the whole event until it occurred to her that this was possibly the last State of the Union that she’d spend behind the scenes.
The biggest issue for her was the reception at the Chilean embassy the following Saturday, and given that the two countries were on reasonably good terms with each other, that meant little likelihood of some greater problem developing.
Sharon shuddered that Saturday as she sat in the make up room at the White House while trying to catch up on emails. It was appalling how often something that shouldn’t be an issue blew up into a major one.
She was in the make up chair because she would be Mark’s “date” for the night. She usually was for embassy and other events involving other governments. Leonidas Bertonelli, her South America expert, had already briefed her. Mark was sympathetic to the environmental issues Chile had, so that shouldn’t pose a problem.
In fact, the reception proved to be pretty boring. Mark laughed at Sharon’s relief as the Presidential Limousine pulled away from the Chilean embassy at the end of the evening.
“Excuse me,” Sharon grumbled. “Isn’t a big part of my job anticipating potential problems and being ready to deal with anything we don’t anticipate?”
Mark laughed again and snuggled up next to her. “True. But sometimes I think you’re worrying more than you should.”
“We’ll see how you feel about that the next time something blows up in our faces. And it’s not like that hasn’t happened before.”
“Fair enough.”
Nonetheless, the fact that Mark was more absorbed in nibbling on her ear meant that he had other things on his mind besides diplomacy.
When they got to the townhouse, Mark followed Sharon in on the assumption that no one would see him not leave later.
“Is Carla home?” he asked as Sharon shut the foyer door.
“According to the text I got, she’s hanging upstairs, watching TV. She told me this morning that she’s okay with you staying over, and doesn’t want to know about it until the next morning.”
“Perfect.” Mark smiled as Sharon took his overcoat. “Let’s go to your room.”
They went upstairs, but before they started to get undressed, Mark stopped Sharon.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his dinner jacket.
“Oh?”
He handed her a small flat wooden box. Sharon’s eyebrows rose.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
Sharon lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a gold ring with ornate scrollwork and a large diamond.
“This is beautiful.” Sharon looked at Mark without touching it. “Is it an antique?”
Mark nodded. “It belonged to my grandmother. It’s the ring my grandfather gave her. Actually, it goes back further than that. My great-grandfather gave my great-grandmother the ring first. And she gave it to my grandfather when he married my grandmother.”
“That’s so incredibly special.” Sharon touched the ring.
“Thanks.” His face twitched with some discomfort.
“Bad memory?” she asked.
“Not about the ring.” Mark blinked. “Nor my grandmother. She was pretty amazing.”
“So you’ve said.”
He took a deep breath and let it go. “Okay. Yeah, there’s a story behind the ring.” He swallowed. “You know how I get skittish about you promising that you can handle what my mother dishes out?”
“You said that someone else had, then didn’t follow through.” Sharon smiled softly at him.
“That. Exactly.” Mark chuckled sadly, then looked away. “I had fallen in love. My pattern, you know? But even with that, it was a pretty intense relationship. We really took our time. We’d been dating for over three years before I proposed. I warned her, my mother could be seriously hurtful. She swore she could handle it. I’m still not sure what all went on. Mother attacked her directly. I was only in the state legislature at the time, so there wasn’t much in the press. Candy kept saying that she could handle it.” Mark swallowed again. “Until one night, she told me that she was leaving me. It wasn’t that the attacks were that bad. She just didn’t want a mother-in-law that hated her that much.”
“Which essentially amounted to her not being able to handle it when she said she could.”
“It did, although I think she really was worried that somehow Mother would come between Candy and me.” Mark shrugged. “That I’d come to resent her because my mother didn’t like her. Candy just didn’t get how abusive my mother is and how that affects my feelings about her.” He blew his breath out. “Grandma saw that I was pretty messed up about the whole thing. Candy was the last woman I dated publicly, so Grandma and Dad and everyone knew we were engaged. A couple weeks after I got dumped, Grandma had me come to her apartment and gave me her ring. She said she figured I was thinking I’d never be able to get married or have a relationship. Which I was. She’d skipped giving Dad the ring because my grandfather was still alive. Or that’s what she said.”
Sharon smiled. “A likely story.”
“I don’t think she was lying.” Mark shrugged. “More like Grandma was trying to keep a healthy attitude. I mean we all knew she didn’t like my mother, but Grandma never said anything negative about her. You could tell she wanted to sometimes, but she never said a word. Anyway, Grandma said that she wanted me to have the ring even though Candy and I had broken up because she didn’t want me to give up hope. Never mind that’s exactly what I did. But now, you’re here.” Mark swallowed. “I’ll admit I’m scared spitless that I’m jumping the gun by giving the ring to you. At the same time, Grandma was right. I need to take the chance.”
Sharon took a deep breath. “Then I guess I should put it on.”
Only she couldn’t. The ring was too small. Mark laughed.
“We’ll have to get that sized.” He picked up her fingers and kissed them. “If you don’t mind, I know how I’d like to get it done. Don’t we have a trip to New York City coming up?”
“Week after this coming one. The International Conference on Economic Theory.”
Mark settled on the bed. “There’s a jeweler in Manhattan. Dad’s company has been dealing with her for years. She’s the absolute best at restoring and sizing antique jewelry. June loves her. Would you mind taking the ring to her while we’re in New York?”
“Not at all.” Sharon set the box carefully on the dresser. “In fact, I’m glad you know somebody. I would’ve been scared to try and find somebody on my own.” She paused. “Does this mean once I get it sized, I’ll get to wear it in public?”
“You mean announce our engagement and all.” Mark winced a little.
“Yeah.” Sharon settled next to him, and shuddered. “I’m just as scared about it as you are. Only it is pretty much inevitable if we want to be together. And I want to be with you. So there’s a part of me thinking we may as well just get it over with.”
“What about your media training?”
“How long will that take?”
Mark thought. “Based on the reports I’ve been getting, you’re pretty on top of things. It’s just been a little hard to manage the grooming for the public eye.”
“We went over that today,” Sharon said. “Carlynn thinks I’ve got a pretty good sense of style.”
“It’s more than that.” Mark sighed. “And I know this is the part that makes you crazy, but what’s the story we’re trying to tell? What do we want people to know about us?”
“That we’re in love,” Sharon said after a moment’s thought. Then she grinned. “Wait. I’ve got an idea. Valentine’s Day is coming up. Why don’t we make the announcement then? It’s all about the romance, don’t you think?”
Mark laughed. “You’re better at this than you think. You’re right. That’s perfect.” He squeezed. “Okay. We’ll keep this under wraps until a couple of days beforehand. No point in letting it leak too soon.”
“I agree.”
Then Mark’s eyes gleamed and Sharon returned his affection.
That Tuesday, the entire West Wing focused on the State of the Union address. Given that no foreign dignitaries were involved in the event, Sharon was happy to spend that evening holed up in her office with her staff overseeing what the rest of the world thought of the address.
Mark’s speech ran a good fifty-minutes, which was brief for most. He kept a very tight focus on highlighting some of his achievements, then which initiatives he wanted to pursue. After the address, the opposition’s commentary ran an hour and a half, complaining that the speech was so short, there was no content. It didn’t help the commentator that the rest of the pundits, including some of Mark’s harshest critics, congratulated the president on an address that was mostly content and remarkably short on congratulatory and other showy nonsense. And the polling afterward showed that the American people were grateful.
Nonetheless, the address, then the after-party made for a very late night. Sharon dismissed her staff, then quietly made her way upstairs to the president’s bedroom. Mark arrived shortly after, joking about the ridiculous amount of punditry involved in the whole process. Later, Sharon was thrilled when he confirmed that he had slept the night through rather than spend hours gazing out the windows second guessing himself.
The rest of the week was spent basking in the glow of a job well-done. Then the following Monday, Sharon headed to New York early that morning, as part of the advance team for President’s speech at the International Conference on Economic Theory.
It was a relatively small, but prestigious, meeting of academics. They’d invited the president for the cachet of having the U.S. President address them and that Mark held a Master’s degree in economics. Sharon’s colleagues on the president’s Advisory Board had teased her relentlessly about the odds of anything at the conference being even remotely interesting even to hardcore policy wonks.
“I’m glad it’s going to be as boring as spit,” Press Secretary Jean Bouyer told Sharon as the two sat on the high-speed train north. “Can you imagine two whole days of no one giving a rat’s patootie what we’re doing? And Jugsy gets to play around with a bunch of people who make Coop look exciting.”
Coop was Dr. Eddie Cooper, professor of economics and the expert in such on the Advisory Board.
Sharon chuckled. “Coop has his moments.”
“Not when he’s talking economics.”
“Actually, he’s the first person I’ve met who makes it interesting.”
“Whatever.” Jean laughed and leaned back in her seat. “You’re the one I feel sorry for. You’re going to have to translate everything.”
“Not really. The conference language is English.” Sharon scrolled up a page on her laptop. “So pretty much everyone understands it. I’ll be there just in case. But I don’t expect to be too busy.”
“Which means you’ll be running your buns off.”
Sharon laughed. Jean definitely had a point.
After the two had arrived, gotten checked in at the conference hotel in mid-Manhattan, then clarified several points with the conference staff, Sharon found she had plenty of time to go on her errand to the jeweler that Mark had told her about.
Better yet, the jeweler promised the work on the ring would be done in only a couple of hours. Sharon decided not to go back to the hotel, and instead took a nice relaxing extended walk through lower Manhattan. The ring was ready when the jeweler said it would be. Sharon tried it on, admiring the lovely diamond and the intricate scrollwork on the gold, then paid the jeweler. But as she left the shop, she slid the ring off her finger and hid it in her purse.
She returned to the hotel just before the president and his party arrived. It was a relatively small group. Gen Forrest, the president’s personal assistant was there, a small wisp of a young woman with red hair and a backbone of steel, especially when someone on the staff wanted to bother the president. She was joined by the Deputy Chief of Staff, Terry Barker, a tall, broad-shouldered man with light brown hair. Coop had arrived with his daughter Rebecca, who also worked as one of the teens serving as the president’s personal assistant when Gen wasn’t available. Coop was a medium-sized man with dark skin and a pencil line mustache. Rebecca had her father’s skin tone, and the sixteen-year-old was at least as tall as him.
The largest part of the party, however, was the president’s security detail. Sharon didn’t know how many men and women in dark suits were there. She did realize, though, that at least two of them had been following her on her walk that afternoon. Was she already used to the quiet, mostly unobtrusive presence? She certainly hoped so.
The party ate dinner in the president’s suite. Mark pulled her aside for a quick briefing.
“Mission accomplished,” she said softly, waving her left hand at him.
“Terrific,” he said softly back. “What about the cocktail party?”
Sharon checked her phone. “We’re cleared to go, security-wise. And it should be starting in about fifteen minutes.”
However, it was more like twenty minutes and then some before the president’s party made their way down to the ballroom where several small bars had been set up and conference participants were grouped around tall, stand-up tables. As Sharon had anticipated, everyone spoke English. She still stayed close to Mark just in case he needed some obscure fact or someone’s English wasn’t as good as they thought.
Most of the White House party spread out. Eddie Cooper hung with some friends of his from Amsterdam, the group of five economists taking over a corner near one of the bars and laughing loudly. Rebecca, Gen, and Terry sat together near the door to the ballroom, while nearby, Jean visited with several reporters from around the world.
Mark, no surprise, was the most popular person in the room, but even then, most of the conference participants seemed a little shy of the American president. By ten o’clock, Eddie had taken Rebecca up to their room. Mark dismissed Gen, then he had Sharon leave with him some minutes later.
One of the reporters, an American named Neil Woods, nudged Jean.
“Well?” asked the gray-haired man with medium-brown skin.
“What do you mean?” Jean asked, knowing full well what he meant.
Woods nodded toward the door while the other three remaining reporters (all Americans) grinned. Jean rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” said Sandra DeSoto, tossing her long, straight black hair behind her shoulder. “Your boss and Wheatly left together.”
“So?” said Jean. “They’re friends. No big deal.”
“What about the big conspiracy to get them together?” Woods pressed with a laugh.
“You know that I can’t confirm or deny,” Jean said. “That’s the official line.”
“And the unofficial line?” DeSoto asked.
“Not going to make a lick of difference.”
The others groaned.
“Seriously.” Jean sighed. “Alright. This is way off the record, and I will deny everything and mess with your press passes if you try to credit me. Are we clear?”
The reporters agreed and leaned forward.
Jean leaned forward conspiratorially. “There is nothing going on.”
“No!” Woods said as the others agreed.
“I’m serious,” Jean said. “I wish I could tell you that there is. I wish I could tell you that we’re witnessing the love story of the century because I sincerely wish that we were. But in spite of the best connivers in the White House, Mark Jerguessen and Sharon Wheatly are just friends, and that’s all they are.”
The reporters all shook their heads in commiseration.
No one was in the hotel hallway at three-forty a.m. when Sharon slid out of the Presidential suite. She was back at Mark’s side the next morning after breakfast. Because of security concerns, Mark had to slide in and out from the service hallways to see the sessions he’d wanted before his speech after lunch.
But there was lunch to get through first. Mark and the conference organizers sat at the head table. Sharon sat at a table in the last row, just ahead of the usual tangle of cameras at the back of the room. Mark glanced over her way when he could, in between discussing variations in consumer behavior with the professor from Kenya who was the head of the organization. Sharon wore a lovely blue silk pantsuit, with her blonde hair up in a French twist. At least, Mark thought that was the name for her hairstyle.
Dessert had just been served when the professor got up and introduced Mark. The attendees stood and as Mark got up to the podium, he noticed Sharon sliding to the middle of the room.
The clear panes fixed to the front of the podium flashed the words of his speech. But as he took a deep breath to tell everyone to be seated, he smelled smoke. Checking behind him, he saw the small stream sliding out from the wall behind him.
“I think everybody should stay standing,” he said, his voice calm, never mind how hard his heart was pounding. “We’re going to have to evacuate the room.” He held up his hand as the Secret Service guards started toward him. “I’ll get pulled out of here pretty quickly. But let’s get those of our attendees with disabilities out of here first, then we’ll take turns leaving, row by row, starting with the front, since the fire seems to be up here. Let’s stay calm and we’ll all get out.”
By that point, the smoke seemed to grow. The hotel fire alarms started going off and the lights blinked. As Mark had suggested, several attendees helped those using wheelchairs. He saw Sharon moving to the front of the room, speaking softly to anyone who looked particularly frightened. Coop, too, was walking among the participants, talking softly. Mark dismissed the first few rows before letting his security detail whisk him away. As he was pulled to the hall, he heard Sharon’s voice speaking one of the Asian languages.
“Get her,” he told the agents surrounding him. “And get Coop.”
But Sharon and Dr. Cooper waved the agents off, who then pulled Mark into the service hallway and outside the hotel. On the street, Mark turned back to the hotel. Forcing himself to breathe, he refused to get into the black SUV with the American flags on its front fender. Coop came running out and went straight to Rebecca.
“What is it going to take to get you idiots to protect her?” Mark yelled at a young woman in a dark pant suit.
“We are, sir,” said the woman nervously.
“Where’s Butler?” Mark snapped, looking around for his usual head of the security detail.
The large Black man was heading into the hotel’s lobby through the front entrance.
“She said she was going to help keep people calm,” the young woman continued, almost in tears. “She can talk to them in their own languages.”
Mark immediately felt ashamed. “I’m sorry. Did the rest of our party get out?”
“We’re all here, sir,” said Gen Forrest, suddenly appearing at his side. “Dr. Cooper was one of the last to leave, and said that Ms. Wheatly was right behind him.”
“Then where is she?” Mark asked, looking at the front of the hotel as several police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances pulled up in front of the building.
There were hints of the smoke in the air, but no visible signs of it. A Japanese couple hurried out of the hotel’s front door, looking behind them. A minute later, the firefighters rushing into the building suddenly pulled away to let out two men. One was Riff Butler and he was carrying Sharon.
Mark met them at the back of the ambulance. Riff set Sharon down on the gurney the paramedics had placed on the street, then moved away.
“Are you okay?” Mark asked anxiously.
“I’m humiliated!” Sharon snapped. “Being carried like a baby. Or a damsel in distress. And my ankle hurts.” She sniffed. “I tripped on the stairs down. It hurts like hell.”
The two paramedics were already getting Sharon’s shoe off and putting a blanket on her in deference to the early February cold.
“It doesn’t look too serious,” the one paramedic said. “But we’ll have to take her to the hospital.”
“I’ll ride with her.” Mark glared at Riff Butler, daring him to object.
Riff nodded and got in the front of the ambulance. Mark rode in the back next to the first paramedic and Sharon.
“Please tell me no one got pictures of Riff carrying me outside,” Sharon grumbled, tears in her eyes. “I feel like a little kid.”
“You’re going to be okay,” Mark said. “That’s the most important part.”
“Nothing like a Secret Service escort,” chortled the paramedic driving the rig.
Mark had to agree. However embarrassing Sharon found it, he was glad. And finally relaxed in his relief.
The news from the conference was good. Everyone had gotten out of the ballroom without other injuries besides Sharon’s. In fact, the whole hotel had been successfully evacuated. The conference participants were full of praise for Mark and how fast he’d recognized the problem and how calmly he’d dealt with it. One Japanese couple, who had been among the last to evacuate, could not say enough nice things about Sharon, who had kept them and other conference participants from panicking by talking to them in their own languages, or as close as she could get.
Rose Clarke Jerguessen Miller watched the reports from her home near Minneapolis with disgust. That little witch was once again making herself look good. Mark had to see through her intentions. Then again, her son was notorious for not seeing half the things Rose saw.
Rose pulled out her iPhone and dialed.
“It’s me,” she told the other person. “It’s time we did something.”
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