* * * *
When I know I’ll be traveling with Shae, I keep a bag ready to go in my office.
Our schedule for this week was all local, so no travel required, other than a few motorcade trips around DC. This means yes, I do need to go home and pack, because I don’t know what Elliot’s official schedule is.
Sure, I could turn the burner phone on and read the message he left me yesterday but now I’m pissed off.
I don’t know what Elliot said to Shae to warrant this change in schedule, but this is bullshit. He can’t use his office as the excuse why he can’t be open about his relationship with meanduse his office to finagle time alone with me on a cross-country trip without so much as consulting me about it first.
Worse, me not being Shae’s body man puts at risk the carefully choreographed dance I help her, Kev, and Chris perform on a daily basis around staff and the public at large. Yes, Kev, as her chief of staff and officially living in the residence, has full access to her.
No one else knows exactly how much access he truly has. Not even Angie, the press secretary, knows they’re anything other than really close friends. Loren used to think there was a thing between Kev and Chris, and that Shae was just a beard. Except Kev hadn’t told Loren—his ex-wife and best friend—that he was also involved with Shae.
Having another person around, like me, even behind closed doors, mean there’s little chance of rumors starting. I’m not merely Shae’s body man—I’m heralibiman.
It’s a job I do not mind in the least, because it’s more than that, and I love what I do. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to working The Shift again. I feel like I’m doing something noble and worthwhile.
I also like Shae as a person and as an employer, which helps a lot. I might not agree with all of her politics, but she has a good heart and is a person of integrity who never makes any decision lightly or in haste.
She is a president I am proud to callmypresident.
And yes, I voted for her both times. I also wouldn’t have put my boy’s name in the hat for VP if I hadn’t believed in Shae and her overall vision for our country.
Springing for a cab instead of asking a Secret Service agent to drive me, I sit back as we navigate through the streets of DC. Angrily, I dig the burner phone out of my pocket and power it on.
I don’t know what I think I’m going to do. I should order Elliot to tell Shae it’s not necessary for me to go with him…even if yesterday, before the locked office door, I likely would have jumped at the chance to do just this.
The irony doesn’t escape me. Yet in the wake of losing Jordan, I am incapable of appreciating it.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath while waiting for the phone to finish its power-on cycle. We have return receipts enacted in the app. He’ll be able to see I’ve seen his reply if I open the app and read the message.
Instead, I pull out my work phone and look up Elliot’s schedule. He’s likely awake by now, probably working out in the upstairs bedroom in his residence. It holds enough equipment that he doesn’t need to go somewhere else, meaning he doesn’t have to feel self-conscious about people watching him, or the press getting pictures of him. Although, sometimes, he and I both will join Chris in the workout room in the Executive Residence and then shower and change before heading downstairs to the West Wing for work.
Yes, Elliot will be awake soon, if not already. He’s due at the White House at 7:30, has meetings with NatSec advisors until 9:00, followed by a video call with a second-grade science class from Maryland at 9:30, a meeting with House aides from 10:00 until 11:00, and then he heads to the Senate for his thing there. Back to the White House by 1:00, with lunch crammed in there somewhere, and then off to Andrews by 3:00 for the flight out to California.
And on from there. A dinner meeting tonight with California state DNC, DSCC, and DCCC bigwigs, a full day of meetings and appearances tomorrow, including a keynote speech tomorrow night.
Swallowing back the guilt welling inside me, I realize I haven’t seen his speech.
Of course he has speechwriters. Some of them work for Shae and Elliot, some are assigned to only one or the other.
Elliot nearly always has me look over the final draft of speeches for him. I’ve sat through enough of them I know when they’ve flubbed phrasing something the way he’d say it, and how to revise it so that it sounds natural for him. Kev does the same thing for Shae—every speech goes through him before she even sees it.
Wednesday’s schedule is also grueling, even by Elliot’s standards. He’s visiting several schools, making a speech at an air base, christening a new ship, and touring a solar cell manufacturing plant that just expanded and added nearly five thousand jobs. Thursday morning, he has four appearances before flying back to DC.
On Friday, he starts his day in the Senate, back to the White House for meetings, and then a speech Friday night.
Whew. I’m exhausted simply reading all of that, because I know it means Elliot’s letting his staff spread him too thin.
With a vague sense of dread, my finger hovers over the icon for the Signal app. I finally force myself to tap it and then open the thread with him.
I’m sorry, Sir! I locked it bc that aide from EW was in PS office & I didn’t want her stopping by & talking to me. Please, I’m sorry! I DO want to see You. I need You, Sir. I’m sorry.
Oh, son of a bitch.
I feel like I’ve been gut-punched.
Closing my eyes against the prickle of tears threatening, I realize what a fucking asshole I’ve been. First, how I woke him yesterday, and now…this.
