Chapter Nineteen
Aside from our mental and emotional turbulence, it’s an otherwise smooth flight to DC. When we exit the plane, I’m doubly glad I opted to don a suit and keep my heavy coat out before leaving Tallahassee. It’s a clear,coldnight, well beyond the “crisp” range, and a steady breeze makes it damn biting. I thought sixty-two was cold in Tallahassee—it’s thirty-nine here, which is sub-arctic to me. When I first moved to Florida in high school, it didn’t take long for me to acclimate and my blood to “thin,” as people told me it would. I just thought, back then, that Floridians were wimps.
Now, I totally get it. The only thing I had trouble getting used to when I lived in DC before was the cold, which is stupid because I grew up in New York.
Luckily, it only takes them five minutes to load all my shit into the back of the armored limo that’ll ferry us to Elliot’s residence. I’ve once again donned my mask of cool and collected advisor, the experienced politico.
Command and control mode, as Leo calls it.
It’s not therealme, though. As long as everyone elsethinksit is, I’ll call it a success.
We’re driving back from Andrews tonight because of the late hour, meaning little traffic to contend with. Plus, with the president out of town, several of the Marine choppers used to move POTUS and VPOTUS back and forth are on the road with her. Elliot’s not fond of choppers, which I think is part of his PTSD from the military. Any opportunity where he can opt to ride in a land vehicle instead of flying in a helicopter, he gladly takes it.
While I’ve been to Elliot’s residence many times before, it takes on a much different and graver significance as we make our way through the night. Normally, the drive’s around thirty-five to forty minutes. Tonight, with the motorcade and full escort, and lack of traffic due to the hour, it only takes us twenty.
As we zip past the mansions on the south end of Embassy Row on our way up Massachusetts Avenue, I barely have time to reflect upon the fact that I’ve been silently promoted into a shadowy position that quite literally could make me the second most powerful man in the world in a couple of years simply by the fact that I’ll be controlling the most powerful man in the world.
Ifhe’s elected.
It’s nearly enough to make me puke up the sandwich I ate earlier.
Takethat, Dad.
Maybe I really do have more of a sadistic streak in me than I thought, because the idea occurs to me to call my parents fromAir Force Twonext time we’re on it.
I’d love to see their faces when the air operator tells them they have a call.
Yes, there will definitely be some showing of my metaphorical ass in the future, making damned sure people who know my parents learn about my new job.
Elliot and I don’t speak during the ride to Number One Observatory Circle—the vice president’s official residence.
A lot of people, who apparently don’t know how to use Google and who weren’t paying attention in their high school social studies classes, mistakenly think the vice president also lives in the White House.
No, he doesn’t. He has an office there, but he has his own residence, with his own staff. For starters, it’d be horrible security protocol to have them living together in the same residence all the time. One attack could, theoretically, take them both out. Secondly, the White House, the residence portion of it, is far smaller than most people understand. Seeing it filling a TV screen doesn’t give you the full or even halfway accurate sense of scale. That was something that struck me the first time I saw it in person when I was originally hired to handle the interior design plans and went there to make my evaluation.
Hell,Air Force Oneis bigger than the White House—not counting the East and West Wings—which blows many people’s minds when they learn that. The wingspan on that plane is longer than the White House, and the body of the plane itself is longer than the White House by approximately seventy feet.
Elliot would have more household staff on hand than he currently does were it left to government wonks. Early on, he pared them down, especially at night and on the weekends. Most of them were moved over to the White House or other positions, and are brought in for special occasions, such as if he’s hosting a dinner for a head of state or other dignitary, or some sort of special event is being held there.
He prefers minimal household staff inside during the day when he’s home, and none on nights or weekends, if he’s alone.
Or, I guess, now with me around, I’ll be included in that. Since it was just him before, and he doesn’t have a family, there really isn’t a lot of work to be done, other than laundry, dusting, cleaning his master bathroom, and taking care of the kitchen and shopping.
Partially because Elliot’s not comfortable with the trappings of such a high office, and I admire him for that. But it’s also because he’s terrified of his secret getting out, and he didn’t want anyone around to witness Leo’s visits. He knows Secret Service won’t tell, but even then he risks as little as possible around them. The story is that he and Leo are good friends, or that Leo’s there on business for POTUS.
I have to talk to Kev.
As Shae’s chief of staff, I know Kev will keep our secrets. By all rights, I can’t have a landmine like this left sitting there without telling Kev. Common courtesy, if nothing else. If something ever comes of it, he can’t be caught flat-footed. Plus, I’ll need his advice on how to avoid doing anything on paper that can trip Elliot during the election.
My to-do list is growing a mile a minute right now.
When we finally pull up to the mansion about a quarter ’til three, the front lights are on outside and in the reception hall, visible through the windows in the door. I suspect Secret Service already unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm, since there’s an agent standing on the porch.
Guess I’m getting a new set of keys and an alarm code.
I think about Leo’s keys on my keyring and wonder if he changed his locks or took my code off his alarm system.
No, I’m not going over there uninvited. I’m not stupid.
