She shrugs. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea. Build a little goodwill. Extend Stella a public olive branch. Let her smile and preen for the pool photogs. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows that you’re a far bigger and better man than McMurtry.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “You know, if you had a First Gentleman, you could easily slough off some of these duties onto him.”
I think back to Kev’s warning during his visit. “You know as well as I do McMurtry would weaponize Leo against me. That would give him and conservative PACs four years to build up steam against my re-election.”
“True. This is one of those damned-if-you-do scenarios. The other way to look at it is that it gives you and Leo four years to build public sentiment in your favor. It’ll defang them when they try to use your marriage against you, and turn public opinion against the conservatives for being bigots.”
“You are an eternal optimist.”
She grins. “You rat bastard. That’s a low-down, horrible thing to call me.”
“Why are you bringing this to me instead of Jordan?”
“Because Jordan’s in the middle of arguing with someone over at Walter Reed about scheduling your check-up and fitting for a new leg. Based on how it’s going, your AA was afraid he’d take someone’s head off if she passed the call to him to handle. I guess he’s kind of in a feisty moooood.”
We both chuckle because, especially when it comes to me, that’s an apt description of Jordan. He’s protective of me and my medical privacy when I’m the one person in the world about whom everyone thinks they’re entitled to have unfettered access to every single tiny detail about me and my medical records, even if it’s something minor and routine that doesn’t impact my ability to do my job. I think he cares more than I do about that.
I haven’t asked him to back off now that I’m POTUS because, frankly, I think it’s fricking adorable.
Casey-Marie’s smile fades. “The other reason it was passed to me is Stella and McMurtry are refusing future Secret Service protection. He’s put in a request to cancel her detail. Effective immediately.”
I’m not sure I heard her correctly. “Say again?”
“Right? I made them repeat themselves and, yes, I’ve already called the head of your detail and confirmed it. Stella is no longer a protectee. Unofficially, because until you sign off on it it’s not official.”
“Mysister is turning down having a security detail? A freebie perk? After theliteralfit she pitched that she deserved one since Mom and Dad were getting one? Andthenshe pitched an even larger fit when I told her she wasn’t getting her own personal fleet of security and vehicles and a travel budget?Thatsister?”
Casey-Marie nods again. “My thoughtsexactly. If I didn’t know any better I’d suspect fuckery’s afoot.”
My stomach tightens at her dark tone. “What kind of fuckery?”
“I don’t know. As a freshman congressman in the minority party who doesn’t even have a committee chair and isn’t in House leadership, McMurtry doesn’t rank a security detail of his own. Now any average, politically literate person would assume he’d jump at a chance to look like a bigshot with a United States Secret Service detail following him around all the time like the Gang of Eight gets. But McMurtry told his staff he will hire private security to ensure Stella’s safety.”
I sit back and chew on that for a moment. “That sounds fishy as hell. He’s an attention whore. So’s Stella.”
“It’s not only fishy, it’s three-days’ worth of fish carcasses locked in the trunk of a car on a hot Florida summer day, is what it is.”
My nose wrinkles at that olfactory analogy. “Ew.”
“Exactly.”
“Anything I can do?”
She shrugs. “Not really, no. I mean, you can still order Stella to have a detail but she’s an adult. She can refuse it. It wouldn’t shock me if McMurtry turns that shit around to claim it’s infringing on their rights, or a waste of taxpayer dollars, or some bullshit.”
“True.”
“The irony is, of course, if theyreallywant you at the wedding, they have to let Secret Service put an advance team in place to handle logistics, including metal detectors. So there might be some undignified squawking from them over that when we tell them no concealed carry allowed, and that all people, including the bride and the groom, will have to march their happy little asses through the metal detectors.”
“Terrific,” I mutter.
She stands. “I take it you want to attend the wedding?”
“Yeah. If I don’t my parents will never forgive me.” A thought occurs. “Put the transport of my parents on my tab, please? Have them brought to DC and we’ll all fly down onAir Force Onetogether.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll get with Jordan about scheduling. That is, once he’s finished turning the poor schmuck at Walter Reed who drew the short-straw into raw hamburger.” She heads for the door.
