Eighteen Acres: A Novel (26 page)

“Thanks for coming by on such short notice,” Charlotte said, rising from a sofa in the room Dale recognized from photos as the Yellow Oval, so called because it was shaped just like the Oval Office and decorated in bright shades of yellow. One of the dogs sat on the sofa next to Charlotte, and the other two were lying near the air-conditioner vents in the floor.

“It’s my pleasure,” Dale said, crossing the room to where Charlotte was standing. The dog sitting on the couch lifted her head, looked at Dale, and then put her head down in Charlotte’s lap as soon as she sat down.

“Please sit. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Iced tea?” Charlotte asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Dale said.

“Does Peter know you’re here?” Charlotte asked.

“No. He’s flying back from San Francisco tonight, and I didn’t mention that you’d called.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Charlotte said.

Dale didn’t say anything. She just nodded.

“I promise I didn’t invite you over here to talk about Peter. I have an idea about something, and I wanted to see if it was of interest.”

“I appreciate that,” Dale said.

“What’s your take on where the election stands today?” Charlotte said.

“You have a couple of months left to get your numbers up five to six points depending on which poll you’re looking at. Your internals probably show it about a three-to-five-point race, but the trend is more troubling than the gap. People who are just tuning in are more likely to support your opponent, if for no other reason than the fact that she’s asking for their support. Fair or not, people who just figured out there’s an election looming have forgotten that you announced that you wouldn’t campaign because you didn’t want to politicize the crash and everything else. Undecided voters think you aren’t even trying.”

Charlotte stood up and walked across the room to look out at the grounds workers tending to the South Lawn below.

“I wish they wouldn’t work in this heat,” she said.

Dale nodded in agreement.

“You’re exactly right about the election,” Charlotte said, turning and facing Dale. “And Ralph and Melanie warned me that the decision that felt right in the spring would feel awful at this point in the campaign season, so I can’t say I wasn’t warned. I don’t regret it, though. I didn’t see how I could have launched a national campaign and turned on a major fundraising operation while the entire Congress and half a dozen bipartisan commissions were investigating what happened in Afghanistan.”

Dale nodded. “It was the right thing to do. You treated the voters as if they’re smart enough to understand that there are some things more important than the next campaign.”

“Right. But that was then. Now I need a game changer,” Charlotte said.

“That’s what everyone seems to believe,” Dale agreed.

Charlotte put down her coffee cup and pushed her hair behind her ears. “The vice president offered to resign. He’s a very good man, and I would not have won four years ago without him. He supported my decision not to campaign for reelection, and he’s eager to see how much further we can push the envelope. He offered to step off the ticket if I agreed to replace him with a Democrat so we could run a true unity ticket, something that has always appealed to his sense of nostalgia for the way things used to be in this town.”

Dale’s eyes widened. “Who would you pick?”

“What do you think about the New York attorney general, Tara Meyers?” Charlotte asked.

“Wow. That really
is
a game changer!” Dale exclaimed.

“As you said, we are about four to six points back in our internals. We need to change things up or resign ourselves to a certain outcome, and the only thing I could think of to get the right wing to stop sticking knives in my back is to put a Democrat a heartbeat away from the Oval Office. That way, I’ll be more use to them alive,” Charlotte said, beaming with excitement.

Dale smiled back at her. “She’s your game changer in more ways than one.”

“If you’re interested, I thought you could do the first, and only, interview with the outgoing VP and his wife and Tara and her family, assuming that the vetting doesn’t turn up anything troubling. And me, of course. We’d have to tape tomorrow night. What do you think?” Charlotte asked.

“Madam President, that is very generous. Thank you,” Dale said.

“No ground rules. No time limit. You can ask us anything. If you say yes, Melanie will work it out with Billy.”

“This is incredible. Yes, of course I’ll do it. Thank you again!” Dale exclaimed.

“Good. I’m so pleased,” Charlotte said.

“I’ll be in touch with Melanie, then. And I’ll let you get back to work,” Dale said, rising to leave.

“Dale, do you want to know why Peter started hating me?” Charlotte said.

“I’m sorry?” Dale said.

“Do you understand what Peter does for a living?”

“Of course,” Dale said.

“But do you understand why he’s so good at it?”

“I think so. He’s brilliant and easygoing and everyone trusts him.”

“Yes, he’s all those things. But the reason he’s the best in the business is that he knows how to chart a path for his clients, and he does it with such a gentle touch they don’t even know they’re being handled. He is better at it than anyone I have ever known. At some point, I shut him out. I stopped letting him help me chart my path. I thought that the problems I had were too difficult for him to solve. I turned to the experts,” Charlotte said quietly, the regret visible on her face. “Let him help you, Dale.”

Dale smiled at her. She’d never thought of Peter that way. Charlotte had just given her some very good advice. “Thank you,” Dale said. “For everything.”

Charlotte’s face became veiled again. “So, we’re all set. I will see you tomorrow night,” she said, standing.

They shook hands, and Dale walked out of the residence and toward her car parked outside the East Wing. She couldn’t believe that the president was the one person willing to throw her a lifeline. It had been nearly three months since Billy had sentenced her to network-news purgatory. He had given her the title “national correspondent,” but so far, there had not been a single assignment for her. She hadn’t appeared on the air since her return from Afghanistan. To make matters worse, they’d refused to let her out of her contract because of the investment they’d made in grooming her for the anchor chair.

Dale cranked the air conditioner in her car and started thinking through the script she’d write. Candidates had floated the idea of a unity ticket before, but no one had ever had the guts to try it. Charlotte’s announcement would either dismantle what was left of her political coalition or get voters to give her a second look. Dale was eager to tell Peter the news. She dialed his number, and the call went straight to voice-mail. She went home to their house in Georgetown.
She called his cell phone two more times, and he didn’t answer. She pulled a black skirt and a turquoise blouse out of her closet for the interview and then sat in front of the computer and started drafting questions for the president, the vice president, and the new nominee.

“Hey, honey, you in here?” she heard Peter call from the front entryway.

“Hi. Where have you been? I’ve been calling you,” she said.

“We took off late because of fog, and I forgot to turn the phone off during the flight, so the battery was dead when I landed. Is everything OK?”

“Everything is better than OK. Charlotte called me this morning.”

Peter stood very still and said nothing.

“I went over to the residence, and she told me that the veep is stepping down and she’s putting a Democrat on the ticket. She offered me the exclusive interview with the VP and the new nominee and her family,” she said proudly.

Peter exhaled. “That’s great, Dale. That’s really great, honey,” he said with a smile Dale recognized as forced.

“Don’t you want to know who she picked?” Dale asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“Tara Meyers, the New York AG. Ballsy move, don’t you think?” Dale said.

“Very,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. If this is something you want to do, I’m behind you one hundred percent,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Why can’t you just be excited for me?”

“I am excited for you. You’re the best person to do the interview. And Charlotte was smart to pick you. She has good intentions, but she also knows that you’ll give the story the time it deserves and that Billy will run the whole thing because he’s basically run you off the air.”

“But I can tell you don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said.

“That’s not it. I am just protective of you,” he said.

“Why do you have to do that?” Dale complained.

“Do what? Be protective?” he asked.

“No. Why do you have to knock the one good thing that’s happened to me since this whole stupid thing blew up in my face and ruined my career?” she said, fighting back tears of frustration.

Peter appeared to swallow whatever his first thought was. When he spoke, he did so in a low voice. “I don’t want you to get disappointed again. One interview doesn’t change anything,” he said. “They aren’t going to suddenly remember how talented you are and give you your job back. They’ll air the interview, thank you for your good work, and go back to ignoring you because they don’t know how to deal with you.”

“How do you know it won’t change anything?” Dale asked.

“I don’t. Tell me I’m wrong. I’d love to be wrong,” he said.

She stared out toward the garden. She was too frustrated to speak without saying something she knew she’d regret later.

“Dale, don’t make a decision right now. Think about it for a couple of hours. I’m behind you whatever you do.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” she said, her eyes glued to the window.

“And it makes you part of the story again,” Peter said.

Dale looked at the outfit she’d pulled out of her closet and felt foolish for thinking that one interview could erase the revelation of her three-year affair with the president’s husband and return her to broadcast-news prominence. She still had an urge to yell at Peter or throw something at him, but she knew he was right.

And she remembered Charlotte’s words. She stewed silently for a few more minutes. When she turned to look at Peter, he was staring at her intently.

“The president and her new nominee are expecting me at the residence for the interview tomorrow night,” she said. “What do you suggest I do?”

Charlotte

Dale was supposed to be here at eight,” Charlotte said, glancing at the clock in the Map Room.

“I’ll go check East Exec to see if she’s arrived yet,” Melanie suggested.

“I’ll come with you,” Charlotte said, rising to walk out of the room where Neal and his wife, Mary, were sitting across from Tara and her husband on yellow loveseats. “Maybe you can talk to Tara about her look,” Charlotte said to Melanie as they walked toward the east entrance of the White House. Tara was wearing a bright white suit that was made of some sort of stretchy material that hugged her thighs when she walked. The outlines of her undergarments were visible, and she wore an orange tank top and matching high heels.

Melanie groaned inwardly. “Sure,” she said.

They walked out to the driveway just as Peter’s car was pulling in.

“Here she is,” Charlotte said.

The car came to a stop, and the back door opened. Brian stepped out.

“What are you doing here?” Melanie asked him, astonished. She’d thought he was in Michigan.

“I don’t know. Dale said it was an emergency. She and Peter picked me up at the airport about twenty minutes ago and told me they’d explain when we got here,” he said.

Dale stepped out of the passenger side and walked toward Melanie and Charlotte. “Madam President, I appreciate what you tried to do for me. It’s more than anyone has done for me in a long time,” Dale began.

Charlotte folded her arms in front of her chest and shook her head ever so slightly. “Melanie, why don’t you bring Brian to the Map Room and explain what’s happening tomorrow? We’ll get started in a few minutes,” Charlotte said.

Brian looked puzzled. Melanie’s face turned white. She hadn’t revealed Charlotte’s news about Tara when they spoke by phone that morning, and she thought she had twelve more hours to figure out how to explain why she couldn’t tell him, even off the record. Their arrangement regarding off-the-record information had worked out smoothly so far. Melanie told him things—never pertaining to national security, but everything else—on an off-the-record basis and insisted that he seek out independent sources if he pursued any of the topics she shared with him. It was how dozens of reporter and source couples survived life in Washington.

She and Brian turned and headed back toward the residence.

“Dale, I didn’t ask you to do the interview because I felt sorry for you. I asked you to do the interview because you’re the only person who would wrap the announcement into the larger sweep of history and not cover it as a political maneuver,” Charlotte said.

“I appreciate that,” Dale said.

“It’s true,” Charlotte said.

“It doesn’t seem to matter to anyone in New York,” Dale said wistfully.

Charlotte shook her head again and sighed. “Do you know what I was thinking about when I sat next to you in the hospital?”

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dale said.

“I kept thinking, how long until she realizes that we did more than nearly kill her? In some ways, I felt worse about taking away your very bright career.”

“You realized I was finished at the network before I did,” Dale said.

“What are you going to do now?” Charlotte asked.

“I mailed my resignation letter on the way over here. Billy will get it in the morning. We’re going to spend some time in San Francisco. Peter will see the kids on the weekends, of course, still. Maybe I’ll freelance or produce or take time off. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you. And good luck tomorrow with all of this.” Dale motioned toward the residence.

“You’ll watch the speech from San Francisco?” Charlotte asked.