newspaper.
“No, it was late and she was using the conference room, so I was the only one here. Now how’d it go?”
“It was fine . . . it was great. She’s really great.”
Trey pauses. “What’re you not telling me?”
The man is good. Too good.
“Let me guess,” he adds. “Early in the night, she peacocked around acting like a bad-ass, and you, like the rest of America—including me—found yourself slightly turned on by the thrill of First Family sexual domination. So there you are . . . she’s huffing and puffing, and you’re hoping she’ll blow your house down—but just as you hit the magical moment, just as you’re about to sign on the skimpily dotted line, you get a whiff of the innocent girl inside—and right there, you back off, determined to save her from her own wild ways.”
I pause a second too long. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“That’s it!” Trey cries. “Always raring to play protector. It’s the same thing with that old pro bono client you had during the campaign—the more he lied to you and led you along, the more you were determined he needed your help. You do it every time you get the bird-with-a-broken-wing face. Forever ready to save the world . . . except with Nora, swinging to the rescue makes you feel like a rock star . . .”
“Who says I want to be a rock star?”
“You work in the White House, Michael—everyone wants to be a rock star. It’s the only reason we take the low pay and the abusive hours . . .”
“Oh, so now you’re going to tell me you’d do this job for just anyone? That Hartson and the issues are all bullshit? That all we’re here for are the bragging rights?”
Trey takes a long, silent moment to answer. Idealism dieshard—especially when the President’s involved. As it is, we spend every day changing lives. Sometimes we get a chance to make them better. Corny as it sounds, both of us know it’s a dream job. Eventually, Trey adds, “All I’m saying is, even if you liked her, you wouldn’t have asked her out if it didn’t give you some sort of inside track to Daddy.”
“You really think I’m that conniving?”
“You really think I’m that naive? She’s the honcho’s kid. One leads right to the other. Whatever you told yourself, the political lizard in you can’t ignore it. But take it from me—just because you’re dating the President’s daughter, doesn’t mean you’re the First Counsel.”
I don’t like the way he says that, but I can’t help thinking about why Nora and I went out in the first place. She’s beautiful and thrillingly wild. It wasn’t just about a career move. At least, I pray I’m better than that.
“So are you gonna tell me what happ—”
“Can we please talk about it later?” I interrupt, hoping it’ll go away. “Now you got any other predictions for the morning?”
“Take my word on the census. It’s gonna be big. Bigger than Sir Elton at Wembley, at the Garden, even live in Australia.”
I roll my eyes at the only black person in existence who’s obsessed with Elton John. “Anything else, Levon?”
“Census. That’s all it’s going to be today. Learn how to spell it. Cen-sus.”
I hang up the phone and read the census story first. When it comes to the politics of politics, Trey’s never wrong. Even among political animals—including myself—there’s no one better. For four years, even before I saved his ass on the campaign, he’s been the First Lady’s favorite; so even though he’s only a Deputy Press Secretary in title, it doesn’t go into her office without first going through his fingers. And believe me, they’re great fingers to know.
I blow through the Post while shoveling my way through a quick bowl of Lucky Charms. After last night, I could use them. When the cereal’s gone, I go through the Times and the Journal , then I’m ready to go. With the last paper under my arm, I leave my one-bedroom apartment without making my bed. With the
“No, it was late and she was using the conference room, so I was the only one here. Now how’d it go?”
“It was fine . . . it was great. She’s really great.”
Trey pauses. “What’re you not telling me?”
The man is good. Too good.
“Let me guess,” he adds. “Early in the night, she peacocked around acting like a bad-ass, and you, like the rest of America—including me—found yourself slightly turned on by the thrill of First Family sexual domination. So there you are . . . she’s huffing and puffing, and you’re hoping she’ll blow your house down—but just as you hit the magical moment, just as you’re about to sign on the skimpily dotted line, you get a whiff of the innocent girl inside—and right there, you back off, determined to save her from her own wild ways.”
I pause a second too long. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“That’s it!” Trey cries. “Always raring to play protector. It’s the same thing with that old pro bono client you had during the campaign—the more he lied to you and led you along, the more you were determined he needed your help. You do it every time you get the bird-with-a-broken-wing face. Forever ready to save the world . . . except with Nora, swinging to the rescue makes you feel like a rock star . . .”
“Who says I want to be a rock star?”
“You work in the White House, Michael—everyone wants to be a rock star. It’s the only reason we take the low pay and the abusive hours . . .”
“Oh, so now you’re going to tell me you’d do this job for just anyone? That Hartson and the issues are all bullshit? That all we’re here for are the bragging rights?”
Trey takes a long, silent moment to answer. Idealism dieshard—especially when the President’s involved. As it is, we spend every day changing lives. Sometimes we get a chance to make them better. Corny as it sounds, both of us know it’s a dream job. Eventually, Trey adds, “All I’m saying is, even if you liked her, you wouldn’t have asked her out if it didn’t give you some sort of inside track to Daddy.”
“You really think I’m that conniving?”
“You really think I’m that naive? She’s the honcho’s kid. One leads right to the other. Whatever you told yourself, the political lizard in you can’t ignore it. But take it from me—just because you’re dating the President’s daughter, doesn’t mean you’re the First Counsel.”
I don’t like the way he says that, but I can’t help thinking about why Nora and I went out in the first place. She’s beautiful and thrillingly wild. It wasn’t just about a career move. At least, I pray I’m better than that.
“So are you gonna tell me what happ—”
“Can we please talk about it later?” I interrupt, hoping it’ll go away. “Now you got any other predictions for the morning?”
“Take my word on the census. It’s gonna be big. Bigger than Sir Elton at Wembley, at the Garden, even live in Australia.”
I roll my eyes at the only black person in existence who’s obsessed with Elton John. “Anything else, Levon?”
“Census. That’s all it’s going to be today. Learn how to spell it. Cen-sus.”
I hang up the phone and read the census story first. When it comes to the politics of politics, Trey’s never wrong. Even among political animals—including myself—there’s no one better. For four years, even before I saved his ass on the campaign, he’s been the First Lady’s favorite; so even though he’s only a Deputy Press Secretary in title, it doesn’t go into her office without first going through his fingers. And believe me, they’re great fingers to know.
I blow through the Post while shoveling my way through a quick bowl of Lucky Charms. After last night, I could use them. When the cereal’s gone, I go through the Times and the Journal , then I’m ready to go. With the last paper under my arm, I leave my one-bedroom apartment without making my bed. With the
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