Read Online Eighteen Acres: A Novel by Nicolle Wallace - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicolle Wallace
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someone important,” he’d said to her the first night they spoke.
“You must have me confused with someone else,” Melanie had said, turning back to her friends.
“You’re Melanie Kingston, rising star in the White House press operation and the provider of Harlow’s daily fix of Florida news.”
His lines had been cheesy, but Melanie had desperately wanted his words to be true.
“Uh, I don’t know where you get your information, Mr.—” Melanie started to say before he interrupted.
“Michael. Call me Michael,” he’d said, taking a seat at the table next to Melanie, shoving a handful of wasabi peas into his mouth, and washing them down with a large gulp of his martini.
“Michael. Well, you have my name right. I’m Melanie.”
“I know,” he’d said.
“Why did everyone warn me about talking to you? You’re not exactly subtle.” She’d laughed.
“Maybe that’s my secret.”
“What are you working on?” she’d asked.
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“Doug Fischer is going to be indicted by the end of the week for perjury, and I’m trying to figure out if the special prosecutor has given the president a heads-up,” he’d said.
Doug Fischer worked in the White House counsel’s office, and he’dtestified before a grand jury investigating an unauthorized leak that lead to an undercover FBI agent’s cover being blown. The agent had been killed as a result.
“And you know this how?” Melanie had asked.
“My ex-wife is the public affairs officer for the special prosecutor’s office, and when I went to pick up my daughter last night, I heard her on the phone. He was asking her to come back in, and the special prosecutors always fill in their press staff at the last minute—always the very last to know anything big, just like the White House, Kingston.”
“Does that actually work for you? I mean, do people actually tell you things after you insult them like that?”
He’d laughed. “Believe it or not, they do.”
He’d been right about the White House lawyer getting indicted. Melanie had been sitting at her desk in the OEOB when she saw the breaking news on CNN. The OEOB was across the driveway from the West Wing, but it might as well have been on another planet. Melanie had stayed glued to the television all day. President Harlow had given a statement in the East Room shortly after the news broke. Melanie remembered reading in the papers that his communications director, Barry Donaldson, had written the statement on a computer without a hard drive so it wouldn’t show up in the White House records in case the White House staffer hadn’t been indicted.
I want to have that role someday,
Melanie had thought at the time.
I want to be the person the president turns to in the middle of a crisis.
Melanie and Michael had started meeting periodically at Starbucks across the street from the White House. He’d ask her about the mood at the planning meetings she went to, the cliques at the White House, and rumors about tensions or affairs between various staffers. And there was no shortage of scurrilous gossip to pass along, off the record, of course. When hundreds of young political animals from all across the country spent fifteen-hour days together, seven days a week, working inside the confines of the eighteen acres that made up the White House complex, there was plenty of friction.
Melanie had loved how important she felt meeting Michael for these visits. She didn’t realize at the time how valuable her rambling reports of life as a junior staffer were until she’d read an “analysis”piece Michael wrote about President Harlow a few weeks after the indictment.
“It’s Business as Usual in President Harlow’s White House,” the headline had read. The story had gone on to say that “staffers attended meetings for the White House egg roll and planned for a bird flu outbreak just days after the resignation of one of the most powerful aides on the White House
“You must have me confused with someone else,” Melanie had said, turning back to her friends.
“You’re Melanie Kingston, rising star in the White House press operation and the provider of Harlow’s daily fix of Florida news.”
His lines had been cheesy, but Melanie had desperately wanted his words to be true.
“Uh, I don’t know where you get your information, Mr.—” Melanie started to say before he interrupted.
“Michael. Call me Michael,” he’d said, taking a seat at the table next to Melanie, shoving a handful of wasabi peas into his mouth, and washing them down with a large gulp of his martini.
“Michael. Well, you have my name right. I’m Melanie.”
“I know,” he’d said.
“Why did everyone warn me about talking to you? You’re not exactly subtle.” She’d laughed.
“Maybe that’s my secret.”
“What are you working on?” she’d asked.
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.”
“Doug Fischer is going to be indicted by the end of the week for perjury, and I’m trying to figure out if the special prosecutor has given the president a heads-up,” he’d said.
Doug Fischer worked in the White House counsel’s office, and he’dtestified before a grand jury investigating an unauthorized leak that lead to an undercover FBI agent’s cover being blown. The agent had been killed as a result.
“And you know this how?” Melanie had asked.
“My ex-wife is the public affairs officer for the special prosecutor’s office, and when I went to pick up my daughter last night, I heard her on the phone. He was asking her to come back in, and the special prosecutors always fill in their press staff at the last minute—always the very last to know anything big, just like the White House, Kingston.”
“Does that actually work for you? I mean, do people actually tell you things after you insult them like that?”
He’d laughed. “Believe it or not, they do.”
He’d been right about the White House lawyer getting indicted. Melanie had been sitting at her desk in the OEOB when she saw the breaking news on CNN. The OEOB was across the driveway from the West Wing, but it might as well have been on another planet. Melanie had stayed glued to the television all day. President Harlow had given a statement in the East Room shortly after the news broke. Melanie remembered reading in the papers that his communications director, Barry Donaldson, had written the statement on a computer without a hard drive so it wouldn’t show up in the White House records in case the White House staffer hadn’t been indicted.
I want to have that role someday,
Melanie had thought at the time.
I want to be the person the president turns to in the middle of a crisis.
Melanie and Michael had started meeting periodically at Starbucks across the street from the White House. He’d ask her about the mood at the planning meetings she went to, the cliques at the White House, and rumors about tensions or affairs between various staffers. And there was no shortage of scurrilous gossip to pass along, off the record, of course. When hundreds of young political animals from all across the country spent fifteen-hour days together, seven days a week, working inside the confines of the eighteen acres that made up the White House complex, there was plenty of friction.
Melanie had loved how important she felt meeting Michael for these visits. She didn’t realize at the time how valuable her rambling reports of life as a junior staffer were until she’d read an “analysis”piece Michael wrote about President Harlow a few weeks after the indictment.
“It’s Business as Usual in President Harlow’s White House,” the headline had read. The story had gone on to say that “staffers attended meetings for the White House egg roll and planned for a bird flu outbreak just days after the resignation of one of the most powerful aides on the White House
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