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Authors: Nicolle Wallace
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time.”
“And Dale?”
“What about Dale?”
“For one, you made her one of the most powerful people in your White House by appointing her press secretary. That is either insane or brilliant, and I’m still deciding which,” Brooke remarked.
When Charlotte didn’t bite, Brooke continued.
“And if it were me, I’d be dying to know if they’re still in contact.”
“I have no idea, but I don’t care either way. Peter and I are fine, and Dale is dating a wonderful guy who happens to be my pollster. His name is Warren Carmichael.”
“The Iraq and Afghan war veteran? I saw him on Morning Joe the other day.”
“That’s him.”
Brooke made a face that displayed her dissatisfaction at Charlotte’s answers and reached out for the cocktail Mark was handing her. He’d poured three juice-glass-sized drinks. Charlotte took one sip and choked.
“What is this?”
“It’s an old-fashioned.”
“Without the sugar?”
“Brooke and I are cleansing.”
“You’re cleansing?”
“Juice cleansing. Don’t you cleanse?”
“I do not. Why on earth are you guys cleansing? You both look amazing.”
“It’s the juice, it’s a miracle!” Brooke exclaimed. “By day three or four, you’re so hungry you could eat the children, but your skin glows and your skinny clothes fit perfectly again. I am going to sign you up for a weeklong cleanse. The juices show up at your doorstep every morning.”
Charlotte wondered if she’d be buying five-day juice cleanses that showed up on her doorstep if she still lived in San Francisco. “They’d come right to my front door?” Charlotte teased.
“Yeah, unless the juice delivery guy gets shot first,” Mark joked.
Charlotte stayed up with her friends for another forty-five minutes, catching up on gossip and talking about their kids. When she returned to her room, Peter was sound asleep.
What she’d failed to tell Brooke was that she was worried aboutPeter feeling lonely and isolated. It wasn’t like he could walk out of the White House complex and head to Starbucks to read the paper, or play pickup basketball games at the gym, or head outside for a run like he did in San Francisco. Those sorts of outings had to be prearranged with the Secret Service. Peter despised the motorcades and the security and the cameras, so he usually stayed home when he was in D.C. and stretched out his visits to the kids and clients on the West Coast. Living in the White House had to feel like a prison. Charlotte resolved to suggest that they take more trips together to California the next time they were alone. She set her alarm for five A . M . and crawled into bed beside him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Melanie
M elanie finished her morning meetings feeling both inspired and depressed. On the one hand, she was heartened by the high morale of the troops she’d met. No matter what was said by Democrats, Republicans, and the entire spectrum of media pundits about America’s ongoing security role in Iraq, the troops remained loyal to one another and committed to the mission. Being in their midst always clarified things for Melanie and reminded her what she was fighting for day in and day out in the offices of well-meaning but clueless senators and congressmen. On the other hand, she was discouraged by what she knew would translate as minuscule progress on the ground. The public had long since moved on, but thousands of troops remained in Iraq and Afghanistan. To Melanie, that amounted to thousands of sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. Additionally, most of the men and women stationed in both countries had already endured multiple deployments away from their families. At this point, they returned home to little fanfare. Nothing frustrated Melanie more than her inability to refocus the country’s attention on their ongoing sacrifice. With prominent voices on the right and the left clamoring for every last American to get the hell out of the region, it was difficult to make
“And Dale?”
“What about Dale?”
“For one, you made her one of the most powerful people in your White House by appointing her press secretary. That is either insane or brilliant, and I’m still deciding which,” Brooke remarked.
When Charlotte didn’t bite, Brooke continued.
“And if it were me, I’d be dying to know if they’re still in contact.”
“I have no idea, but I don’t care either way. Peter and I are fine, and Dale is dating a wonderful guy who happens to be my pollster. His name is Warren Carmichael.”
“The Iraq and Afghan war veteran? I saw him on Morning Joe the other day.”
“That’s him.”
Brooke made a face that displayed her dissatisfaction at Charlotte’s answers and reached out for the cocktail Mark was handing her. He’d poured three juice-glass-sized drinks. Charlotte took one sip and choked.
“What is this?”
“It’s an old-fashioned.”
“Without the sugar?”
“Brooke and I are cleansing.”
“You’re cleansing?”
“Juice cleansing. Don’t you cleanse?”
“I do not. Why on earth are you guys cleansing? You both look amazing.”
“It’s the juice, it’s a miracle!” Brooke exclaimed. “By day three or four, you’re so hungry you could eat the children, but your skin glows and your skinny clothes fit perfectly again. I am going to sign you up for a weeklong cleanse. The juices show up at your doorstep every morning.”
Charlotte wondered if she’d be buying five-day juice cleanses that showed up on her doorstep if she still lived in San Francisco. “They’d come right to my front door?” Charlotte teased.
“Yeah, unless the juice delivery guy gets shot first,” Mark joked.
Charlotte stayed up with her friends for another forty-five minutes, catching up on gossip and talking about their kids. When she returned to her room, Peter was sound asleep.
What she’d failed to tell Brooke was that she was worried aboutPeter feeling lonely and isolated. It wasn’t like he could walk out of the White House complex and head to Starbucks to read the paper, or play pickup basketball games at the gym, or head outside for a run like he did in San Francisco. Those sorts of outings had to be prearranged with the Secret Service. Peter despised the motorcades and the security and the cameras, so he usually stayed home when he was in D.C. and stretched out his visits to the kids and clients on the West Coast. Living in the White House had to feel like a prison. Charlotte resolved to suggest that they take more trips together to California the next time they were alone. She set her alarm for five A . M . and crawled into bed beside him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Melanie
M elanie finished her morning meetings feeling both inspired and depressed. On the one hand, she was heartened by the high morale of the troops she’d met. No matter what was said by Democrats, Republicans, and the entire spectrum of media pundits about America’s ongoing security role in Iraq, the troops remained loyal to one another and committed to the mission. Being in their midst always clarified things for Melanie and reminded her what she was fighting for day in and day out in the offices of well-meaning but clueless senators and congressmen. On the other hand, she was discouraged by what she knew would translate as minuscule progress on the ground. The public had long since moved on, but thousands of troops remained in Iraq and Afghanistan. To Melanie, that amounted to thousands of sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. Additionally, most of the men and women stationed in both countries had already endured multiple deployments away from their families. At this point, they returned home to little fanfare. Nothing frustrated Melanie more than her inability to refocus the country’s attention on their ongoing sacrifice. With prominent voices on the right and the left clamoring for every last American to get the hell out of the region, it was difficult to make
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