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Authors: Nicolle Wallace
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the case that the effort was worthwhile. She’d invited some of the local leaders from her meetingsthat morning to Washington to brief the members of the House and Senate Armed Services and Foreign Relations Committees. As she was trading personal e-mail addresses with one of the women serving in Parliament, her assistant gave her the signal to wrap things up. She used to ignore cues from aides, but sometimes they were a warning about a sudden change in the security situation on the ground. She ended her conversation and moved toward the door.
“What’s up?”
“Brian’s on the phone.”
“It’s three in the morning in D.C.”
“That’s why I interrupted you.”
Melanie rushed to the holding room.
“Honey, is everything OK?”
“Everything is fine. I’m sorry I worried you. I told them to tell you that it wasn’t urgent.”
“Oh, my God. My heart is beating out of my chest. What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you and the baby.”
“We’re fine. I promise.”
“When you get back, I think we need to make a plan for you to slow down. I don’t think all of the travel is good for the baby, and I know it isn’t good for you.”
“We’ll do that. Don’t worry. I’m not straining myself. I slept eight hours, and when I’m not puking, I’m stuffing my face.”
“I worry all the time that something is going to happen.”
“Me, too, but this little baby is going to be fine.”
“I know.”
“Get some sleep.”
She hung up and touched her stomach. Brian was overly concerned, but Melanie had to give some thought to her travel schedule and the hectic pace she’d always maintained. She had spent her entire adult life working harder and longer than everyone around her. She couldn’t imagine doing these jobs any other way. She finally understood why so many women felt forced to choose between their careers and their families. Melanie couldn’t comprehend what full-time motherhood entailed. She only had a few friends who were mothers,mostly former White House colleagues who dropped out of politics and talked about being swallowed whole by the production of taking care of a newborn and then by the playdates and toddler classes that followed. It sounded daunting, but after everything they’d been through to get pregnant, she couldn’t envision handing her precious little baby over to a stranger.
Melanie also felt the baby might provide a graceful transition out of government. Surely no one would fault her for stepping away from public service after nearly two decades to raise her child? Melanie rubbed her stomach again and realized that she was famished. She pushed herself up from the table and headed back toward the conference room in search of the cheese tray.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dale
D ale slid her iPhone out from under her pillow and watched the time change from 3:59 to 4:00 A . M . She gave up on sleep and thought about how she would have given anything to magically transport Warren across the river to his own bed so she wouldn’t have to get dressed in the dark. After carefully extricating herself from his embrace, she balanced her iPhone and BlackBerry on top of her iPad and tiptoed to the bathroom. Once inside, she scanned the e-mails that had come in during the four hours she’d been unplugged. While she waited for an attachment from one of her deputies to open, she glanced at her reflection. Marie Claire magazine had flown in a colorist and a hairstylist to give her a new haircut and highlights for the photo shoot they’d done of her the week before. Her dark brown hair had a great bouncy shape, and a fresh batch of chestnut-colored strands made her skin look less pale. As the face of the administration, she was getting plenty of attention for her appearance, but it wasn’t the kind of attention that did her any good at all at the podium. She hoped the “Day in the Life” production would be the catalyst for people seeing her as more than a
“What’s up?”
“Brian’s on the phone.”
“It’s three in the morning in D.C.”
“That’s why I interrupted you.”
Melanie rushed to the holding room.
“Honey, is everything OK?”
“Everything is fine. I’m sorry I worried you. I told them to tell you that it wasn’t urgent.”
“Oh, my God. My heart is beating out of my chest. What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you and the baby.”
“We’re fine. I promise.”
“When you get back, I think we need to make a plan for you to slow down. I don’t think all of the travel is good for the baby, and I know it isn’t good for you.”
“We’ll do that. Don’t worry. I’m not straining myself. I slept eight hours, and when I’m not puking, I’m stuffing my face.”
“I worry all the time that something is going to happen.”
“Me, too, but this little baby is going to be fine.”
“I know.”
“Get some sleep.”
She hung up and touched her stomach. Brian was overly concerned, but Melanie had to give some thought to her travel schedule and the hectic pace she’d always maintained. She had spent her entire adult life working harder and longer than everyone around her. She couldn’t imagine doing these jobs any other way. She finally understood why so many women felt forced to choose between their careers and their families. Melanie couldn’t comprehend what full-time motherhood entailed. She only had a few friends who were mothers,mostly former White House colleagues who dropped out of politics and talked about being swallowed whole by the production of taking care of a newborn and then by the playdates and toddler classes that followed. It sounded daunting, but after everything they’d been through to get pregnant, she couldn’t envision handing her precious little baby over to a stranger.
Melanie also felt the baby might provide a graceful transition out of government. Surely no one would fault her for stepping away from public service after nearly two decades to raise her child? Melanie rubbed her stomach again and realized that she was famished. She pushed herself up from the table and headed back toward the conference room in search of the cheese tray.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dale
D ale slid her iPhone out from under her pillow and watched the time change from 3:59 to 4:00 A . M . She gave up on sleep and thought about how she would have given anything to magically transport Warren across the river to his own bed so she wouldn’t have to get dressed in the dark. After carefully extricating herself from his embrace, she balanced her iPhone and BlackBerry on top of her iPad and tiptoed to the bathroom. Once inside, she scanned the e-mails that had come in during the four hours she’d been unplugged. While she waited for an attachment from one of her deputies to open, she glanced at her reflection. Marie Claire magazine had flown in a colorist and a hairstylist to give her a new haircut and highlights for the photo shoot they’d done of her the week before. Her dark brown hair had a great bouncy shape, and a fresh batch of chestnut-colored strands made her skin look less pale. As the face of the administration, she was getting plenty of attention for her appearance, but it wasn’t the kind of attention that did her any good at all at the podium. She hoped the “Day in the Life” production would be the catalyst for people seeing her as more than a
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