The Farm
“The ball is in your court, David. We need a decision.” Melissa folded her hands on the table.
David sat up ramrod straight in his chair and placed both of his hands on the table. He looked from left to right, locking eyes with each individual board member. No one spoke, at least not verbally. But every single person’s eyes burned with a blowtorch intensity that conveyed distilled passion and commitment for what they believed in. And in what they were trying to do.
David tried to gain control of the thoughts synapsing through his brain and then decided just to let his frontal lobe and the amygdala fight it out. Controlled, rational decision-making versus his raging emotions. This semiconscious mental exercise always seemed to work.
Finally, he broke the silence: “I know I haven’t given enough thought and introspection to what I’m about to say, and if you knew me on a personal level, you would know that’s not my style. I don’t make decisions based on passion or gut feel. But right now, I’m just a point shy of being overwhelmed by what you’ve been telling me. I’m honored beyond comprehension. At the same time, my left brain is throwing up glaring caution lights and sirens. This may be one of those times when the analytical me needs to be subordinate to the emotional me.
“Let me be clear, I totally bought into what Envision-2100 and the Centrist movement represent. I just haven’t convinced myself that I’m the best person for the job, that I’ve earned or deserve the trust you are placing in me.
“Conversely, I’ve got a damn-good sense for the other players. I’m just as disgusted as anyone in this room at what the Democrats and Republicans can offer up as candidates when President Sheppard steps down. And you and everyone else in DC know how I feel about Vice President Phillips. If he runs, and he will, and if he’s elected, I’ll resign. Of course, I wouldn’t have to. He’ll fire me on his way to the Oval Office as soon as he’s sworn in.
“I don’t know who’s winning the left-brain, right-brain battle raging inside my head right now. So, Melissa, in answer to your question, I’m convinced. I still need to discuss everything with my wife. From day one of our marriage, we’ve made major decisions together. Hell, we debate whether to have our eggs scrambled or fried, for Christ’s sake. And nothing we’ve discussed in the past comes anywhere close to being as life-altering as this. I don’t anticipate her having issues with whatever I decide, but win or lose, our lives will never be the same again.
“I do have a couple of practical questions. There is the issue of finance. Personal finance. The instant I announce my decision to run for office, I’ll have to resign as secretary of state. Kelly will need to resign from her job as well. She’s a GS-Thirteen research analyst with the General Services Administration.” David laughed. “Of course, you all knew that. Anyway, we have developed a habit of eating, sometimes two meals a day.”
“Only two?” Melissa asked.
“Plus coffee. Lots of coffee,” David said. “Like I told Judson earlier, my salary is just a rounding error compared to most Envision-2100 members. It’s a matter of public record, so you shouldn’t have had to waste any intelligence-gathering energy on it. As one of twenty-one Level One government officials, I make two hundred ten thousand seven hundred dollars annually. And Kelly, as a GS-Thirteen—”
Judson raised his hand with an exaggerated flourish. “Your financial situation was the second or third item we discussed when we chose you as our candidate. We want to set up a trust fund that will provide you with twice your combined salary, plus incidental personal expenses from the time you resign your current job until you are elected, take office, and start drawing a POTUS salary. If, God forbid, you aren’t elected, we’ll continue to pay your salary for a minimum of one year.”
Milt chimed in: “Our lawyers have done their homework and have already drawn up an agreement. That arrangement is perfectly legal. In fact, our PR team wants to disclose this to the public on day one as part of our complete transparency policy. If nothing else, we learned that lesson from the Americans Elect funding fiasco.”
Judson nodded. “Well, David, here we are. We know that today has been a shocker for you, and no one expects you to decide until you have had time to process the discussion and our proposal with Kelly. Unfortunately, the fuse is burning. President Sheppard is literally living on borrowed time. You have a scheduled meeting with him tomorrow. I would ask that you make it your personal deadline for a go, no-go decision.”
“I have to agree,” David replied. “I’ll call Kelly on my way back to DC and let her know we’re going out to dinner. She loves the Comus Inn at Sugarloaf Mountain, so if I can get reservations, I’ll surprise her. Lord knows she will be surprised.”
“David, let us take care of making the reservation. I can almost guarantee you that it won’t be a problem. You have way too much thinking to do without worrying about making dinner reservations. In fact, let us free up a little more of your time. Rather than flying you back to your office this afternoon, why don’t we shoot you straight to your house in Germantown. You have plenty of room on the back side of your farm to land the copter. Hell, our guy could almost put the AW160 on your front porch if he had to. That would save you at least an hour’s drive and a ton of commuter stress. Plus, imagine the message that kind of entrance will send to your wife—and neighbors, for that matter. We’ll make things right with the sheriff and the FAA if need be. Or at least ask for forgiveness. That will give you and Kelly more time to have dinner. And more time for you to do whatever you have to do to convince her that she would make an unbelievable First Lady. Then we’ll pick you up from home in the morning and fly you to the Truman Building in plenty of time to make your ten o’clock meeting with POTUS. What do you think, David?”
“I’ll tell you, Judson, a guy could get accustomed to this kind of treatment.” David leaned back. This would shock the hell of Kelly. He couldn’t wait to see her face. “All right, that sounds like a plan.”
With an exaggerated flourish, Judson slapped the table in front of him. “Great! Now let’s get you in the air.”