January
CROWDS FLOCK TO CITY, HAZE INAUGURAL
EXPECTED TO SET ATTENDANCE RECORDS
By Sky Vasquez, Staff Writer, The Queue
It was the closest election in history, with results delayed until absentee ballots had been counted and recounted in a number of battleground states. But now the country is ready to celebrate the dawn of a new administration…
* * *
Reagan swanned into the Jefferson Hotel, waving as soon as she saw her: Alex Arnold, already seated for afternoon tea at the best table in the room. Their favorite old-school extravagance, perfect for a snowy winter’s afternoon just days before the inauguration. Reagan had jumped at the chance to see her friend and help her drown some sorrows. But Alex didn’t look like a woman whose husband had just missed the presidency by a few hundred votes.
“So sorry I’m late,” Reagan said, handing over her coat to the quick-arriving server with a thanks.
Alex, elegant in winter white pants and a cozy cashmere sweater, rose to give her a warm hug, setting down the magazine she had been reading: the new issue of GQ with Alchemy. The cover line: America’s First First Gentleman Loves His Job By Sky Vasquez.
“I thought it was hard leaving Ted with two kids but with three, it’s nearly impossible.”
“You look amazing,” Alex said, taking her seat again, sipping her tea. A waiter materialized instantly to take Reagan’s order, probably assuming she must be important to have kept the wife of the former veep waiting. “Don’t tell me you’re just chasing the kids.”
“I’m just chasing the kids. That can be some serious cardio—the twins are in constant motion and T.J. is already very busy.”
“Fine, don’t tell me your secret,” she joked. “But, whatever you’re doing it’s working.”
“You too. Not winning the election seems to have agreed with you,” Reagan said gently.
“Ah, well, there are worse things,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. She squared her shoulders, serious now. “So I know that you know I’m going to ask you this question.”
“What do you mean?” Reagan tried but mostly failed to feign ignorance.
“You’re going to make me beg. Okay.” She laughed. “So if Haze is serious about this one-term thing, then I’m doing this. It’s my turn. I did the Senate, I did Treasury. I’m giving this a go. I’m running.”
“For president,” Reagan said. “Not in a half-marathon or something, just to be clear.”
“For president, yes,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “And I need you working for me. I want Birdie fund-raising, you speechwriting and communications, and anyone else you know that I need, think about it. Give me names. I want a dream team.”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” Reagan said, mind racing.
“So, you’re in?”
Reagan exhaled, even though she had known this was coming, and cocked her head. “20/20 vision, baby. I’m in.”
* * *
Cady and Max took a swing by the Capitol after taping a segment with the youngest freshman congresswoman—just twenty-five years old, brilliant Rhodes Scholar fresh out of her Harvard PhD program—in her office in the Longfellow building. Since the congresswoman was rushing to a meeting, Cady and Max had decided to shoot some B-roll of National Statuary Hall to fill out the piece. They had their work cut out for them too. Between Best Day DC and Madison’s show, the schedule was madness…and Cady loved it.
Tourists swarmed inside the Capitol, so many in town for the inauguration. As groups were being herded through, the crowd momentarily parted, and across the room she saw a ghost: Jackson. She hadn’t spoken to him since she had moved her things out of his apartment at the end of the summer. But it was a small town, and she’d heard that he was doing this now, giving Capitol tours. Because of an Iowa law prohibiting a person from running for more than one office at a time, Carter hadn’t been allowed to run for his congressional seat once he’d become the vice presidential nominee. Now he was out of a job altogether, as was Jackson. They would both land on their feet soon enough, not that Cady was losing sleep over it.
Cady had taken this tour before. Parker had continued insisting she hit all the tourist sites, and he had been more than happy to guide her. It was their favorite weekend pastime. “I’m doing you a favor. You’re a local show producer. How bad would it look for you to not know this stuff? You’re welcome.”
So she knew, from experience, that Jackson stood at the very spot in Statuary Hall where the half-dome above threw the acoustics wildly. She knew what he was telling his tour group as he bent down to the ground: “If I whisper something into the floor here, it bounces off and can be heard all the way across the room over there.” He pointed in Cady’s direction. Then he whispered, and she heard his message, clear as crystal: “Cady, I’m sorry.”
She turned her head, nodded to him, blissfully indifferent. It didn’t matter anymore. She never would have expected to be able to look at him, accept his apology, feel no tug, no pang, no longing in his presence. She felt liberated by this lack of feeling for him. He would just be a footnote in her history.
“Your lunch date is here,” Max said. “See ya back at the office.”
Parker nodded, strolling toward her, flakes of snow on his coat. “Hey you,” he said. He kissed her as though he hadn’t just woken up next to her that morning. “Got what you needed?” he asked, referring to the interview. His arm around her shoulder, they walked out the Senate side of the building, in the direction of Preamble.
She nodded, smiled. “I did.”
* * * * *