Eighteen Acres: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

he’d said.
    Dale had smiled back. “I’ll take any leftovers.”
    The aide had knocked softly on the door to the president’s cabin. A cheerful Air Force One steward had answered right away.
    “I have Miss Smith for the president,” the White House aide had said.
    “Right this way,” the steward had replied.
    Dale had stepped into the president’s cabin and crossed her arms in front of her body. She felt frumpy in her black leggings and long sweater.
    “Hi, Dale,” the president had said coldly. She was wearing jeans and a crisp white blouse.
    “Hello, Madam President, how are you doing?” Dale had asked.
    “Just fine. Now, tell me what you know about Maureen’s work for ‘thugs,’ as your network put it tonight.”
    Maureen was the president’s nominee for attorney general, and her confirmation was in serious trouble. Making matters worse, Dale had an exclusive source with mountains of dirt on her. Dale’s network had devoted eight minutes—an eternity in network news—to a long report about her work for corrupt politicians.
    Dale had swallowed and steadied herself against the wall while the president glared at her. She felt unprotected without the hovering White House staff or any of her crew around. She’d looked around the cabin and noticed a stack of
Sports Illustrated
magazines and the John Adams HBO special on DVDs.
    “Madam President, I spoke to Melanie about this earlier. Our reporting on your nominee is backed by rock-solid sources who thought you’d never pick her because of her record of defending white-collar criminals and former elected officials who are now sitting in jail.”
    Dale was trying to hold her ground, but she’d known she was mounting a futile defense. She’d felt herself sliding toward the door so she could return to the safety of the press cabin as quickly as possible.
    Charlotte had said nothing but continued to glare at Dale.
    “Honey, how do you turn on the DVD player?” Peter had shouted from the next room. “The kids want to watch a movie.”
    The president, looking slightly irritated, had shouted back, “I’ll be right there.” She’d looked at Dale and said, “I hope you didn’t travel for the interview, because the interview is off.”
    Dale’s stomach had sunk, and she’d turned to leave as soon as the president left the room. She was halfway back to the press cabin when the same aide who had retrieved her grabbed her arm again.
    “Can you come into the conference room for a minute, please?” he’d asked.
    Oh, God, what now?
Dale had thought. She’d sat on the couch in the empty conference room, assuming that Melanie was on her way in to threaten to cut off all access to administration officials. Melanieand the president were already known for their one-two punches with reporters who crossed them. To Dale’s surprise, Peter Kramer had walked in, wearing faded jeans and a sheepish smile and holding a plate of chicken wings and two beers in outstretched hands as though they were peace offerings.
    “Hey, I’m sorry about that. That wasn’t about you in there,” he’d said.
    “Really? Because it sure felt like it had a lot to do with me.”
    “No, she had a lot of pressure to appoint Maureen. They go way back, and she’s been lobbying for the attorney general job since before the primaries were over as a reward for supporting Charlotte,” he’d said.
    “This will be a very long four years if your wife refuses to do any interviews with me,” Dale had said.
    “She doesn’t stay mad,” he’d promised.
    They were both quiet for a minute, and then Peter had launched into a playful probe of press corps gossip. He wanted to know who was married, who was dating, who was cheating, and whom Dale liked and disliked. They’d finished the plate of wings and their beers.
    Dale had put her head in her hands and sighed. “Thanks for the snack.”
    Peter had looked at her for a long moment. “Why does it bother you so much that she’s mad?”