The First Councel

Pam doesn’t flinch. “Caroline’s in charge of screening all the bigshots: Cabinet members, ambassadors, the Surgeon General-she opens their closets and makes sure we can live with their skeletons.”

“So you think she’s loyal?”

“She’s got dirt on just about every hotshot in the executive branch. That’s why the First Lady put her here. If she’s not loyal, we’re dead.”

Falling silent, I lean forward and rest my elbows against my knees. It’s true. Before anyone’s nominated, they go through at least one confession session with Caroline. She knows the worst about everyone: who drinks, who’s done drugs, who’s had an abortion, and who’s hiding a summer home from their wife. Everyone has secrets. Myself included. Which means if you expect to get anything done, you can’t disqualify everyone. “So I shouldn’t worry?” I ask.

Pam stands up and crosses around to the other side of her desk. Sitting in the seat next to me, she looks me straight in the eye. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, not at all.”

“It’s Nora, isn’t it? What’d she do?”

“Nothing,” I say, pulling back a little. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can. You always can. But if you need any help at all… ”

“I know-you’ll be there.”

“With bells on, my friend. And maybe even a tambourine.”

“Honestly, Pam, that means more than you know.” Realizing that the longer I sit here, the more she’s going to pry, I stand from my seat and head for the door. I know I shouldn’t say another word, but I can’t help myself. “So you really think she’s okay?”

“Don’t worry about Caroline,” Pam says. “She’ll take care of you.”

***

I’m about to head over to Caroline’s when I hear the phone in my office ring. Running inside, I check the digital screen to see who it is. It’s the number from before. Nora. “Hello?” I say, picking it up.

“Michael?” She sounds different. Almost out of breath.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Have you spoken to her yet?”

“Caroline? No, why?”

“You’re not going to tell her I was there, are you? I mean, I don’t think you should… ”

“Nora, I already told you I wouldn’t-”

“And the money-you’re not going to say I took the money, right?” Her voice is racing with panic.

“Of course not.”

“Good. Good.” Already, she’s calming down. “That’s all I wanted to know.” I hear her take a deep breath. “I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to freak like that-I just started getting a little nervous.”

“Whatever you say,” I tell her, still confused by the outburst. I hate hearing that crack in her voice-all that confidence crushed to nothing. It’s like seeing your dad cry; all you want to do is stop it. And in this case, I can. “You don’t have to worry,” I add. “I’ve got it all taken care of.”

***

Walking down the hall to Caroline’s office is easy. So is knocking on her office door. Stepping inside is a piece of cake, and hearing the door slam behind me is an ice cream sundae. But when I see Caroline, sitting at her desk with her jet black dyed hair spreading on the shoulders of her black wool blazer, everything that I’ve been holding together-all of it-suddenly falls apart. My fear has a face. And before I can even say hello, the back of my neck floods with sweat.

“Take a seat, take a seat,” she offers as I almost collapse in front of her desk. Accepting the invitation, I lower myself into one of her two chairs. Without saying a word, I watch her pour four sugar packets into an empty mug. One by one, she rips each one open. In the left corner of the room, the coffee’s almost done brewing. Now I know where she gets her energy. “How’s everything going?” she asks.

“Busy,” I reply. “Really busy.” Over Caroline’s shoulder, I see her version of the ego wall: forty individual frames filled with thank-you notes written by some of Washington’s most powerful players. Secretary of State. Secretary of Defense. Ambassador to the Vatican. Attorney General. They’re all up there, and they were all cleared by Caroline.

“Which one’s your favorite?” I ask, hoping to slow things down.

“Hard to say. It’s like asking which of your children is your favorite.”

“The first one,” I say. “Unless they move away and never call. Then it’s the one who lives closest.”

In her line of work, Caroline spends every day having uncomfortable conversations with people. As a result, she’s seen just about every different manifestation of nervousness that exists. And from the sour look on her face, making jokes ranks near the bottom of her list. “Is there something I can help you with, Michael?”