Madame President - Tara Sue Me Page 0,1
perfection that is Anna Fitzpatrick and her rise from obscurity to the frontrunner for the highest office in the nation. Not me. I sit back and wonder why, out of all the people in the world, she had to be the one who decided to do something to save it?
Because Anna Fitzpatrick is the one thing I know of that is better in reality than fantasy. Unfortunately, my actions years ago killed any chance of my reality including her.
Chapter Two
Her
Election Night
Franklin Institute
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The first time someone interviews me, they always compliment me on my calmness. I’m always genuine in my thanks, as I consider this to be a positive trait of mine. In fact, I believe never letting your guard down, never letting anyone see you sweat, and never letting anyone see the real you— is a necessity for public service. No matter which mask I wear, and I always wear one, the masked me is always calm. The Student Anna. The Congresswoman Anna. That Crazy Woman Who Thinks She Can Be President Anna. And, hopefully in the next few minutes, the newly minted President Elect Anna.
My campaign staff and I are watching returns in a small private office of the Franklin Institute in my home state of Pennsylvania. Below us, five hundred of my supporters and more staff wait in the ballroom for me to make an appearance.
There should be enough data to support calling California, which would put me over the line for needed electoral numbers. Yet GBNC has held off for some reason. I’m about to call and ask what the hold up is when the television goes completely red, white, and blue while “Breaking News” flashes across the screen. My main advisor and dear family friend, David Herdsman, comes to stand at my side.
“This is it,” he whispers.
The room goes silent as Navin Hazar’s face comes on the screen and my stomach clenches the way it always does when I see him. He pauses and gives a little smile. It’s the smile of someone who knows they have the information everyone else is holding their breath to hear, and for a second he relishes that fact.
“GBNC is officially calling California for Anna Fitzpatrick,” he says, and a low buzz of excitement builds in the air. I remain still, wanting to hear what’s next. “Which means, we are also projecting Independent, Anna Fitzpatrick, will become the next President of the United States, making her the first female to hold that position.”
The room around me explodes as Navin Hazar and his co-host, Gabe Day, move to fill the top half of the television screen as the bottom flashes to the scene downstairs. I don’t catch anything else as I’m swept into the hugs and tears of the people who have fought so valiantly and tirelessly for me over the last few years. A champagne glass is pushed into my hand.
I reach inside the jacket of the business suit I’m wearing and my fingers brush my speech. I don’t need the paper since I’ve practiced the thing in my head at least three hundred thousand times, and it’ll be on the teleprompter, but it’s comforting to touch.
“I love that color on you,” my best friend, Jaya, says, coming up and giving me a hug.
“Thanks.” I have on a fuchsia skirt suit tonight because I didn’t want to wear either red or blue. A bold choice, but if you have the potential to be the first female President of the United States, bold is the only way to go.
“Are you going downstairs?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’ll go down in a few minutes,” I tell her as David approaches us. He knows what I’m waiting for. Tom Merriweather, the Democratic nominee, called and conceded ninety minutes ago, but Vice President Roberts has been holding out. I’d like to wait for his call, but I’m not going to give him long.
Jaya catches sight of David and rolls her eyes. “If you’re waiting for Roberts, you’ll have to wait until morning. At his age, I’m sure he’s asleep by now.”
But David’s big smile tells a different story. “President Elect Fitzpatrick,” he says to the thrill of the surrounding crowd. “I have Vice President Roberts on the phone for you.”
Hours later, I’m sitting at an empty table in the ballroom with David and his husband, Oliver, on one side of me, and my best friend, Jaya, on the other. All four of us know we should head back to the hotel and