First Daughter (Closed for ericrodman101)

CarnivalBarker

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The girl sat in her study in the upstairs East Wing of the White House, and patiently listened to the questions, genuinely trying to provide answers, as the reporter on the other end of the line read them to her. The reporter was a fourteen year old girl from one of the local charter schools who was doing a feature story on the high school senior, and the topics largely focused on her recent announcement that she would be deciding what college she would attend in the coming weeks. While she hated any interviews, she particularly hated what she considered "charity cases," designed and requested by her mother for the sole purpose of making the first family look to be without chaos. This was a charity case. At the same time, she knew why it was necessary. And, for the most part, things like this made the regular media paint the picture of her as the good little girl the family insisted upon.

"Well thank you!" she told the girl reporter, sounding completely sincere while bulging out her eyes and mimicking the act of shooting herself in the head. "Well I hope your story goes well for you too." She rolled her eyes now and desperately sought to conclude the call. "Sure....I am happy to do any follow up you might need after I decide. Okay....thank you again. Goodbye." She put the phone down and sat silently for a moment, wondering what boring shit she would be assigned to do next. She hesitated returning to the First Lady's office. She did not need another earful from her mother. For the press and media, she could put on a sweet persona and often did. For the most part, they ate it up, doing nice feature stories and painting her out to be a nice girl. But there had been leaks to the contrary in recent years.

President Michener had been elected three years earlier, which meant the coming calendar year would be an election year. While he had no opponent from his party, he didn't need missteps by himself or anyone around him. Katie understood and the message was sent loud and clear. For the past two years, however, she had been a heavy subject of his administration, rare for a President's child, who usually got left alone. At sixteen, Jonathan Timmons, the de facto lead of the world's hottest boy band at the time, expressed his thoughts that Katie Michener, the newly elected President's daughter, was cute. Being like any adolescent whose father was the most powerful man in the free world, she asked him to invite the band to an event at the White House. It was there she met her crush and it was shortly after that he invited her to the MTV Video Music awards. Against his better judgment, the President said okay and the "date" became a media spectacle. Afterward, the family values lobby promptly criticized her low-cut dress, called her a dirty girl, and spread the rumor that she and Jonathan, or JT, had been kissing backstage. While the rumor was not entirely accurate - she had actually been caught by her detail making out with JT, who was already 18 and nearly 19, on a couch in a green room with his hand beneath her clothes and a marijuana joint in an ashtray nearby - she nevertheless became something of a lightning rod for her father's critics, a target of desire for sick men who put countdown clocks online for the date she would turn 18, and an "it girl," carrying the torch for fashionable young women across America and also being something of a part time target of east coast paparazzi.

Now, two years later, scandal found her again. During a campaign event at Iowa State University with her family, she had been caught on an open mic nearby telling her mother she could not imagine ever going to school there, but that the boys there were hot. Middle American media took the comment as a spoiled little rich girl looking down on them and the public universities, while also once again suggesting she was something of a slut. Despite the President's spokesperson explaining that as his daughter she should be left alone, and reminding them that she was free to go to school where she wanted, the impact of the stupid story seemed to be a drag on her father's popularity rating. As a result, two days ago, her mother announced that her final choices for college included several public universities and that she would be touring them beginning over the coming weekend. The announcement came as news to Katie, who had long planned on going to Amherst in Illinois. But her mother had her set to begin tours tomorrow. She picked up the phone to the East Wing downstairs.

"Carla, I need to speak to my mother," Katie told the older woman who had been her mother's assistant for a decade and who had helped raise her.

"She's in a meeting, honey," the woman said.

"Well I don't give a shit," Katie said tersely. "March in there and get her out."

"Katie," the woman began. "You know I can't...." SLAM! Katie hung up and immediately stood to head there herself. She looked at the itinerary. The University of Virginia. The University of Arizona. Rutgers in New Jersey. Florida. And the University of Wyoming.

"Fucking Wyoming?! the girl said under her breath before slapping the paper down on the table before her. "This is bullshit." The public persona, the facade, was gone. She picked up the phone again.

"Daniel," she said to the family quarters assistant. "Have my detail meet me in my mother's office." She hung up the phone again. She knew good and well the press corps would get news of a commotion in the First Lady's office and her mother would no longer avoid the discussion that Katie wanted to have. The staff called this version of the girl "Dark Katie," because she was night and day different from the one in the media. Secret Service just called her "Prairie Fire." And she was not about to live her life for an administration she never wanted to be part of. She stormed downstairs looking to pick a fight.

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Mick Novotny sat in his pickup, only half listening to the radio. The noise of cars and tyres squealing echoed in the car park around him. He checked the mirror again. Guess I look fine, he thought. And his watch. Fifteen minutes early. Five minutes walk across the park, five in the building getting from reception to the destination, five waiting for the interview panel. Time to go.

His prior service record spoke for itself. Ten years in the Marines, two tours in the Middle East, diplomatic security in Latin America. And before that political science with honours.

Then the discharge. Dishonorable, for sure. But everyone knew he'd been caught up with a bad bunch of hombres. What was he supposed to do? Open up the whole embassy to public scrutiny right when things were so sensitive. And when the ambassador was no cleanskin? Why the fuck did guys like that end up in such senior positions, so much at stake and so vulnerable to exposure?

The service had made an example of him. He understood. Anyone else and the country's double dealings would come to light. So it was Mick Novotny, face of American gringo imperialism that the public saw, procurer of young girls, and boys, for the edification of diplomats.

And he'd been compensated, adequately, he thought at the time. But the money never lasts as long as you think it will. And with his face and recent history Mick just wasn't going to get ahead. Night club security, courier, labourer. Sure there was work, but unreliable and dirty. Not what a masters graduate and decorated soldier expected. Especially when by his sacrifice the guilty got off scot free.

So when he received the call from an old friend he was never going to say no. Come in and talk, Chad said. It's a security job. Might be long term. High level. Top secret. They want experience but not an insider.

"What about my face?" Mick asked.

"It's been long enough," Chad replied. "No one in this town remembers who they shafted yesterday, let alone...how long ago was Bogota?"

Mick took one last glance in the mirror and ran a palm under his slightly stubbled chin. Fine for a 40 year old. He stepped outside. The suit? What else did guys wear for job interviews? He looked down at the faint reflection in his polished leather shoes. It felt good to be dressed up again. Time to go.
 
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