Titan West Wing

The fucking coffee is colder than my shower was. I swallow it anyway, running for the door in an attempt to beat the clock. My detail convenes in five minutes, just before the President's scheduled to rise.

He's beat once again, standing impatiently at the entrance to his private quarters. I'm instantly annoyed with myself as I take my place beside him and we run to the service elevator, seeking a way down to the main living quarters of The White House.

"Nice work, Lauer," He praises jovially when I press the elevator's button, an attempt to make me seem like just another one of the boys. Which I'm not.

I'm just another broad on active duty guarding the President. But I'm 'special' because I'm the only broad guarding the president in this administration.

Lucky, ain't I?

My eyes scan the room, keeping a fine bead on anything that looks suspicious. In a room full of preschoolers and their mothers, though, it's damned hard to find suspicious.

"Hello, boys and girls! Isn't it a great day? Did you like the cookies and punch?" I'll admit it, he missed his true calling. The man should have been a Saturday morning Cartoon Show host. My eyes focus on the huge picture windows and away from his plan to make Americans more literate.

After he finished reading one of the "Olivia" books, he insisted on meeting and greeting each child in the room. Attached to his shoulder, I eye each person's hands, body language, facial expresssion, searching for that one fatal flaw sepparating the sane from the insane.

When the room's empty, it's time to go back to the schedule; he returns to the Oval Office for some paperwork, and I stand outside of his door for six hours.

When I applied for combat, I always assumed that I would be doing something more exciting. My sister had visions of her sister, the war heroine, coming back with a chestfull of medals and a winning sense of bravado. Instead, I'm in the nobelest, most dangerous occupation in the world.

But I'll be damned if it's not boring.

There isn't even a State Dinner tonight, so I'll be home early for Christmas. In Downington, Stephanie's waiting for me, dressing the tree up in gold ornamental lighting that I hate, but she loves, so I tolerate it.

The president wasn't too pleased that his Daughter is dating his top agent, but he got used to it. I wont' be staring at his mug over the Christmas Goose, though.

At five, quitting time, another detail comes to replace me. In five minutes I'm gone, youthful, free for the moment. No one's surprised to see I'm packed, and the entire detail gives me grief as they take off for their own holidays.

"You're not in love," I pointed out, heaving my suitcases into the cab, "One day I'll be making fun of you, Snow, so don't give me lip."

"Hey, I've got a sweet deal of my own," He pointed out, pushing his own set of golf clubs into his trunk.

"Don't I know it," I say, pulling out of my spot, "Don't I know it."

The Mall is so beautiful, sparkling with lights unfurled across the skyline. I'm rushing home through the downtown traffic, determined to get home before Stephanie wonders where I've gone.

Thankful for my job, ultimately for my life, I pull into our driveway. Stephanie stands in wait for me there, her smile gentle and expectant.

"Welcome Home." She Says.


Go On