I need to put as much distance between me and the Oval as possible.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the Executive Building,” I say, almost out the door.
“Wait just one minute, Lance,” the President says from behind me.
Fuck. I was so close to getting out of this one as well.
I turn around to face the fucking music.
Guess dad won’t approve of me almost starting World War III now to add to the long list of other things, huh?
Oh well, I hear he’s gotten married. No time like the present to go see who he conned into his fake marital alliance.
91
New York Daily Journal
From the Desk of Amanda Adams, the Professional Gossiper of Page Two.
Welcome to Page Two Gossip, here’s what we’re hearing around the halls of power:
Thought you were safe? Had a great day yesterday? Well, how would you like to know that we almost all died? That’s right. I’m hearing that the United States came closer than it has in a long time to a complete and all out war with the Russians. That’s right. Administration officials and the Pentagon are obviously not saying anything confirming something like this, but my spies in the White House tell me that it all started with some nookie.
You read that right, readers. Someone was getting some in the Oval Office, and accidentally pushed the wrong buttons and got on the phone with the Russians. What was said hasn’t been found out yet, but it was aggressive enough to get the Russian president, Dimitry Belevich, to put his finger on his own nuclear triggers.
Yup. We didn’t believe it at first either, but apparently the sex was so rough that the Russian president thought it was a prelude to war when he thought he was being spoken to.
Can’t believe it? Our sources swear up and down that it’s true. What’s more, a few are even telling me who the man with the nuclear libido is, and this you’re not going to believe.
Turns out the man with the explosive sex in his loins is none other than Lance Anders. That’s absolutely right. Lance Anders—the prodigal son of the Mayor, Michael Anders.
If you’re reading this on the subway and need to sit down, I’m with you, babe. I didn’t believe it at first. Lance just graduated from Yale this year and he’s only been at the White House as an intern for about a month. He was recommended to the job by both the Mayor and the Democratic Congressman from Manhattan, Vivian Hawthorne. With so much political capital by him, we thought Lance would be a shining star in Washington D.C.
But if you're having trouble breathing thinking how Lance almost caused World War III, guess who his partner in crime was?
Now for this, our sources are going deep undercover. If the White House found out they were talking to me, they’d not just be fired, but they’d probably be sued to. They’re telling me it was the First Daughter, Abby, who was doing the nasty with Lance. And was doing it so loudly and so lewdly that the Russian president who was listening thought our country was getting ready to go to war.
That’s right. Turns out Am
erica’s Sweetheart isn’t so much of a sweetheart but a sexpot. Which just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything that those in power are telling you. Who knows what deep, dark secrets they could be hiding?
But fear not, citizens of Gotham, because Amanda Adams is always listening and always ready to spell the juiciest, dirtiest, nastiest secret for your enjoyment and pleasure. And it looks like Lance is going to be coming home to daddy so that means we’re going to be extra busy.
Which means, batten the hatches, New Yorkers, and hide your daughters. Lance Anders is coming back to town after being away for four years. He and his father have been rumored to not get along; it’s doubtful even that Hizzoner went to Yale for his son’s graduation ceremony, seeing as Mayor Anders was in Moscow at that time.
So, it’s going to be an interesting summer, to say the least. Till we find more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.
92
Jocelyn
I hear Michael come through the door downstairs and I can sense my heart rate increase. It’s been six months since we’ve been married, so we’re still technically a newlywed couple.
I hear footsteps downstairs. He’s in the foyer. Most likely checking his mail. If I know Michael, he’ll check the mail, throw out to shred what he doesn’t need, and come upstairs. Once he comes upstairs, he’ll come to our bedroom. He’ll change a bit—maybe get out of the suit and tie, or maybe even just take off his coat. He’ll wash his face, put on some slippers and head to his upstairs office. That’s right. Michael has an upstairs office in addition to his downstairs study. This entire townhouse on the Upper East Side revolves around Michael. Once there, he’ll either let me know what our plans for dinner are, or whether he’s eating alone in hIs office. He’ll have people on speakerphone with the television on. God knows what he does in there.
Like I said, it’s been six months since we’ve been married, but I know his after-work routine like nothing else.
But tonight, I’m going to be putting a slight dent in those plans.