Hi. I've been sitting on this concept/story for six months. Finally taking a chance on it and sharing with you. It will be a little different than you're used to (from me), but that's fine. Feel free to leave a comment if you want. Take care. xo
"May I speak with Miss Pope?"
"This is she."
Silence hit her ears.
"Hello?"
"Ma'am, you are now on a secure line."
She pulled her chair closer to the desk, lifting a pen, ready to draft any notes that were given to her, becoming fully aware of the importance of this phone call.
"Thank you."
"Ma'am, I have received word from the White House that your presence is required."
"I don't understand. I have not been contact-"
"The White House would like to hire you for a particular case."
"Excuse me?"
"Miss Pope, the White House knows of your work in the political field, and your expertise could be used greatly here."
She only had a few seconds to process what was happening. By now, she realized this was no prank call; the conversation would have ended by now. In the four years that she started her public relations firm, she had trained herself and her team to capture voices with their inflections, pulling apart intentions and endgames. Finding solutions to any outlandish scenario.
"When?"
"If you are able to come in the next two hours, that would be fantastic."
Olivia searched through her agenda book. No pressing issues were needed at the office that she couldn't pass along to her staff. "Alright, I'll be there. Who has put my name into consideration?"
"Mr. Cyrus Beene. I am calling from his office. Actually, ma'am, he has cleared everything so that you can start tomorrow. You will have a pass and other forms of clearance ready for you when you arrive."
Good ol' Cyrus, her former professor at Georgetown Law. A distant comrade and mentor of sorts. He always mentioned how if he needed her, he'd call. Years had passed and she simply left the promise in the back of her mind. Nothing like a surprise. Nothing like the present.
"We will send a car to your office. They will arrive at 1:30."
"Thank you."
The dial tone abruptly thumped in her ear. Olivia gave herself a moment to think. The busy thoughts running in her mind had to stop. Her office door was closed, so no one would have known what was going on anyway. Casually moving around like nothing earth-shattering had happened. Olivia walked from room to room,, giving orders to her trusted group. Then she went into her closet, finding a more suitable outfit for this meeting. Light grey blouse with dark slacks, with matching 4-inch heels, transforming into a power player. Which she was - handling the egos and reputations of Washington's finest in the midst of their darkest hours. But this was the White House. This was the highest of highs. This was going to be her moment.
It was time to shine.
The guard opened the door for Olivia. She took a long breath and approached the gate.
"Liv!"
"Hi, Cy."
Kissing her on the cheek, Cyrus Beene welcomed Olivia to 1600 Pennsylvania. His gruff appearance was the same as she remembered during lecture hall and many hours of research, sitting in his office at Georgetown. But he was better dressed now, in tailor suits and combed hair. Presentable even. Such an improvement for now being Chief of Staff. After a simple exchange of pleasantries, he informed Olivia of her visit.
"We have a problem."
"And what's that," she asked as the guard handed her a visitor's pass.
"The President and First Lady are dealing with an issue and they want to make sure that the public only receives information that they want to share."
Olivia raised her eyebrow, giving a fast side eye to Cyrus. This was odd because she kept her ear to the ground for such details. "Are they in trouble with the law?"
"No," he replied, "More of a personal issue."
"Distant relative problems?"
"No."
it was deeper than a false claim about the First Couple's life before moving to Washington. Tilting her head, she tried to read Cyrus. A poker face was all she received. They were in public after all. People on smoking breaks or just taking in the busy environment of Downtown. Although they didn't know these strangers, the random individuals might know who they were.
"How long will this take?"
"No one can say," Cyrus rushed to comment, walking towards the side door he used every morning and every night. "Our goal is to make this a seamless transition."
The words "seamless" and "transition" were ringing. This was major. Something huge on the horizon and she was needed.
Finally, they passed through each level of clearance and she was inside. Marching down the halls of the West Wing, behind Cyrus. This was hallowed ground. Only the selected few were accepted. Seeing the offices full of employees and handpicked journalists. The inner circle. The closer they got to the Oval Office, the more stops they took. Being introduced to associates, interns, the Press Corps, and other people of importance.
"Stay calm. I wouldn't have asked you to come if I didn't think you were equipped," Cyrus lowly explained as they walked side by side. "Just let him know what you can do for him and the First Lady, and everything will start nicely. I told him about your work and he's a sensible man. Your ideas matter and your energy will be well needed in this Administration."
They approached the desk of the secretary.
"Lauren."
The woman promptly rose, walking past Olivia and Cyrus, and knocked on the door.
"Sir, Miss Pope is here."
There he was. President Fitzgerald Grant the Third. A man of the People. "Grant for the People", to be exact. The campaign slogan made to connect with potential voters. Olivia remembered reading about him and how unrelatable he was. He grew up wealthy. Going to the best schools, having the quintessential Americana look. A Navy man. Rhodes scholar. Back to California. Cyrus worked his magic, reinventing the Golden Boy and revealing his fresh look at politics to Americans. Making the issues worth noting and bringing hope. He became believable.
But from first glance, watching him from twenty feet away, that wasn't the case. Well, not to Olivia.
He was taller than what she expected, whenever she saw him on television. Probably around 6'3. Dressed smartly in a navy blue pinstriped suit, he strutted to the middle of the floor. Confidence poured out of him as he thanked Lauren, inviting his guests inside. Following Cyrus' lead, Olivia entered the Oval Office. The President smiled and introduced himself, as if he was a nobody.
"Fitzgerald Grant. Thank you for coming."
Olivia extended her hand and the man in front of her shook it firmly. Their eyes met - she had been waiting for them. Always looking a person in the eye was vital, needing to know exactly where he stood. Something was different though. There was fire in his blue eyes, but still having a hue of vulnerability. It took her breath away that a powerful man would connect with her in an instant. A different stance from the haughty politicians she had met and worked with in the past. But she was still on guard. Because every person had a backstory and kept secrets that could be revealed.
Quickly, she surveyed the room. The portraits, the furniture, the windows behind the Resolute desk. Everything was so put together and clean. This was an once-in-a-lifetime moment. To be standing in the Oval Office. Having the attention of the most talked about person in the city.
"It is an honor, Sir."
"Please," President Grant offered. As Olivia sat down, he began his spiel. "I appreciate you making time for us. Cyrus tells me that you are the best at what you do. Crisis management."
"That is correct."
Olivia declined his offer of an alcoholic beverage and waited for someone - either one of them - to give her the scoop. The small talk was not important; she didn't believe in trivial conversation, especially when time equated to results and money. When no one jumped in, she asked, "Mr. President, I would like to hear about what the position or project I am being considered for. Then, I can give you a definitive answer on how I can assist you."
"Straight to the chase." President Grant chuckled, after taking a sip of his drink. "My wife and I are dealing with a private issue and we would like to keep the details out of the headlines and we need someone like you, to make sure our wishes are honored."
Olivia was tired of the codewords. The third time in as many hours, being given a vague synopsis of a topic that no one could discuss. That was not acceptable.
"What exactly is it? This issue."
Clearing his throat, the President stated, "We are going through a difficult time."
"No disrespect, Mr. President, but all relationships go through bumps along the way," Olivia answered, taking note of his reaction to her. - his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "That doesn't have to be a public matter and to bring outside assistance, seems like a waste."
"Well, this is not something I want to get out. You see, it's not that-"
"Your marriage."
"Pardon?"
"The private issue is the state of your marriage. It's cold. Dead. Is that what you're implying?"
"What did you say?"
Olivia continued with her analysis, shocking the President. "Why isn't she here? In this meeting? That's a red flag to me. You two are not on the same page. If this is a joint matter, she would be sitting right next to you. Furthermore, we would be in a different room. A place where both of you feel safe and together. This is something you want resolved. Not necessarily the both of you."
Mouth agape, President Grant shot an irritated look at Cyrus, who only returned a knowing glance. "Is that so? And why would you say that?"
"Sir, I can assure you that I did not reveal to Olivia anything," Cyrus lifted his hand in deference.
"He didn't have to say anything," she interjected. "Since you announced your candidacy, since the campaign trail, you and the First Lady have barely looked at each other. Let alone talk. You're letting the cold air in. You talk at each other. But not to one another. People aren't going to support that. You thought being elected would change their perception of how two are as a couple, disguising the visible flaws. And it didn't. That's why we're sitting in this room."
President Grant's appearance turned into something very cold and stoic. The well-known smile that won the hearts of the Country, disappeared; the lips that usually curled into a smirk, had flatlined. The President uncrossed his legs, shifted his weight, leaning in towards Olivia.
"And you could tell that from twenty seconds of conversation?"
Olivia placed her hands on her thighs, sitting tall. Never the one to mince words and be intimidated by a potential client - not even the leader of the free world. "I did my research on you. I watch for body language and key in on choice words. I need to know what I'm getting myself into."
"But you haven't accepted or declined my offer."
"It doesn't matter."
President Grant returned to his signature cross-legged position, to accommodate his height. With his hands over his knee, he asked, "Tell me, Miss Pope. If you were to accept this position, what would you do to smooth all of this out?"
Keeping her cool, to-the-point tone, she answered, "I would ask you to do better. Find ways to stay in her good graces. Make the country love you two again. It's all about the optics. The cameras. Visuals matter. They win votes. That's how they know who you are, by what you give them. Saying one thing is nice, but having visual proof is with more. Because right now, no one will listen to a word you say. Allow them to root for you."
"And what if I don't want to? Do all that you mentioned?"
Olivia finally blinked. "Then I can't help you."
She watched the President slightly jolt in his chair. His eyebrows lowered. She knew. Her response was too sharp, plain, and honestly a bit too honest for his liking. No patting of the back, a resounding pep talk, or "light at the end of the tunnel" speech.
"That will be all. Thank you for coming in, Miss Pope."
Olivia was quite surprised by the immediate coldness in his voice. Just like that - she had been dismissed by the country's Commander in Chief. It stung actually. Being rejected. She had been on a winning streak for months, drawing the clients in, hook, line, and sinker. With a polite nod, she gathered her folder and belongings. She felt his venomous glare on her skin, that wasn't even exposed. It was that intense and almost caused her to slink back. But she didn't. He stood, making his way to the door that led to his residence.
Cyrus bolted from his seat, blocking the President. "Sir. Wait. I'm sure we can come to a happy medium. Olivia is just doing her job. She knows what she's talking about."
Olivia assured her friend. It's alright. No offense taken. This is how I am. I observe, search, and find what works and what doesn't. My approach is not compatible with everyone and that's okay. It was wonderful seeing you, Cyrus. Best of luck, Mr. President."
With a quick smile, Olivia swung her purse straps over her shoulder, and left the room.
The Chief of Staff gave himself 10 seconds to compose himself before respectfully giving his boss a piece of his mind.
"I don't need to deal with this," the voice interrupted, "Fire her. Find someone else."
Cyrus turned to the President, pulling at the thin hair he had left. "Sir!"
"I don't want her," he stated in an excited, sharp growl. "I will not be disrespected in my office. Get rid of her."
"I didn't bring her to coddle you. You need to hear the truth. You know this is what we're dealing with. Your divorce will be front page news every day for the next year. Not the Education plans you're trying to sustain through Congress. It will not be pretty. It be messy and it will hurt like hell. Your party that had your back will disown you. This will be your legacy. If you're not going to listen to us, you need to have someone here who will fire you up. And that just happened. Did you see how emotional you were after she called you out? You need to get her back. There's no one else in Washington who can do what you are looking for. Who is going to make you look good in the end? Do you even want to get re-elected?"
Cyrus' words were the ripped band-aid that weakly covered the bloody gash he received a few minutes earlier. The truth. President Grant lowered his gaze, crossing his arms.
"Win Olivia Pope back, Sir."
Olivia followed the line of staffers, hoping they were returning towards the outside world. A total waste of time, she determined. Dropping everything, leaving her co-workers in the dark, rapidly preening for the White House - only to be rejected because of what she knew was right. Cyrus told her that he would listen, be responsive to her advice. She moved around so much to be here and in a matter of seconds, that all changed.
What a crock of shit.
"Miss Pope. Miss Pope!"
Hurried footsteps. The timbre of this voice was ringing. Olivia stopped and turned around. The President of the United States was back in her space. Everyone else had cleared his pathway. Her eyes widened as he stood less than a foot away.
"Yes?"
"May I have a word?"
She followed him to a corner, not too far away from the steady flow of traffic.
"I apologize."
Olivia's eyes narrowed, full of skepticism. "Apologize for what?"
"For speaking to you in the manner that I did and for not giving you a chance. For dismissing you."
His voice was low and his eyes look sorrowful, but the polished apology was not sticking. Olivia gritted her teeth, becoming more furious. Being a petite woman, she was never viewed as the accomplished, iron-willed gladiator, but as soon as she spoke, any doubts of her leverage in the industry were shot down to hell. She loathed being underestimated. It fueled more fire within her soul.
"Why though? I left my business on a busy work day, dealing with traffic, as a favor to my friend. Because like you said, I am the best at what I do. I commit to my clients and I give them results." Her voice itching to escalate, but still aware that others could hear her. "I gave you advice - great advice - and you basically fired me. Just because you don't want to hear the truth about yourself, doesn't me-"
"I agree with every word you said," he remarked, in a hushed, breathy reply, "Every word astute."
"What?"
"Yes."
A simple phrase interrupted her flow of thinking. The only thing she could focus on were his eyes. Breathing seemed secondary. Watching him was necessary.
"So, you're agreeing with me and still you dismissed me?"
His intense gaze pulled out an emotion from her that caught her by surprise. He looked caught. Like he wasn't supposed to show his bluff. She was speechless and full of disbelief. Olivia Pope always had something to say. But now, she didn't.
They didn't know each other; their paths had never crossed until this second and yet, they were connected. In a strange and unusual way. They were stuck.
He moved first; closing his eyes, he stepped back. Barely expanding the little space between them, she noted.
"I am in desperate need of your help. Will you please return to my office so we can discuss further?"
She found actual words and suggested to him, "Did Cyrus convince you to bring me back?"
A faint smile appeared.
"Yes."
Switching back to the determined personality that did not let anything or anyone distract her resolve, Olivia gave her answer.
"Let's get to work then."
