Author's Note: Suzanne Gibbs, Presidential Aide, made a splash in London with an outfit that generated positive press. The following installment, retooled from Always on the Run, discusses how Suzanne battles with trusting the enemy and embracing a new-found "celebrity" status.
"Classic Suzanne…" Gibbs chuckled. He continued watching the newscast, noticing the way his wife's outfit accentuated her curves, how it flowed as she moved. The cameras rolled, pictures taken of the two drafting last-minute notes. Suzanne's glasses were off, her eyes lined with a smoky gray eyeliner to appear larger. The hair, wavy, was perfectly wrapped around her earlobe with a wispy side bang covered her left eye. She left with Evelyn, a junior aide and several other Secret Service agents.
"She will not feed into that nonsense."
Suzanne Gibbs' name continued to build on the news cycle. MCRT observed the smaller item, growing into gigantic proportions. Style experts chimed opinion with public policy, focusing on the appearance more than the Presidential agenda. Older pictures were displayed—ones of Suzanne in traditional pant suits, sometimes a tie and flat shoes—the pictures where she blended into the background.
"Personally, her outfit brought a bit of fresh air, some lightness to the Owens Administration…"
"What I think surprised everyone is how physically fit Mrs. Gibbs appears to be…"
"She works out with the President four times a week…" Jethro replied. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, damn, Mrs. Gibbs!" Tony commented as he glanced at the screen. "They can't handle it, Boss…"
"I have a feeling it was a last-minute change, DiNozzo." Jethro watched the screen.
Tobias Fornell glanced on-screen at his friend's wife, shaking his head approvingly and giving a wolf whistle. It was common knowledge Tobias and Jethro share Diane, an ex-wife. Jethro gave him the stare—the piercing look of seriousness, the unspoken 'you've crossed the line' look.
"Sei una ragazza aqua e sapone…" Jethro's response in Italian, simply put: 'naturally beautiful."
"Oh, I agree!"
Jethro smiled when Suzanne appeared on the screen again. He dialed his cellphone and patiently waited for the receiving call to respond.
"Nice dress, Suz."
"Jethro…" Suzanne whispered. She leaned on the Presidential limo, waiting for the President. One foot was placed inside, the other on the ground.
"Long story, but I had to do my rule 43…"
"Let me guess…" Jethro chuckled, eased back into his chair. "Lost luggage in transit?"
"The wrong bags were sent! Half of my clothes are in Brussels, Helsinki…hell who knows?! At least his are with us."
"You look very, very nice." Jethro chuckled.
Suzanne smiled, took a deep breath, finally sat inside the limo.
"Will you wear that when you come home?"
"Not for long…" Suzanne muttered, snickering. "I'll be home in another week…"
The President emerged and sat beside Suzanne. "I need to discuss that at a later time, okay?"
"He's around, isn't he?"
"Say hello to your husband for me, Q." The President said.
"Jethro, I will speak with you later." Suzanne's voice hesitated from embarrassment. Before she could disconnect, the President grabbed her phone.
"Jethro, did you see what your wife was wearing?" The President continued.
"Would you please…?!" Suzanne laughed.
"I know…risqué for a press conference, wasn't it?" When Suzanne finally got her phone, it was silent.
"The line disconnected soon as I grabbed it." The President replied. "Gotcha!"
"How many days until we get back to Washington?" Suzanne moaned.
"I see you watched film on your opponent…" Jethro began the unusual `pillow talk.'
Jethro smiled, even beamed with pride. His happiness was a result of Suzanne's sudden popularity. The two shared a phone conversation. In London, 5 hours later, but still working hours for Special Agent Gibbs, he wanted to speak with his wife.
"It backfired on her; the camera loves you."
"I really didn't expect all that attention…" Suzanne stretched across the bed, head resting on the pillow. She smiled coyly, tilted her head.
"You're tilting your head."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." Gibbs chuckled. "You do that when someone compliments you."
"Jethro…I hope I didn't embarrass you or the Administration."
"I don't think so, Sugar." He chuckled. "DiNozzo and Tobias have now dubbed you 'First Hottie'…the news networks are now calling you 'Ph.D. MD—Doctor of Mass Destruction…'"
The two laughed.
"Look! She talks! She walks! And she has a brain, too, ladies and gentlemen, underneath that rack!" Suzanne sarcastically replied.
"Maybe today…your opponent will back off and realize you're both working for the same cause."
Suzanne heard a knock on her suite door. In London, it was 19:30. She mentioned earlier that either Dash or the President planned to stop by and discuss the schedule.
"Hey, Susie. Ice your knee before your run." Jethro reminded. "It looked swollen."
"The four-inch platforms didn't help the cause…" she laughed. "I wore 'em all afternoon today! I had my flats in my suit bag." When she peeped through the keyhole, it was Jane standing on the other side.
"Jethro, Mrs. Hamilton's at the suite…" She opened the door, reluctantly inviting Jane to come inside. "I will call you back in a while."
"I love you, Suzanne." Jethro said.
"I love you too." Suzanne closed her phone. She tried with a sincere hello; the release was cold, to the point, with the politeness instilled by her parents and the right hint of fatigue.
"Come on in, Jane."
"They found your bag…" Jane handed Suzanne her garment bag. "It was just delivered a half-hour ago. I know you run with the President in the mornings."
"Thank you for bringing it to the suite." Suzanne placed it in the shower area. "I'll go through it in a while."
"What're you doing?"
"I'm going through some preliminary figures for the President." Suzanne tilted her computer. "The 'Twit' account? That's what I wanted to discuss with you before we left?" She slipped off her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose, blinked several times and mumbled with a chuckle how the words seemed to blur altogether.
"It's the first item once we come back. He also wanted photos from this summit on the page as well."
"Oh, that's right. I'm sorry, Suzanne."
Immediately, Suzanne remembered Jethro's rule about apologies from those who suckered-punched you; don't arbitrarily accept at face-value.
"Yeah, right!" She grinned. "I don't blame you. I'd want to go out to the clubs as well…"
She rechecked the written against the screen. "I'll probably get out sometime tomorrow, maybe Saturday."
"You need me to help?"
"Nah…I'm almost done." Suzanne clicked the save button and closed the machine.
"Besides, my husband just called…"
"Right…" Jane said, "I'll let you get back to your 'conversation.'"
"Thanks again for bringing my garment bag." Suzanne escorted Jane to the door—more like rushed her outside her suite. "Sleep well, and I'll see you tomorrow."
Suzanne Gibbs' greatest attribute was her capacity to find something positive in all. She struggled, however, how to find common ground with an individual she could not trust.
"God…." She stared at the bag, chuckled, looking directly above, having an intense dialogue with Her creator. "I'm not underestimating you…"
Soon as Jane left, Suzanne called the main lobby for a favor.
"Hi. This is Mrs. Gibbs in Suite 2109…everything's fine, thank you. I do need one favor though, and it is of a personal nature. Would you please have someone in laundry wash and iron some clothing?"
Suzanne reached in her backpack and clutched onto her well-used wooden rosary. She deviated from the traditional prayer and focused on anger. Praying her rosary, seeking forgiveness, focusing on His word and plan, she asked, knees bowed, eyes tightly closed:
"O Lord, must I fear Your wrath? Retribution is Yours by right! May I never dishonor Your Divinity, My soul seeking to maintain Your love. Shape my being into earnest kindness, A reflection of Your perfection. Grant me the grace of self-control, That I may not display any anger. Should I have such an outburst, Instantly remind me to seek redress, For such is offensive to You. Anger is Yours alone to avenge!"
One plea was not enough. She chanted several more times, "Grant me the grace of self-control, that I may not display anger should I have such an outburst. Instantly, remind me to seek redress, for such is offensive to you. Anger is yours alone to revenge."
Suzanne sensed the tension between her and Jane Hamilton was far from finished. It was merely beginning.
"Yeah, Mrs. Gibbs."
They called her…Mrs. Gibbs! The President sensed distraction from his aide. It was 04:30 when he called her suite.
"Wake up, Sleepyhead! Let's go for a run."
"I…I need to brief Secret Service." She groggily responded.
"Dash is giving the okay. He's with me."
"Is it morning or afternoon?" Suzanne fumbled for her glasses. "Oh…" She noticed 04:40. "I don't have all my gear." She remembered.
"Look in front of the door." She climbed out of bed and for the door. Her small bag was sitting at the front.
"Housekeeping delivered your clothing to me."
"I can explain that, Sir."
"Tell me in 10 minutes, Q." The President said and then disconnected.
"Ugh!" Suzanne growled, her right knee still tender.
"Use your knee brace, Q." The President suggested. "I'll give you 20 minutes."
Suzanne was ready within 10 minutes, meeting with the President in a secured lobby area.
"We're doing the usual?" Suzanne asked with a sharper-than-normal tone. The usual was 3 miles of running.
"We'll do this without the Press Corps and without these." The President yanked her headphones.
"We need to talk, Gibbs."
"I'm not too much for conversation this morning, Mr. President." Suzanne looked agitated. "Please, let's go for our run."
Suzanne's beginning pace was hard, which threw off the President. She usually began conservatively, a light jog to keep pace with the faster running boss. Her speed was a 9, 9 ½ minutes for a single mile. Suzanne began and continued strong, clocking in at 7.
"Slow down, Q! You're going to blow your left knee too!"
"I got set up." Suzanne said.
"I know you did." The President said. "And it backfired."
The President used the air quotation marks. "Dresses, high-heeled steppers, and the right touch of makeup…the world noticed and it shut her up."
The President chuckled as she looked annoyed.
"ZNN wants to do an interview with me!" Suzanne's facial expression was of pain and panic. "I sometimes speak for you…successfully."
He continued with a daring suggestion.
"Give them what they want, Q. Have Daisy arrange a ZNN exclusive interview while here in England."
Suzanne stopped in mid-stride.
"Mr. President, you are the focus, not your aide." She responded to his idea, breathing heavily, leaned with her hands on her knees. "And without disrespect, I want people to know I'm competent, not just a pretty face or your 'yes' woman."
"Someone in the agency opened the can of worms. Now, it backfired, making you just as popular. Besides, it's the only way the press will leave you alone." Members of the Secret Service nodded in agreement.
The two walked the rest of the way.
"I know you're a private person, Suzanne."
"That's why it makes it so difficult." She sighed. "I thought I was ready for political life…"
"Maybe…you are." The President patted Suzanne on her shoulder, flashing a bright smile. "Think of this as a stepping stone to a political future."