The Woman Across the Room
AN: Inspired by an old quote from Diane von Furstenberg.
As her anxiety bubbled beneath the surface, like pieces of popcorn popping in her chest, her jealousy built too. Sipping champagne from her flute, Elizabeth glanced at the woman across the room.
Today's luncheon with the French had been scheduled for months. The team had spent weeks on the telephone sorting through the details— the menu, the venue, and the seating. Now, Elizabeth was on the verge of developing an ulcer simply thinking about the back-and-forth phone calls with Minister Dubois' staff.
The lunch spread had been curated to the likings of their out-of-town guests, the East Hall at Union Station had been hand-selected from the hundreds of event centers across the capital, and, like the Swaziland dinner, the seating arrangements had been strategically organized by her chief of staff.
"It's like nothing I've ever experienced before," she answered the question about the transition into her role honestly. "So far, I believe that I've been successful," she lied while wearing a smile.
With a shaky hand, Elizabeth brought her glass to her lips.
Everything about today, down to the centerpieces at each table, was perfect, meaning that she needed to be too. According to her press secretary, "you need to say the right thing at the right time, shake hands the right way, and show the right kind of emotion to the right people." Admittedly, this week's lesson on properly balancing politeness with politics had been overwhelming. The weekly, if not daily, prep sessions with Daisy were notorious for leaving her dizzy, anxious, and insecure about her ability to succeed in this position.
For about an hour, she'd managed to mingle with a smile forced upon her face, but that too had become too much to fake.
"Caroline, my daughter, will be applying to colleges this fall. I understand that your eldest is studying literature at Lovell," Andrew said. "Is she enjoying it?"
Ignoring the question, Elizabeth stood quietly as she now openly stared at the woman standing across the room.
Elizabeth envied how easily she was able to hold the attention of the men around her. Biting the inside of her right cheek, she watched Phil's eyes narrow as he laughed. How was he the same man she'd spoken to earlier? He couldn't so much as break a smile while engaged in conversation with her. When Ted reached out, hand touching her forearm, she looked away. It was clear that the schmoozing came naturally to Nadine.
"Madam?"
Feeling unable to breathe, she touched her chest with the hand she had free. Suddenly, the mock neck of her blouse felt too tight around the base of her throat. As she fingered the pendant of her necklace, Elizabeth quickly glanced at Nadine. Maybe she should have chosen to wear a top with a deeper cut. Would maroon look good on her too?
"Yes," she managed to mumble as her grip tightened around the stem of her champagne glass.
"Are you alright," he asked but Andrew, Russell Jackson's deputy, looked almost delighted.
Elizabeth's cheeks burned under the scrutiny of his gaze. She was neither deaf, dumb, nor blind. With Russell away at a pancake breakfast in New Hampshire this weekend, she knew that he'd sent Andrew to check up on her.
"I'm fine," she lied.
As her eyes wandered the room, searching for Blake, she wondered why she couldn't be good at the schmoozing too.
"Mr. Capstone."
Elizabeth flinched when a small hand landed on her shoulder. Meeting Andrew's eyes, she hoped that the palm pressed against her back had prevented her from having a visible reaction.
"Nadine," he said as his lips turned down into a frown.
"I need the Secretary's ear," she told him.
He slowly arched one thick brow. "Of course," he mumbled before he turned away, downing the rest of his drink in the process.
"Let's step out into the hall," Nadine whispered as she led her away from the main room. After directing her to a private stairway, Nadine said, "you looked flustered." She tipped her head to the side, studying her. "Is everything okay?"
Elizabeth let out a breath. "One more sip of this and I think I'll be sick," she replied with a laugh.
Nadine reached out and took the glass from her hand.
"What's going on?"
With her hands now free, Elizabeth anxiously pulled at her fingers.
"You wouldn't understand," she mumbled.
Nadine had the poise that Daisy was trying to instill in her, the control over her emotions that Blake was encouraging her to learn, and the qualifications needed for this job that Conrad had overlooked when tapping her. The way she was able to work a large room like the one they'd just departed was astonishing. Though she'd had years of practice, Elizabeth expected herself to command attention just as well.
"Try me," Nadine told her as she carefully kept hold of the flute of champagne.
Shaking her head, she thought that they didn't have this kind of relationship, one where she was pulled from a room full of people to talk about her feelings. But as her anxiety boiled over the surface, she felt compelled to blabber.
"I— It feels like there are pieces of popcorn popping in my chest."
Elizabeth's eyes watered as she watched Nadine frown.
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"I'm tanking in there," she said quickly. "I blew it with Phil, I offended Ted, and I froze while trying to play nice with Andrew." Elizabeth reached up and took the pendant of her necklace between her fingers. "When I see you across the room, mingling effortlessly, it— it makes me panic." It made her jealous too. "You have confidence pouring out of your pockets!"
During their prep sessions, Daisy bragged about how Nadine knew when to say the right thing at the right time, shake hands the right way, and show the right kind of emotion to the right people.
After saying her name quietly, Nadine led them over to the bench along the wall.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
Wringing her hands, Elizabeth stared into her lap. "Are we in the seventh grade," she asked.
"I struggle with confidence too."
"You do?"
"Of course," Nadine said. "Even the women who appear the most confident in the room still struggle with insecurities." Turning, she placed the champagne glass onto the flat edge of the bench. "With time, you'll overcome most of your own."
Even after years of luncheons, ceremonies, and state dinners, Elizabeth couldn't imagine not working herself up about her worries. The pressure would always be on her to perform well, so how could she let go of that fear?
Staring at the marble steps, she mumbled, "I don't know about that."
"Can I tell you something else?"
Elizabeth met her eyes.
"I've been jealous of you before too."
"You have?"
Nadine nodded.
"Of what," she asked.
"The way you're seen," Nadine told her. "You may not notice it, but when you enter a room, heads turn." She stared into her eyes. "People fight for your attention."
"It doesn't feel that way."
"Well…" Nadine sighed as she smoothed down her skirt with her palms. "That means we're doing our jobs efficiently." Because Elizabeth made a face, she went on. "Blake and I, we keep people away," she explained. "So not to overwhelm you," Nadine said as a blush spread across her cheeks.
"Oh," Elizabeth mumbled. Her anxiety disorder was never talked about among the staff, at least not in front of her. This was the first time Nadine had openly mentioned it. "I hadn't realized," she said.
Nadine gently patted her knee. "You're doing fine, Elizabeth."
Was she more capable than she realized?
Standing from the bench, Nadine said, "I'll talk with Daisy about her little lectures. I think they're doing more harm than good."
"Could you find Blake for me," she asked.
Although Nadine had successfully talked her down from her ledge, she was still in need of a hug.
"I'll do my best to pull him away from the coffee bar."
This time, when Elizabeth's lips tugged up into a small smile, it wasn't fake.
"Nadine," she called before she disappeared around the corner. Meeting her eyes, she said, "Thank you."