The cast you have grown to know and love is exactly the same, except they were all born and raised in our modern world. Jonathan W. Conté has just been elected President of the United States, thanks to his campaign manager Alanna Trebond. Soon they, secret service leader (guess who?), and chief of staff (guess who?) will have to fight the takeover of the Speaker of the House (guess who?).
Disclaimer: All these characters are Tamora Pierce's, and everything I know about political campaigns I learned from The People's Choice by Jeff Greenfield. I have no connection to the National Enquirer.
Rating: R for language and some sexual references.
"People are jealous of a woman with power," Alanna Trebond said before taking another gulp of beer. Jonathan W. Conté, the man to whose career as a politician she had devoted a significant portion of the last decade, patted her on the back in a very friendly, compassionate, and platonic way.
"Alanna, calm down," he said. "It was the fucking National Enquirer, for God's sake. If anyone believes it, they aren't worth talking to."
"But an affair with you," Trebond protested. "Aborting your baby! Where did that reporter come up with this kind of bullshit! As soon as you're inaugurated, I'm going to track that whore down and—"
"Alanna," Conté said, looking around nervously. Other people in the hotel bar were staring at them, and the omnipresent secret service agents, men that Conté had begun to regard as normal just days after the election, were looking at people suspiciously.
"Why don't I just lead you up to your room," Conté suggested, placing a gentle arm under Trebond's and lifting her almost forcibly from the bar stool. "And then you can go to sleep and I'll go to my room and go to sleep and in the morning, no one will even remember that article."
"Right," Trebond said, yanking her arm from Conté's grasp. "And flying monkeys will come out of my mgphmph!"
At a nod from Conté, the head of the secret service (a man named Raoul Goldenlake) had placed a hand over Trebond's mouth and lifted her off her feet and was now holding her easily in his strong arms. Goldenlake was the kind of leader who loved fieldwork and, far from sitting in a remote office watching by means of video surveillance, personally protected the President-elect at every possible opportunity.
"If you could take her up to her room," Conté said casually. "I'll be up shortly." Goldenlake nodded and took the protesting woman up to her hotel suite.
"Numair, I just heard." Numair Salmalín, former physics major at Princeton University, looked up from his packing and saw his best friend Ozzie Tasikhe standing in the doorway of his dorm room. "I'm sorry."
"Like hell you do," Numair said angrily at his friend, who smiled infuriatingly.
"Now, now," Ozzie said condescendingly. "You clearly broke honor code; that paper was almost exactly taken from the book in the library. It won't do you any good to get mad at me."
Numair glared. "You watched me write that paper. I know that you planted that book in the library—you with all your goddamn influence, and your dad's the fucking dean—"
"You watch it." Ozzie had abandoned all pretenses of innocence. "The board already voted you out. It won't do you a scrap of good to accuse me. Besides, who do you think they're going to believe?"
Numair zipped up his duffel bag so violently that the tab broke off. "Are you happy now?" he shouted, standing up and facing down Ozzie. "You're going to get your fucking award and your fucking research grant, now that I'm gone. Are you fucking happy?"
The other student stood calmly before him. "If you take one more fucking step toward me, I'll call campus security." His eyes held a gleam that told Numair how quickly he would follow up on his threat.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Numair shouted. Ozzie smiled mockingly and made an unhasty retreat.
A/N: So, what do you think? I'd DEFINITELY like some reviews, please, and if you have any ideas for characters equivalents, I'd like to hear them. Thanks!