JADONA STONE, Jade to her friends, sat in her office in the East Wing of the White House wondering how the hell had all of this happened.
The this – her husband, Arnold Stone, being President of the United States of America – was not what was supposed to have happened. She’d heard people say, at one time or another, “be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.”
She let out a deep sigh, realizing that they’d gotten everything Arnold had wished for. And that, was the problem.
Neither of them, either Arnold or her, had been prepared for the actual job of being President and First Lady.
The whole spiel that Senator Jackson ‘Ready’ McRae had given Arnold and her to believe they could do it, had been nothing more than a ploy to get Noah Daniels back into the White House.
But, she couldn’t push all the blame off on Daniels and McRae, because Arnold had known all along what they were up to. But, he’d gone along, she assumed, because the publicity garnered from his run for the Presidency was supposed to boost the TV ratings for his reality television show – The Entrepreneur. Somewhere along, the line, however, Arnold had begun to think he could actually do it – be President.
The TV was on in the room, tuned to Arnold’s old channel, WJJT Channel 4, and they were showing old episodes of the show. She picked up the remote and clicked the mute button.
According to Senator McRae, if Arnold somehow got himself elected – a very long shot – he was supposed to turn the Presidency over to Daniels. But two things had gone wrong. One, Arnold actually started believing he could do the job of being President of the United States.
Secondly, Daniels had disappeared. With some terrorist woman that the FBI, NSA, and CIA were mad hot to find. He’d absconded, leaving Arnold and her, holding the bag. A bag that neither one of them knew what to do with.
As a result of his incompetence in office, the firing of long time employed qualified White House staffers, engaging in secret conversations with Russian President, Spiridon Ivanovich, and refusing to Puerto Rico after their devastating hurricane. And then, stories of his sordid extramarital affairs had been exposed. So now, everyone hated them! Especially her.
She was tall, thin with big boobs, married to a billionaire, and wore expensive, really expensive clothes. The kind of stuff you couldn’t find at Walmart. And, according to the National Press, she could barely speak English. Not good for the First Lady of the United States of America.
The National Press often wrote horrible things about her such as, she had absolutely nothing in common with the average American woman. She’d posed nude while that other president’s wife had evoked the ire of the public by just going sleeveless in Washington’s summer heat. So, the national media was white hot after her for that little mistake, she’d made, as a means of promoting her modeling career.
Then, of course, there was the fact that she didn’t have a mind of her own. She was a submissive wife and was perceived by most Americans as being as dumb as a post. Nothing came out of her mouth that Arnold hadn’t put there. His thoughts were her thoughts. His opinions were her opinions. Good or bad.
No one ever considered that she was the mother of two children; a son, Adne and a daughter, Jadesola. Both doing very well with their lives. Neither on drugs or living the wild party life.
She was also, an attentive daughter and sister. Having raised her family (her mother, father, and sister) out of poverty while living in a one bedroom apartment back in Kranj, Slovenia. All accomplished by her modeling and not with Arnold’s billions.
She pushed herself up from her desk and walked across her corner office in the East Wing, that was painted New York beige (that creamy caramel beige you see in all the upper class homes in New York) over to the thirty-six thousand dollar full length Francesco Molon mirror and studied her reflection.
Yes. She was tall, five ten in her bare feet. With a well-tone and proportioned body. Slightly curvy now that she was passed forty. The proverbial middle age spread was catching up with her. She’d gone from a size six to a size ten. But she was fighting it with daily workouts with a private trainer who arrived at the White House every morning at six-thirty.
Her thick brown shoulder length hair, she had washed, set, and highlighted with dark Ash Brown as a means of covering her gray roots twice a week at Alex’s place on 15 Street. She suffered through weekly waxings, tweezings, manicures, pedicures, and thrived on a very strict diet that would have had most American women running for the nearest McDonald’s. All of which she endured to stay married to the same man, billionaire real estate developer turned reality TV show star, turned President of the United States, Arnold Stone, for the past twenty years.
But, most importantly, she was the wife of the President of the United States of America.
She reminded herself of that as she stood in her office, with tears streaming down her face as she waited for Herman, the Marine Guard stationed outside the Oval Office to call her and let her know when Missy and her husband, The President of the United States of America, had finished fucking.
“You shouldn’t think on those things,” her mother often chastised her.
But she did think on those things. She had no other choice. All of his past frivolities and his present ones were being chatted about all across the country. And at every event she attended, women, strangers to her, took pleasure in throwing the sordid details of his affairs in her face.
She would have told her mother in all honesty that it was the vulgarness of fucking these strange Playboy bunnies and porn stars that most appealed to her husband, Arnold Stone, President of the United States of America.
She walked back across the room and sat back down at her desk. She looked down at the immigration forms bearing Arnold’s signature that would grant her mother, her father, her sister, and her sister’s family US citizenship.
She wiped away the last remnants of her tears and thought, this was the least Arnold could do for her. For her loyalty, courage, and steadfastness in the face of all that he’d done to destroy their marriage.
She checked the one of a kind silver Rolex on her wrist, noting that it was 10:15 pm. Missy was taking longer than usual, which meant she was giving him the full works. If so, all he’d want when he came upstairs, to their private quarters, was a hot shower and to go right to sleep. Fine, she thought to herself, gathering up the papers on her desk.
Just as she picked up the remote to turn off the TV, Channel 4’s logo came up on the screen. Intrigued, Jade clicked the mute button once more, turning the sound back on in time to hear the announcement of Breaking News.
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