The War Cloud

2

The headline in the Washington Post read “No Sachs Education for Kids.” A photo showed a beleaguered U.S. Secretary of Education Deborah Sachs at a meeting of the nation’s governors in Washington. Her deer-in-the-headlights look said it all.

Sachs frowned at the picture of herself. It was above a smaller story about a slain Metro security guard whose body was found in a railyard. She adjusted the phone to her ear as she sipped her morning coffee while the TV blared.

“The President is expected to announce the resignation of his outspoken and controversial Secretary of Education after tonight’s State of the Union address,” Matt Lauer was saying on the Today show, and proceeded to recite her most recent run-ins with the Administration. Then Lauer said, “Moving on to the crisis in the Far East…”

She lowered the volume as her friend Lauren at Commerce took the call and immediately offered her condolences.

“No, he hasn’t given me my resignation yet,” Sachs said, flicking her freshly cut black hair from under her chin, which pinned the phone to her shoulder. She was going to grow it out, she decided, now that she no longer required the Beltway cut of a Cabinet secretary. “I have to give it to him this morning. Then he’ll accept it tomorrow. Tonight is all about him, remember? All I know is that Nadine has been a super assistant.”

Blah, blah, blah. Lauren was such a spin doctor with the excuses.

“Well, could you see what you could do for her just the same? Thanks.”

Sachs hung up and stared out the windows at the falling snow. Her Georgetown rowhouse until now had been her sole refuge from the nonsense of Washington. The hunter green walls, white trim and oils over the fireplace had offered an illusion of security and tradition in her otherwise uncertain life.

But it couldn’t shield her from urban Democrats who made a federal case for public education while their own children attended private schools. Or from suburban Republicans whose children enjoyed quality public schools and who demanded vouchers for private schools. Or from the nagging reality she had no home to go back to again because Richard was gone forever, and without him it just wouldn’t be home. But in the process she was depriving Jennifer.

She was mulling over this last painful thought when her assistant Nadine emerged from the front hallway, immaculate in her latest fashionable suit beyond her pay grade, ready to tackle lobbyists, teachers unions and Congress. Her dark hair was slicked back. She smiled broadly, keeping up a good front.

“Morning, boss.”

“For some Americans,” Sachs replied.

“Told you being a public servant isn’t worth the cost after two years,” Nadine said, and then stopped. “What’s this?” She was pointing to the packed overnite carry-on by the door.

“I’m grabbing the shuttle to see Jennifer,” Sachs said. “You book my ticket like I asked?”

“Uh, no,” Nadine said. “You’re going to see the President and tell him why you should keep your job.”

Nadine walked over to the desk and picked up what looked like a student term paper awash in red corrections. In the upper right hand corner was a big, fat “B.”

“And what’s this, Madame Secretary?”

Sachs said, “My speech for Jennifer school assembly.”

“You graded yourself?”

“I’ll do better on the next draft,” Sachs replied without a trace of embarrassment.

“Next draft?” Nadine looked at her Rolex. Sachs had told her to stop with the bling as they were trying to help inner city schools, but it was no use. “Hey, we canceled that speech. You have a meeting at the White House this morning. Why are we still talking?”

“I rescheduled,” Sachs told her. “I’m not going to disappoint Jennifer again. Besides, the President is going to cancel on me anyway. He always does. This time permanently. Just text him my resignation.”

Sachs grabbed her carry-on and rolled it behind her down the hallway and out the front door into the wintry day and the waiting government limousine, leaving Nadine to lock up after her. The driver popped the trunk and dropped her bag inside, then opened the rear door for her to get inside where it was warm.

Nadine finished a call at the curb, then climbed in and shut the door, incredulous. “Only you, boss,” she said as the limo pulled into the street.

“Meaning what?” Sachs asked her.

“Meaning here you are losing your job on national TV and all you can do is worry about your assistant’s ass and some speech nobody’s going to hear.”

“Jennifer and her friends are going to hear it,” Sachs said. “You have a better suggestion?”

“Lecture circuit,” Nadine replied.

Sachs laughed. “If nobody listened to me when I was Secretary of Education, why would they listen to me afterward? Besides, the whole silver lining is that my New York-Washington commuting days are over. I can spend more time with Jennifer.”

Nadine grimaced. “She’s what, ten? Give her a year and she’ll want you out of her life for good.”

“Thank you, Nadine, that’s comforting,” Sachs said. “She’s thirteen and needs me more than ever. Two years is a long time for a girl to live with her aunt. She hates me. If I’m going to be living in New York again, I’m going to be living with my daughter.”

Nadine said, “We’ll work something out. Now let’s go see the President. Maybe he’s changed his mind.”

Sachs was firm. “Look, did you book me on the shuttle to New York or not?”

Nadine flashed the email confirmation on her BlackBerry. “I’ve got you out of Reagan National in forty minutes.”

“Nadine, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

“You go to New York and we’re both gonna find out,” Nadine warned her. “Because if you don’t make it back tonight for the State of the Union, you’re gonna piss off the president.”

“That’s my job, remember?”

“Was your job,” Nadine huffed.

Sachs smiled. “I’ve got a better one now.”