Transfer of Power

The White House

ANNA RIELLY POKED her head into her new basement office. The windowless room was smaller than the kitchen of her not very roomy one-bedroom apartment back in Lincoln Park. There were three desks against three of the walk and barely enough room for all of the chairs in the middle. A handsome man in his early forties, whom Rielly recognized from TV, stood to greet her.

“You must be Anna Rielly.” The man extended his hand.

“I’m Stone Alexander, ABC’s White House correspondent.

We’ve been expecting you.”

Rielly shook his hand and looked dejectedly at her new office.

Alexander read the disappointment on her face and said, “It’s not quite what you expected, is it?”

“No. I mean I didn’t expect the Taj Mahal, but this is ridiculous.”

“Don’t worry. Look at the fringe benefits.” Alexander grinned and held his arms out.

Rielly eyed his sculpted hair, handsome face, and waxed eyebrows.

“And what would those be?”

Alexander smiled, showing a perfect set of bleached white teeth.

“You get to work with me.”

“Really?” said Rielly

“Yeah, really.”

Alexander placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her out into the hall. “I was just on my way to get some coffee before you got here.

Let’s go get a couple of cups, and I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone.” As they walked toward the White House mess, Alexander continued his small talk.

“So, how long have you been in town?”

“Just got in yesterday.”

“Has anyone shown you around yet?”

“No. I haven’t even unpacked.”

Alexander put his hand on her back and ushered her into the mess first.

Rielly noticed that he let his hand linger on her back for an inappropriate amount of time. She looked around the cafeteria and was once again shocked by how small it was.

There were probably twenty people sitting at the rectangular tables drinking coffee, eating, talking, and reading various newspapers.

“So are you married?” asked Alexander.

Rielly hesitated for a second and figured lying would do no good.

“No.”

Alexander grinned with optimism.

“Maybe I could show you around tonight. I know a great new restaurant in Adams Morgan

“Thanks, but I have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“A person has to eat,” he said persistently.

Rielly realized Mr. Hormone would need to be dealt with a little more firmly and said, “Thanks, but I have a rule about dating reporters.”

“And what would that be?” asked Alexander, his smile still plastered across his face.

“I don’t,” Rielly said as she continued to look around the room.

“And why is that?”

Rielly turned around and, with a sarcastic grin, replied, “I don’t trust them.” Alexander laughed.

“Are there any other rules I need to know about?”

“Yeah. I don’t like to date men who are prettier than I am.”