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It’s been said the White House Press Corps is like a pack of wolves. That they can smell fear in you, and in a moment’s hesitation, they’ll pounce. Most new press secretaries will laugh at that. I’ve aced public speaking classes, they’ll say. I’ve been through the worst. I can handle this. Most are wrong.
Today’s is dead wrong.
“I can assure you the president is deeply committed to seeing the standoff in Michigan come to a peaceful end.” The voice of Carter Dunne, the Deputy Assistant to the late White House Press Secretary, droned on, barely holding up the veneer of calm and control. He gripped the podium in front of him, on the edge of just splintering the wood between his fingers.
“Is the president worried his standoff with Governor Royce will damage his already tenuous relationship with the American people?” A reporter asked, unprompted. Glancing to the side, Carter avoided eye contact before answering.
“No, the president has more important things to worry about,” Carter answered, approaching a trap that wasn’t even well hidden.
“President Kirkman doesn't care about earning the country's confidence?” Another reporter asked, raising a brow at the Press Secretary’s response. Smiling, Carter stepped into the trap with but one pause.
“No, what I mean is, it's more important to get rid of Governor Royce than it is to worry about whether people like him or not,” he answered, realizing in the next moment how terrible of a response that was. A pair of sighs stood audibly in the room before a barrel of voices followed.
“The president wants to get rid of Royce?”
“Is Kirkman planning to remove a sitting governor?”
“Does the president expect the governor to just bow down?”
“How is the president gonna get rid of an elected governor? 'Cause I don't think that's going to happen.”
The flurry of questions, with no prompt or order to them, flew at Carter as he broke what little eye contact he kept up and stared straight down at the podium. After a moment he inhaled before doing an about-face and exiting the stage.
“Is the president planning an armed response? Is there any indication—” One final reporter broke through the chaos, just in time for Carter to walk away. “Is he leaving?”
Much to the astonishment of the Press Corps, current and soon to be former Press Secretary Carter Dune walked straight from the podium and out the door of the press room. The reporter who was cut off mid-question turned in his seat.
“The Kirkman White House, everyone,” he sneered, eliciting laughter from the room. Giggles and whispers followed that, as the whole press pool wondered if Carter would return.
For Seth Wright, White House Speech Writer and unfortunate observer of the pathetic performance that had just occurred, the answer was clear. Carter had stepped out and someone needed to step in. Someone had to get up there and defend President Kirkman, who was already dealing with too much after the Capitol Bombing.
But god, why did it have to be him.
Seth stood up, ready to go forward and take the podium. Yet, before he could take another step, another sound took the quieting room: the sound of high heels on tile.
Gasps followed that, as the tall figure strolled to the front of the room. Then after came more whispers, as the topic of their murmurs chuckled to herself.
“Now, now, everyone, let’s not get too feisty,” she said, taking center stage and brushing back a lock of silver hair. Her height dominated the frame of the podium, as the cameras in the back paned up to center on her face. With a smile, she charmed the room, leaving her audience star struck with her surprise appearance. “I’m sure Mister Dunne is just having an off day.”
A flurry of hands stood straight, none of the reporters daring to speak out of line now. The woman pointed to the one from before, whose question was cut off right as Carter left.
“Yes, you, Mister Haven’t-Learned-Your-Name from the New Washington Franciso Times Gazzette.” Her answer pulled a round of laughs from the crowd.
“Heh, well ma’am, I think the most important thing to start with is keeping everyone on the same page, so why don’t you introduce yourself.”
“That was a very clever way to get around the fact you don’t know my name, A-plus to you,” she began, eliciting more laughs. “For the kiddies at home and amongst us, let me introduce myself. My name is Claudia Jean Cregg.”
Seth stared in amazement at the sight that had just taken place before him. C.J. Cregg, the most famous Former White House Press Secretary in recent history, had just walked in and dominated the Press Corps with a smile and a saunter and a set of cheesy oneliners. After a moment, he realized he had been standing the whole time and sat down to watch the spectacle unfold.
“Alright then, Mary then Kate,” C.J. ordered, pointing at hands and assigning names at random. She’d get that down later. The thirty-some-year-old man, now apparently named Mary, spoke up.
“Well, to get back to what was being discussed early.” He hummed and hawed for a moment, looking over his notes. “The situation in Michigan, and how President Kirkman’s response will play in the polls?”
C.J.’s eyes scanned over the wild array of notes Carter had left on the podium, catching her up to speed in a few moments.
“Well to be honest with you, Mary, the top news story today has absolutely nothing to do with President Kirkman's standing in the polls,” she began, rejecting the premise of the question. “The fact is that in this time of crisis, the fundamental rights of American citizens are being jeopardized because some folks think the world will be safer if you locked up all the brown people.”
“I—”
“Let me be clear, today’s top news story, the thing I expect to be your headliner tomorrow morning, is about how Islamophobia is beginning to take root in these contentious times.” C.J. reiterated, her eyes travelling over the rows of reporters. “And how it is critical that we do not fall to our primal fears and xenophobic urges, and remember our ideals as much in wartime as we do in peacetime. So said a great man I once knew, named Josiah Bartlet.”
Silence stood firm in the press room after that, not a tense and awkward quiet, but a stunned silence of amazement and respect. C.J. snorted under her breath before grinning.
“And that’s a wrap.”