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"So... what do you and Miss President talk about?"
Henrietta Kissinger couldn't help but laugh at such an honestly simple question. When she was called into Vice President Geraldine Ford's office, she was deciding on whether she needed to fake a meeting with President Nixon to get out of the confrontation. She found it silly that Geraldine instead wanted to dilly-dally over meager things like the weather and how work was. Nonetheless, she decided to go along with it.
"Foreign policy, of course. Why do you ask?" Henrietta countered in her pronounced German accent, resting her chin on her right hand. Geraldine's grey eyebrows raised up, the cogs in her brain clearly moving. The vice president leaned forward in her chair.
"Just foreign policy?" Geraldine questioned, and Henrietta realized relatively quickly that this was no longer a cordial chat– this was an interrogation. For what, she didn't know.
"Well, we obviously talk about other things too, Miss Vice President– Vietnam, China, the Soviets–"
"What do you talk about with the President at night? People can hear you three mumbling through the door, you know." Geraldine commented. Henrietta looked to the left, suddenly feeling caught. Yes, it was true that many of her nights were spent with President Nixon, Haldeman, and herself in the Oval Office listening to Nixon verbally vomit whatever came out of her mind. Sometimes it was politics, sometimes it was whatever she had on her mind that day that she just had to get out, and when Haldeman left the room, the conversations went to places that Henrietta would rather not discuss, especially when the President had too much to drink. She wondered if people had heard those conversations, and Henrietta swore she could feel her intestines turning into knots. She grimaced.
"What does it matter to you?" Henrietta asked. Neither of them wanted to answer the others questions; such was the game of politics. She adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses and Geraldine sighed.
"Just curious, that's all." Geraldine responded, both of the women knowing that she was lying. Henrietta got up from her chair. She decided at that moment that she wasn't going to deal with this. Geraldine also got out of her chair.
"I don't know what answer you want from me, Geraldine," Henrietta hissed, dropping the Vice President's title, "but you won't get it."
"That's fine by me." Geraldine said, a smirk appearing on her face. Shit, Henrietta thought, what is she going to pull out of her pocket now?
"I'll just ask the President myself, then." Geraldine flatly commented, walking towards the door. Henrietta grabbed the shoulder of the Vice President, her grip tight. Geraldine's piercing blue eyes stared at Henrietta. Unable to get her words out, Henrietta's whole body tensed up. She felt so weak; completely powerless.
"Listen, I'll tell you later, just don't– don't ask Nixon, okay?" Henrietta pleaded, feeling utterly pathetic. There was nothing Henrietta hated more than feeling like she was emotionally on her knees and pleading for her reputation, but she knew that she had to do so or there would be another scandal that would plague the current administration. The last thing Henrietta or President Nixon wanted was their closeness being exposed to the press.
"I won't," Geraldine began, letting Henrietta breath a sigh of relief, "but it better be soon."
Henrietta nodded and let go of Geraldine's shoulder, quickly leaving the Vice President's office. Confused and concerned, she rubbed her temples. She was going to craft a well-thought-out excuse, and better yet, she was going to have to tell the President about it. The unfurling situation was awful, and while she liked her job, Henrietta wished that she could have be anywhere else in the world.