Point of View

The room reverberated with laughter. Raucous and unfiltered. Plates full of green leafy salads and miniature tomatoes were replaced by chicken smothered in a fancy glaze sauce and sauteed carrots. The laughter continued with the shifting plates. Fitzgerald B. Phillips knew how to work a room. He was acutely aware of his wittiness and ability to disarm even the most placid person. He was a man, who although he grew up with high middle class luxuries, knew that his slight wealth made him no better than the next person. He was normally inclined to share a coffee with a stranger rather than a forced breakfast with a person fitting into his schedule in need of a favor. His approval ranking sat at 90 percent, remarkably higher than the last senator’s ranking which was a putrid 35 percent.

Margaret Twine rose with everyone else in the room, at the completion of Fitzgerald’s speech and applauded. Once the applause reached its appropriate end, Margaret returned to her seat, picking at her glazed chicken. A tap came on her shoulder. She stared into the eyes of Fitzgeralds’s chief of staff, Harriet Boyd. Upon observation, Margaret felt Harriet was the opposite of her boss. Her face was consigned to a frown, almost a scowl, her eyes covered by black rimmed glasses and her outfit absent of any loose string or random stain. She spoke with a monotone. “He would like to speak with you.” Nervously, Margaret rose from her seat and tugged her blouse. She hoped that she had hidden the yogurt stain at the bottom of her blouse successfully and that the wrinkles in her pants were so insignificant, she was the only one stressing it. People continued with their meals and conservation, and Harriet led Margaret to a room, off the end of the hallway next to the dining room.

Fitzgerald B. Phillips sat at the end of a small table with one of his closest friends and advisor, Henry Mullins. A canter of water sat between them, but both of their cups were still empty. “Margaret…good to see you.” Phillips shook Margaret’s hand kindly, and Henry nodded in her direction with a quiet smile. “You have five minutes.” Harriet spoke and then swiftly exited the room. “Please, sit.” Fitzgerald pointed to an open chair, and they all sat down. “Harriet is ever the stickler for punctuality.” Margaret merely nodded and was unsure of what exactly was going to be said.

“Margaret…we are aware of your astute journalism. Your dedication to the proper research being done before you attach your name to a finished piece. That awareness sets you above some of your counterparts. Even that hideous Marigold Simmons, who seems to be absorbed with so many other things than my actual work in the government.”

“Let’s not get off track here,” Henry politely interrupted Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald poured some water in his cup and took a big swig before continuing. “I’m going to give you something that I am expecting you to treat with much grace and understanding.” Margaret shifted in her seat. “Okay,” she merely said. Henry Mullins kept a face devoid of much emotion. Harriet barged through the door at that moment. “Harriet, for goodness’ sake, five minutes was barely enough time to sneeze.” Harriet rolled her eyes. “I can’t explain to a group of people why you have suddenly vanished. You get five minutes to go to the bathroom…after that…what do I say?”

“I’ll go and shake some hands. Spread some goodwill. I trust you won’t share something I don’t already know.” Mullins rose from his seat and followed an annoyed Harriet into the hallway. The door closed behind them.

Fitzgerald B. Phillips’ blue suit was without creases. His gray tie is situated just right. Even though his hair was graying, he did not look any older than his actual age of 42. His eyes had warmth and kindness embedded in them. He always wore a red string bracelet gifted by a child on the campaign trail. He embodied the thing that most people didn’t believe about politicians…he was a decent human being. Margaret had met him at least five times before this one. She had written a piece when he originally ran for office about his background and his upbringing. She had received a personalized note and a box of specialty donuts. She wrote about a lot of politicians…he was not like the norm. The last time she saw him, he had not slept in three days because his dog had fell ill and he was up every night caring for him while balancing a vote about health insurance, that was being racked by opposition from every imaginable politician known to man.

Margaret realized she had fallen into deep thought when Fitzgerald lightly tapped her hand. “Margaret…something has happened and with agreement with my staff…I think it’s imperative that we get ahead of it.” Margaret didn’t recognize this tone. She had never heard Fitzgerald B. Phillips with such serious inflection in his voice.

“Is this off the record or I am actually doing something with this information?” Fitzgerald looked into Margaret’s eyes with a somber look. “This is something you will do something with, unfortunately.” Margaret let out a nervous laugh. “I feel like you’re about to tell me that you know about a terrorist attack or something. I mean, that may be extreme but the air in this room feels tighter.” Margaret grabbed Henry’s unused cup and poured a glass of water. She swallowed it in one gulp and waited for Fitzgerald to speak. Her anxiety is growing increasingly high.

“In two hours, every member of the Senate, without one singular exception, will convene for a closed-door meeting in an undisclosed location. A location so hidden that the CIA will have barely any knowledge of it. Every person in that location will vote for the impeachment of our President.” Fitzgerald continued even though his face seemed to acknowledge the look of surprise on Margaret’s face. “But sir…” She began to speak but Fitzgerald raised his hand. Margaret had completely missed Henry Mullins and Harriet Boyd reentering the room.

“When that vote concludes…the Vice President will be given a vote of confidence by every person with the ability to do so…causing a mutiny in our government. We have it from a reliable and established source that our President has devised a plan to hand over our country to another entity. One more relentless than any dictator of history’s past. Because of that betrayal…he will be excommunicated.”

“You want me to share this with the entire world…” Margaret’s voice trailed off. Shock flooding her.

“He thinks that he has gotten away with it.”

Silence filled the room after that, and it is not known if any other words were spoken.

The year was 2035…