The First Man to be First Lady
Clarke Allan
For the first time the press could remember, the First Lady wasn't drunk when she left the White House. Everyone knew the First Lady was an alcoholic. She had gone through rehab so many times Betty Ford wouldn't have her back. Nonetheless, she hated the President and wanted to be sober for her last official duty as First Lady. She made sure every news network was present, live with cameras rolling, when she barged through the doors of the Oval Office. With a rehearsed attitude, she threw the divorce papers down at her husband, the President of the United States. Although millions enjoyed the live show, not too many were surprised. Ironically, the President had seen to it the First Lady's alcoholism was made public so it would hide her illegal drug addiction. In his re-election campaign the President boasted to the religious right, "The White House wine cellars are locked and no 'sinful booze' will be served on the grounds of the White House."
It had also been rumored the First Lady and the former Vice President were having an affair. No one ever denied it. The First Lady, under a FBI Top Secret criminal investigation for possession of illegal drugs, was finally arrested while doing those same illegal drugs with the former Vice President.
The world sighed unanimous relief when the Vice President was safely behind bars. He resigned his office in turn for a lighter prison sentence. It all seemed unbelievable, like a really dumb late, late show. But there it was on primetime every time you changed the channel, read the newspaper, or heard anyone talking.
America hadn't seen the First Lady since the day she had been acquitted, threw the divorce papers down at her husband, and the former Vice President was handcuffed, sentenced, and thrown in prison. The world wondered where the First Lady was. She was never seen in public or at social functions. America prayed she was safe in a rehab center. Everyone thought the President hid her or worse. But even he didn't know where she was and publicly said he didn't care.
The United States was glad it was over. It seemed the only thing left in America was bigotry among the fundamentalists and a strong military. All America needed was a spark to jump-start the nation. Suddenly, like the roar from a once-dead engine, America could see it right before their very eyes. No one could believe it.
Was he a wish come true? A twinkling star? Finally, a glimmer of hope? He was the nation's nominee to be appointed to the office of Vice President of the United States. He was all the televised excitement of an election year ticker-tape parade. The excitement wasn't for the man going to the White House, but with hopes the man IN the White House would resign and get OUT once and for all.
Congress had narrowed their choice for Vice President down to two men who were debating in front of Congress behind closed doors. Televised coverage continued with raw, sarcastic enthusiasm for the other candidate for the office of appointed Vice President. He was the Secretary of Defense and a weasel of a man. He selfishly kept the military big, strong, and well armed. He had the biggest defense budget in history, and it kept growing. It was only a matter of time before he would conquer the world. Billy considered himself a 'good ole boy,' and his attitude said Congress would appoint him Vice President, hands down.
Without coverage of appointees for Vice President, television news was the same old thing. The President was caught doing this, evading taxes on that. It was proven he offered political jobs in exchange for sexual favors. It was the same old shameful routine in every newscast. Not only was America tired of it, so was the rest of the world, who looked at the United States for hope. The United States needed a breath of fresh air, and the nation's nominee for Vice President was breathing life into the world with each breath he took.
The news broadcast continued with the same old, tired question. "Who would become the First Lady for the world's most eligible and most powerful bachelor?" Clarke hit the mute button. He was tired of hearing that question over and over and over. He tousled Barney's head, then gently petted him.
Clarke thought about that question for a moment. It was a fair one. If appointed Vice President, Michael would be the world's most eligible bachelor. Clarke thought about the people's choice for Vice President and smiled from ear to ear. He was a enviable six-foot-seven inches tall. A strapping man of 257 pounds, broad shoulders, small waist, size 14 shoes. And boy could those shoes dance.
Newscasts always commented on his professional credits. It was a list the length of your arm: Bachelor's degree in political science from the Naval Academy, law degree from Harvard. He loved all sports. He was the quarterback for the Naval Academy football team. He was sought by the pros, but went Navy full-time as a fighter pilot. He proudly smoked a pipe.
Clarke chimed in with his own personal list about the nominee for Vice President. He started to count on his fingers. Every time Clarke said the word 'He' he added another finger. He's left-handed. He hates wearing a tie, but does. He even ties his own bow tie, but not too neatly. He doesn't like to wear a tuxedo, but will when it's appropriate. He works out daily, running five miles before breakfast. He doesn't lift weights, instead he chops wood. He spars to keep his black belt in Karate. He doesn't cook, but his favorite dish is a home-cooked meal. Clarke smiled. Naturally his favorite vegetable is French fries. Clarke laughed out loud. He even likes fruitcake during the holidays.
If ever there was an example of 'opposites attract' it was the two of them. They were the perfect couple. One would describe Clarke as a fine gentleman. He had that certain something you couldn't quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, it unfairly illuminated the entire room when he walked in.
Clarke was on the schoolboard and was everyone's favorite substitute teacher. He was a volunteer fireman and the first in with the hose. If there was a kitten up a tree, Clarke was on his way up the ladder. If there was a party, Clarke was invited. A committee, Clarke was asked to head it up. Founder's Day parade, he was Grand Marshal. Clarke didn't like the attention. But he handled it like a gentlemen sipping a fine cup of tea. Some people just have that quality naturally inbred.
Clarke was a well-built man himself. Broad shoulders. Small waist. That perfect 'T' only seen in trendy male magazines. Clarke was down-to-earth with a unique voice that everyone enjoyed. It wasn't masculine. It wasn't feminine. It was Clarke. Even though Clarke was of average height, he was dwarfed when he stood next to Michael. Clarke shook his head with a smile, "If only the world knew." It was high tech's best-kept secret, and Clarke was going to keep it that way. No doubt about it, it was hands down who should and would be Vice President. Clarke watched the Congressional hearings just so he could see Michael. Michael Arthur Kent. His friends all called him MAK. Clarke smiled as he wondered, "If Michael gets appointed Vice President, would they call him Big MAK?" Clarke looked at the TV. He noticed Michael looked great, but a little rumpled around the edges. That was normal when Clarke wasn't around to spruce him up.
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