The next day, Karen made a point of seeking the president out, which got her invited to the meeting with Gus and Jean that afternoon.
“This could be a real problem,” Mark told them. “I know Sharon is great PR, but I can’t afford her losing credibility because everyone sees her as my arm candy. We’ve got to find a way to get the press off the dresses.”
Karen and Jean looked at each other and nodded.
“Actually, we were about to suggest the same thing,” Jean said slowly.
Karen nodded. “It’s that blond thing. She’s female, she’s attached to you, it must be about the pretty looks.”
“So what do we do?” Mark asked.
“Two things,” said Gus. “Why not set her up on the pundit rounds? She could even do that comedy channel’s news show. Put her in a position to talk about what we’re doing to build our foreign relations and someone’s going to notice that she’s got brains. You might even want her on… What’s his name’s show, the big mouth. She’ll make mincemeat of the turkey.”
“That’s if we can get her to do it,” said Karen. “She’s not joking about preferring a lower profile.”
Jean shrugged. “I think Gus can talk her into it. But what’s the second point?”
“Keep her off the photo lines,” Gus said, shifting in his chair. “Meet her inside the venue.”
“She’ll like that,” said Mark. “Okay. Let me think about it. As for the pundit rounds, keep it light. She’s pretty busy. And come to think of it, so am I. Do we need to discuss anything else?”
The others didn’t and the meeting was dismissed. Outside the Oval Office, Karen and Gus decided to talk to Sharon together. Sharon, not surprisingly, declined. Until Wednesday.
The first day of the baseball season wasn’t that big a day for Mark in many respects. What happened on the mound when he threw out the first pitch would have no permanent ramifications. His political career would be largely unaffected. Nonetheless, most of the Advisory Board was in the presidential box by the time batting practice started, along with some of the press staff and Johnnie and her husband, Tyrone.
June had seen to it that everyone had jerseys and hats from their hometown teams. Although since Karen didn’t care and Sharon did, Sharon got the Dodgers jersey and Karen wore the Angels. Oddly enough, Sharon was the one who had lived, for a time, in the shadow of Anaheim stadium and Karen not far from Dodger stadium.
As Sharon entered the box, she smiled at the preponderance of Minnesota Twins jerseys. Both Eddie and Johnnie were from Minneapolis. June, of course, was decked out in Twins regalia. But Sharon noted an average-sized man standing next to June who looked vaguely familiar, also sporting a Minnesota jersey.
June waved Sharon over. “Come here and meet my dad!”
Thomas Jerguessen was considerably shorter than June and Mark, but he had passed his green eyes and square jaw onto his son. Sharon marveled at how little June resembled her father.
“How do you do, Mr. Jerguessen?” Sharon asked, shaking his hand.
“Fine, thanks, and call me Thomas,” he answered, his smile both warm and rather familiar. “So I hear you’re one of June’s latest B- Whaddya call it?”
“Dad,” June laughed. “BFF – Best Friends Forever.”
“Right,” Thomas said. He turned back to Sharon. “I’m glad. June deserves good friends.”
“I’m doing my best.”
Thomas glanced at her jersey. “National League, huh?”
“’Fraid so,” Sharon said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise and join in our national anthem,” the loudspeaker announced.
Sharon went to the viewing platform in the box, followed closely by June and everyone else. Thomas noted with satisfaction that Sharon remembered to take her hat off. June was startled by Sharon’s excellent singing voice, as she harmonized with Eddie, Gus and Karen.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice crashed over the cheers from the end of the anthem. “Throwing out the first pitch of this year’s baseball season, the President of the United States, Mark Jerguessen.”
The crowd cheered loudly as Mark trotted out to the mound wearing a Nationals jersey and cap.
“It’s a good thing he doesn’t have any buttons on his sleeves,” June muttered to Sharon as Mark waved to the crowd.
“He doesn’t look all that nervous,” Sharon said. “But Al and I had a briefing with him earlier today and I don’t think he heard five words.”
“He threw pitches at Dad last night for two hours,” June said. “He wasn’t this stressed on election night.”
Mark went into a full wind up from the pitcher’s mound, with the catcher crouched and ready behind home plate. Sure enough, the ball slapped into the mitt with a solid thunk and the crowd went wild. On the television in the box, one of the sportscasters noted that Mark had pitched in college. The board flashed the pitch’s speed – 79 miles an hour.
“Not bad for an amateur,” Gus said, nodding.
Sharon happened to glance over at June and Thomas and caught the nervous look between them. When Mark entered the box later, mid-way through the first inning, he greeted everyone with a smile, but Sharon noticed he was not happy.
He went out to the viewing platform to watch the game. Sharon came up to his side.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
Mark glared down as the National’s batter whiffed at a fast ball. “I should be.”
“That was one sweet pitch,” Sharon said. “Right on the inside corner.”
“Maybe.” Mark nodded at the batter. “But even he could’ve knocked that out of the park.”
“At seventy-nine miles an hour?”
Mark glared. “I wanted at least eighty.”
“Hmm.” Sharon tried not to laugh. “Okay. It sucks that you didn’t do as well as you wanted. I get how that feels. But your not-so-good was still miles better than what most of us could do. Including the team.”
Eddie came up. “Hey, Boss – I guess if this presidential thing don’t work out, you could tear up minor league ball.”
Mark chuckled as a whoop went up behind him from inside the box. Sharon looked up and saw a close up of her and Mark standing together at the rail. She couldn’t quite hear the commentary, but had a good idea of what was being said from the way Karen glared at Al. She retreated into the box, annoyed because she wanted to watch the game.
A minute later, she pulled Gus and Jean together and told them to set up a few appearances on some news shows.
Thomas, for his part, quietly watched the goings on, especially Mark. Later, as Thomas and Mark finished dinner together back at the White House, Thomas sat back.
“Good job on the mound today,” Thomas said quietly.
Mark shrugged. “I was clocking over 80 in practice.”
“Yeah. I heard.” Thomas played with a wine glass. “Sounds like you’re trying to impress everybody again.”
“Nah.” Mark winced, then sighed. “Maybe. I thought I was just trying to beat my personal best.”
“I’d say that’s legit except that you’re still sulking about it.” Thomas chuckled. “You’d think being president would be impressive enough.”
“Not if I want another four years,” Mark sighed. “Randler, over at the party headquarters, is already talking about the next election.”
“Throwing an 80-plus mile an hour fast ball isn’t going to get you a second term and you know it,” Thomas said.
Mark made a face and debated going back to work. Thomas stopped him.
“Mark, one of the things I’ve always admired about you is the way you keep trying to best yourself all the time. But we both know how that can get out of hand and we both know why it happens to you.”
“Look, I haven’t needed her approval since I was in high school.”
“Not intellectually, no. But sometimes it does get to you.” Thomas shrugged. “And it’s too bad. You did a hell of a job today and you couldn’t enjoy it because you had it in your head that you could have done better. So, I’m telling you to cut it out. Okay?”
Mark smiled awkwardly. “Yes, sir.”
“All right then. You promised me a game of chess, didn’t you?” Thomas got up and stretched.
