2030_ The Real Story of What Happens to America - Albert Brooks [62]
“Does she know what job she is being offered?”
“You told me you wanted to tell her. She knows it’s important, but you wanted to play this ‘surprise me’ game, so I didn’t say anything.”
“It’s not a ‘surprise me’ game; I need to look into a person’s eyes when they hear information like this for the first time. It tells me something.”
“Couldn’t you have seen that on the screen?”
“Listen,” the President said, “we fired one guy because he was on the screen too much; I don’t want to start out a new relationship the same way.”
“I hear you. If an hour isn’t enough, let me know by twelve-thirty and I’ll push the general.”
Bernstein went about his morning business checking the time every fifteen minutes. My God, I haven’t looked at a clock so much since I was in school waiting for recess. What’s gotten into me?
He was sitting at his desk signing some meaningless papers when Annie buzzed him exactly at noon. “Mr. President, Ms. Colbert is here.”
He opened the door, and standing there was a class act. That was his first impression. A woman seventy years old, looking fifty, with gray-blond hair, very well styled, in great physical shape, slate blue eyes, wearing a teal-colored cashmere dress and a smile to kill for. The President extended his hand and she followed him into the Oval Office.
“I realized we talked for an hour last night and I never asked you what I was here for,” Susanna said.
“I realized the same thing. Are you hungry?”
“I am.”
“Hungry for what?”
“That’s a loaded question, Mr. President. But if you mean food, a turkey sandwich on sourdough would be great.”
“Do you like your bread toasted? Wait, let me guess. Yes.”
“No.”
“Damn it. I thought I knew everything about you.”
“I like bread toasted but not sourdough. If I asked for rye I would have it toasted.”
“Why not sourdough?”
“Because untoasted sourdough absorbs the flavor of the sandwich. Much better than other kinds of bread.”
“You know, it’s good that you know this, because the job I am offering you is White House chef.” Susanna didn’t laugh immediately. She had always fancied herself as a great cook, and for one millisecond the offer sounded wonderful.
“I accept.”
“What else would you like with your sandwich?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
The President placed the order. Two turkey sandwiches on untoasted sourdough, pickles, tomatoes, and a dab of French mustard. And two coffees.
“Do you often order the same thing as your guest?”
“I already ate. I just ordered two in case you’re really hungry.”
She laughed. “You have a delightful sense of humor.”
“Thanks.” He paused a second or two and then just said it. “I’ve brought you here to see if you are interested in becoming the first woman secretary of the Treasury of the United States.”
The offer hit Susanna like a right hook. Whatever she was expecting, this wasn’t it. “Really?” was all she could come up with.
“Yes. Do you think it’s something you might be interested in?”
“Yes. It’s something I’ve never thought about, but when you say it, it sounds like it was always my plan.”
“I’ve had that feeling, too,” the President said. “I call it Déjà Beshert.”
“What is that?”
“I just made it up. Beshert is Hebrew for ‘meant to be.’ And ‘déjà’ means … oh, you know what ‘déjà’ means.”
“Well, I like the expression,” she said. “And I am very interested in the job.”
“Of course, you would have to move here.”
“Not a problem. My husband travels frequently; I don’t know that he would even notice. And my children are grown.”
“What does your husband do?” The President knew, but he wanted her to tell him.
“He’s an archeologist. He works with several universities. He’s very good at it.”
At that moment the lunch arrived and the two of them ate and talked effortlessly, and at the end of the hour the deal was done.
“Susanna, I don’t expect any issues with the approval process, but I would like you to spend a few days with John Van Dyke so you can go over the details of the job and make sure you are