Allies: Home Front

Chapter 1

"Mrs. Conoroy?" a sharp knocking followed. "Mrs. Conoroy?"

P stumbled over the the bedroom door, swung it open, and squinted in the bright light. "Yes, Liza?" she asked sweetly.

"Do you realize you have the Fine Arts Committee breakfast in half an hour?"

P's stomach turned and she was silent.

"I believe you slept in," Liza added cautiously.

P sucked in a breath and slipped out of the bedroom. "I'll be ready."

"Do you just want me to tell them you aren't feeling well?" Liza asked disdainfully.

"I'll be ready." P hurried to her bedroom where she dressed in a knee length white dress and slid her feet into tan heels. She sighed at her reflection. P'a dark brown eyes looked tired and her hair was flat. Some light make up and a brush fixed her appearance somewhat.

P glanced at the bed in her empty bedroom. Bobby was gone, and had been for about a week. She had taken to sleeping in Mannon's bed with her so she wasn't alone.

"White? Interesting choice," Liza commented when P met her in the sitting hall.

"I need to wear it all I can before Labor Day," P said dryly.

"Speaking of Labor Day, Mr. President just announced it as September 1st. Do you still plan on having the cookout?" Liza questioned.

"I don't see why not," P answered, clipping in her earrings as they walked out of the residence.

"I didn't know if the president would be back or not."

"What day is it?" P asked absentmindedly. She smeared on some pale pink lipstick as they neared the East room.

"It's August 27th."

"Well, I don't know when he'll be back."

"We have Life magazine booked for it, you made the plans a while back," Liza added.

"I don't know when he'll be back," P repeated. Bobby had gone on a short trip to China for a diplomatic meeting and then jetted to Palm Beach. The couple owned a home there, called Banana Cabana. Bobby had been spending a lot of time away from the White House since the death of Michael.

The thought of Michael brought a tight pain in P's chest, even nearly 4 months after his death. Bobby had worked furiously- from Palm Beach- to put Michael's name everywhere. Schools, highways, parks, stadiums, and most ironically, LAX was now known as Michael P. Conoroy International. The airport that his body had been flown out of.

"Why are these people here again?" P asked Liza just outside of the East room.

"They are the one who donated money to the committee, which is how you got all of the furniture and art for the White House."

"Of course," P slapped herself mentally. "Okay, how do I look?"

Liza brushed a few hairs off of P's shoulders and squatted down the adjust the hem of her dress before saying, "Presentable."

P rolled her eyes in response before pushing through the door of the East room. Tables full of breakfast guests were waiting for her, and they all stood and clapped as she walked up to the podium at the head of the room.

"Thank you all for coming and being so patient," P started. "I move a little slower now that I have a watermelon in me."

The guests laughed and made P feel more at ease. She gave a short speech, thanking everyone for their donations and expressing the importance of having historically significant items in the White House. She knew everyone was hungry so she ended her speech and sat down at the table with the top donators.