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AS I WAS TELLING MY HUSBAND
Alone, now, she let run her imaginings. This was the stuff of her private longing, a prayer that she kept tucked away for moments like these, moments when, in the quiet of her office, in the somnolent reverie that she occasionally allowed herself, she allowed herself to dream. The country was at war, who would he turn to now, late at night when he longed for good counsel? A faded Texas prom queen who mouthed platitudes and homilies? Or a woman like herself, a cool intellectual reserve capable of careful analysis and reason? She lingered there a moment, waiting until she was again called to service. “Condee, girl, get your ass in here!” The voice from the intercom roused her, broke her quiet concentration. She smiled, rose, straightened her skirt, glanced at a mirror, passed a quick hand through her hair. She was a woman in love, she was confident in herself and her position. She was capable, she was smart, and she was needed by her man. She would not fail him, not now, not ever. She pressed a button on the phone. “Coming, Mr. President,” she replied,
and moved quickly to the door. Learn more about Ric and his writing
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