"It's a strategy," he joked with reporters, "makes people think I have *two* vice-presidents!"

"Or two first ladies!" a reporter quipped.

 

---

The Spare
by Kaleigh Way
 

As a candidate for president, Brody had to make a lot of decisions. Probably the easiest and quickest decision he ever made was choosing a running mate.

Brody's primary campaign was strong. None of the other contenders in his party could compete with Brody's charisma or his testosterone-based personality. He was strong and smooth. Powerful and fascinating. He was a ruthless, handsome man on his way to the very top.

Once the party lined up behind Brody, and the convention approached, it was time to put together a ticket. A vice-presidential candidate was needed. Brody's people assembled a list.

They rooted out those with skeletons in the closet.

They discarded those with money problems or questionable finances.

They tossed out the ones with ideas or personalities.

All they wanted was a spare: a bland, invisible guy who'd hang around just in case... a guy who could stay on the shelf, out of sight. Someone who would keep out of trouble, keep his nose clean, not cause any ripples, and stay off the radar.

Above all, he couldn't upstage the president. The Big Man has to have all the light.

The president must be Number One. The vice president, on the other hand, had to know from the get-go that he wasn't even number two. He wasn't the second-most powerful man on Earth. He was just the spare.

And so, during an off-moment on the campaign bus, while Brody was changing his shirt, an aide spread five photos in front of the president-to-be.

Brody asked, "What's this for again?"

"Running mate," the aide replied.

Brody swept his eyes over the five faces, then pointed with his chin. "Him," he said. "The guy on the end. No, I meant the one on the other end, but fine, take that one."

"You're sure?" the aide asked. "Final answer?"

Brody grinned. "Final answer. I assume they all check out —"

The aide waved his hands dismissively. "They're all good. No skeletons, no hot shots."

"Perfect!" Brody replied. "Now where the hell am I going tonight? Oh — and what's that guy's name? The vee-pee-to-be?"

"MacKenzie," the aide replied. "Allen MacKenzie. Ever heard of him?"

Brody shrugged.

"Then he's perfect."

---

Allen MacKenzie sure didn't feel perfect. Sure, when asked if he'd be Brody's running mate, he was on cloud nine! Everything was wonderful, everybody loved him, everyone wanted to shake his hand. Brody was a shoo-in, which meant that MacKenzie was sure to be the next vice president of the United States of America.

Then reality began to set in. He never got to see Brody or talk to him. No one listened to any of his ideas. Instead, the Brody camp assigned a handler to coach him on what he had to do and say.

MacKenzie felt as though he'd stepped on a moving walkway, and that walkway was moving mighty fast. He never had a chance to sit down and think, to get his bearings, because he was constantly on the go. As soon as he'd get an inkling of where he was now, he'd be swept off to his next destination.

But the worst moment, the absolute worst, came the day after the convention.

Some bastard on the internet took two pictures from the convention and placed them side by side. The photos weren't doctored or photoshopped or altered in any way. The simple juxtaposition was the whole joke.

One picture showed Brody standing with his wife on the stage. Brody had one hand on her shoulder while he waved with the other. His wife was waving as well, her other arm around Brody's back.

The second photo was almost identical. Brody, with his hand on the other's shoulder, the two of them waving... exactly the same pose.

The problem was: the second photo was a picture of Brody and MacKenzie.

If the pose itself weren't bad enough, there was the hair: Mrs. Brody had worn her hair short for more than fifteen years, and her color and style weren't far off from MacKenzie's.

And if the pose and the hair weren't bad enough, there were the clothes: Of course MacKenzie wasn't wearing the simple skirt and jacket that Mrs. Brody wore, but the color, the cut, the feel were all the same.

No one — not in Brody's camp or elsewhere — had ever seen the resemblance before that day. No one had ever spotted the uncanny likeness between the vee-pee-to-be and the next first lady.

The headlines ran: "Tess Brody and Allen MacKenzie: twins separated at birth?"

"You think you're upset?" MacKenzie's handler asked him. "You should hear Tess Brody! She's spitting bullets!"

Brody, wisely, chose to laugh it off.

"It's a strategy," he joked with reporters, "makes people think I have *two* vice-presidents!"

"Or two first ladies!" a reporter quipped.

Brody laughed, and the clip was played endlessly.

Late-night TV and standup comics fed off it, grateful for the easy laughs.

Brody himself appeared in a couple of sketches on Saturday Night Live. In one (that soon became a running gag), he kept getting into trouble because he couldn't tell his wife from his vice-president. It was howlingly funny to everyone on Earth except for two people: Tess Brody and Allen MacKenzie.

Even MacKenzie's wife sometimes called him "Tess," just to tease him.

At last, one morning, when his handler was reading the day's campaign schedule, MacKenzie said, "Listen. Somewhere along the way, today I have to get a crew cut."

"Your hair's not long," the aide replied. "Polls show that people like the way you look. If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"It's the same goddamn style as Tess Brody!" Allen replied. "I'm tired of people mixing me up with that damn bitch!"

"Whoa!" the handler cautioned, and ran to shut the door. "Down boy! If she ever hears you say that, you're dead meat. Any woman hears you say that, you'll lose Brody the female vote. A lot of men won't vote for us either."

"I'm sorry," Allen repented, red-faced. "I'm just so frustrated. Everybody in the country is laughing at me. Even my wife!"

"I know, I know," the handler replied. "The thing is, they're going to laugh you right into the White House. Do you understand? It's giving us an incredible amount of free press. It's TV time we could never afford to buy. And people like you. They love this separated-at-birth business, and the American People know that if you don't get elected, the joke's going to stop. So guess what: everyone's going to vote for you.

"Another thing that I *shouldn't* have to tell is this: You're a public figure. You need to have a thick skin. If you don't have one already, better get busy and grow one.

"And another thing: if people start laughing at you, the *worst* thing to do, the one thing you should never do, is try to make them stop. You just have to let that wave go by and run itself out. Like I said, it's working out for us."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Allen asked. He didn't see how being a clown was helping the cause at all.

"Every time somebody makes one of those jokes or shows those convention pictures, our numbers go up."

"Hmmph."

"You can't argue with that."

Unfortunately, Allen knew that the handler was right.

"AND," the man continued, "if you go and get yourself a Marine buzzcut, you know what's going to happen? Everybody's going to laugh at you anyway, because they'll know why you did it. You'll make it clear that it bothers you, and *that*, my friend will signal a feeding frenzy. It will end your political career. And you'll bring Brody down with you. So if you think you're going to get a haircut, well–" the handler couldn't think of how to finish, but a flash of inspiration came:

"Just remember what happened to Samson."

---

The remark about Samson stopped MacKenzie cold. It got him thinking. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite sure who Samson was, or why the handler had mentioned him.

So he called his wife and casually worked it into the conversation.

"By the way, hon," he said, "You know who Samson was?"

"Samson?" she replied. She hesitated a moment, then said, "Oh, you mean the Samsons from North Carolina? What about them?"

"No, no," he said. "Not the Samsons. Samson, singular. The man Samson."

"Oh, Samson and Delilah!" she said. "Sure!"

"What was his story?"

"Well, he lost his power when he cut his hair. Why?"

"Oh, uh, I was thinking about getting a haircut," he naively replied. As the words left his mouth, he tried to call them back, but it was too late.

Mrs. MacKenzie was already laughing.

---

"Look, we're doing what we can," the handler told Allen.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, uh, we're coordinating outfits, making sure you don't wear anything that looks like one of Tessa Brody's outfits, and, well, vice versa. I guess you could say we're un-coordinating."

"Of all the muffa luffa fuffa!" Allen MacKenzie exclaimed.

---

"Good gravy!" Jackie MacKenzie said, when she joined her husband on the campaign trail. "You act like it's the end of the world! Think of poor Tessa Brody!"

"Why?" Allen demanded. "What about poor Tessa Brody? Is she poor Tessa Brody because she looks like me?"

"No, you knucklehead!" she chided, and in a softer tone added, "She's lucky there. It's just that this whole business has ruined her marriage!"

"It has?" MacKenzie exclaimed, astonished. It wasn't so much the news that shocked him; it was the fact that his wife was in the know, while he didn't have a clue.

"Oh!" she scoffed. "You're so caught up in your own little drama! That's why you haven't heard! Your handlers would have told you if you knew to ask."

"They would?"

"Of course they would!"

"Is that how you found out?"

"No," she said archly, "I have my own sources."

"So what's it all about then?"

"When Brody went on Saturday Night that first time, she asked him not to go. But of course, he went anyway. If that wasn't bad enough, he went back twice more. She was livid.

"They don't sleep together any more, and she won't even talk to him, except at public events, and only if she can't avoid it."

MacKenzie sat down. He wasn't sure how, but he felt partly to blame. After all, he was an intrinsic part of the tragedy. Wasn't he? Was he? He couldn't wrap his brain around it.

"You, on the other hand," his wife went on, "... for you, it's a wave that's carrying you into the White House. If anything happens to Brody, you'll be president, and partly because everybody's laughing about your resemblance to Tess.

"For her, it's a disaster. For you, it's pure luck."

Allen MacKenzie let out a deep and heavy sigh. "I guess luck is not always an easy thing to bear," he said, in what he felt was a sage and thoughtful tone.

Jackie went off in a gale of laughter, much to his irritation.

---

The Brody/MacKenzie ticket won the election in a landslide. It was the biggest majority in history, and everyone agreed that the novelty and oddity of the separated-at-birth story paid no small part in the victory.

"The first thing I'm going to do as vice president is get a haircut!" MacKenzie declared.

"Ah, negative on that, sir," his handler replied. "Ixnay on the aircut-hay. You can't get a haircut before the First Lady. And then, only after a certain waiting period, so no one connects your haircut with hers."

"What the hell?" Allen replied. "And how long is that certain waiting period?"

"We don't know, sir," the handler replied. "That's To Be Determined."

"Great jumping catfish," he sighed, feeling defeated.

---

He *did* like his official residence, the Admiral's House at the Naval Observatory. Jackie loved it, and soon made it feel like home.

Allen was looking forward to the next four years: hanging around the White House, influencing policy, helping the country — all of that good stuff.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be none of that.

"You and the president cannot be in the same place at the same time," his handler explained. "In fact, it would be best if you weren't in the same city at the same time, but we're not going to be strict about that..."

"What the hell did I get to be vice president to do?" Allen cried out to the universe at large.

But he knew the answer already: he was the spare. His job was to sit on the shelf and be ready.

---

He did some traveling. He spoke at a few elementary schools. He even cut the ribbon at a mall opening. He never felt more useless in his life.

One rainy day in August he was at home, reading. An aide brought him a snack, and let out a startled gasp.

"What's wrong?" Allen asked.

"It's nothing," the aide replied. "I didn't see the glass in the fireplace until now. It's nothing. I just didn't expect it. I'll send someone to clean it up."

"What glass in the fireplace?" Allen said, rising to look. He saw the shards of a crystal wine glass littering the hearth.

"What the..." he began.

"Oh, so you didn't do this, sir?"

"Of course I didn't do this! What do you think I am, a —" A what? A person who breaks glasses in fireplaces? Was there a word for that? In any case, who would do such a thing, in *my* house of all places?

"Oh," the aide said. "It must have been the First Lady!"

"What!?" MacKenzie shouted, as if stung. "Are you mocking me, boy?" The idea that his own aide could say such a thing... as if he were saying It wasn't me, it was my evil twin...

"Of course not, sir! It's only that she was here last evening... and ah..." the aide looked at the litter of shards, which told the rest of the story.

"Well, I like that!" Allen exclaimed. "She just barged in here, free and easy, like she owned the place, and tossed a glass into the fireplace? What next? What next?"

"No, sir, it isn't like that at all!"

"How the hell did she get in? Why was she let in? And why wasn't I notified?"

"We thought you knew, sir. She comes here quite a bit."

"She WHAT?"

"We thought your wife would have told you," the aide replied in an embarrassed tone. "The First Lady comes to visit Mrs. MacKenzie."

---

In fact, that very night Tessa Brody came to visit. She was quite casual: wore a pair of jeans and a sweater, and she brought a video that the two women planned to watch together.

"What is it?" Allen asked when he walked in on them. The film was already underway.

"Oh," Jackie said, "It's called Fired! It's about people who lost their jobs."

"Sounds awful," he replied.

"No, it's a hoot," Tess told him. "Grab a seat. Pull up a glass."

The two women had already been drinking. Jackie not so much, but Tess had put away more than her share. She poured Allen a generous glass and said, "You have to help me. If you don't drink it, I will. Be a good Christian and help your neighbor." She gave a vulgar laugh, which grated Allen's nerves, but he took a sip.

"Good stuff," he commented.

"You sound surprised," Tess said. "We're far above the usual pigswill now." She laughed. "Not like last year."

The movie didn't look interesting. A group of people sat on folding chairs on a little stage. One fellow got up and talked about working as a Ronald McDonald. The job sounded abysmally awful. On account of the oversized shoes, he fell on his face during the job interview, and *that* was probably the best moment in his burger-clown career.

Allen listened in shocked commiseration as the man cataloged the indignities that made up the job. The two women howled in laughter, as did the audience on screen.

As soon as the man finished, Jackie hit the PAUSE. "I've got to visit the little girls room," she announced, and trotted into the hall.

Allen's first impulse was to leave the room as well, but he realized it would be incredibly rude. So cleared his throat instead and took another sip of wine.

"You weren't laughing," Tess observed.

"It wasn't funny," he replied.

"How was that not funny?"

"It was a horrible job," he told her. "How could I laugh? How could you laugh?"

"What makes it funny is that it happened to someone else. Not to Jackie, or me, or you."

"But it did happen to me," he found himself saying. "That man was describing *my* job."

"Oh," Tessa said, getting it. Her oh floated on a long, wine-scented breath. "You feel like Ronald McDonald?"

"Do you know my first official act as vice president? I presided at a mall opening in Montana, for Christ's sake! I go around speaking at elementary schools! The only thing I'm missing are the big shoes and the red wig!"

Tessa grinned uncomfortably. As she set down her glass, she knocked the cork from the wine bottle to the floor. She stood up to retrieve it, and Allen noticed for the first time that Tess was wearing jeans. Tight jeans. For a fifty-something, she had a fine pair of legs.

When she turned and bent for the cork, he was surprised to find that she had a backside you'd expect on a much younger woman, and thanks to the cut of Tess' jeans, Allen had an easy time picturing her naked. It was quite a picture.

His excitement rapidly died away when he recalled that nearly every person on Earth regarded Tessa as his virtually identical twin.

She straightened up and looked at him. Tess was good at reading people, particularly men. She knew her feminine power; she could tell when a man found her attractive, and she saw a battle in Allen's face. A lost battle.

"You're thinking about all that twin crap, aren't you?" she asked.

When he nodded, she said, "Yeah, well, maybe it's been a bad thing for you, but it's been one of the best things that ever happened to me."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "Not that it's any of my business, but I heard that it pretty much killed your marriage."

"Yeah," she laughed thickly. "That's what's so great about it! I mean, it was an *awful* marriage! I never realized it until it was over. It sucked, literally."

Allen wondered whether she knew what "literally" meant.

She continued, "You're lucky. You're a good looking guy. Jackie says you're great in bed. That's no small thing, you know. Most guys don't know whether they're coming or going."

Allen stirred uncomfortably. He was no prude, but her frankness disturbed him. Oddly enough, she seemed unaware of the double meanings in what she'd said.

"Yeah," Tess said. "According to her, you pretty much licked your way into her heart."

"She said that!?"

Startled, Tess realizing she'd been rambling, and she'd crossed a line. Quickly backpedalling, she said, "Oh, not in so many words... you know... anyway, the point is, that you're the exact opposite of Brody. All he wants to do is take, take, take. He doesn't give a damn about my needs or my pleasure or the goddamned American People!"

Allen wondered how much wine Tess consumed before he'd arrived. As if reading his thoughts, she said, "I know I'm drunk. I'm not *very* drunk, though. Just enough. Enough to make me honest. In vino vekkitass — in wine, truth... you know."

She took a small sip and rolled it around her mouth before swallowing. "So anyway, I told him that if I was going to do all the work, the least he could do was keep his hair trimmed down there, but oh-no!"

"Ah, I don't think —"

"Oh, I know, I know," she said, waving her hand. "I'll stop. The thing is, you and I, we have the same problem: we're supporting actors. We're not the stars. It's hard to be a supporting actor because it kills your ego. I don't have a big ego; neither do you. But still, it's bad to kill even a little thing..." Her eyes filled with drunken tears, but she brushed them away.

"Whew! I'm getting carried away!" she laughed. "See, it's tough, being First President or Vice Lady. I mean, First President Vice Lady." She huffed loudly and gave up. "Oh, I'm drunk. I *am* drunk. I don't usually get this bad, Allen, believe me. Drunk as a skunk in a bunk."

Allen said gently, "Maybe I should go," but before he could rise from his seat, Tessa put her hand on his arm.

"No, please," she said. "Can you wait? If you go now, Jackie will think I drove you away."

It was from that exact moment that Allen began to like her, to genuinely like her as a person and as a friend. It was the first time they connected, and somehow, it was a great relief.

Jackie returned a moment later, carrying popcorn and apologies, and Allen politely took his leave.

Before he'd gone two feet from the couch, his foot caught on the edge of the carpet, and he felt flat on the floor with a loud slap! It sounded alarming, but he didn't hurt himself at all.

Tessa quipped, "It's those great big shoes, Ronald," and the three of them laughed.

Allen didn't realize it, then or later, but it was the first time he'd laughed at himself in a good long time.

It was also the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

---

It was like a dam broke. Jackie, Tess, and Allen became the best of friends.

Ironically, Tess became Allen's key to the White House. Whenever the president was away (and that was surprisingly often), Tess invited the MacKenzie's over. Together they roved through the building, which was much bigger than any of them ever imagined.

The MacKenzie's used the bowling alley, slept in the Lincoln Bedroom, took turns posing for pictures in the Oval Office, and playing games of hide-and-seek with the Secret Service (much to the agents' chagrin).

Allen honestly didn't know when he'd been happier. Jackie told him that he was much more "human" than he'd been since they were married. Their love life improved, and Allen licked his way to his wife's heart once more.

Best of all, Allen MacKenzie grew to love being vice president. It was a position of pure prestige, and if there was little power, well, there were few responsibilities. Brody held tight to the reins of power, and shared none of it with his vice president.

Once MacKenzie relaxed, he enjoyed his endless executive vacation. He loved being the spare.

---

One day, at the White House's indoor pool, Tess and Allen stood back to back and side to side while Jackie compared them in detail.

Of course, there was the obvious difference of gender, but the other differences were not so great.

Allen's shoulders were slightly wider. His head was slightly bigger, and his hair a trifle coarser. His hips and eyes were a bit narrower, and his chin a tad squarer.

Their eyes and hair weren't exactly the same color. His abs weren't tight like Tess' and the skin of his face wasn't as smooth.

But that was it. The differences weren't that great.

"Why don't you grow a beard?" Tess asked him.

Allen blushed by way of response. Jackie explained for him.

"See, the thing is, he used to have an awful beard. It was like a bristle brush. So I convinced him to laser it off."

"She said I looked like Nixon," Allen interjected.

"I didn't mean you resembled Nixon," Jackie said. "I meant you had a five o'clock shadow."

"What's a five o'clock shadow?" Tess inquired.

"It means that he always looked like he needed to shave. He could shave five times a day, but those thick, dark hairs always showed. So he lasered it off."

"Oh," Tess commented. She leaned closer to Allen as asked, "May I?"

When he nodded, she ran her cool fingers over his face. "Smooth," she said approvingly.

---

Sometimes the three of them got pretty silly when they were together. Even so, Tess was drinking less, and Allen was smiling more.

And then, little by little, they found themselves going down a funny little road.

It started one day when Allen and Tess were sitting next to each other. Jackie stood behind them to compare their hairstyles in detail. She was playing with Allen's hair, pulling it that way and this, finding all the ways the two were different.

Even so, she was able with her fingers to brush his hair into an approximation of Tess' cut.

It was surprising and a little disturbing, because it made the two look much more similar than they already did. Allen took it well, though. Entering into the spirit of the foolery, he left the new style there until they heard someone coming. At that point, he dove into the pool to flatten out his hair.

It was a small step, but it was the first step.

---

The next step was quite a bit bolder, but again, it was just a step.

There was some talk of getting retinal scanners at the White House. Tess pointed out that she and Allen had similar eyes, and doubted that the scanners could tell the difference.

Jackie said, "You don't have similar eyes. They're different colors."

Tess disagreed. "It's only because I wear eye makeup. It brings up the blue in my eyes. If I wasn't wearing it, we'd have the same color."

Jackie and Tess argued the point. Allen tuned them out. His new-found liking for Tess made the topic of their similarity much easier to bear. While he didn't laugh at the "separated at birth" jokes, they irritated him much less.

He realized that the women were waiting for him to respond.

"What?" he asked. "Sorry, I was daydreaming."

"Tess was going to take her eye makeup off," Jackie explained, "so we can settle the point."

"So?"

"She'd have to redo her whole face afterward, so we thought you wouldn't mind..."

"Just your eyes," Tess said. "We'll smear on some of my color, take a look and wash it right off."

"Ah..." Allen hesitated.

"It will take all of five minutes," Tess explained. "If I take off my face and have to put it back on, it will be 30 to 40 minutes at least."

"Ah..." Allen repeated.

In the end, he let them do it.

Just the eyes.

On and then off.

But the effect was dramatic.

Jackie was right: their eye colors *were* different. Even so, the eye makeup made him look more like Tess than ever.

"Whoo, spooky!" Tess said. "You could be a spare for me, too! One day we ought to do up your whole face."

Allen good-naturedly passed on the offer that evening, and washed the eye makeup off as soon as possible, but a week later, on a dull and rainy evening, the women proposed a makeover.

"Just your head," Tess said. "I'll do my routine on you and see how it looks."

"Last time you said it would only be my eyes," Allen retorted, laughing. "This time it's my head. Next time you'll want me to wear a dress!"

Well, it wasn't the next time. It was three times after. "Just to see!" the women cried.

The dress didn't quite fit. The women laughed at his hairy legs and arms, and recoiled in horror at the sight of his armpits.

A few sessions later, after a shave in the bathtub, and wearing the right foundation garments, the dress looked the way it should, and Allen got his first taste of high heels.

"I'd never get the hang of these things," he growled, and kicked them off.

---

Finally, one day, as more of a dare than anything else, Tess came to visit, armed with all the fixings. She and Jackie spent the morning making Allen over, and after a light lunch, Jackie and Allen visited the White House.

Tess had taken the precaution of pretending to have laryngitis, so Allen, as the fake First Lady, wouldn't have to speak above a whisper.

Tess had dared them to make their way to the Oval Office, where Jackie would take a digital photo of "First Lady" Allen standing near the Presidential Seal.

Allen's heart was pounding. "What the hell I am doing?" he hissed to Jackie as their heels click-clacked down a long hallway. "If anyone —"

"Oh, no, Tess, I'm sure you're wrong," Jackie said loudly. In a whisper she added, "It's too late for second thoughts now. Nobody's going to guess. Just relax and do it!"

It wasn't hard to get into the Oval Office. As Allen posed by the Presidential Seal, wearing Tess' lovely gray dress, he suddenly put something together.

"Jackie," he hissed. "Do you remembering hearing a helicopter earlier?"

Jackie got it in one. She snapped one more picture, dropped the camera in her purse, and the two of them made for the door.

Unfortunately, the door burst open, and a swarm of Secret Service agents flowed into the room.

"We have Queen Bee and Mrs. O in the room," one of the men reported into his headset.

"Am I Mrs. O?" Jackie asked.

"Guess so," Allen said.

"You must be Queen Bee," Jackie whispered.

"No," Allen whispered back, "I am shit out of luck."

President Brody burst into the room, looking suspiciously at Tess. His expression changed when he saw Jackie. As abusive as he could be in private, he was always the picture of kindness in company.

"Tess," he said. "Nice to see ya, hon."

Allen cleared his throat. His eyes filled with fear.

Brody, seeing that, moved closer and said, "Don't worry. I don't mind that you're in here. You can come in here as often as you like. As long as you pay the toll."

Toll? What toll? Allen asked himself, but the question was immediately answered when Brody grabbed him around the waist and shoulders, swept him slightly off balance, and gave his supposed wife a deep soul kiss.

"I swear his tongue rubbed against my tonsils!" he told Tess and Jackie later.

Brody savored the kiss as if it were a steak, working his lips and tongue with gusto, sucking out all the flavor and warmth he could find. He pressed his strong frame against Allen's slim body and rubbed his presidential power against the false First Lady's thigh.

When he finally let go, he asked the breathless MacKenzie, "So what do you say to that, Tess? I'm in town tonight. Surprise! You could make this my President's Day. What do you say?"

Allen gulped and tried to clear his throat. His eyes were huge. His mind was full of fear.

Jackie jumped in, "Mr. President, Tess has laryngitis. She can't talk."

Brody almost dropped the imitation Tess. "Laryngitis!?" He repeated in disgust. He looked at her as if she were a leper. "Why didn't you tell me that before you laid that kiss on me?" He wiped his lips, tongue, and the inside of his mouth with a hankerchief, then dropped the hankerchief in the trash. "What are you trying to do?" he said. "Make me sick? Do you know who I am? I'm the President of the You-Effin-Nighted States! I don't have TIME for laryngitis."

Brody growled to one of the agents, "Get these women out of here," and then, in an incongruously sweet tone said, "Nice to see ya, Jackie. Tell MacKenzie I said hello."

---

The agents herded the women out of the office and away. They weren't unkind or brusque. They were efficient and irresistible, and once out of their hands the MacKenzies made their way to Tess' car.

"You've got to drive," Allen told Jackie. "I'm too... too... I don't know what I am, but I'm too upset to drive."

Predictibly, the real Tess thought it was a hoot and an unqualified success.

"Well, done, Tess!" she crowed, and hugged MacKenzie. "Hey, Jackie!" she called, "Take a picture of me and my twin sister here!"

"No!" Allen quickly said, and moved away from Tess. "If there's a picture showing two of you, then one of those you's is me."

"Right," Tess agreed, seeing his point, but Allen could see that she really wanted the picture.

To tell the truth, so did he.

---

After his initial fright, and his horrible "first kiss," Allen developed a taste for playing the First Lady.

They tried to dress Tess like Allen, but the impersonation didn't work in that direction.

It was easier to squeeze his waist and create breasts and hips where there were none. Hiding all her feminine flesh and filling out her waist was more of a challenge, and no matter what they tried, Tess always ended up looking like a butched-up Tess. She never looked like the Vice President.

And so it happened that once or twice a week, depending on circumstances, Allen and Jackie would go on outings as the "First Ladies."

Allen was pleased to find that he got more attention, and a better quality of attention, as Tess than he ever did as MacKenzie.

With the help of the ladies, he worked on his voice, and after a while was able to do a passable imitation of Tess. It always broke down in the long run, but as long as he stuck to short phrases, he was fine.

---

The next big challenge came when Brody asked Tess to stand at his side for an important Press Conference in the Rose Garden.

Tess didn't want to do it, but she *had* to do it, and she knew it. Brody also knew it, and had taken advantage of that fact to be particularly nasty. Somehow it pleased him to feel the intensity of her hate while compelling her to appear as The Loving Wife.

Tess asked Allen to go in her place.

He told her that he couldn't.

She begged him, with tears in her eyes.

Do it for her, Jackie silently urged.

"I can't," Allen said. "Look, I'm not even supposed to be in the same city as him, and there'd I'd be, standing right next to him. Suppose something happened? Suppose something happened to both of us? I'd go down in history as the first transvestite vice-president."

In the end, the tears and pleading prevailed, helped by his own ever-increasing desire to dress like Tess.

He stood by Brody's side, played the admiring, sustaining wife, and let Brody drape his arm around his shoulders as they walked from the Rose Garden back into the White House.

Once inside, Brody's arm immediately slid down to the imitation Tess' butt and rested there.

MacKenzie swallowed hard. Even Brody's hand felt muscular and hot.

"You did a great job, baby," Brody said a low, thrilling tone. He moved his head closer to hers and whispered, "The cameras are still on us. They can see us through the curtains, but we're going to pretend they can't." He looked into MacKenzie's eyes. "Do you understand?"

Allen looked at Brody with big helpless eyes. He'd been so sure before he came here that he'd be able to escape another kiss, but now he could see there was no choice. Playing the docile wife, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Brody held the false Tess and leaned her back, slightly off balance, so she felt more helpless than before.

Again, Brody's mouth and tongue worked as though he was eating, as though he was devouring her. His hands passed over her body, her back, her buttocks, as though he was hungry, as though he wanted all of her, through and through. MacKenzie felt Brody's presidental power grow large and hard, and he felt as if he was losing his breath.

Brody broke the kiss, but he held her in his arms, helpless as a ragdoll. MacKenzie was panting. Tess had coached him, so he knew what was coming and how to get away.

"You did a great job, baby," Brody repeated. "There's another job you can do for me. You know the one I mean. You could make this my President's Day. What do you say?"

The pretend Tess fixed her eyes on Brody's. Now it was time to play the offended wife. "You know that I didn't want to be here. Nothing has changed between us. Do you understand that? Nothing has changed."

Brody's gaze hardened, but MacKenzie saw some fear in there as well. Tess really does have something on him! he realized, so he felt bold enough to say the rest: "This is how we're going to play it. You're going to let me up, and I'm going to skip away and give you a cute wave. Then I'm going to my room and you're not going to bother me. Are we clear?"

Brody turned his head so the cameras couldn't see his face, and gave a look of pure hatred at his supposed wife. "We're very clear," he said. Then he erased the horrible look, turned his profile to the camera and smiled. He gave her a quick, soft kiss, and let her up.

As the fake First Lady turned to go, Brody gave her a resounding slap on the backside. It made MacKenzie skip a few steps and put his hands to his stinging behind. He turned, his mouth in an oh of surprise, to see Brody laughing. "See ya upstairs, honey bunch!" he called, and blew a kiss. MacKenzie did his best to smile, and trotted out of the office.

He spent the night alone in Tess' bedroom with the door locked and a dresser in front of the door. After a few hours of fitful sleep, he went back home, still dressed as Tess, driving Tess' car.

---

He thought Tess would be furious at the photos and the newsclips of the event, but all she said was, "Thank God it wasn't me. I would have killed him."

Jackie and Tess treated him like a wounded hero, but Allen was strangely happy and excited. He had an enormous sense of achievement and pride at what he'd done, but he kept that as a secret for himself.

---

In Brody's second year of office, a ball was planned for Presidents Day.

Tess had quit drinking almost entirely by then, and was spending more and more time away from the White House.

At the same time, Allen was spending more and more time at the White House, playing the part of Tess. He made public appearances, went to meetings, attended fund raisers, while the real Tess stayed with Jackie.

Sometimes Allen wondered what the two did with all their free time, but it was just an idle question.

Tess hoped that Allen would attend the Presidents Day Ball, and Allen had the same hope.

A beautiful and expensive gown was chosen. With the help of some stick-on body parts and some physical training, by the beginning of February, MacKenzie had the body to go with the gown.

After nights and weeks of practice, he could walk and dance in heels, and play the part of Tessa Brody to perfection.

When at last the day came, MacKenzie was as excited as a woman on her wedding day, or as a girl on the night of the prom. He'd spent the night at the White House, had his hair and makeup done by professionals, and was dusted, perfumed, dressed, and accessorized to a degree of perfection that few mortals ever achieve.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he felt that he'd reached the pinnacle — not only of his own life — but of life itself.

The ball was a huge success. Dignitaries and eminences from literally all the world were there, and they all wanted to kiss Tess' hand, and if possible to dance with her. She was admired and photographed, and Brody himself was nearly struck dumb.

"If I'd never met you before tonight," he told her, "I'd fall in love with you now. You've never been more beautiful."

MacKenzie smelt the scotch on his breath, and knew that Brody was speaking from his heart as well as his desire. "Tess, I know I've been an ass. An incredible ass." He went on, apologizing, pouring out his heart.

Tess had warned MacKenzie that this would happen: "He'll say he's changed; that he's sorry, he was wrong. He'll say all the right things, and he'll make you believe him. He'll say that it's love, but it's all coming out of his pants in one way or another. Don't believe him and *don't* accept his apology."

In spite of all that, the false Tess felt like a princess. Maybe even a queen. In any case, on top of the world.

With the social success, the universal admiration and acceptance, the kisses on the hand and cheek... the false First Lady knew she looked good, and felt the power of her attractiveness and appeal.

And here, before her, was the Most Powerful Man In The World, practically on his knees, begging for forgiveness, for a single kind word...

So when he asked, with tearful eyes, "Tess, darling, can you forgive me?"

MacKenzie couldn't help but say, "Of course, darling, I forgive you."

The two of them bathed in the joy of that electrical moment, until Brody caught the pretended Tess around the waist and pulled her body against his own.

"So we're good then?" he asked with a hungry smile.

"Uh, yes, right, we're, uh, good," MacKenzie stammered, uncomfortable in Brody's strong embrace.

"Good. Because I've been missing you. And tonight we're going to celebrate the real Presidents Day. I'm not going to let go of you until we do. What do you think about that?"

"Uh, um, oh," MacKenzie said, as his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks colored slightly.

"I don't know how you did it," Brody said, "but somehow you just got even more beautiful."

He bent to kiss her as a sea of photographic flashes exploded and erupted all around them.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way