Audiobook - Narration, Engaging, Authentic, Mystery, Political, Female
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM) North American (US South)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
First Lady Rose Gannon, frail and pale, reclined on a divan. We were in the east sitting hall of the private second floor residents of the White House. I sat across from her in an easy chair. Our interview about to begin, Rose was dying of pancreatic cancer, and we both knew it. A middle aged butler with salt and pepper hair, placed two tumblers of ice water on the coffee table between us. May I offer you something stronger to drink lark? She asked me. She wore a pale pink silk robe with dark pink, fuzzy puffy cuffs. Her feet were curled beneath her, and an afghan covered her legs. Her back was to a gigantic fan window, with a view of the Treasury Building. No, thank you, I said. My stomach's been roiling all day. Oh dear! I hope it's nothing serious, I shrugged. It comes and goes, shall I have James bring you some minty! She looked up at the butler, now standing expectantly off to my right. Then continued her stream of consciousness. Now that I'm on all these ghastly meds, I found that minty settles my stomach. But I don't drink it anymore. The mint reminds me of toothpaste and hot meant is even worse, I giggled. You're not making a very convincing case from mint tea? I said, adding, I'm fine now. But thank you! She smiled at the Butler. Thank you, James. I think this water will be all we need. Yes, ma'am. James bowed slightly, and left through the doorway behind me, Rose picked up her glass of ice water from the coffee table between us, and, after taking a sip, turned her full attention to me. Did I ever tell you about my t experience with the Russian ambassador? Rudolph Petrovsky? No, I sat forward expectantly and hit record on my iphone for another one of our ongoing interviews. It was at the White House Correspondents dinner she began the night you collapsed. She nodded. You really scared all of us? That was a month and a half ago. Days later, she had revealed to me off the record that she was dying. The news was still a secret, but I've been able to negotiate an embargo that would allow me and the wire service. I work for the Associated Press to break the story when President Will Gannon and his wife gave the go ahead. In the meantime, our interviews were for the biography I was planning to write about her. Even as she was scrambling to assemble her memoir, we were meeting every day. She slumped back against the Devens pillows, exhausted, but a bright smile creased her face as she remembered the anecdote. It was at the beginning of the dinner, right after Will, and I arrived. Petro was seated next to me at the head table. He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear conspiratorially in his gruff baritone, Rose lowered her voice two octaves and did her best to mimic the ambassador's broken English rolls. You should have some exquisite Russian tea, not this week must produced poison, you see here on the table, she was just getting warmed up. I laughed. It was like being in an audience of one for a saturday night, live cold open, Rose continued Petro waved a hand dismissively at the tea bags packed into a small container in front of us on the head table. As I listened to her story, I studied the first lady. Rose Gannon was only 35 years old, but already the fast moving cancer had aged her. Her face was drawn, her hair was graying, she looked 10 years older. She cut back on her schedule and hadn't been seen in public for a few weeks, but telling the T story energized her and some color rouged her cheeks. As she talked, she placed her right hand beneath the folds of the dark green afghan on her lap, then brought the hand back into view, pretending to hold something between her thumb and index finger. Petro reached into the side pocket of his pinstriped tux and produced a small T bag. Mayor? He asked. Rose continued to pantomime her description. He then put the tea bag into my cup and poured hot water into it all the while, raving about how everything Russian including T. Is so wonderful! She rolled her eyes, and how was the T. I asked. Rose made a face. Honestly, luck. It was revolting. She threw her head back and laughed in the brash Lauren bacall style I'd come to appreciate. Did you finish drinking it? I asked. She nodded, demurely. Hours diplomatic. We laughed, but my God, it was horrible. She looked up and her face brightened even more when she looked behind me. Hello, darling, she called. I turned around in my chair and saw the President of the United States leaning jauntily against the door jamb, dark grey suit coat slung over his shoulder and hooked by an index finger. He wore a white shirt with french cuffs, tie askew. At 48. Gannon still had thick black wavy hair, graying slightly at the temples. I shot to my feet, still gripping my phone. Good evening. Mr. President Hi Lock the motion for me to sit down, but I remained standing. Will you be able to join us? I asked. He started to answer, but then a look of alarm darkened his face rose, he shouted, dropped his suit coat and dashed past me. I turned just in time to see the first lady clutch your chest and topple to the floor.