Midnight

or if blue collar unemployment would drop.
When he spoke to people, he chose his words carefully, because waste, to Carlos, was the worst of all sins. And to avoid it, he painted his pretty pictures as if he were brushing strokes on the walls of the Sistine Chapel.
Of Venezuelan descent, his parents had immigrated to Virginia in the exodus of 2024 following the collapse of President Guaido and the re-ascension of former president Nicolas Maduro. He had been naturalized a few years after, through an asylum application, and had lived and worked in northern Virginia since arriving. Having met Elizabeth at George Washington University in the master’s program, he had dated her for a few months before both of them decided that they found each other less annoying when they were friends than when they were in a relationship.
Haley and Elizabeth made their way over toward the band, where Carlos sat at a table with two others, a man and a woman. Carlos saw them approaching and stood up.
“Elizabeth, Haley, nice to see you here,” he said. “You both look wonderful.” His tone was polite and quiet.
Haley never felt she could quite make Carlos out, even though she had known him for two years. He was always orderly, never very moved by anything, assuredly an intellectual, brilliant and socially reserved. He didn’t seem shy—no, it was something else.
“Thank you, as do you,” Elizabeth was saying. Haley nodded and smiled.
The man next to Carlos stood, offering a handshake to Haley, who was closest. He was taller than expected when standing, and wore an impeccable navy uniform. He had light brown eyes, almost a hazel tone, tanned skin, and light brown hair cropped close to his head. Clean shaven, he appeared immaculately put together; he exuded an air of simple confidence and quick capability. He looked vaguely familiar.
“I’m James Landon, a friend of Carlos’,” he said; Haley shook his hand, and then paused, as the name and face registered.
“The Under Secretary of the Navy?”
“Yes,” he replied, his pleasant features breaking into a smile.
“I work for Senator McCraiben,” Haley responded, “It’s a real honor to meet you! I’m Haley Monteforte; we’re friends of Carlos.”
“Senator McCraiben has been my close friend for many years. The honor is all mine,” he said, and then introduced himself in a similar manner to Elizabeth. The woman also stood, —Ella Bonney was her name, and she worked as an analyst for the Department of Homeland Security. Pushing her black curls away from her face, she scooted a little closer to James Landon and beamed at him whenever he spoke.
“Please, join our table,” said Landon, motioning to some empty seats on the other side of Carlos. “If that’s alright with you, Carlos?”
“Of course, ladies, please feel free.”
The jazz shifted a key, and they all sat down.
The room had become crowded by this point; gentlemen and ladies mingled; the Smiths, Browns, and Joneses talked of cats and of business and the champagne flowed.
“Will you be mentioned this evening?” asked Elizabeth, who was seated next to Carlos.
“I don’t know,” he replied, twirling the glass at his fingertips. “I guess I might.”
“You’re too modest.”
“If you insist,” he said, smiling at her. “I don’t know that I am. I don’t think of these things. I don’t like these celebrations—they seem so unnecessary to me. We are all supposed to do our jobs—if some perform well, then great; shouldn’t everyone be performing well? That’s what I think.”
At that moment, the doors to the left of the room opened and the guests in attendance stood and began to clap. Haley and Elizabeth turned around, and followed suit, for entering the room was the president himself, accompanied by his dazzling wife.
President Gilman was a handsome man, young in his mid-forties, well built and with fine features. He had dark hair and defined jaw and brow; a political aura hung about him as he waved and smiled cheerfully to the crowd. A sort of Kennedy-ness vibrated from his being; his flashing grin, clean shaven face, confident and easy stride. He wore a navy blue suit, crisp and tailored, and a red tie with white collared shirt against his tan skin. He possessed the rare quality of seeming at once both accessible and elevated, human but close to deity.
The eyes of the room paused on the president, for he was the main character; but then they rested and stayed in sincere admiration on the exquisite woman on his arm. She was the muse of artists, the face of chic, the idol of millions. Her incredible grace and effortless elegance carried her forward as if she was being borne on a current below her feet. Tall, slender, full faced, cream complexion, deepest blue eyes and fullest red lips, high cheekbones and arched dark brow, she carried herself with a certain poise that was both easy and measured. She stood to the right of her husband, her arm wrapped admiringly through his, looking out about the crowd with a smile on her face and a mischievous yet endearing sparkle in her eye. Her right hand raised demurely as she gave a soft wave, which sent thrills through the crowd; she and the president made their way to the table assigned them and sat.
Hors d'oeuvres were served. Haley and Elizabeth ate the small salmon and cream cheese bites, while chatting with the rest of the company. Presently, Landon stood up and asked Haley and Elizabeth casually if they would like to accompany him to say a word of greeting to the President and First Lady. Elizabeth declined, having no excuse to do so, but Haley agreed, remembering her task assigned by the Senator. They rose and made their way over to the table.
The President and First Lady were sipping champagne and as Landon and Haley approached, the First Lady threw back her head and laughed