During the day, she did her best not to think about Mat, but nights were harder, and Sunday nights the hardest of all, maybe because they marked the beginning of a new week without him. At first she’d tried to talk herself out of it, but that just seemed to make her sadness spill over into Monday. Finally, she’d learned to give in to her Sunday night blues.

NIGHTS OF PASSION WITH
AMERICA’S FIRST LADY

by Mat Jorik

The first time I spoke with Cornelia Case, she was hot to trot, and no wonder, since her husband, the former president of the United States, was—are you ready for this?—GAY! Her lust slid over me like cheap lingerie . . .

It was the story Nealy had imagined, but not the one Mat had written. She sat in the window seat, remembering how she’d felt when she’d held the Chicago Standard in her hand and seen his exclusive.

The first time I spoke with Cornelia Case, she was rescuing a baby at a truck stop outside McConnellsburg, Pennsylvania. Rescuing babies is something she’s good at, since she’s been trying to do it most of her life. When she fails, as she often does, she takes it more personally than she should, but more about that later.

I didn’t know she was Cornelia Case then. She was wearing navy shorts, cheap white sneakers, and a yellow maternity top with some ducks marching across it. Her hair was cut short, and she had what looked like an eight-month pregnancy sticking out in front of her.

None of the stories written about her ever mention that the lady has a temper, but, believe me, she does. For all her polish, Nealy Case can go after you when she gets upset. And she was definitely upset with me . . .

The Chicago Standard had published Mat’s story in six parts that had been quoted and analyzed in every media outlet in the world. In the articles, he’d detailed both the girls’ plight and how Nealy had come into their lives. He’d described the incident at the covered bridge, dinner at Grannie Peg’s, and the Celebrity Lookalike Contest. He’d written about meeting Bertis and Charlie, and the night he’d confronted Nealy about her identity. Mabel and Squid had come alive as his story unfolded, along with Nico and the house in Iowa.

In every article, he’d made his own decisions about what should be on or off the record. On the record were the details of her escape, her frustrations with being First Lady, her enthusiasm for picnics, Frisbees, convenience stores, and two motherless little girls. At first she’d been stunned that he’d revealed so much about the girls, but by appeasing the public’s curiosity so quickly, he’d called off the bloodhounds and done more to protect their privacy than an army of security guards.