[b]A Collaboration between [@Jeddaven] and [@Mao Mao][/b]

[b][center]Washington, D.C. Department of Labor.[/center][/b]

To say Evelyn was terrified of what was about to happen wasn't entirely accurate - anxious, perhaps, but bureaucratic meetings tended to be just that. Wrinkled, lecherous old men rambling on about anything under the sun, occasionally tossing an unwelcome remark her way, and otherwise doing a whole lot of jack-shit. Sure, sometimes something important was said - but the more she participated in the machinery of government, the more she thought that starry-eyed little blonde, blue-eyed girl from Kentucky was an absolute idiot for thinking she'd ever be able to do something important as a politician. She was young, beautiful, even, with decades of life ahead of her - and yet she felt like she was accomplishing little but wasting away through years of absolutely grueling hard work.

[i]Maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is hell,[/i] she thought, quickly flipping through the sheaf of papers in her hand. Still, at least she had a way to do something important every once in a while. Her handlers assured her of that much, and all she needed to do was pay attention to what was going on around her, stay diligent, and do hee job well - just not in the way she was expected to. When she'd told the Polish woman that'd approached her all those months ago about a mysterious, classified meeting in the Department of Labour building, they almost immediately fixed her with a hidden microphone and recorder and sent her on her way, arming her with a single pill hidden in a serviceably pretty locket they'd given her. "Just in case," she said. "You don't want to find out what they do to people like us."

Evelyn hoped not, but she couldn't help but think the handler was telling her the truth. She'd heard what'd been done to so many activists in the country, after all, but it was better to do something and risk getting hurt than wallow in pity for the rest of her life. 

Suddenly, the telltale [i]tip-tap-tip-tap[/i] of dress shoes against a thinly carpeted floor echoed in from the hallways, and Evelyn quickly righted herself, ensuring everything was in place. For the briefest of moments in that lifeless room, she felt her heart tighten in her chest. Briefly forgetting herself, she almost failed to remember the state of her outfit; glancing down at the simple, whitish blouse she wore, she smoothed out a handle of creases, then her thin, grey skirt - and pulled out a notepad and pen.

One of the men noticed the young woman's uniform and gave a rather cruel sexual remark. The Secretary of Labor, Jonathan Saunders, didn't pay any mind as another man joined in by whistling at her. Jonathan was tired of being in a room mostly full of boys. He should've retired years ago. He should've to enjoy his remaining years with his grandchildren in Nashville. Instead, he was called to serve the President of the United States once again. In all honesty, he should've said no. 

But, the country was still in despair and he was needed.

And after sixteen years of hard work and determination, a reliable solution was going to be presented. Jonathan didn't know much besides the basics of this supposed government jobs program. The Office of Management and Budget invited him and a few other secretaries (Commerce and the Treasury) to attend a classified meeting on the matter. It was unusual to him, but if there was a way out of the Great Depression, he would listen to their offer despite being left in the dark. So, he had to endure the immaturity of the men that were still harassing the aide until the director was ready to start the meeting.

“Director, Sir!” Evelyn perked up, immediately glad for the brief relief she was offered by the presence of the Budget Director. For the most part, she did her best to ignore unwelcome comments about her figure, the occasional dog-whistle - but it still tended towards the uncomfortable and aggravating. “I’ve prepared all the budget papers you’ve requested in advance, and a few additional sheets I thought might’ve been useful - I was able to get a hold on unemployment numbers over the past several years, and a handful of other points.” She said, ignoring a particularly ugly comment about her curves as she set a pile of papers down in front of him. “Is there anything else I can help you with before the meeting starts?”

Director Herbert Simons rolled his eyes upon listening to one of his aides talking before dismissing her. “No. You should go before you distract anyone else with your… “‘looks.’”

“She isn’t [i]that[/i] distracting.” a familiar voice echoed across the room, which caught everyone off-guard. And upon finding out who said it, they stood up from their seats as a sign of respect. Herbert looked to his side and realized that it wasn’t an ordinary man. No, it was President Charles Lindbergh. Immediately, he got up from his seat and greeted the President. “I-It’s an honor for you to be here, President Lindbergh.”

“And I am honored. Please take your seats.” Lindbergh gestured at everyone and then turned to the aide with that carefree smile. “You too, lady. If you value your loved ones.”

"...Of course, sir. I'm sorry for-" Evelyn froze, not even bothering to finish her sentence. The moment she recognized Lindbergh's voice, in fact, it was as if she froze - whether in reverence or fear, she wasn't sure, but it probably didn't matter. The President was here - she had a job to do, and it was even more important than she thought. 

"Yessir, Mr. President!" She replied, immediately finding herself an unoccupied seat. She was instantly rapt at attention.

Lindbergh nodded and then turned towards the director. “I assume you know why we are here today.”

“Of course. I read what you sent me and it was… a rather interesting proposal your team managed to put together.” Director Herbert chuckled. “But I have my concerns with it on ethical grounds. Besides being a violation of the Thirteenth Amendment, forcing a majority of Americans to work as servants is immoral.”

“Director, respectfully, did you actually read it? Because your concerns are completely wrong. Nowhere within that pile of paperwork states that Americans will be forced to work under the program. In fact, it’s completely optional!” Secretary of Commerce Ronald Barton dismissed his concerns and then reached for the projector to turn it on. Jonathan rolled his eyes at Ronald’s attempt to ease the director. He took a deep breath and then tried to calm the director down in his own way.

“Look, it’s understandable to be worried about the program. But, you have to remember, anyone that joins will be paid sixty-seven cents per hour and free housing—if they wish to live under their employer’s household.”

“And not to mention,” Secretary of Treasury Milton Stuart joined in the conversation. “our enemies need to know that the days of the depression are behind the United States. Ensuring that every American is guaranteed a job is that way.”

The projector was displaying the gradual decline of the unemployment rate, going from twenty-five percent at the height of the depression to ten percent. Then, a chart showed how much farmers from the states affected by the Dust Bowl were forced to abandon their farms. And then, another chart showed off how much crime activities increased on the East Coast and the estimated number of civilians joining crime families rising at an alarming rate. 

Director Herbert was still unsure about it even after seeing the charts. “Believe me, I read every page that you provided to me. I know that there are Americans that still need work, but there has to be another way that can be achieved.”

President Lindbergh seemingly nodded in agreement and then stood up from the chair provided to him. “I see that you are conflicted on giving starving Americans the chance to rebuild their lives. Last week, I went down to a Hooverville in Cleveland that had been established almost twenty years ago. I remember talking to an older woman, who was ill for years of living in unclean conditions. She allowed me into her home, which only contained a dirty mattress and a broken board for her children so they had a place to do their homework.”

Lindbergh started to slowly make his way over to Herbert as he kept on talking. “I asked where the dining table was. The tables were too big for their hut. Then, I noticed that there wasn’t enough room for a bathroom. So I asked where they went if they wished to take a bath or use the toilet. She told me that they used a bucket as a toilet and went to a nearby bathhouse to get clean.”

Then, Lindbergh placed a hand on Herbert’s shoulder and began squeezing it. “Now, think about what would happen to that woman and her children if she found work under our program. Try to imagine doing the right thing. Instead, you’re letting your faith get in the way of progress.”

“M-my faith has nothing to do-” Herbert tried to speak up but was quickly shut down by the President.

“As someone who attends church every Sunday, don’t even think of lying to me, Herbert.” Lindbergh stared at him for a few more seconds before turning to everyone else. “Does anyone wish to tell Mr. Simons about the pain you and your loved ones suffered during that dark period in our lives?”

Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't help but agree with the Budget Director's concerns, if she didn't say anything, she worried she might draw suspicion to herself. That was one of the few benefits of being a woman in her position, she supposed - she was expected to stay quiet and be demure in most situations except when spoken to. That was all she did in these meetings, for the most part - listen, take notes, and speak when spoken to. To question a man, however, never mind the President, was unthinkable to society, as much as some small part of her wished the entire building would simply collapse atop the gathering's heads. She couldn't help but think that the Polish agents listening in on the meeting were thinking the same thing. She wanted to say how Lindbergh’s plan was misguided at best, how she could think of work programs far more effective and humane in her sleep - but she stifled those thoughts, paying them no mind.

Lindbergh was disappointed with everyone in the room and understood their silence. Yet, Herbert still needed to understand his point. So, he looked at the young aide and went over to her. “What’s your story, Miss…?”

"...Harding, Sir! Evelyn Harding." She nodded, doing her best to maintain her composure in the sudden face of being the center of attention. "I was lucky not to see the worst of the dustbowl, but... My family's always lived in Kentucky. We saw a lot of the worst of it - one room schoolhouses, barely enough food to survive day by day... My father couldn't find a job after the coal mines closed. I wanted to help make things better, so... I got involved in politics. That's the short version."

“You see.” Lindbergh turned away for Evelyn and started directly at the director again. “Her parents struggled to allow their daughter to be here. They were determined to ensure their child had a better life than them. And look at her now, talking directly to me—the President of the United States! Sadly, that can’t be said for everyone. Even now, her father still struggles to find work! Think how much his life would improve if you help us out with the program. Have a heart for the common man. Or did wealth corrupt it?”

Herbert looked down while everyone else was staring at him with disgust. Jonathan, on the other hand, was too old to be spiteful and knew that petty insults were going to get them nowhere. He turned to the director and said, “I know how conflicted you are about this. Why don’t we give you some time to think about it and-”

Lindbergh put his hand up to interrupt the secretary. “We’ve been waiting for far too long. Herbert needs to make a choice today. I don’t know… wait. Why don’t we let Miss Harding talk some sense to him?”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Mr. President?” Milton asked with a grin on his face while turning to have a look at the woman.
“Of course! After all, she had some experience in politics. Maybe she has a better shot at convincing Mr. Herbert to make his mind up.” Lindbergh answered. Everyone was now staring at Miss Harding, waiting for her to speak. Most of the men were expecting her to embarrass herself while Lindbergh and Jonathan watched with interest.

As much as it pained her, Evelyn recognized that this was an opportunity for her to act. Mr. Herbert knew her well - she could only hope that he'd see that she felt pressured by the circumstances, but, nonetheless, she was being handed a chance to ingratiate herself with the President on a silver platter. "If I may be so bold, then... It's absolutely essential that something is done about unemployment. As many strides as the country has made in recovering from the Great Depression, there are still thousands of families in the country without work, without food, and, in many cases, without homes, as a visit to the homeless camps would tell anyone. If we have to create jobs to give to people, then so be it - it'd be wrong for us not to act." Evelyn explained, though her expression remained entirely neutral throughout her speech, her voice even and measured. "It's difficult for me to completely evaluate this plan right now, since I know so little about it, but... That's my opinion."

Lindbergh was rather impressed by the answer that came out of the mouth of an assistant nevertheless a woman. “You shouldn’t have given up on politics, Miss Harding, because I would’ve voted for you in a heartbeat.”

Then, he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned back to the director. “I hope that hearing another point-of-view on the matter sped up your decision, director.”

Herbert didn’t even try to hide his death stare at her, signaling that she was in big trouble for embarrassing him like that, before giving a response. “Mr. President, respectfully, I don’t need to hear my assistant’s thoughts on this or any matters whatsoever. Especially when I can clearly form my own opinion on the issue at hand. Please give me more time to think about it.”

“I am afraid that you already wasted enough of my time.” Lindbergh let go and then signaled to one of his bodyguards, who pulled out a folder and placed it in front of the director. “It’s unfortunate that I had to get my hands dirty. But your stubbornness made it necessary..”

Herbert looked through the folder and his expression immediately changed from confident to timid. He quickly closed it before someone else had the chance to look at the content and then stared at the President of the United States. “How?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified unless you’re fine with telling everyone that you like to-”

“Wait!” Herbert interrupted Lindbergh before he had the chance to reveal whatever was inside that folder. “I-It seems that I was too… harsh on my criticisms. If you are positive that it won’t violate the people’s rights, then.. I will support the program.”

“Good.” Lindbergh walked towards the director and extended his hand out in good faith, but Herbert avoided it and turned his sights on his aide. He was ready to shame her for humiliating him in front of his friends and the President of the United States. And then, if that wasn’t enough, fire her on the spot. However, the President stopped him before he had the chance. “Actually, let me have a minute alone with her.”

“... Fine.” Herbert grunted and then went to tell everyone to clean out of the room but Evelyn. In fact, he said something to her. “Not you. You and I have a lot to talk about after this.”

Evelyn was uncomfortable, so much so that she found herself practically paralyzed - but it'd have been stupid to not leap at the chance to ingratiate herself with the President,especially now. She wondered what her handlers were thinking, listening in on and recording their conversation - where were they, she thought? They told her they'd be monitoring the meeting, but not how or from where. All for the best, she supposed, in the event she should be discovered.

"...Yes Sir, Director." Evelyn sighed, clutching a binder full of files to her chest.

When they were alone, Lindbergh approached the aide with his hands in his pockets. “Well, he doesn’t look happy at you. It’s a shame that he doesn’t appropriate your thoughts because you’re a woman.”

“It is, but I’m... Used to it, frankly, Mister President, Sir.” Evelyn admitted, silently shrugging her shoulders. “I do my best to ignore it. It’s difficult when they get handsy, though.”

“Then, you should be at a place that respects you. I know of a place.” Lindbergh pulled out a business card and handed it to Evelyn. It had the symbol of the White House and a phone number on it. “Just call this number and you will have a brand new job as soon as the following day. Hopefully, I will be seeing you, Miss Evelyn.”

President Lindbergh smiled and then winked at Evelyn before he departed from the room, leaving her alone. 

Evelyn blinked, staring down at the business card with what could only be described as abject shock - an emotion that, considering the circumstances, didn’t require her to make use of her High School theatre chops.

Her handlers would definitely want to hear this.