by Alan Elsner
“Yes?”
“I want to give it another go.”
“Give what?”
He looked at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. “Us of course. Try spending some time, just the two of us, see where it takes us. There’s chemistry between us. You feel it too, I know you do. Maybe we could grab that dinner tonight and see where things go.”
Delphine stood to face him. “You astonish me Mitchell. The last time this came up, I seem to recall you telling me I was spoken for.”
He grinned, revealing a dazzling set of teeth, the product of unsurpassed American dentistry. “Circumstances have changed.”
“How so?”
“Being as how I’m now head of security while the competition was busted down to the ranks for insubordination and is on his way out of town on a rail. I’m on the fast track now – and so are you. That gives us a lot in common.”
“What insubordination?”
“Let’s just say he pissed off the Boss Lady.”
“And you make her happy?”
He looked straight into her eyes. “She works hard for this country. The least I can do is work just as hard for her. She wants something I can give her, I figure it’s my patriotic duty. Madam Secretary’s going all the way to the top and I’m going with her.”
“Did you clear it with her, this invitation to me?”
His blush was as good as an answer.
“Well Mitchell, congratulations on your promotion. I wish you nothing but good,” Delphine said. “However, circumstances have changed for me too.”
“What do you mean?”
“To use your own words, I’m spoken for.” Delphine was far from sure this was true but Mitchell’s smarmy manner had gotten under her skin. He seemed to think she was a fringe benefit that went with the job of head of security.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it.”
“You sure? Wouldn’t you rather be with a winner than a whiner?”
“Very droll. How long did it take you to think up that bon mot?”
“It’s nothing but the honest truth. I’m on my way; he’s on his way out.”
Delphine couldn’t think of a witty comeback so she kept her mouth shut.
“So what do you say?” he persisted.
“I don’t think so.”
He glared at her. “I don’t understand. Back in Jerusalem you were kissing me like your life depended on it. Now you don’t want to know.”
“It’s the woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
“So change it back.”
“Mitchell, enough. The answer’s no. Take it like a man.”
He glared at her. “This is not the final word. I’ll be talking to Madam Secretary about this. Sooner or later, you’ll come around.”
He stalked out, closing the door behind him, leaving Delphine to her churning thoughts. A few minutes later, Secretary Dayton entered.
For the next 20 minutes, she held forth on the Middle East while Delphine scribbled notes. The big news was they’d soon be traveling to Moscow to enlist Russia as co-chairman of the forthcoming peace conference which Dayton envisaged convening within three months.
“So soon?” Delphine asked.
“I’ve got to move quickly, before anyone gets cold feet. The outlines of an agreement have always been clear. The Israelis take down most of their settlements, withdraw from the territories and give the Palestinians a foothold in Jerusalem. The Palestinians give up their demand for all their refugees to return to their old homes in Israel. They’ll get compensation and the right to settle inside the new Palestinian state. It’s a good deal for both sides.”
“It sounds so simple.”
Having lived there, Delphine knew the Middle East well enough to understand that this wasn’t a dispute that could be settled by simply splitting the pie. This was an existential struggle between two ancient peoples for the same narrow strip of blood-soaked land. It wouldn’t end with a simple handshake. Delphine often thought that Americans, with their comparatively short history, didn’t really understand the power of the past. For them, last week was ancient history, whereas in the Middle East events that happened three thousand years continued to reverberate powerfully in the minds of the people. Americans all too often viewed ancient religious disputes as childish and tribal rivalries and blood feuds as primitive. They expected the foreigners they dealt with to be ‘reasonable’ and were invariably disappointed.
“All they need is an injection of political will up their collective backside—which is what I plan to administer,” Secretary Dayton added. “I’m going to force these guys – Shoresh and al-Bakr—to make concessions they swore they’d never make. I’ll take them on the most painful political journey of their lives—and make them enjoy the scenery.”
“And the venue of the peace conference?” Delphine asked.
“Probably somewhere near Washington.”
“But what makes you think President al-Bakr will agree? No Palestinian in the past has ever dared to give up his people’s right to return. The armed militants like Abdul Muqtadir will certainly try to kill him or start a new wave of terrorist attacks if he does.”
Secretary Dayton smiled knowingly, like a chess player who has anticipated all her opponent’s moves. “I have a card up my sleeve. Any other questions?”
Delphine hesitated, wondering whether she dared. “Are you religious?”
The Secretary seemed amused. “Why do you ask?”
“During that press conference you held in Amman, you spoke about visiting Bethlehem to pray to Jesus Christ your personal savior. I never heard you use such language before.”
She laughed. “You don’t know much about American politics do you? Any more probing questions?”
“Are you getting married?”
For once, Delphine had surprised her. “Why would you think so?”
“Monsieur Schuyler said you have a ceremony to plan. He mentioned a dress.”
“What an attentive little minx you are. You don’t miss a thing.” Her face reddened, giving Delphine her answer. “But since you apparently feel you have the right to poke your delicate nose into my personal affairs, let me ask you something. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Jason King?”
Delphine felt her cheeks redden.
“Ah, now you’re the one who’s speechless,” Secretary Dayton said. “Let me give you some advice.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice turned hard. “Don’t get involved with that one. He’s a distraction and he’s unreliable. You and I have important work ahead. If you must indulge in romance, why not Mitch? Him we can trust. Jason will only let you down. Men like him always do. I thought I had his absolute loyalty but it’s become clear he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He’s nothing to me now.”
Delphine’s face reddened but she said nothing.
“In any case, Jason’s not going to be around much longer. I’m arranging to have him transferred – somewhere far away. I’m sure they have openings running security in our embassy in Monrovia or Ouagadougou. So my strong recommendation to you is, don’t waste any more of your time with that one.”
There was a knock on the door and Mitchell re-appeared. “Excuse me Ma’am, there’s a phone call.” Delphine saw his lips mouth the word, “POTUS.”
“Stay here Delphine, we’re not done yet,” Secretary Dayton said, standing up. Mitchell followed her out of the room.
Delphine started pacing around the room to regain her composure. Dayton planned to send Jason to Africa? How dare she! Eventually, she calmed down enough to pay attention to her surroundings. One wall of the library was covered by framed certificates – honorary doctorates from Princeton and Yale, the U.S. Chamber of Commerce’s ‘Man of the Year’ award for 1985 and 1988, certificates of appreciation from the Metropolitan
Opera, the American Cancer Society and many other organizations.
Delphine turned to the shelves. An entire wall was taken up with books about the First and Second World Wars. Many dealt with military strategy and battles; some had taken place near her own birthplace. She pulled out a large, illustrated book about D-Day and noticed a second row of books concealed behind the first. Reaching in, Delphine extracted a lavish leather bound edition which turned out to be ‘Venus in Furs,’ a 19th century pornographic classic. There were other similar volumes alongside this first. Delphine opened one entitled “Sisters in Service.” The illustration on the inside cover showed two topless women, one grasping a switch in her gloved right hand. Her companion leaned forward, proffering a billowy posterior. An unbidden image flashed into her mind of a half-naked Julia Dayton bent over his presidential desk while Schuyler … but no, it was too revolting even to imagine.
The door opened and a uniformed security man walked in with her coat and umbrella. “Change of plan. You have to go now,” he said. “The car’s waiting for you outside.”
“What about Secretary Dayton?” she asked, hurriedly replacing the books.
“The Secretary’s busy.”
As he opened the front door, a black limo drew up and an extravagantly mustached gentleman got out. Delphine knew she’d seen him before, but where? A couple of hours later, she remembered. It was the Syrian ambassador. He’d been at the press conference at Damascus airport. Interesting – what business might he have with Schuyler?
Chapter 12
Delphine awoke next morning to the smell of cooking. Shrugging on her nightgown, she shambled into the kitchen where Jason was busy in front of the stove wearing one of her aprons over a pair of boxers. He looked unbearably cute.
“What are you doing?”
“Breakfast. Fresh strawberries, cheese omelet, coffee, toasted brioche … God Delphine, has anyone ever told you how adorable you look in the morning?”
She didn’t feel adorable. She felt unwashed and grouchy. Her eyes were half glued together and her hair hung down in lank, greasy strands. ‘Dieu,’ she thought, ‘we’ve only been together for a few days and already it feels like we’ve been married for 25 years.’ She was growing used to having him next to her in bed, slipping into sleep to the beating of his heart. This was dangerous. Perhaps Dayton was right and she should give him up and concentrate on her work.
With dismay, Delphine saw he’d set the table with the Limoges china she’d inherited from her mother. She only used it on very special occasions, which essentially meant never. “What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing her expression.
“Those plates.”
“What about them?”
“Oh nothing, it’s OK.” Saying more would have meant explaining things about her mother.
“Go have your shower. It’ll be done by the time you’re out,” he suggested.
“But Jason, I am not accustomed … ” Delphine croaked. “That is, I appreciate the thought, but I am not used to a big breakfast.”
“Relax. It’s special. It’s not as though we’re going to do this every day.”
She retreated to the bathroom where she spent the next 25 minutes arranging herself for the day, trying to figure out how to play this situation.
An hour later, as they sipped the last of the coffee, she told him about her conversation with Secretary Dayton the previous day. “She intends to send you far away to some squalid, disease-ridden Third World capital.”
“Let her try. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Aren’t you bothered? One minute you’re giving her back rubs and she’s saying she loves you like a son; the next she wants to send you to Ouagadougou.”
“She’s a nasty, jealous old hag.”
“Jealous of who?”
“Of you, of course. She wants to own everyone around her. If she can’t have me, she doesn’t want anyone else to have me.”
“But she’s the Secretary of State for heaven’s sake. She’s probably the most powerful woman in the world.”
“That doesn’t mean she can’t be jealous. You’re young, stylish, sexy – all the things she isn’t and never was.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this. It’s … what’s the right word? Preposterous! Secretary Dayton isn’t threatened by me, or any woman. We’re not competing. That’s a male way of looking at it. If anything, she craves intimacy, empathy, understanding.”
“Trust me, it’s true.”
“So you won’t go to Africa?”
“No way. I’ll quit and find a job in private security. Heck, I could even work for Schuyler. He has his own detail, mainly ex-Secret Service types.”
“You mean those guys dressed in black like they were working for Mussolini? Not a good look for you. Why does Schuyler need bodyguards anyway?”
“To protect his privacy, keep common folk away. Maybe he’s paranoid. Billionaires sometimes get that way.”
“And Schuyler would hire you after Dayton fired you?”
“Schuyler doesn’t do the hiring. His head of security does—and he’s a friend of mine.”
“It wouldn’t take him long to find out. The first time Dayton saw you there, you’d be terminated on the spot.”
“I guess—but there are plenty of similar outfits around. Actually, I was thinking of trying something new – maybe law school. The main thing is to stay in D.C. so we can be together.”
Delphine had to say something. “Jason, go to law school if that’s what you want, but don’t shake up your life because of me.”
“You think we’re going too fast?”
“It’s been lovely – but we’ve only known each other a short time. You don’t really know anything about me.”
“That’s because you won’t tell me anything.”
Touché, Delphine thought, but that was the way she wanted it. “We should discuss it another time. I have work to do.”
Delphine could see from his expression he didn’t quite know what to make of this. To his credit, he put the best face on it and left quietly.
As soon as he’d gone, she called the Washington Post and asked to be put through to Todd. A recorded voice informed her, “You’ve reached the line of two-time Pulitzer Prizewinner Todd L. Trautmann. Please leave a message after the beep.” She did so and he called back five minutes later.
“I need access to your newspaper database,” Delphine said. “I’m working on a profile of Dayton and our AFP archive is not sufficiently detailed.”
“Did you read the 3,000-word article I wrote when she was sworn in? Everybody agreed it was the definitive portrait.”
“Of course,” she fibbed. “Brilliant! But I want to focus on her early life.”
“You mean when she was an anti-war activist? That’s all been thoroughly gone into. She’s expressed remorse and apologized. The party forgave her long ago. And she was never much of a radical; she always drew the line at civil disobedience. By the way, did you hear the Israelis finally released Erik’s body?”
“No.”
“His family is flying it back to Minnesota; the funeral’s Friday in Duluth.”
“Are you going?”
“Too busy.” So much for Erik, dismissed in two words.
“Do you think Dayton will go?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. She wouldn’t show her face at a pedophile’s wake. How would that look in an opponent’s campaign attack ad? I doubt anyone from D.C. will go. It’s a huge schlepp – and for what?”
“Don’t you think one of us should be there to represent the press corps?”
“If you feel that strongly, you go! Listen Delphine, about the database, I don’t think I can help. It’s against the rules to allow access to outsiders …”
With Todd, you never got something for nothing. “What if I gave you some interesting infor
mation in return?” Delphine suggested.” What information?”
“What if told you a certain person is getting married soon?”
“Seriously? How do you know?”
“Let’s just say I heard from someone I trust. But you’d have to confirm it with your own sources. I can’t be your sole source.”
There was a short silence. “OK, deal. But this better not be a wild goose chase.” He gave her his personal user name and password to access the database.
Delphine began her research with the Vietnam War era. As Todd had said, the future Secretary of State, then a Harvard student, had been a prominent peace activist. For the next couple of hours, Delphine went through the material, finding little she didn’t already know. Still, it was fascinating seeing photos of the young Julia Dayton. She’d had puffy, bouffant hair and wore huge tinted glasses that covered half her face but did little to soften its bony contours. One grainy black-and-white photo from the late sixties grabbed Delphine’s interest. It showed Dayton addressing a national rally in front of the Lincoln Memorial. She was wearing a denim shirt tight across her chest with the top three buttons undone. Even as a young woman, she’d never been conventionally beautiful. Still, there was a certain je ne sais quoi in that long equine face with its determined, jutting jaw. She’d been more womanly then – she even had breasts and was positively plump around the middle. Delphine went on to the next article – but something about the previous image didn’t ring quite true. She called it up again. It was hard to imagine Dayton ever being fat; she had the kind of body that resisted weight gain. And indeed, her face, arms and neck showed no signs of plumpness. It was just her belly that bulged. Delphine tried zooming in but this picture dated from well before digital era and the image broke apart into individual pixels. She made a note of the date: August 16, 1968.
The next image in the database dated from three months later. It showed Dayton addressing a crowd from the steps of the Widener Library at Harvard, brandishing a fist in the air. This shot was clearer; she’d cut her hair and was wearing a long scarf. The lump in her stomach was gone.
