The President

by Parker Hudson

  Thirty minutes later the two couples set out on one of the several trails that crisscrossed the forested presidential retreat.

  After some small talk on the beauty of their surroundings, Bruce said, “I for one am sure glad to be here. And particularly with Rebecca.” He squeezed her hand and she smiled at him.

  “You do seem to have a medicinal effect on our nurse,” William laughed, noting the bounce in her step.

  “I’ve got a long prescription, big brother.”

  They walked a little farther in silence.

  “That was some story the Russian—uh, Ukrainian—boy told last night, wasn’t it?” the president asked as they turned a corner in the trail.

  “We only heard the last part,” Bruce replied, “but it sounded a bit much to me. Things just happen. There doesn’t have to be a God at work every second of the day to make a few things go right for a change. He sure had his story straight, though. He sounded like he’d practiced it, almost.”

  “I don’t know,” Carrie said. “I felt like he just got more excited as he went along. I think he was really sincere. And his English is exceptional. I felt he made some good points, especially about changing people.”

  “Well, thank goodness we’ve got an administration that doesn’t wait for God to get around to doing something about all the problems that need fixing in this country!” Bruce complimented William. “If there is a God, maybe he’s focusing too much on Ukraine or Africa or somewhere else, because we’ve got problems here like AIDS and crime and social injustice that need to be addressed. Until you were elected, Mr. President, no one was doing one thing about them. I just hope you can really pick up support and get your campaign programs passed.”

  “Me, too, Bruce,” William replied.

  Carrie noticed William frowning slightly, and to change the subject, she said, “So, Rebecca, we see your social life seems to be just fine. Tell us about your work. How is it going?”

  “Fine, I guess. With health reform everyone is of course very cost conscious. Sometimes I feel we do everything now by committee, which is time consuming but not all bad. I am worried about this new, ‘improved’ morning-after abortion pill. Not because I’m opposed to abortion when necessary, but because of its other effects.”

  “I haven’t heard about any negative effects at all,” William said. “I thought the results were all positive.”

  “I wish they were. The empirical data may not be available yet, if anyone even has the guts to print it. But as someone in the trenches, I can tell you that there are some unpleasant side effects when you make everyone think they’re immune to getting pregnant no matter what they do.”

  “How so?” the president asked.

  Rebecca gave him roughly the same information she had shared with Bruce several days earlier about unexpected pregnancies, a spike in venereal disease and AIDS, and increased clinical abortions.

  “I hadn’t heard any of that,” Carrie said, when Rebecca had finished. “Had you, William?”

  “No. Just the opposite, really. But, like Rebecca said, maybe the figures haven’t caught up with what she’s seeing.”

  “Or maybe it’s just one woman’s experience in one hospital in one city,” Bruce said. “Maybe there should be a few additional warnings with the pill. But the main thing is that many women are protected from unwanted pregnancies, which gives them choices about how they want to lead their lives. That’s progress, and we’ve got to keep doing research and pushing the envelope of what’s possible, to help people.”

  “But what if the negative effects exceed any possible good results?” Rebecca asked. “And don’t forget, this morning-after pill doesn’t really protect a woman from pregnancy; it ends pregnancy.”

  “Now please don’t start sounding like Mary,” William chided his sister good-naturedly. “Don’t tell me that a bunch of cells twelve hours old makes a baby.”

  “I don’t know, William. I’m sorry. That’s not really even what I’m concerned about,” she said, as they rounded a curve in the trail and looked out on a small mountain field. “It’s all the other things I see happening to the people involved. Anyway, it’s real to me, and I’m worried about it.”

  “And my brother’s death was real to me,” Bruce added icily. “I think our government could have done much more on AIDS research, and I just get tired of all these worrywarts who want to go slow with everything new. And there’s usually some moralist like your sister Mary behind them, telling us we’re all going to hell if we do this or that. It drives me crazy. If they had their way, we’d all be back in the Dark Ages!”

  “Well, I agree we have to do research,” Rebecca said. “But you know, Bruce, maybe part of what Mary and Graham believe is right. Maybe there are some things we shouldn’t be doing, even though they’re possible. I don’t know. I wouldn’t have said that a few years ago. But I live with the consequences of what we do—and what our government does—every day. I see the messed up lives and the pain and the fear. Mary would say it’s the result of us violating God’s law, I can’t say that. To me it’s just common sense, based on what I see.”

  “This stuff is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Bruce said, taking her hand.

  There was silence as they walked several more paces. “Yes, I guess so. I’m sorry,” she said to Carrie and William. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was on a soapbox or anything.”

  “You didn’t, Rebecca,” Carrie said, taking William’s hand. “We all need to catch up with each other; and if this is what’s happening in your life, then we want to hear about it. William apparently got an earful from Hugh on another subject yesterday. That’s what family is for!”

  “What did Hugh have to say?” Rebecca asked, curious.

  “Oh, nothing,” William answered, looking down at the path as they walked, wishing Carrie hadn’t mentioned it. “Just some military policies. Anyway, I sure hope the situation with that pill gets straightened out. Next week I’ll see if I can get some more information about it. Now, enough about all of that. Tell us about Courtney. Then I want to hear about what you do, Bruce.”

  They walked on for almost an hour, returning to the cabins about ten. “It’s a few minutes past time for our tennis,” Bruce reminded Rebecca. “But I really enjoyed the walk. You’re a good man, Mr. President. The nation is lucky to have you. Hang in there.”

  “We’ll see you both at lunch.” William waved as Rebecca and Bruce left for their cabin to get their rackets.

  As Carrie and William turned and walked toward his office in Aspen Lodge to check the morning communications, he remarked to her, “It’s strange how both Hugh and Rebecca seem to be on the receiving end of policies started here in Washington. I guess it’s rare to hear firsthand what happens at the other end of the line when someone here throws a particular switch.” He was silent a moment, thinking. Then he said, “The result, apparently, is not always what we think it will be.”

  “The nation is lucky to have you,” Carrie responded, “and you’re lucky to have such a family. They certainly aren’t afraid to share their thoughts with the president!”

  “No, to them I’m just their politician brother. I guess that’s good, really. And we haven’t even heard from Mary yet!” he laughed.

  NORFOLK—The only crew members on board the USS Fortson that Saturday were the one-sixth who pulled that day as their normal duty assignment in rotation, and the single ones who lived on the ship full-time. Lieutenant Commander Thomas Dobbs and Lieutenant Teri Slocum fit the latter category. They were using the weekend to read the ship’s operations manuals and the personnel files on their key men and women.

  There were only eight of the ship’s twenty-four officers in the wardroom for lunch that day. As they concluded the meal, Thomas Dobbs said to Teri Slocum, “If you’ve got a minute, how about stopping by my stateroom so we can talk.”

  “Sure. You’re in the admiral’s cabin aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, with an expression that communicat
ed his dislike for his special quarters.

  “I’ll be right there,” Slocum answered.

  Both of them left through the port wardroom door. She stopped by her stateroom in forward officers country, then ascended the ladder to the next deck and knocked on the door of the flag cabin.

  Dobbs let her into the spacious accommodations and motioned for her to take a chair under one of the few portholes built into the ship’s hull.

  “Here, please have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” she said and looked around the room in appreciation. “This is quite a cabin.”

  “Yes, but it’s too much, as I’ve tried to tell the XO. Anyway, since we’re the senior officers in two minorities stationed on a warship for the first time, I thought we should get to know each other,” he began. “Have you always been in missiles?”

  She laughed. “Yes, ever since Annapolis. As a range missile officer, at a training command, and on an admiral’s staff.”

  They then described to each other their naval backgrounds and touched on their personal lives.

  “I came out of the closet three years ago, thank God,” Dobbs said, tapping his pen on his note pad and pursing his lips slightly. “My partner was in the Supply Corps here in Norfolk, but he was transferred to Spain three months ago. How about you? Are you married or engaged?” He smiled.

  “Actually I’ve been dating a civilian guy off and on in town. He’s an architect I met at a friend’s house. But it’s tough with our schedule.”

  “I can imagine. Listen, are you planning any sort of women’s rights awareness programs for the crew?”

  “Uh...no...I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said, looking a bit puzzled and running a hand through her hair. “Why?”

  “Well, you need to plan some awareness programs. Otherwise, these guys will chew you up and spit you out. I know. I’ve seen it. Look how long African-Americans have been on active duty on warships, and we still need Affirmative Action Officers and Black Awareness Week. The navy is designing some similar programs for women and gays, but for the time being it’s up to us to lead the way, particularly with this crew.”

  “I’m still not sure what you mean. I just figured my division would come aboard, keep a low profile, stay out of trouble, and do our jobs well. What else is there?”

  “Oh, come on. You’ll play right into their hands. Soon they’ll be treating you like second-class citizens, telling jokes behind your backs and not respecting you.”

  “Hey, I’ve got two brothers. Guys have been telling jokes about girls and vice versa since time began. I’m going to tell my crew to concentrate on their jobs, not to mix romance with duty, to hold their heads high no matter what happens, and above all to keep a sense of humor about this whole thing.”

  “No. You’ve got to do much more! You’re a leader of a minority that’s been denied its rights for years and years. Now you have the chance to create new respect for women. It’s not enough just to do your job!”

  “But that’s what this opportunity is all about: doing a good job. I don’t feel oppressed. Just the opposite. I feel like we’ve been given an opportunity,” she interrupted.

  “That’s the beginning,” he agreed. “But there’s so much more if you want women to be respected and taken seriously.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Just like the affirmative action programs for African-Americans on Black History, Black scientists, African culture. All that. I’m already planning a Gay and Lesbian Awareness week—we’ll call it GALA. We’ll show movies by and about gays, emphasizing the naturalness of homosexual love. We’ll invite in some speakers; I have a gay friend who is a minister, for example, who can perform the Sunday service that week. We’ll also review for the crew about AIDS awareness in the gay community, showing how the disease can be transmitted. All of those kinds of things, to raise the awareness and the respect for gays within the crew.”

  “Well,” Teri said, smiling, “the last thing we probably need to show the crew is movies on the total naturalness of heterosexual love! I think they already know that pretty well, and it could produce just the opposite result after a few weeks at sea, I’d imagine. And I’m not sure your homosexual awareness movies are very helpful either.” She hesitated, then said, “I have to be honest with you. I came away pretty disgusted from the one you had us preview the other day.”

  “What do you mean, Lieutenant?” Dobbs’s tone was suddenly formal.

  “I mean it was disgusting to me, what those homosexuals and lesbians were doing in that movie, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Are you prejudiced against gays and lesbians?” Dobbs asked.

  “I try not to be prejudiced against anyone.”

  “If you had watched a movie featuring African-Americans, would you be disgusted? Or do you limit your prejudices to the gay community?”

  “Look, I just told you I try not to be prejudiced against anyone, either professionally or personally. But if you showed me two African-American men or two African-American women doing what those gays were doing in your ‘sensitizing’ movie, I have to tell you I’d be equally disgusted. I think the movie is gross—it’s pornography. And it shouldn’t be shown on a ship where we’re trying to keep emotions under control, not arouse and enflame them.”

  Dobbs crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Teri. “Lieutenant, that movie was made by a team of leading psychologists from four of our best universities. It’s designed to bring an irrational taboo out into the open and to deal with it openly and rationally. I don’t appreciate your remarks. I hope you’ll keep them to yourself and not infect other crew members with your irrational prejudices. I’m disappointed that someone in your position of exceptionally important minority leadership could be so backward in her thinking. It’s very disturbing, and I’ll have to make note of it if you continue. And I again suggest that whether you personally want to or not, you should be thinking about a program to raise the level of respect for women on this ship, if you want your crew to survive.”

  Slocum stood up, her face turning red but her voice under control. “I don’t appreciate your logic, your insinuations, or your threats, Lieutenant Commander Dobbs. I’m here to do one job well: control the missiles on this ship. If my crew does that, we’ll have carved out all the respect I or they need or want. And I’m also worried about the welfare of my women; I want them to have a low profile, not a zealous mission. You may think that sounds like I’m chicken. I’m not. But I’ll have twenty women on a ship with over four hundred red-blooded American men, and we’ll be thousands of miles from home. I don’t want to be shoving my women in their faces every day with a cause. I just want us to survive.”

  “I’m trying to tell you how to do just that, but you won’t listen to me,” Dobbs said, his own anger rising. “You’ve got to win their respect and guard it daily.”

  “Well, if there’s a black lesbian among the new admin personnel, send her to me, and we’ll make her the “Everything Awareness Person”—women, African-American, homosexual, everything. She can just go from division to division, telling the guys how to be politically correct. I’m sure she’ll be very popular, and it’ll free everyone else to do their real jobs,” Slocum said, walking over to the door and opening it.

  “I don’t appreciate that kind of remark,” Dobbs fumed. “And I’m noting it.”

  “Oh, lighten up, Lieutenant Commander. You may be gay, but you’re certainly not very happy.” With that, she closed the door behind her.

  CAMP DAVID—When Mary and Graham entered the Great Room that evening at Camp David for dinner, almost everyone else was already seated. By agreement at lunch that day the four siblings and their spouses, or “significant other” in Rebecca’s case, were sitting together at the big table for dinner, while the older children and the grandparents helped with the younger children at the smaller tables.

  “Here we are, finally,” Mary said happily.

  “Please” Bruce said, smiling
and offering Mary one of the two remaining chairs.

  Graham and Mary had gotten to know Bruce and shared several pleasant conversations together when seated with him and Rebecca the previous evening. Then at the softball game that afternoon the four of them had been assigned to the same Private Sector team, based on their employment. The first lady had designated the teams, as well as the coaches, who were Rebecca and Hugh. Rebecca had made all the field assignments for the Private Sector team, which included herself at second, Bruce at shortstop, Graham in left field, Mary in short field, Courtney pitching, and young Tim Prescott at first.

  Both teams had special T-shirts that commemorated the day and the event, and virtually everyone who was old enough to walk was on a team. It was a beautiful afternoon as they began playing at one end of the same field the helicopters had used the day before. Those on the team at bat sat along a grassy slope along the first base side enjoying the sun, talking, and cheering on their team.

  In the bottom of the third inning the Private Sector was at bat, behind by five runs, and Bruce was sitting on the knoll when Mary and Graham walked over to sit by him. Rebecca was coaching from near first base. Bruce was not in a particularly good mood, given the earlier conversation with Rebecca. What’s gotten into her? he thought. She’s losing her sense of what’s right. Oh, no. Here come Mary and Graham!

  “Hi, Bruce,” Graham said, sitting down with Mary on the grass. “That was a great throw you made at the start of the inning.”

  “Yeah, thanks. But we’re not doing so well.” He said jokingly, “If you two pray as much as Rebecca says you do, you’d better pray for our team to win!”

  Mary wrapped her arms around her knees. She smiled and turned her head to Bruce. “So Rebecca says we pray a lot?”

  “She says you can’t get enough of it. Praying about everything and everybody. Praying all day. I’ve always wondered: does God actually answer you? I mean, do you hear a deep voice telling you what to do, and what will happen?”