The President

by Parker Hudson

  “No risk?” Mary asked. “Sex has been addictive since Adam and Eve. You’ll have kids hooked on your machine and then going out and looking for those same experiences on Friday nights, for real, when they can’t get some action from these electrodes.” There was a smattering of applause.

  “Actually, we’d thought about having the classroom open on the weekends for just that reason, to give the students a private and sensible way to relieve those pressures without hurting themselves,” Ms. Bowers said, looking down from the podium and obviously annoyed.

  “Well, I think this is a preposterous idea, and I hope the PTA votes it down.” There was a mixture of applause, boos, and calls for her to sit down.

  The mother at the microphone on the other side spoke up. “I don’t agree with her at all. My husband and I know our son is already, or soon will be, sexually active. We can’t stop him. No one can stop their children once they’re seniors. We want him to experience just as many things as he can under the controlled environment you’ve described so it won’t hurt him. What more could we possibly all want for our children, as concerned parents? We’ve needed something like this for years. We strongly support your offer.” There was extended applause, though not quite as loud as at first.

  Mary wanted to say, “You’re being deceived by the Father of Lies, who is out to destroy your children and your families,” but she knew she would be branded a religious fanatic. And there were more battles to come. So instead she said, “I think this system will hurt the very people and relationships you seem to think it will help. At the very least I think it’s presumptuous to vote on something so important after such a short introduction. Let’s at least set up a study committee to look into it further and to make a recommendation.”

  “We can study things to death. It’s a good system. Let’s vote on it,” one man shouted from the back row.

  “No way. It’s too much for one night,” a woman said from the middle of the auditorium. The meeting was threatening to get out of control.

  President Templeton spoke over the rising din. “This is a big decision, and I don’t want anyone to feel railroaded either way. I think we should set up a committee to meet with Ms. Bowers, and with our guests if necessary, to review every aspect of this proposal. The committee should be balanced. I will appoint six parents, and we’ll ask those appointed to submit a report with recommendations at our next meeting, which will be the last one of the school year. Then we’ll vote. Unless anyone has a strong objection, we’ll proceed in that way. Now, while they’re here, does anyone have any more questions for our guests?”

  WASHINGTON—William closed the top secret briefing book Vince Harley had given him late that afternoon. He walked over to the safe in the corner of his upstairs study and locked it away before undressing for bed. He was frustrated that the government’s best professional agencies had been so unsuccessful in turning up a single verifiable connection to the fax they’d received at Easter. The clerk at the copy shop could only remember a young man entering, using the fax machine, and paying in cash at the counter. The latest lead was through the Drug Enforcement Agency that the Columbian drug cartel had just acquired a nuclear device, and he had approved a multi-agency covert insertion which should be in-country within another week. Otherwise they had nothing, and William regretted that he had spoken so caustically to General Harley at their meeting. But what am I supposed to do when the phone rings and five million innocent Americans are about to be vaporized? No one will remember who the chairman of the Joint Chiefs was that day, but history will always record who the president was!

  As William entered their bedroom, Carrie, who was getting undressed, asked “Is it possible the three of us could go to church on Sunday?”

  Oh no, he thought, Here we go! William knew his wife had been reading the Bible at least once a day since their weekend at Camp David. And he knew she had had several long phone conversations with his sister Mary, ostensibly to arrange the details for Katherine to visit the Prescotts in Raleigh that summer. But he had walked in during one conversation when Carrie was flipping through a Bible open on her lap, apparently marking verses, as Mary led her. And he believed she had even talked to Michael Tate at least once. All of this he had ignored, hoping it would simply blow over and go away. But now she was asking him to become involved, while he was trying to deal with complex legislation and a very real threat to millions of Americans.

  “Carrie, except at Christmas, Easter, and an occasional wedding or funeral, you know we haven’t been to a regular church service in well over ten years. I wouldn’t even know where to go to church here in Washington.”

  “That’s no problem. I have a short list of recommended churches.”

  Oh great! “From whom?”

  “Michael Tate. I called him the other day to say hello. He gave me a list of five churches—four different denominations—and recommended that we try them all. He said they’re slightly different in the form of their services, but the five pastors all believe very strongly in the Bible and teach from it.”

  William paused, thinking, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Then he said wearily, “I was planning to do some work Sunday morning on the upcoming summit meeting with the Russian president.” Among other things I’ve got to find out exactly how many of those nuclear warheads may really be missing. “And it’s awfully late for the president to go popping in on an unsuspecting congregation. How about if we make plans to go next week?”

  It was Carrie’s turn to pause. “If you don’t mind, I think Katherine and I will go to a church this week, just to see what it’s like. And if you decide to go with us at the last minute, we’d love to have you. Okay?”

  “Sure,” the president said, relieved to be off the hook. “That sermon at Camp David really moved you, didn’t it?”

  Another pause. Carrie turned around from her dressing table and smiled with a remarkable warmth. It struck William’s heart, despite his efforts to ignore it. “I know it’s hard to understand—I’m only just beginning to myself. But I know that I belong to God now. I’m a mess. I drink too much sometimes, and I worry too much. He has a lot to clean up in me. But I know that I’m his! And he can clean me up. I know he can. Whatever happens, as Michael said that morning and Mary has shown me since then in the Bible, I know I’ll be in heaven with him, forever. William, that’s incredible! I never knew that before, ever. Now I do. And not because of me, but because of Jesus. God sent his Son to save me. Can you imagine that? Me. And everyone else who believes in him. And ever since I realized that truth, I’ve been wanting to read his Word, to find out more about him. And I really want to worship him. That’s why I want to go to church on Sunday. I know it’s hard, but can you imagine even some of what I feel?”

  William took down his pajama top from the hook in the closet and slowly put it on. “Intellectually, I guess I can, Carrie. At least some. But you’ve made a commitment I don’t feel, frankly, and apparently it’s really changed you, at least for now, just like Mary. But I can’t make that kind of commitment. I’m too busy. I can’t get sidetracked into religion. I have too much on my plate as it is. But I hear you, and I’ll try to accommodate you as best I can. Go ahead and make your plans with Katherine. I doubt I’ll have time to go, but we’ll see.”

  He started for the bathroom but then turned to face her. With a genuine note of exasperation in his voice, he concluded, “And please don’t push this on me. I don’t need or want to be ‘saved.’ And I don’t know if I can survive having the two women closest to me as head-over-heels Christians.” Then he added with a little sarcasm, “You’d think God was coming after me!”

  NORFOLK—At midmorning the next day there was another department head meeting in the wardroom of the USS Fortson.

  “All right, let’s get started,” Commander Anglin began as his senior officers pulled up to the table. “Are all our berthing modifications completed to everyone’s satisfaction and all our new people onboard?”

  “All but one fir
e controlwoman who’s on emergency leave from her last duty station due to her father’s unexpected death. But she should arrive tomorrow,” answered Lieutenant Early, the admin officer.

  “And are the new people okay in their new quarters?”

  “Yes sir, I think so. I haven’t heard any complaints.”

  “What about you, Thomas?” the executive officer asked, turning to the operations officer.

  “We’re having the first meeting of our gays and lesbians this afternoon. But I have heard already about some derisive comments.”

  “All right, gentlemen.” Anglin looked slowly around the table, then said forcefully, “If you have to repeat this every morning to your people, do it. We don’t want any problems or any name-calling. Got it? And be sure your chief’s are onboard with this. They can often set the right tone better than officers. Hugh, what about the new Fourth Division?”

  “Teri Slocum seems to have fit in fine. She knows her missile stuff cold, though she’s a little rusty on shipboard procedures. But her leading chief is a crackerjack.”

  “Good. Then it sounds like we’re ready to get underway on Monday morning for ten days of anti-submarine warfare training. After that we’ll be home for six weeks and then off to lovely Guantanamo Bay for three weeks of high-pressure training in the tropical heat. It will be particularly tough on our new people. But it’s the only way we can be ready to deploy in early October. If there’s nothing else on personnel, let’s move on to the underway replenishment training the squadron commander has scheduled while we’re at sea next week.”

  WASHINGTON—That Friday the president had a working lunch in the Roosevelt Room with Chief of Staff Jerry Richardson, Secretary of the Treasury Robert Valdez, and his domestic policy advisor, Ted Braxton. The vice president, Patricia Barton-North, was expected to arrive late from a speech at the nearby OAS. There were only two items on the agenda: their domestic program and the budget deficit.

  “We met together last week after the Easter recess to go over the numbers and the complaints from the congressional leadership on the other side of the aisle. What have your teams been able to put together?” the president asked.

  “I’m afraid it’s not particularly good, Mr. President,” Robert Valdez replied. “Under any reasonable proposal we make about the economy for the next decade, our programs increase the deficit during the early years. We can’t get away from it unless we play games with the numbers, which I suspect some earlier administrations have done.”

  “We’re only doing what we said we’d do in the campaign,” Ted Braxton added. “We told the American people that our vision is to fix the employment and housing problems, no matter what the cost, once and for all; then count on increased employment and production to kick in the extra taxes needed to decrease the deficit.”

  The door opened and Patricia Barton-North came in just as Jerry Richardson said, “We just hadn’t originally counted on such vehement opposition from the other side, now that we’re actually trying to do it.”

  The president put down his sandwich and leaned forward with both of his hands on the edge of the table. “So what’s the answer? Are you saying that after all the month we spent before the election on designing our programs, and all the months we’ve spent since the election planning to implement them, we won’t be able to fulfill any of them! That we’re impotent against a filibuster in the Senate, and therefore our programs are finished? That it’s another four years of political gridlock?”

  “That’s unacceptable,” the vice president said, sitting and leaning against the antique table, looking to her right at the president.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Braxton said. “You asked. We’ve always known that our programs would bust the short-term budget, but for a purpose. It’s not our fault that the voters have elected such a conservative Senate.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll be blamed. Just watch the press have a field day with us if the current stalemate goes on much longer,” added Richardson.

  “Again, what’s the answer?” the president asked. There’s got to be one! he told himself.

  “Do we know anything about these obstructionists that we can use against them?” the vice president asked.

  “You mean blackmail?” the chief of staff asked.

  “I mean this is hardball, Jerry, for the future of America. So we play just as hard as they do. We know our nation desperately needs these programs. Lives and jobs are at stake. We can’t allow a few old men to hold up every-thing we stand for just because of a budget that no one believes is important anymore, anyway.”

  “Can we compromise? Is there any middle ground?” William asked.

  “Yes, but it’s not very attractive, I’m afraid,” replied Valdez. “If we water down our programs to fit a reduced budget, then they don’t stand a chance of creating the real cure we need to increase jobs and incomes later. We’d just sort of muddle along, speaking the platitudes, going deeper into debt, but not really changing anything.”

  “And what about their budget proposal?”

  “We still don’t have it. They’re waiting for ours before they issue an alternative. But I suspect it will be a rehash of the status quo. No real change, no real benefits, no real savings,” offered Braxton.

  “This is about the most depressing meeting I’ve attended since we set our course three years ago,” the president said, throwing down his napkin. “Our nation is in a mess, and sooner or later the press and the American people will figure out that their country is stuck again, going nowhere, except deeper into debt, with nothing to show for it. The greatest nation on earth can’t pay its bills, can’t educate its children, can’t house its people, and soon may not be able to defend itself. And we’re supposed to be in charge, but we can’t do a thing! How’s that for leadership?” Not to mention a nuclear bomb in the hands of terrorists who say they’ll kill millions of us, but we don’t know when, where, or why! he thought.

  “Mr. President, you can’t be worried about defense with so many other, more important problems,” Patricia said.

  “But I do, Patricia. We were elected by some of the people, but we are the leaders of all the people. Including the ones in the military. And including all those who will not be pleased if we strip our military of its assets and then can’t respond during a crisis.”

  “William, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but sometimes you say some incredible things. If you worry about everybody, you’ll never get anything done. We’ve got our programs and our constituency, and we have to stick to them,” the vice president emphasized, indicating her unhappiness.

  This woman is incredible, William thought. Is she selfish, crazy, or brilliant? He turned to address everyone. “Before I get angry, let me just say that I want to accomplish so much more, as I know you all do. We’re starting to bicker among ourselves because our hopes and our dreams for a better nation are being frustrated. I’m very disappointed.” The president stood up. “Robert, Jerry, please give me a synopsis of your findings so I can study them over the weekend; maybe something will jump out at me. Ted, set up some one-on-one meetings with key members of the opposition. Let’s listen to them and find out if there’s any common ground. Or at least some pet projects they want over which we can bargain. Not exactly blackmail; just ‘compromise.’ Does anyone have any other ideas to get our nation moving again?”

  “My mother,” Richardson said, trying to smile, “always said to pray for what was important to you and that God would bend down and listen.”

  The president started to smile and to say something flip in response. But then his expression grew thoughtful, and he just nodded, as if he took the statement quite seriously, to everyone’s surprise.

  “We’ll set up the meetings for next week,” Braxton said to the president’s back, as the commander in chief left the room.

  ATLANTA—Rebecca, who had signed up for a twelve-hour shift that day, was surprised to hear herself paged. When she reached the central nurses’ station, she learn
ed that she had a phone call. Who knew I changed my shift? she wondered as she picked up the phone.

  “Rebecca, hi. It’s Bruce.”

  “Hi. What’s up?” Bruce never called her at the hospital unless it was important.

  “Nothing good. My dad called. My mom didn’t want to tell me, but she’s been undergoing all these tests, and they’ve found a brain tumor.”

  “Oh, Bruce, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” Bruce said. “It’s a real shock. On top of that my dad’s not in good shape either. His emphysema is worse. Anyway, I need to fly up there this afternoon. I’ll call you from Boston. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  “Of course. I understand. Listen, let me check around, and when you call back I’ll have the names and numbers of some really good specialists in case you want a second opinion.”

  “Thanks. We may. From what Dad said, it doesn’t sound very good.”

  “Well, call me tonight at the apartment. I hope she’s better. I love you,” Rebecca said, trying to sound as upbeat as she could.

  “I love you, too,” Bruce answered, obviously depressed, and hung up.

  NORFOLK—Hugh and Jennifer had been to an early movie at the mall and were having a casual dinner at a new restaurant that had just opened there. They were using a young baby-sitter and had to be home before eleven. Ever since they were married they had made a point of going out for dinner or doing something special just before Hugh went to sea, even if he was only going for a week. They both hated the upcoming separation, and Hugh particularly liked to feel he was doing something special for Jennifer. Like all navy wives, she would have to be both mother and father come Monday morning.