The President

by Parker Hudson

  She leaned back slightly, the moment of mutual recognition between them clearly noted, and threw him a pitch he couldn’t miss. “And what do you think is the matter with Congress, Mr. President? People are dusting off the old gridlock label.”

  “I’ve heard that, too, Leslie,” he agreed, turning a little fatherly, “and it galls me just as much as it must gall every thinking American. Our economic program has been designed and tested using the best computer modeling by the finest minds in economics, business, education, and housing. It’s virtually foolproof, and it’s ready to go. We’ll prime the pump with investment dollars spent on education and job training; we’ll tap the well of economic development by investing dollars in housing construction; and the healthy flow of jobs and prosperity—combined with a phasing out of these same programs once their missions are accomplished—will then produce a steady stream of new taxes that will balance the budget at near full employment.

  “It’s just that simple, Leslie, and that powerful! And the only reason Congress hasn’t approved it yet is because some of the men over there apparently have no vision for the boldness that made America the great nation we are! We’re not contributing to gridlock. We’re leading with a positive new plan. If the American people are as tired of delay as we are, I urge them to write their congressmen today and to demand passage of our initiative to turn America in a new and a prosperous direction!”

  Jerry Richardson had long since stopped pacing, and now he and Chris were smiling. When he finished, they simulated clapping, as did Carrie. The Sullivans stood and watched; Richard had his hands in his pockets.

  Leslie Sloane went on to ask a question about the administration’s proposed tax on those churches that did not adhere to federal antidiscrimination laws, and the rest of the interview went very well for William, to his relief and apparently to Leslies as well. As they finished and stood up, the camera lights were turned off. She removed her microphone, extended her hand, and said, “Thanks for the interview, Mr. President.”

  He returned her smile and replied, “Any time, Leslie. Thanks for the questions—and I appreciate your concern for my parents.”

  She was about to turn toward her camera crew when the first lady appeared along with a couple who seemed to be about the same age as the president and his wife.

  “Richard, you old conservative, you.” The president beamed as the two men hugged.

  “Ms. Sloane,” Carrie was saying, “I’d like you to meet our oldest, dearest friends, Richard and Janet Sullivan. We all met when Richard and the president were in law school together a year or two ago.”

  Richard extended his hand to Leslie as the president added, “And one of us actually practices law.”

  Richard looked around at the Oval Office. “These digs don’t look too shabby to me. What do you think, Janet?”

  “I think we’re all amazingly blessed. What a great day for us. It’s a joy to meet you, Ms. Sloane, though I feel I know you because I’m the promotion director for one of the network’s largest affiliates.” Before Leslie could speak, Janet added, “And it’s fantastic to be here with you two. How long has it been, Carrie? Four years and one very important election?”

  “I think that’s right, Janet,” Carrie replied. “The twentieth law school reunion. I guess that means twenty-five is coming up.”

  The five of them talked together for a few minutes, and then Leslie excused herself, saying, “Here’s my card, Mrs. Sullivan. If you’re ever again in D.C. or I can help you in any way, please let me know.”

  “Thanks, Leslie. Here’s mine,” and Janet shook her hand.

  “It’s great to have you two here,” William concluded after everyone else had departed, “but I’ve got a couple of more meetings this afternoon. Richard, do you have any meetings today yourself?”

  “No, the conference ended at lunch after two full days. I’m ready for a break.”

  “Good. I suggest you let Carrie give you her patented tour of these ‘digs,’ and I’ll catch up with you before dinner. We’re looking forward to spending most of the weekend with you, even if I’ll have to constantly remind myself how violently reactionary you are,” he concluded, looking at his old law school classmate.

  Richard took the kidding with aplomb. “Sounds great. Whatever the schedule of the world’s most important man allows is obviously okay with us common folk.”

  “Now you two stop,” Carrie intervened. “We’ll see you upstairs, dear. And, by the way, I was right.”

  William was momentarily confused. “About what?”

  “The interview,” she said and gave him a big smile. “You were inspiring.”

  “Oh. Yeah, thanks. It felt okay.”

  But as the other three left the Oval Office, William Harrison was left alone with a hollow realization: he couldn’t remember any specific point he’d made during the entire interview. He’d just repeated the words he’d learned in two straight years of campaigning, perhaps with some new twists, but still the same old words.

  I really don’t know what will happen to taxes with my plan, he admitted to himself. In fact, I couldn’t describe how those computer models work. It’s all too complicated The absolute truth, he realized, as he collapsed into his big leather chair, is that I don’t understand much of this at all I’m really a big-picture man. A vision man. Don’t ask detail questions, Leslie, because I probably couldn’t answer them! Details. The answers are in the details, someone supposedly once said. Maybe that’s why the answers escape me—I don’t understand the details. Does anyone? Did anyone before? Washington? Lincoln? Franklin?

  He closed his eyes and suddenly felt cold in the middle of the warm summer afternoon. I know it looked good, Carrie. That I know how to do. But how to govern this huge and complex country? When you get right down to it, I guess I don’t really have a clue...

  He sat staring out the window until the intercom buzzed with his next appointment.

  NORFOLK—“Please join us,” Hugh Harrison said, rising from his seat across the table from Jennifer and motioning to Perry Colangelo and his wife, Marty. The Colangelos accepted the offer, and the two couples filled a table at the edge of the dance floor in the Bachelor Enlisted Quarters Dining Hall, converted that Friday evening into a dance hall.

  “This is something else,” Perry slightly yelled to the Harrisons over the din of the band, Hung Jury. “I hope you’re having a gay old time!”

  The two department heads and their wives were attending the final event of GALA Week, a command performance for all officers and chiefs on the ship. The normally utilitarian base mess hall had been decorated with huge interlocked male and female symbols, red AIDS awareness bows, and pink streamers. The lights were turned down and two spotlights played across the all-male band, dressed in white underpants, black leather boots, and chains. Although the entire ship had been invited, it looked to Hugh as if the crowd at this early hour was mostly homosexual and lesbian, judging from who was dancing with whom. He also noticed a large contingent of non-naval invitees from the gay community in Norfolk.

  “Chief Raines told me today,” Perry continued, “that a good number of closet gays are supposed to ‘come out’ tonight at the last intermission, some of whom have been in the navy for years.”

  “I can’t wait,” Hugh responded. “I’m more worried about the rumor that a large contingent of skinheads is going to be waiting outside when the party’s over to bash heads. I hear the base commander has the entire security force on patrol tonight, and they’re planning to mass here about eleven.”

  “I hope we’re leaving by ten, then,” Jennifer said, looking at her husband with obvious concern.

  “You and Marty can take off together any time, but the captain wants us here to help quiet things down, given all our new sensitivity training,” Hugh said, taking another sip. “It might seriously make sense for you two to leave a little early.”

  “What a wonderful, gala evening,” Marty Colangelo said to no one in particular.


  Just then two men dressed in their summer khaki uniforms slow danced right in front of the two couples, locked in a tight embrace. All over the dance floor partners, mostly of the same sex, clung together during the slow dance.

  Since the noise was not as loud, Marty asked her husband, “Perry, I can’t believe this. This isn’t normal—or at least it isn’t the navy. What’s going on with this world?”

  “Oh, but sweetheart,” her husband turned and chided her with a smile and a glance at Hugh, “this is completely normal. We’ve been told hundreds of times in our homophobia class this week that we are the ones who aren’t normal—we’re uncaring, unloving, small-minded, and bigoted if we don’t think this is just what everyone’s entided to do, anywhere, anytime. Or at least we’re supposed to give it a try before we decide. Isn’t that great? Telling my eighteen-year-old sailors, some of whom are struggling to read, that they should try homosexuality if they feel the least little bit inclined. That’s sure going to help our six-month deployment. Have they announced yet whether we’re also supposed to try intercourse with the women in your FT Division, Hugh?”

  Hugh grimaced, knowing that Teri Slocum’s division was still a sore subject with Jennifer, and he expected to see his junior officer at the dance any minute. Hoping to change the subject, Hugh leaned across to Perry, grabbed his hand and said, “I don’t know, but while we wait to find out, can I have this dance?”

  The other three laughed and Jennifer spoke up, “Actually, I guess we ought to strike a blow for heterosexuality.” She took Hugh’s outstretched hand and said, “Come on big guy, let’s dance. But let’s buck the trend here and wait till later to do anything else. At least I can close my eyes while we dance and imagine how things used to be, when the world made sense.”

  As they danced together in the bizarre surroundings, Hugh whispered to Jennifer, “I love you, Jen, and I’m so glad we at least have each other and our family, since the world appears to be going crazy.”

  “I wonder if your brother William realizes the reality of what his executive order really means, here at the level of the base BEQ?”

  “I don’t know,” Hugh sighed. “I’ve told him in person and I’ve written him. I didn’t want to mention it at the funeral. Maybe someday he’ll respond in some way, and we can talk about it again.”

  As the slow music ended and the band announced their first intermission, Hugh recognized Thomas Dobbs right next to them, holding hands with a much younger man with bleached blond hair and an earring in each ear. The two department heads smiled politely to each other in recognition, and Hugh introduced Jennifer. “This is my friend, Phil,” Thomas replied. “Phil, meet the Harrisons. Hugh is actually the brother of the president.” The four spoke together for a few minutes, then separated. As the Harrisons neared their table, Hugh noticed Teri Slocum walking their way from the nearby bar, followed by two of the young women in her division.

  “Teri, hi. I’d like you to meet my wife, Jennifer. Jen, this is Teri Slocum.”

  “Glad to meet you,” Teri said, smiling and shaking Jennifer’s hand. “And this is Maggie Simpson and Alice Pritchard. Maggie and I are from the same hometown. She was a few years behind me in the same high school. She’s now a first-class petty officer—and Alice is a third-class.”

  The women shook hands and smiled. Jennifer said to all of them, “Are you with anyone tonight—dates?”

  “No, not tonight. I came over with Maggie, Alice, and some of my other girls. I think we all feel a little bit like fish out of water.”

  “Please join us,” Jennifer said. “At least for a little while if you can. We’ll be fishy together.” She laughed.

  “Alice and I are going to get a Coke,” Maggie said. “We’ll see you in a little while. Nice to meet you.”

  “Go on ahead,” Teri said to Alice and Maggie. “I’ll catch up with you. Then she turned to Hugh and Jennifer. “I’ll stay, but just for a few minutes. I think my group may want to leave before too long.”

  Hugh found an extra chair and the five of them squeezed around the table. There followed several minutes of getting acquainted small talk, mostly about the navy and the changes on the Fortson.

  Then Teri said to Hugh, “Listen, Hugh, a lot of the junior officers really appreciated how you stood up and blew some holes in what our homophobic disorders instructor was saying all week. It was about time.”

  “What did you do, Hugh?” Marty asked.

  Hugh paused and looked embarrassed. “Nothing, really. I just stopped by Cambridge Bookstore on Wednesday and found a copy of the book this guy’s been quoting from all week, purporting to explain scientifically that homosexuality is normal and caused by something in the brain.”

  “And?” Jennifer asked.

  “Well, I’m no expert, but I found his scientific method to be less than rigorous, and I have to question the findings on this subject of someone who writes that he is gay and that being gay is ‘cool.’ I mean the fact is that I don’t know why some people are gay, and he wrote exactly the same thing, though our instructor never quoted that part in class. I’ve almost gotten to the point where I don’t care how it happens. But look at this tonight”—he waved his hand around the room—“this can’t be normal. This can’t be what God—or nature—or whatever—intended.

  “I’m not even talking about what two people do on their own—that’s between them and God. I’m talking about all of this. People could just as easily say that it’s natural for men and women to have heterosexual sex and then create adulterers rights groups, marching and showing videos and conducting classes and dissecting brains and demanding that we all say it’s just wonderful for men to leave their families and to sleep with lots of other women every chance they get, because it’s so normal and natural, and demanding that the government then cure them of any diseases they may catch from sleeping around. What if some guy said he chases skirts because some piece of his brain is bigger or smaller? So what? Most men probably have that precise natural impulse, but it’s what we do that matters. I mean, come on, I’m a naval officer, not a sociologist, but you can’t build a lasting society on the theory of ‘follow the erotic impulse of me moment’”

  “That’s what he said today in class,” Teri laughed.

  “Hugh, where did that all come from?” Marty asked in amazement. “Maybe you should run for president!”

  “Not on your life. Jen and I enjoy visiting the White House, but we wouldn’t want to live there. No, this whole situation just started me thinking, that’s all,” Hugh replied. “I’m sorry for becoming so serious.”

  “Well, anyway, Mrs. Harrison,” Teri said, pushing back in her chair, “it was a real pleasure to meet you, and you’ve got a great thinker for a husband. He’s also a good officer. You’re very lucky. But I’ve got to round up my ladies and head for the ship. I’ve got duty in the morning. Good night, and try not to get too wild.”

  Teri nodded to the other three and turned to look for Maggie and Alice.

  “She is nice, Hugh,” Jennifer said, touching his forearm with her hand. “But I just can’t imagine the two of you on a ship for six months together.” Her tone turning bitter, she looked around and added, “But of course I couldn’t have imagined this six months ago, so maybe I’ll get used to you and Teri and the other women being together four thousand miles from home. When did the world turn upside down? I must not have been looking. But what you said seems to make sense. Why don’t politicians listen to logic like that?”

  “I don’t know, Jen. I wish I did, but I simply don’t know.”

  WASHINGTON—“So, Robert is backpacking out West. How is Katherine enjoying the summer in Raleigh with her aunt and uncle?” asked Janet Sullivan, as she passed the salad bowl to William.

  The Sullivans and Harrisons were seated in the small family dining room in the White House private quarters. They had spent an hour together in the living room, catching up on the many events in each family’s life over the past several years. Now they were enjoyi
ng a simple dinner together, prepared by the White House chef, with a movie scheduled in the theater afterward.

  “Oh, we’re afraid she won’t want to come home in August,” William nodded, taking the bowl from Janet. “She loves being back in Raleigh, and she and Sarah are so close. I’m sure she wishes she could just stay there for the rest of our term.”

  “Is the glamour of the White House too much for her?” Richard asked, cutting his steak.

  “I’m afraid she views it as a not very glamorous prison,” Carrie said. “Too many restrictions and limitations for a high school senior.”

  “It’s so hard to know the right balance in our own much simpler world,” Janet volunteered, “so I can imagine that it’s almost impossible for you. But our Susan found just the opposite situation in her first year at college. There were absolutely no rules or restrictions. No one knew when the girls came or went from the dormitories, and they sold condoms in the girls’ bathrooms, if you can believe that.”

  “It is just the opposite of when we were in school,” Carrie agreed.

  “But you want to hear something interesting?” Janet continued. “At the end of her freshman year, Susan and some of the other girls, many of whom are believers, banded together and petitioned the university for a girls’ dorm with real rules, no men, no visitations, and a dorm mother. After about a month of negotiation the university finally agreed, but they made all the girls who wanted to live there sign a waiver releasing their ‘natural rights’! What a reversal the world has taken since we were in college. Anyway, the end of the story, so far, is that there is a long waiting list for Susan’s ‘special’ dorm, and the university is going to add another one this fall. Isn’t that great?”