by Doug Walker
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
The southern trip was quite a success. First was Augusta, Georgia’s second oldest and second largest city nestled on the Savannah River. Antebellum mansions, fried chicken and catfish, and, of course, the Masters tournament with its coveted green jacket.
Then on to Jacksonville, not only on the banks of the St. Johns River, but also pushed up against the Atlantic surf. The city boasts one of the largest downtown historic districts in the South, but also a jumping riverside area.
Miami was the crown jewel of the trip, both in campaign dollars brought in and downright fun. Brooking found the gathering with its heavy Hispanic flavor to be a jolly lot. He enjoyed the cocktail reception and treated himself to half a drink.
Something odd happened at the windup banquet. After his usual campaign address, plus sops to what he had done and would do for South Florida, he reached the few lines of Spanish written out for him. The first few sentences were what one might expect. The wonderful contributions Hispanics had made to American life, their work ethic and love of family and so forth.
As he read the fourth sentence, there was a noted sea change in the crowd; a peculiar silence seemed to sweep the hall. As he read the fifth and last sentence the crowd burst out laughing. He was dazed. What had he said?
Later he was to learn that the sentence that quieted the crowd was: Arroz hervido que se ha enfriado no me apetece. This translates into English: Cold boiled rice is not appetizing.
The last sentence was: Prometo que todos los gatos sin hogar recibirán mangos gratis. This translates as a promise of free mangos for homeless cats.
He was aware someone had slipped something into his speech, but didn’t know what. He attempted to recover by saying, “Perhaps I’ll go into comedy once I improve my Spanish. I’m sure you all realize by my accent that I didn’t know what I was saying, but obviously you caught the meaning, whatever it was.
“I’d like to end the speech by simply saying in English that it’s great to be in Miami with all you wonderful people, wherever you come from. Good night, God bless you and God bless America. Both continents, the middle and all the islands.”
Sustained applause.
Back in Washington the following day, he asked Penny to track down who had done the Spanish job on his speech.
A half hour later, Penny reported. “The culprit is here. Shall I send her in?”
“Certainly.”
In flounced a Latin looking female, with large bosoms almost falling out of her off-the-shoulder dress. She was making small noises, like, “oooh, oooh, oooh,” as she approached his desk. Bending over so he could get a good look of her upper extremities, she chortled, “Mr. President, I knew I could meet you if I played all my cards.”
With that she cake walked around his desk and kissed him on the lips. “Mr. President, I’m 23, do you think that’s old?”
He managed to disentangle himself and said. “No, not at all, Miss…, Miss…, it is miss isn’t it?”
“Of course.” She almost giggled. “You know what that means.” She had managed to boost herself up so she was seated on his desk, him staring at her knees, this time her lower extremities.
“I suppose it could mean you’re looking for a mate. Someone to marry. How did you get to Washington and what do you do here?”
“My Dad, he’s the ambassador from Argentina. Have you been there? Cape Horn and the pampas. Very romantic. You find me attractive?”
“Of course. You’re a very attractive woman. Your English is excellent.”
She smiled broadly and tried to slip down in his lap, but he pushed her away. “I was educated by the nuns. They are very strict. But now I’m on my own, a servant to the White House and a slave to you, Mr. President. You own me. “Do you have a bedroom upstairs?”
“Yes, I live in this building.”
“And alcohol, yes? We go up there, drink, take off our clothing and do crazy things. You like?”
“This is so sudden.” He got up and led her to a chair and pushed her into it. She attempted to drag him in on top of her. “What’s your name?”
“Dolores Delgado. Do you think I’m sweet?”
She attempted to rise, but he pushed her back and went for the phone and shouted, “Penny, get in here.”
A wide-eyed Penny entered, and he asked her to stay near Ms. Delgado and attempt to restrain her maternal urges. Then he resumed his seat behind his historic desk. It had belonged to a long-dead president, but he couldn’t remember who. In fact the entire White House seemed to be jammed with historic artifacts and memories.
“Ms. Delgado played a little joke on me by inserting some Spanish nonsense into my Miami speech. I’ll say this, everyone seemed to enjoy it. I wish you had been there Dolores. May I call you Dolores?”
“Of course you may.” She was all smiles. “I feel this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship. We’ll have our ups and downs, and if I’m bad you can beat me. But after that, romantic moments. I would like to suffer with you. In Argentina everyone suffers. It is a wonderful feeling.” She turned to Penny. “What do you think? Don’t we make a fine pair?”
“Your temperament might not be on the same page. Maybe not even in the same book. But it would be awesome to watch.”
“That’s kind of kinky, you watching us. Maybe the three of us could climb in bed together. How would that be?”
“My husband might object.”
Brooking broke into the conversation. “Penny, why don’t you take Dolores to the canteen and have refreshments. Then, if you can find a lone Marine or Secret Service agent, you might have him show her around the rest of the building. I’m assuming she’s an East Wing intern.”
“You assume right, Sir. I’ll be happy to see that she’s properly protected.”
Quick as a wink, Dolores was around his desk again kissing him goodbye on the lips, breathing heavily. He managed to push her away and into Penny’s arms. “Adios, Dolores.”
She smiled, waved and danced out of the office, making that little oooh, oooh, oooh noise.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Penny had mentioned a day or two before that a friend from Iowa was attempting to get in touch with him. Brooking recognized the name of a high school acquaintance. The man, Jerry Jennings, had said his son was getting married in Baltimore to the offspring of another high school chum and might he attend the service.
Baltimore was just beyond the Beltway. Why not spend a few hours with the old high school crowd? He asked Penny to get the details, possibly have an invitation faxed over.
Later Penny entered his office, invitation in hand, with a quirky smile on her face. “The invitation to your friend’s union,” she announced.
Brooking looked at the paper in her hand and examined her features. “Am I missing something?”
“No, Sir. Here’s the invitation you asked for. But it’s not a regular wedding. More of a civil union. Both groom and groom are male.”
The President laughed. “A gay wedding from rural Iowa. How unconventional. And I really don’t mean unconventional broadly speaking. What I mean is unconventional for rural Iowa. Or so it would seem the last time I looked. What am I supposed to do?”
“Be the guest of honor at a gay wedding. Possibly the first president to do such a thing.”
“Do you think I should do such a thing?”
This time Penny laughed. “Thank God I’m not on your advisory team. You’re all alone on this one.”
“And stranded in leftfield. I’m going to bounce this off German and Rains and do so as quickly as possible. Round them up and try to get them in my office.”
The two of them would show up at lunchtime. Penny confirmed the session and Brooking asked her to get something simple in the way of food, maybe with tonic water. “I’m tired of those lunchmeat and lettuce sandwiches. Sandwiches are okay, but get something unusual.”
Lunchtime came and she brought in broiled chicken liver and sautéed onion sandwiches, served on
heavy flat bread. Certainly unusual, as requested.
Of course Peggy Rains became highly excited when the President told her he had been invited to a gay wedding in Baltimore. German munched away on his sandwich and withheld judgment. When Brooking explained that both parties were the sons of former high school chums in Iowa, Rains calmed down.
She sipped tonic water, ignoring her sandwich, and acknowledged, “Might not be a total disaster.”
“Good,” Brooking said, “because I’m going. These are home folks. It would be worse if I refused. But I’m not doing it for that reason. These are my home folks. I’m just a Hawkeye at heart.” The President dug into his sandwich, the best he had had for some days.
German took the opportunity to suggest they set up a live video chat system in the residential quarters.
“I don’t think so,” Brooking smiled. “I’d have to get fixed up, tarted up, before using the thing.”
“I think the good outweighs the bad,” Rains tossed in. “You could have early morning or late night chats with leaders in Europe and Asia. Remember the time zones.”
“True, but we’d be face to face. Suppose I got up, had a cup of coffee and there was a call. My head looks like a hayrack, I’m wearing an undershirt, unshaven, not really ready for prime time.”
“Okay,” German agreed. “So we do it in your office?”
“Fine. With proper screening. Adequate warning about who I’m going to talk with and possibly why. I’d like to be prepared.”
“We’ll do it.”
Although the President and Derek Park had their own election staff and generally their own campaign events they frequently huddled for talks. At many levels they had bonded, sharing the identical political philosophy.
At times Park would attempt to point out flaws in the liberal approach to political life. On this night they had worked out and talked strategy in the exercise room with Tarot listening in.
“We spend too much time attacking and poking fun at conservative scoundrels, which often serves the purpose of those very scoundrels by spreading their propaganda,” Park said. “Morally, ecologically and economically the world is out of whack. We assume a defensive posture that does damage to our liberal agenda. We are blamed for a government crisis created by Wall Street and spend time defending ourselves. I know how these conservative lobbies work, funded by big bucks thanks to our Supreme Court, formerly the people’s Supreme Court. The powerful and the superrich have found a staunch ally in the right wing, many of whose members vote against their own self-interest for God knows what reason.”
Brooking jumped in, saying, “There was once, not many years ago, a belief that government was a force of good in the lives of the downtrodden. The right wing propaganda mill has sought to destroy that belief, painting government as an evil force standing in the way of progress.”
“Yes,” Park agreed, “And by progress they mean larger and larger profits for the already affluent. Fewer and fewer social programs to eat up tax dollars. Plus an almost fanatical religious approach to put women in their so-called place and keep them there. If they could, they would deny women the vote. Speaking of denying the vote, that force in government has been successful in denying the vote to certain minorities either through poll cleansing, making it difficult to register, or frightening certain folks into staying home during elections.”
“This is a great country, there’s enough of everything to go around,” Brooking said. “It shouldn’t be all that difficult to find common ground. Our first priority should be to work together to strengthen our country and our community. And I’m not talking militarily here. We spend far too much on the military and its expensive toys.”
“So much for solving all the problems of the world in one night,” Park yawned. “I think I’ll go home and go to bed.”
“I’m off to the showers,” Brooking said, rising. Then to Tarot. “If you stick around we might find something to drink.”
“Stick around,” Tarot said gesturing with his arms, “this is my home.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Derek Park proved a tough campaigner. A good speaker, he could think on his feet, he knew every nook and cranny of Washington life, he was well aware that figures don’t lie, but liars can figure, and with a computer-like brain he could set the record straight. And he was a gifted fundraiser, even drawing money from the right wing, possibly because he was feared by some.
Occasionally he would compare ExxonMobile to the great companies of history that sent their own navies and armies into the field, even minted their own coins. A couple of these were the British East India Company and the Dutch East India Company. These firms established their own foreign policy.
ExxonMobile would switch a few of its top lobbyists from right to left and back again with the change of administrations. Profits far in excess of $20 billion a year were not uncommon. One chief executive garnered a retirement package of almost $400 million.
Park was adept at tossing many statistics into his talks while always pushing the liberal agenda, pointing out that recent conservative administrations pulled the country out of recession by adding government jobs. The exact opposite of the agenda of the new hard-core right.
Brooking and Park, along with an army of surrogates and campaign workers, kept up their election drum roll up to and through the party’s convention where Park was anointed as the running mate.
With the election at hand, Brooking met with Tarot one bleak October morning and told him he was seriously considering leaving office.
“If we lose the election, of course, I’m out. I’ll stay through the transition period and until the new man is sworn in, then I’m off to Turkey, my son and my folks. Perhaps there will be a niche for me.
“If I win, I’ll announce my resignation with the State of the Union message. Two weeks later, I’ll be out of here.”
“I’m surprised, yet not surprised, Sir. Not to be selfish, but what’s to become of me?”
Brooking looked solemn when he said, “I want you to go with me. You’ve been there. You delivered my son to his grandparents. You’ve become my best friend, the person I lean on. How about it?”
“Best news I’ve had all week. I knew something was cooking in that mind of yours. I’ll keep my bag packed with my passport lying right on top.”
So the exit plan was complete. The election was held and Brooking’s party eked out enough electoral votes, although some irregularities in Florida held up the final tally for two days. At one point it seemed the election might be thrown into the Supreme Court. Brooking had anticipated problems in that quarter and had sent Tarot to Tallahassee to keep an eye on things. He had infiltrated the opposition camp and managed to expose its grand scheme.
Ohio had been in play, but the large northern cities – Cleveland, Youngstown, Toledo, Akron – managed to overcome the conservative vote centered in Cincinnati.
House and Senate seats had been won and lost. On Capitol Hill the lame ducks were quacking like so many wounded birds and deadlock reigned. Nothing would be accomplished until after a new Congress had been sworn in. Those elected, but not yet sworn, swarmed the Capitol looking for favorable offices, using every ounce of influence at their disposal.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Brooking was sworn in for a second term and pledged to uphold the honor of the country in a brief speech. Park was sworn in as vice president. Cabinet members offered their resignations, some sincere, most hoping for praise and refusal. Brooking held them all in abeyance, pending his State of the Union message. He did not waiver from his desire to leave Washington behind for the beckoning wastelands of Turkey. His step was light, his spirit soared. Whatever it was, he had done it.
Mounting the platform for his State of the Union report, flanked by the House and Senate leaders, the President received enthusiastic applause from his party, mild applause from the opposition and little notice from Supreme Court majority members who were still wondering why they didn’t get to decide the el
ection.
“Fellow Americans,” the President began, he had decided to keep it simple and not recognize every Tom, Dick and Harry. “I stand before you tonight a happy man. During my first term I feel I fought the good fight. There were accomplishments, but much remains to be done.
“I feel I have already hit one long ball for our country to kick off my second term. That is the selection of Derek Park as vice president. He turned and gestured toward Park who received applause from both parties.” Just as he thought, the opposition feared the former lobbyist.
“Most of you know that during my first term I lost my wife to cancer. She had been a stout-hearted helpmate for many years and bore me a fine son. Later I lost my vice president to a terrorist attack. Tina Geer and I had been friends in graduate school. She had a keen mind and had risen to the top in the academic world. Both these losses were terrible blows, but in fact gave me the determination and stability to soldier on for the good of our country.
“Let me inject a personal note about Tina. I recruited her and persuaded her to run as vice president. She came to Washington unencumbered by the baggage most politicians drag along. I thought of her as my gift to the nation. A brilliant woman with good common sense, balance and unprejudiced in any way. I brought her along to be the first female president after I had served eight years. That was my dream, only a dream. She died a brutal death in a terrorist attack meant for me. Consider if the terrorists hadn’t been halfwits and hit the right target, me. Tonight Tina might be standing here making this address to the nation. Would the country be better off? Go figure.
“To me, the tragedy of my first four years lacks only a Greek chorus. But I resolved to go forward with hope in my heart. With the start of my second term I admit I have lost that resolve.”
The last sentence caused a stir among the audience, seatmates asking one another what would come next.
“But, believe me, I am not abandoning this great country to the bone yard of history. I have made adequate and bold preparation with the selection of Vice President Park. If you know my history, you will know that I never set out on the trail to high office. I more or less drifted into it. This might sound absurd because you must also know that I struggled hard, worked day and night, visited a zillion campaign events and always tried to do the best I was capable of.”
