The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

  Curse! Even after all she knew from being here, Taylor never expected her to say something like that. “What do you mean – curse?”

  “I don’t really know what I mean. It’s just a feeling. I don’t mean something evil or occult—maybe it’s the wrong word, but I can’t think of a better one. It’s as if once you’re here and you realize how everyone bows and scrapes, and yet at the same time, how the press can vilify you for the simplest things, your personality changes, you know? You begin to take on the role.” She shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know, I just think that once you’ve lived here, worked here, you can’t ever really tell the truth again.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

  Taylor wondered if she would be a different person after having lived, worked here. She certainly was becoming a practiced liar. “And so not being able to tell the truth about how it really is, you would be protecting Sam, protecting his reputation.”

  Beth nodded. “Yes, you know Taylor, I don’t want to get even; I don’t want any revenge. I am resentful of him and he has slowly killed any love I had for him, but in lots of ways, I feel sorry for him.”

  “So you don’t want to hurt him back.”

  “No I don’t.”

  Taylor thought back over the stories she’d been reading about other occupants of this house, other wives of presidents. “You said you’ve read all the books about other first ladies. Is there one of them you identify with more than the others?”

  Beth answered immediately. “Yes, Pat Nixon. I don’t know what was wrong with Richard Nixon, in your terms, in terms of his mental state, but I do know he lied, often. I remember reading the transcripts of the Watergate tapes, long before we came to the White House. I read those years ago and I was so disillusioned by the language he used. The book was constantly blipped, he couldn’t seem to open his mouth without using an obscene word.”

  “So are you saying you think she was unhappy? As unhappy as you are?”

  Beth shook her head, “I don’t know. No one ever knows what goes on inside marriages, except someone like you, I suppose. I know that she was loyal and that she did some very good things for people, quietly. She was called ‘Plastic Pat’ by the press, because she seemed so wooden on the stage. I’m surprised I haven’t been labeled with some word like that—I feel like my smile is plastic. From what I’ve read, she hated politics as much as I do.”

  “So there are two ways you identify with her; she had a husband who was difficult to live with and she hated politics.”

  Beth nodded. “But she was loyal to the end. I get the feeling Richard Nixon was cold, shut her out, and didn’t give her any credit for what she tried to do. Did you know she’s the only first lady who ever went into a combat zone?”

  “No, where—in Vietnam?”

  “Yes, she said she wanted to visit the troops and when she arrived, all sorts of diplomatic tea parties were arranged for her. But she insisted on going to a field hospital instead, in a helicopter, knowing the helicopter could be shot at, brought down. And when she arrived, she didn’t want to only talk to the doctors and nurses, she wanted to see the soldiers. She took down names and addresses of their families and wrote to each one personally when she came back.”

  “You not only identify with her, you admire her.”

  “Yes! It seems to me she was braver than I’ve been. I don’t know if her husband had a temper, like Sam, or if he simply ignored her, shut her out—I think that was probably it. So she had an uphill struggle, she coped with being here, obviously, better than I have. And if she was depressed, she probably wasn’t able to get any help. But at least she was allowed to take trips by herself.”

  What do you mean? Allowed by whom?”

  “By her husband, I guess. You know, that’s why I decided to work with the homeless here in D.C. Sam doesn’t like me to go anywhere on my own, unless it’s to see my mother or the children.

  ”The words ‘utter control’ were going through Taylor’s mind. “So did you start working with the homeless right away?”

  “No, it took awhile; the president’s wife is a glorified head housekeeper here and there was a lot to learn about state dinners, protocols, correspondence, all those things. Beth grimaced. “Oh, Taylor, I can’t tell you how upset I was when we first came here. There are homeless people in Vermont, but nothing like here. We came in January, of course, that’s when new presidents are sworn in, and it was a very cold, wet day. It was the first time I’d seen people asleep on park benches, with their grocery carts filled with their few belongings. But I never forgot them, never forgot the image of one man in particular, sleeping with just a thin rag over his shoulders. I know that drugs are to blame in many cases, but still, how could I, how could anyone ignore this problem right here in the heart of government?”

  Taylor nodded, “Did your husband encourage you in this, trying to help these people?”

  “No, not at all,” Beth responded, looking rather sad.” “He didn’t want me to get into this. All first ladies have chosen a field in which to work, along with all the other requests. You have to narrow it down or you would be in even more constant demand. If I’d widened out my interest in homelessness to other cities I would have traveled more, but he made it clear that I was not to travel on my own. He didn’t want me making trips without him.”

  “He wanted to be with you, to control what you said,” Taylor conjectured, but certain she was correct.

  Beth nodded, once more looking hopeless. “So I decided I would at least try to make things better right here. And I have, I like to think so anyway.”

  “Tell me more about your work. What have you done?”

  Beth shifted in the chair before she answered. “Not all I wanted to do. First, I had my staff do research and I found that the problems really escalated when rent controls were deregulated. Landlords can charge as much as they want to, which means prices escalated and many people were simply priced out of a place to live. There are people living on the streets that have jobs, but can’t afford to rent even a studio. Then they’re on the streets and so miserable, that alcohol and drugs seem to be their panacea.”

  “Why did he not want you to work with these people?”

  “He just doesn’t have sympathy for them; he has this archaic idea that if someone is on the streets, he wants to be. He thinks these people should pull themselves up by their bootstraps and get a job and a place to live. I think it’s his upbringing, you know he has never had to worry about money. So I had to be careful. In other words, I couldn’t go on a crusade about this—Sam would have been furious. I tried to do things anonymously and through other people.” Beth sighed deeply before she continued. “And it helped. It helped them some and it helped me. I felt I was doing something worthwhile.”

  “So if and when you leave the White House, do you think your work will last?”

  She smiled, “Oh, I hope so. I mean, what’s life for if we can’t make some contribution, make it better for all, you know? Some people don’t start out equal. It’s a myth. Some people are born into poverty, born in a home with no books, a single parent, no one to guide them. You can’t expect someone who isn’t as intelligent as others to compete in the same way. It’s all so unfair!”

  Beth seemed passionate about this topic, but what struck Taylor most was the fact that the President didn’t want her to travel alone. She knew from her reading that many, if not most, other first ladies went on all sorts of goodwill tours on their own. “I think you chose something very worthwhile to focus on, but your husband not wanting or letting you travel must have made you feel even more closed in here.”

  “Yes. The only time I can go anywhere alone is to see my mother or Anna and he makes it clear that he doesn’t want me to stay long.”

  “He kept you on a short leash…” Taylor began, but then the inevitable phone rang and the session ended.

  Chapter Fifteen


  Beth was scheduled to go on a campaign trip with Sam. She didn’t want to go; she wanted to get out of it, but since he was getting worse and worse, in terms of his anger, and since he seemed to be drinking more and more, she felt compelled to go. Frank would be with him, but couldn’t be with him in the privacy of the bedroom on Air Force One.

  She hated these trips. She was constantly on show, smiling, holding Sam’s hand when he reached for hers. All for the press and the voters. Even when they walked across the White House lawn to the helicopter, Sam insisted she hold his hand. It was so false. One more lie. However, she dutifully submitted and waved to the press. She had seen clips on the news of the two of them walking to the helicopter. It always looked like there was a crowd of admirers there to send them off, when actually, it was only the press.

  What’s more, she was terrified of the helicopter ride. As the whirling blades lifted them straight up, over the tops of the trees, and leveled out for the short journey to Andrews Air Force Base, she sat rigid, looking straight ahead and never looking down. In three years she’d never been able to overcome her fear. She always breathed a sigh of relief when the helicopter landed safely.

  Sam looked at her disparagingly. “Haven’t you got over that yet? What do you think—they’re going to let the President of the United States go down in a helicopter?” With that he laughed.

  She used to like his laugh, but now it seemed it always followed a sarcastic remark. They boarded Air Force One, hand in hand until they reached the steps, then Sam let her go first. She went straight to the private quarters, changed her clothes into something comfortable and with socks on her feet, climbed onto the bed. Lillian made sure there were all the latest magazines for her to read. There were also several novels, but the anticipation of the trip ahead kept her from concentrating. Magazines were all she could handle.

  After an hour, the door burst open. “Why are you holed up in here? Are you sick again?” Sam’s voice was harsh, but then it seemed to always be that way lately when he spoke to her.

  “It’s all right, Sam. No, I’m not sick. I’m just relaxing, we have quite a schedule ahead of us.”

  “It must be nice to have time to relax,” he said in the same tone slamming the door shut. Or trying to slam it. It clicked quietly instead.

  Beth knew she couldn’t reach Taylor unless it was an emergency. And she didn’t want to talk to anyone on the plane because it was all so superficial. ‘How are you, Mrs. Carlson?’ seemed to be all anyone on Sam’s staff said. She knew Frank was on the plane, but she didn’t even know where he was. She supposed, if she was too upset, she could ask for him; she could pretend she was ill.

  Long before the plane touched down, she was dressed again. She put on her nice clothes as well as her nice smile. New Hampshire was the first stop. It was the earliest state to hold a primary and although their party wasn’t selecting a candidate, although Sam was the chosen one for the next election, he needed to impress the voters from his party and maybe a few independents, that they needed to get out and vote.

  The trips were tiring for Beth. Off the plane, onto the platform, lots of handshaking, lots of smiling. She had to be gracious to all these people. They supported Sam, they were from their party, and she understood that it was a huge occasion for them to see him in person. Beth never spoke at these rallies, she just smiled and smiled. And smiled.

  Would he be re-elected? Beth hoped fervently, that he would not. She no longer felt selfish thinking this; she didn’t think he was good for the country. And she was always relieved to come back, even if it was to the house she so disliked. It was better than the campaign trips.

  ***

  Taylor watched the huge campaign rally that evening on TV and thought about how different it was in the U.K. Campaigns lasted for six weeks, therefore all the money that had to be raised was insignificant compared to what was spent in the U.S. Here, the money had to be raised for television and radio ads, millions and millions. On one of the West Wing episodes, someone stated that a congressman has to have $10,000 donated every week, starting from the first week he or she arrives in Washington. That’s the kind of money it will take to once again be re-elected. Because of that, there were bound to be conflict of interest issues. Lobbyists were very highly paid and worked for those same companies that donated to the campaign funds. What a waste of money, she said to herself.

  In England, the BBC as well as the other television stations gave equal time for political adverts for free. Also, there were no vitriolic adverts, as Taylor was seeing in the U.S. The television spots were used to talk about programs, issues rather than personalities. The viciousness of the campaign ads here in the States was frightening for her to watch. Sometimes they went too far and were then pulled off the air, but the damage had been done. The untrue facts were out there in the public mind.

  She was called late the afternoon after the trip for a session. Beth was dressed with the familiar chiffon scarf at her neck and a very soft yellow wool suit. Not for the first time, Taylor appreciated her exquisite taste in clothes. However, despite the beauty of her clothes, she didn’t look well and didn’t speak for what seemed like a very long silence after their mutual greetings. Taylor studied Beth’s face—her expression was grim. “How was the trip?” she asked. “I saw news clips of it on television.”

  Beth sat back in her chair, relaxing a bit. “He was normal,” she replied, “in that in public he was his usual charming self. Even on the plane he’s fine unless we’re alone in the area set aside for us. We have privacy there.”

  “How are you treating him, I mean, are you able to act as if everything is normal?”

  “Pretty much. He thinks something is wrong with me. He knows I cry a lot, or used to before Prozac brought my emotions under control, and he interprets crying as a weakness in me.” Beth paused a moment and then said in a quiet voice, “You remember I said I was going to move out of the bedroom, but I haven’t. I’m scared to, Taylor. I’m afraid it will set him off, so I’ve postponed it.”

  Taylor nodded in agreement. It probably would set him off and there was no telling what he might do to her.

  Beth smiled as she changed the subject. “I had time to visit Anna in New York and that was good, as always. She’s very successful, you know, works as a buyer for Macys.”

  “Do you confide in her at all?”

  Beth shook her head from side to side gently before she answered. “No, I can’t you see. She adores her father and is very proud of him. And even if she weren’t, I wouldn’t want to destroy her image of him.”

  “So, even as an adult, she hasn’t witnessed his real personality?” “No,” Beth responded, “she always worked at intern jobs in the summer and always in New York. So she hasn’t been home, really, other than for visits at Thanksgiving or Christmas, for many years.” She rose from her chair and walked over to the window, standing there a long time. There was no music playing in the background this morning, no sounds from the hall—total, complete silence. Finally, she came back and sat down, with that anguished look Taylor was by now familiar with. “Oh, Taylor, what’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, Beth,” Taylor replied, shaking her head. “My job is to make sure you are safe and well. As to what’s going to happen to the President, that’s not under my control, nor Frank’s for that matter. What do you think is going to happen?”

  Beth’s voice was steady as she said, “I’m losing the little bit of loyalty I had remaining, loyalty for Sam. I watch him now on these campaign rallies and I am so ashamed, I know that what he’s saying isn’t true, that he doesn’t believe it. You know, of course, that all his speeches are written by someone on his staff.”

  “But that’s true of all presidents, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but he gives his speechwriters an outline of what he wants to talk about and then he approves the finished product. I hear words, promises coming o
ut of his mouth that simply aren’t at all what he believes or what he intends to do.” She paused for a moment. “Taylor, I think if he’s re-elected, he will have full reign to do whatever he wants. I’m afraid that if he wins, it won’t be good for the country.”

  “And you care, you care deeply about the country.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m not patriotic in a flag waving sense. There are a lot of things wrong with this country, rampant capitalism, for one thing. That’s why I’ve worked so hard for the homeless here in the city. But I feel if I stay with Sam, and if he’s re-elected, I’ll be deceiving the people right along with him. Do you understand?”

  Yes, Taylor did understand. This put her in even more of a dilemma. “Beth, you remember you once told me there was some terrible event you weren’t ready to tell me. Do you want to now?”

  Beth fiddled with her fingernails for a moment. Her nails were always perfectly manicured and her hair perfectly coiffed. Taylor briefly wondered what she would look like in jeans, with mussed up hair and comfortable shoes.

  “No, not yet Taylor. Is that all right? It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that I don’t know if I should tell anyone. If I told anyone, it would be you. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, I won’t bring it up again. You never need to tell me anything you don’t want to and I certainly don’t want to know any state secrets or anything like that.” When Beth still looked worried, Taylor berated herself for asking. Curiosity—Taylor. She is getting better. You shouldn’t have asked. A cardinal rule in therapy is not to make the client feel guilty.

  Back in her room, Taylor lay down on the bed to think. Beth asked her what was going to happen. She didn’t know how to answer her. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Beth’s life could be in danger.

  After this session with Beth, she asked Lillian if she could go to the gym and she said yes. She went as often as she was allowed. It helped relieve the inner tension that seemed to be building higher. When she returned to her room, she was startled to see Susan sitting in one of the armchairs. She stood up as Taylor entered.