The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

  Being in the restaurant where she used to work, being there as a paying customer, wasn’t the only reason Taylor felt exultant. She was not going to be eating alone; she was having dinner with someone, someone she was allowed to talk to!

  Over a shared bottle of Mouton Village, an excellent dish of fresh red snapper, and even more excellent conversation, Taylor relaxed for the first time since leaving Washington. She couldn’t reveal anything about her work in the White House, but she was surprised to find herself confiding even more in Susan about her mother. She didn’t tell her about the men, but she did tell her that her mother didn’t work and that she was raised on welfare checks. She also told her how coming back had filled her with dread.

  Susan took a sip of her wine and then said, “Well, I’m not a psychologist, but I do know what you need to do.”

  Taylor looked up from her plate in surprise. “What is that?”

  “You need to forgive your mother.” Susan looked at her intently.

  “Forgive her?” Taylor was startled. Yet she had read articles in the psychology journals, talking about how psychology was implementing the principals of forgiveness to get rid of long-held resentment. “How do you know that?” she asked.

  “I know it because I’ve used it,” Susan responded. “And it works. I’ve learned that the person doesn’t have to say they’re sorry, and that you don’t forgive someone because he or she deserves it, but you forgive because you’re the one who benefits.”

  Taylor was silent. Her mother certainly never did say she was sorry and Taylor certainly didn’t think she deserved it, but she did know that forgiveness worked. She had seen it work with clients. “I’ll have to think about that. I know you’re right, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Susan looked at her steadily, her voice soft. “Are you a regular churchgoer?” she asked.

  “No, not really. I go at Christmas to the midnight service in London. And I’ve been a few times in Washington, to the cathedral, as you know. Why?”

  “Well, it’s just that that’s where I learned about forgiveness,” Susan said quietly. “Jesus talked about it quite a bit. It’s in the Bible. It’s helped me more than I can tell you, in lots of areas of my life.”

  Taylor was astounded. Here she was having a greatly longed for conversation with someone, someone she liked. And this person, this secret service agent, was telling her—her, the successful psychologist, how to get over her resentment. “So it’s better than therapy? Is that what you’re saying?” she asked.

  Susan laughed. “No, I don’t know anything about therapy. I just know that letting go of all that stored up resentment was something that set me free, as if a huge burden was lifted.”

  As they drove back to the hotel, Taylor’s head was full of all that Susan had said. Her room was adjoining Taylor’s and as they parted for the night, Susan instructed her to call her room when she awoke to let her know what time they would be leaving for the hospital.

  However, they were to go there sooner than the next morning. When Taylor entered her room, the message light was blinking. It was the hospital, telling her that her mother had taken a turn for the worse. The message was left at 8 o’clock and it was now ten. She knocked on Susan’s door and they left immediately. All the way there, Taylor’s thoughts were a jumble of emotions. Was her mother going to die?

  Susan stayed in the waiting room of the ICU and Taylor went to her mother’s bedside. She was deep asleep and the steady murmur of the machines was the only sound. Taylor had just sat down when the doctor came in.

  “I’m Dr Gangadeen. You’re Mrs. Leigh’s daughter?” He was a diminutive man, with deep brown eyes that matched his skin color.

  Taylor rose and extended her hand. “Yes, how is she?” “Well, she’s taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid. And I have to tell you, the prognosis isn’t very good.” He pulled up another chair and sat down, gesturing for Taylor to sit down as well.

  “Why, why is the prognosis not good?”

  “Because she’s not a healthy person in the first place,” the doctor replied. “She has bad lungs; I understand she smokes. And she didn’t go to the doctor until the cancer had spread.” He paused. “But I also know that it depends upon a person’s will to live. Does she have anything to live for?” His dark brown eyes seemed to penetrate Taylor as he asked that question.

  “I...I don’t know, I would say probably not. I live in England and I only see my mother every three years or so, but it’s been five years this time. And we don’t....well, we don’t communicate very well, I’m afraid.”

  He nodded slowly. “It is so sad, isn’t it?” he asked, still looking intently at Taylor.

  She started to ask what he meant, but she didn’t have to; she knew. She looked over at her mother, deep asleep, looking peaceful. Had she ever looked peaceful before? Taylor couldn’t remember that she had. Finally, she said, “Yes, it is sad. Family relationships… …dysfunctional,” she mumbled. She hoped the doctor didn’t know what she did for a living. After all, she should have her act together, shouldn’t she? How would it look to him if he knew what was in her heart?

  He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He just sat there, as if he was waiting for her to continue. After what seemed to her a long time, he said “You know, I believe deeply in a person’s will to live affecting their prognosis. If a person has nothing to live for, then why keep on? Especially if you’re old and sick. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” He smiled, looking very sympathetic.

  Taylor felt as if he had stabbed her heart. Was he saying that her mother’s life was in her hands? If she died, was Taylor the reason, because she was the only one who could rescue her?

  Dr. Gangadeen stood up, looked at the readings on a few of the machines, and said, “I’ll check in with you later, all right?”

  What an unusual man, she thought. She had never personally experienced a medical doctor who went out of his way to talk about the will to live, about the emotions. And Susan had also given her a lot to think about. She finally fell asleep in the armchair next to her mother’s bed.

  She awoke with Susan shaking her shoulders. “Your mother is awake,” she said. Taylor leapt up.

  Her mother was indeed awake and she was smiling. “Your friend has been telling me what an important person you are,” she said, “but she keeps calling you Tracy—you’d better straighten her out.”

  “Mother. how are you feeling?”

  “All right. I just wish they’d give me somethin ta eat. A person could starve around here and no one would ever know it.”

  Before she could say anything else, Dr.Gangadeen was there again. “So, Mrs. Leigh, you’ve decided to stay around a bit longer, have you?”

  “Of course, I’m too mean ta die. And besides, my daughter’s gonna get someone to take care of me, a lot better than she’d do, someone who’ll wait on me hand and foot!”

  Taylor looked at the doctor. With his back to his patient, he gave her a thumbs up.

  She stayed until her mother left the hospital, four days later. She took her home, having arranged for a full- time nurse and a part-time cleaning lady. Her mother lived in a small apartment, not the same place where Taylor grew up. She was very glad when she was able to leave, but at the same time, found herself getting along with her mother better than before, much to her surprise. Have I forgiven her, she asked herself as on the flight home?

  Chapter Nineteen

  The White House felt almost welcoming when Taylor returned to her room. At least here she was free from her mother, terrible as that sounded to her own mind. Anxious to hear from Josh, she retrieved her laptop before she did anything else. To her delight, there was an email from him.

  Hi there T: You should be home by now if you’re reading this. You know what I mean by home. It was—I can’t think of a word or words to describe how it was for me to be with you, to hold you. Treasure—that�
��s it—I feel as if I’ve discovered a treasure. In a huge hurry. Remember that I love you and hope it isn’t forever before I see you again. J.

  Treasure, yes, that was the perfect word to describe how she felt—treasured. She read the email over and over again and then, once again in disobedience, copied the words before she deleted the email.

  It was obviously too late to see Beth, but she phoned Lillian at home to see how things were.

  “How is your mother?” Lillian asked when she heard Taylor’s voice.

  “She’ll be all right. Just needs to take it easy for awhile, but she’s out of danger.”

  “Oh, good,” Lillian said, “that’s good to hear. It must have been terrible for you to have to come back. I’m sure you would rather have stayed there.”

  Taylor took in a deep breath. And lied again. “Yes, but I arranged for a nurse to take care of her and a cleaning lady as well, so she’ll be all right. How is she?”

  “Okay. I hope you’ll be able to see her tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be ready.”

  With that they both hung up and Taylor went about unpacking, getting herself ready for the next session, whenever that would be. She wrote to Josh before going to bed, telling him all about the trip, about Susan, and about the doctor. She wanted to talk to him, to discuss this business of forgiveness, but instead, just mentioned it briefly. Exhausted, she fell asleep instantly and dreamt of palm trees, of sunsets over the ocean, and of driving on the right side of the road.

  Lillian phoned rather early the next day to say it would be afternoon before Taylor could see her client.

  “Oh,” she responded, disappointment evident in her voice. She was anxious to see Beth, to know how she was and to know if anything had happened while she was gone. “Well then, may I go to the gym?” Taylor asked.

  Lillian hesitated a moment before answering, then “Yes, I think it will be all right.”

  She had managed to go there most days since the incident in Rock Creek Park. It helped fill her time and was a way for her to get some much needed exercise, now that she couldn’t go out much. She put on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, left her room and walked through the clutter of furniture to the small gym. The room was only made into a gym during the Clinton presidency.

  As she walked on the treadmill, she watched the television news. Many of the reporters were seen on the screen with the backdrop of White House behind them. She now knew there is what looks like a permanent stage on the front lawn of the White House. The stage is surrounded by klieg lights and this is where the different networks film their daily and nightly news pertaining to the White House. It seemed strange to watch something on television which she knew was being filmed near her at the same instant. She knew from the West Wing DVDs that the press was quartered in the basement of the real West Wing. In other words, they were always there, actually in the center of government. She wondered if the same thing was true in London and doubted it.

  The reporter was talking about a bill going through Congress which was heavily opposed by the opposition party. There were some things Taylor liked better about the parliamentary style of government. The leader of the party was chosen by the members of his or her party. One had to be a paid-up member of the party, a card carrying Tory, let’s say, to vote for the leader. A person like herself, who wasn’t a member of a party, could only vote for the Member of Parliament representing her area. The choice of Prime Minister was chosen by the party that won a majority.

  This system had its flaws in that many people don’t have any say over who is prime minister. But on the other hand, someone who had been a film actor or a businessman all his or her life would never make it. He or she would have to have many years of experience in parliament and know how government works. No amateurs were elected and thus, no one was put forward just because they seemed likeable to the people. Taylor wondered if Beth’s husband would have made it in British politics.

  Totally immersed in her thoughts and the television, walking at a fast pace on the treadmill, with her back to the door, a booming voice startled her.

  “Who are you?”

  She turned her head and almost fell as she scrambled to get off the treadmill. It was the President. Taylor had no idea what to say. She hadn’t planned for this, she hadn’t rehearsed, and in that instant, knew she should have. They stood there looking at each other for what seemed like forever, but was only a few seconds. The door was open and she could see the President’s detail behind him. When she didn’t answer, he turned to one of them. “Who is this?” he shouted.

  “I….I’m staying on this floor, helping the First Lady with a book,” Taylor finally stuttered.

  The President’s mouth actually gaped open before he let out an oath. “What book?” he demanded.

  “Just a book about what it’s like being the First Lady,” Taylor said, beginning to feel more confident though her voice sounded rather squeaky to her.

  He came over to her and without asking, pulled the badge she always wore around her neck closer so he could read it. “Tracy Lowry. How long has this been going on and why didn’t I know about it?” His voice was gruff; she wasn’t experiencing any of the charm she’d heard so much about. He was clearly furious.

  “I guess she wanted to surprise you,” Taylor said weakly, attempting a smile.

  With that the President turned around and stormed away.

  The door remained open and Taylor stayed where she was, frozen. She had no idea what was going to happen next. She turned off the TV and the treadmill and went back to her room. The hallway was deserted. Her first instinct was to phone Lillian to tell her what happened, but there was no answer. She wrote to Josh instead, but didn’t know how soon he would get the message either.

  Dear J: The husband of my client just found me in the gym. I’m very frightened; don’t know what’s going to happen. I love you, T.

  Taylor’s heart was racing and she knew she was taking in too many short breaths. It wasn’t a full blown panic attack because she knew how to avoid them, but, if she hadn’t known, it would have been. This was almost bound to have happened, given the close quarters here. For the hundredth time, she wished she hadn’t been living here. What would the repercussions be for Beth? He was obviously furious because this was something Beth had done that was out of his control.

  She needed to get a message to Beth immediately; it was imperative for her to know that her husband knew, but this seemed to be a flaw in the setup; she had no direct way to reach her. She knew Beth’s office was in the East Wing, but she dare not go down there now. If she phoned the office, no one would know who she was and she wouldn’t be put through to her. She phoned Lillian again and this time she answered. Taylor told her what happened. There was silence on the other end.

  “I’ll inform the First Lady right away,” she said after a few seconds.

  At least Beth would be warned. Taylor took a quick shower and dressed for a session in case she was called. Nothing to do now but wait. Not her strong suit. Two hours went by before she heard from Lillian.

  “Ten minutes?” she said cryptically. “Yes, of course,” Taylor said, relieved.

  When she walked into the room, Beth looked anxious, the worry lines were all there on her forehead and she began talking before Taylor even closed the door. “I’m so sorry, Taylor. Was he horrible to you?”

  “No, well, he wasn’t exactly nice to me. He was so surprised, I couldn’t blame him.”

  “What did he say?” Beth asked, looking even more apprehensive.

  “He just wanted to know who I was and looked at my badge. I guess Lillian told you what I told him. Have you seen him?”

  Beth shook her head, “No, he hasn’t been back to the residence or to my office. I have no idea why he was on your floor. He seldom uses the gym and I can’t imagine why he was there. He only goes to the solarium when I
’m with him; he likes the privacy we have in the residence.”

  They both sat down. “I know you’re worried about his reaction,” Taylor said.

  “Um, yes of course,” Beth agreed, “with his temper. This is something that was done without his knowledge, without his…”

  “Control,” Taylor finished the sentence for her.

  Beth nodded. “I don’t know what to do next. He will confront me as soon as he’s able, as soon as he can get away,” she paused and sighed. “I dread it.”

  “I’m sure you do. What are you going to tell him?” Taylor’s fear for Beth’s safety was growing by the second. She wasn’t as worried about herself as she was about Beth. She knew she wouldn’t have to be alone with him, she wouldn’t need to fear him in terms of his anger. Beth, however, did have to be alone with him and she could suffer the consequences.

  “I guess what you told him, that you’re helping me write a book. He will want to see what we’ve done so far—I know he will. Not because he’s interested in me, but because this was done behind his back.” Beth’s lips compressed into a downward shrug. “Most of all, he will want to know what I’ve said about him.”

  “Well, you could possibly get around that by acting like I have just arrived,” Taylor suggested, “but I’m wondering if he would talk to the secret service. Do you suppose he would ask them how long I’ve been here?”

  “He may, but I’m relieved he didn’t ask you when he saw you. It probably would have been hard for you to think that fast. It may never occur to him that you’ve been here awhile.” Beth fidgeted with her fingernail and seemed deep in thought.

  “We need to get our stories straight, Beth,” Taylor said. Here I am constructing another lie. “You could tell him that because of your lack of free time, it seemed sensible for me to stay on the third floor, especially since no one else was staying there at the moment. What we really have to worry about is if he orders someone to vet me, rather than take your word that I’ve been security-checked.