Not mean-wicked, Lydia thought, but as far as she was concerned, ol’ George was just Nice and wicked. For that she was thankful. He could have been the kind of President who neglects his wife in favor of his fame. George wasn’t that sort of man. He loved her more than ever and showed her night and day. Especially at night. Most folks just can’t imagine Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses, Presidents and First Ladies in the wonderfully, inelegant process of lovemaking. Lydia knew better. Her President was a lover, par excellence.
Lydia turned slightly and looked up at her husband. She took her hand from his, put her arm around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. He glanced down at her and bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead. The applause and cheering doubled as the great crowd saw--there on the platform--bathed in bright spotlights their symbols of love and hope.
Those in the great hall and those who watched on television in the United States and by satellite around the world, were touched by the simple affection of the handsome couple. Lydia and George were an integral part of the gleaming force and personality of leadership in the United States. A force which had brought peace to the world, and in that moment in time, happiness and prosperity to most of the people of the small planet called...Earth!
THIRTY-SEVEN
The first three years of George Potter’s reign were years of change...radical change that brought with it peace and prosperity--Years that were even better than the Good Old Days! The country marched to a different drummer as George Potter proposed and the government acted and reacted. George had an unusual yet immanently successful tactic to get the work done. Taking a ploy used by Franklin Delano Roosevelt in the thirties, he gave regular Fireside Chats, in which he suggested changes and new proposals. He always ended these informal talks with a mild enjoinder to his avid listening public to write their Congressman about this or ask your Senator about that. The mail flooded the legislative offices just as they had in the days of MDS. The Congressmen, woman and Senators were virtually blackmailed into voting as the executive office dictated. Ol’ George’s proposals were rushed through Congress unimpeded.
The effect of his good works brought a new way of life to Americans, and in fact, to most of the world. The period would be fondly remembered as a Pax Americana. It was a period that was even more soothing to the American life style than the times marked by the presidency of Dwight Eisenhower.
As it invariably does, the presidential election year rolled around...or as most referred to it. the Presidential Re-election Year! Few doubted George would be unanimously held over for a second term. There were even whispered debates about changing the law governing the length and number of Presidential terms to be infinite. In George’s case many wanted it to be for life.
George’s opposition, and there were quite a few, moaned under the yoke of this paternal ruler. They would like to unseat him, but lacked the means. Halfheartedly, George’s opponents went on the campaign trail. They had several favorite sons in mind. Polls favored, if you could call it that, Senator Wilbur Henry Rottenberger, the Senate Majority leader from Pennsylvania. Their candidate was the most photogenic and charismatic man in their party, but somehow paled in comparison to the talented, brilliant and charming former pop-star-turned-President.
They had one thing going for them. The President absolutely refused to campaign; saying he objected to the habit of his predecessors who took off most of their last year in office to campaign for reelection. He had too much to do to leave the confines of the Oval Office for prolonged periods. IF the people wanted him back. he would be glad to continue as their President. Right now, however, he was occupied with the task of making America a better place in which to live. He just had no time to go running down the campaign trail.
The disloyal opposition sat in long tactics sessions that usually ended in screaming, hollering debates, because they had nothing on which to hang their hats. George Potter was a model of a modern President. Most of the country loved him. In fact, more than half the world adored him to distraction. He was the most benevolent, yet aggressive leader the country had ever known. They tried to drag up the old chestnuts about his false paternity suit, his rock stardom image...but no one listened. George had already proven himself!
Then someone remember Paul Connor, George’s famous friend and agent. Connor had recently come out for gay rights, and some wondered: Just what was George Potter to Paul Connor? Or more to the point, what was Paul Connor to ol’ George? IF they could dig up something more than a business and friendship relationship, it could be the biggest scandal of all time, and just what they needed to turn the tide in their direction.
Yes, If they could prove the former pop-KING...was a QUEEN! What could be more perfect?!
THIRTY-EIGHT
A week following the National Convention, and the clandestine meeting of the opposition, the enemy laid their first bomb in a TV news interview.
Lydia and the President, along with much of the nation watched as Senator Parker Patterson went into a long explanation of just who Paul Connor was. The former child star and now prominent talent agent, had recently come out publicly and was making a big to do as a gay liberation leader and activist, along with his new partner, country singer, Arnie Ardor. After carefully laying the ground work, the Senator fired his first missile. The fact that Paul Connor was a notorious gay libber who had been an intimate friend of President George Potter. He carefully insinuated there might have been more than friendship between the two men.
George covered his eyes with one hand and sank deeper into the cushions of the couch as the interview went on. Lydia watched his reaction and knew what it must be doing to him. She tried for a light touch.
“George--if you’re gay, you certainly don’t look very happy about this”
“Not funny, McGee,” choked the President. “Those bastards! Those slimy bastards!” growled the President through his teeth.
“But, George, the allegation is ridiculous!”
“Of course it is, and damned unfair to our friend, Paul. We knew he was different, but it didn’t matter to us. He and Arnie should be lauded for taking this stand”
“You’re going to deny the charge then?” asked Lydia.
“What good would it do? It’d be just my word against theirs.”
Lydia patted George’s hand “Well, we’ll see. “We’ll see”, she said softly.”
The weeks that followed brought a storm of controversy across the land. The gay--libbers cheered--”Good for ol” George!” they cried. The middle-of-the-roaders shrugged...while the conservatives frowned a puzzled frown.
The White House remained mute. The President growled as he prowled the halls. He issued an ultimatum that nothing should be said. Still, by innuendo and blatant statement, the opposition grabbed onto this one crutch and slung a lot of mud as they tried to spatter George’s spotless reputation. The popularity polls wavered. George was still way out front, but the polls also indicated the undecided were wavering.
In spite of the President’s ultimatum, influential supporters of the administration came forward to bolster the President’s cause. Howard Casey, prominent, retired news analyst, former Congressman and much admired friend of the Chief Executive, wrote a book entitled THE FIRST 1250 DAYS, and toured the country; appearing on one talk show and news program after another.
The gist of his argument and the central theme of the book was: Just what has George Potter done for this country--for this world?
“It’s a long list and I hope I haven’t missed anything,” Casey stated in a TV interview. “George Potter has brought us prosperity, He’s balanced the National Budget; shown the way to pay not only the interest on the National Debt, but to eventually pay off the debt itself, achieved a balance of trade with most foreign countries. He’s encouraged the youth of America to shun television and return to their text books. He’s almost eliminated prejudice and bigotry from the land. He’s
helped reduce the crime rate dramatically and has found ways to eliminate pollution from our highways and waterways. George Potter has brought harmony to labor and management, and given the working man renewed pride in his work.
“The President has eliminated the welfare problem and even brought at least a temporary peace to the near and far east, South America and Africa, virtually the entire world. Unfortunately, man being what he is; inconsistent, greedy and belligerent, this peace may not last. For now at least, let’s not concern ourselves with the possibility of a gloomy future. Let’s bask in George Potter’s Pax Americana, and hope it’s permanent.”
****
One night on a coast to coast talk-a-thon, Casey said. “I confess I know little about George Potter’s personal life, but he has a delightful wife and apparently adores the First Lady!” Then Casey suggested that perhaps Lydia should come forward and make a statement.
George balked at this. But Lydia pondered the question and without consulting the President, she went on Nationwide TV to speak to the voters.
“I hate to destroy George’s reputation altogether,” she began, “But I’m going to reveal his darkest secret. Ladies and gentlemen, if your children are still up at this hour, cover their ears or send them out of the room.” She paused for a moment and then went on. “The fact of the matter is folks, your President, that sweet and adorable George Potter is just a little bit naughty. Not to say he’s a dirty old man. No, he’s too young for that yet, but he is naughty, and I should know, because, I’m the one he’s naughty with!”
The first lady appeared calm, but the hands she clasped together behind the lectern were trembling and her mouth felt dry.
“There’s been a lot of talk about George and Paul Connor, George’s agent and our good friend. Paul lived with us for a time, and if anything was going on between those two characters. I mean anything...I would have known about it. Ol’ George has always slept with me. And, when he wasn’t asleep, well, as I said, he could be pretty naughty. Not Naughty naughty, but Nice naughty, and he hasn’t changed a bit. He’s a devil in the sack and that’s the truth--so take it from ol’ Lydia, ol’ George Potter is as normal as blueberry pie. Probably more normal!
“Confidentially though,” she went on with a little grin. “He does wear his sox to bed on cold nights. Sometimes that’s all he wears, and I’ve told him I think it’s darned rude!”
“Thanks for listening,folks. I hope this little speech of mine will allay any fears you may have about your president. He’s the greatest!” she said with a wink. “If you know what I mean.”
“’Night, now--time to get home to ol’ George!”
Lydia stood there for a moment as the tally light on the camera switched off. She hurried off the stage and into the wings where she broke into tears and was comforted by friend and confidante Liz Cooper. It had been one of the most difficult moments of her life. She had been forced to reveal her most personal life to the world--something she held sacred, yet she had to present it almost facetiously. It had seemed the only way. She had to do it to save George’s reputation. George? Would he ever forgive her?
The surprising speech was followed by an analysis from news commentators of all major news networks. Although they didn’t come right out and say it, most agreed Lydia’s speech would surely clear the air. And it did. The opposition slunk back into their lairs and no more was said about it.
The conservatives cheered. “Good for ol’ George!” they cried. The middle-of-the-roaders shrugged and the gay libbers, frowned a puzzled frown.
Mail poured into the White House. Most of it commended Lydia on her courage. George was very proud of her and was even naughtier than before.
THIRTY-NINE
The President’s entrance and walk to the speaker’s rostrum was received with luke warm applause from the Congressmen and Senators. Many didn’t applaud or even stand in respect for the Executive Office. They knew why he was there. It was a long time coming, but today was the day...the day President George Bertram Potter was going to derail their gravy train. There was enthusiastic cheering, however, from the gallery of the House. As the President reached his destination, he turned and directed his waves and dazzling smile to the fans in the gallery; and especially to the pretty lady with the handsome, thirteen year old boy who was her escort.
The great room quieted and they all waited expectantly for what they knew was coming.
“Mr. Speaker, Senators, Congresspersons, honored guests. Thank you for this record turn out. I believe you know why I called this joint meeting, so I will get right to the nitty and the gritty of my address.” The President’s voice rang loud and clear across the hall.
“For some time I’ve studied the complexities of this government. It’s come a long way since George Washington’s administration. I’m sure you can all see, and are only too well aware that many of our departments have worn out their usefulness.”
There was a smattering of: “Hear, hear!” from a few corners of the room. Some turned to see who these assenters were, as the President continued.
“It’s clear to nearly everyone in this nation that the government has become too unwieldy, too expensive and too inefficient. It’s time to turn back the tide of bureaucracy that was set in motion by Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1935,”
A rash of groans swept the room. Now he was getting to it!
“Wait now, don’t panic,” soothed the President. “This is not a time to mourn, but a time to rejoice!”
He had raised his arms to quiet the throng below him, and grinned his famous grin. He was about to launch into one of the most momentous programs of his administration when, suddenly, over the hubbub, a shot rang out. The smile froze on the President’s face; his arms dropped, and he began to crumple slowly as he disappeared behind the lectern.
At first only a single scream came from the gallery, and cut through the silence that followed the shot. Then people were running, crying and yelling. Some moved toward the source of the shot...some toward the wounded President.
Lydia, goaded by near hysteria, hurried down the stairs followed by her son and secret service agent. People made way for them, but it seemed an eternity before she was kneeling
at the Chief Executive’s side. The Capitol doctor was with him, and a gurney appeared almost as if rehearsed. The President’s face was contorted in pain, but he was conscious.
“Darling...oh my darling,” Lydia kept repeating as she held his hand.
“It’s okay, hon. It’s gonna be all right,” George croaked. But as he did so, he coughed and a trickle of blood oozed from between his lips.
“Please, Mr. President, don’t talk, cautioned the doctor, as the attendants wheeled the gurney up the middle aisle.
Most of the legislators wore expressions of great concern. Here and there, however, a trace of a smile could be seen.
As he was carried from the chamber, Lydia walked by her husband’s side, still holding one of his hands. Their son George Two, trailed along behind her, dazed by the tragedy. It was difficult to get through the press of legislators and news media who had flooded the area. At length they reached the great doors and the crowd spilled out into the sunlight. TV cameras, and flash cameras followed them. Sirens screamed. The First Lady shielded the Presidents’ eyes with her purse as they carried him down the steps and into the waiting ambulance.
A police escort roared with wailing sirens up Wisconsin Avenue to Bethesda Naval Hospital. Lydia and George Two rode in the ambulance with George Potter. the President was rushed into emergency and the expert staff of surgeons worked over the wounded executive for seven hours.
The nation was stunned by the news of the assassination attempt. In fact many of the peoples of the world stayed close to their radios and TV sets as they kept vigil and prayed. Reporters and commentators informed them with minute-by-minute reports of the drama at Bethesda. The n
ews media tried to keep the reports optimistic until finally the doctors sent out word the President was dying and the masses went into an orgy of mourning.
Activity across much of the globe came to a stand still as its people reeled from the shock. Their symbol of hope was passing from them, and the realization was tragic to many.
The assassin was captured shortly after the violent moment in the capitol building. His captors asked him why he’d committed the horrendous crime. Although the President wasn’t dead yet, the desperate, almost incoherent hit man choked out:
“I didn’t kill ‘im. Greed...dat’s whut killed ‘im.”
Finally, after everything humanly possible had been done to save him, the president was wheeled to a large hospital suite. Moved to a bed adjusted to a comfortable position, his upper body was swathed in bandages, leaving only his arms and shoulders exposed. . The room was still except for the labored breathing of George Potter and the soft sounds of weeping. Electronic instruments pinged and pulsed to his faltering heartbeat; as tubes fed the weakened body of the President.
The Bethesda Hospital room was filled to capacity with cabinet members; the African American vice president, Grover Cleveland Brown; the First Lady, Lydia Potter; her son, George Two, and Liza Cooper. The surgeon’s tragic news had sent them into various stages of mourning. Lydia sat at one side of the bed, her face ashen. Occasionally a tear would course down her cheeks. Liza stood with a comforting hand on the First Lady’s shoulder, while she wiped her own eyes. The cabinet members were either weeping or glancing worriedly from the man on the bed to the VP, and now president presumptive, Grover Brown. They all liked and admired the vice president, but wondered how anyone could replace their beloved leader. The VP himself was torn between his own grief at losing a good friend and a daunting future of trying to fill the size twelves of their brilliant and popular President. Kneeling at this father’s bedside, George Two gripped the dying man’s hand as he wept bitter tears onto the sheets.
Oberon's Gift Page 18
