more angular features. She was single again after having an early marriage annulled and was now vice-president of Lampang - a worthy one, because she was a politically knowledgeable as Noy and with as much empathy for the poor.
Noy put down her pen, came out of her chair, and knelt to kiss and embrace her little boy.
‘Get right down to the car or you’ll be late for school,’ Noy told him. ‘This won’t be a long trip. Three or four days and I’ll be back. Thida will go along to school with you today.’
This had been a special arrangement, sending Thida with him, to keep Den’s mind off her trip. Normally, there was only Charlie, a faithful driver always around to take Den to the public school - Noy would not permit a private school -and bring him back to the palace when school was over.
Noy stood up and hugged her sister. ‘You’re in charge while I’m gone,’ Noy whispered to her sister. ‘Be strong. Don’t let General Nakorn begin acting on any of his anti-communist ideas. I mean to keep Lunakul and the insurgents in a talking posture with us until we can work something out.’
Thida smiled and patted her sister’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, Noy. You leave Lampang in safe hands. Maybe I can’t manage Lampang the way you do, but still I can do a good job of imitating you. As for General Nakorn, I’ll never take an eye off him.’
‘Thanks, Thida … Goodbye, Den. I love you. See you in a wink of days.’
She watched Thida take the boy by the hand, and lead him out of the office.
About to return to her husband’s desk, she saw Marsop Panyawan come briskly into the office. He was an intense skeletal man, with an air of gravity.
Not only was Marsop her chief of foreign affairs, but he had been her husband’s best friend, and her own most dependable ally.
Marsop was slightly taller than the average Lampangian male, about five feet seven, with brown hair combed sideways, sunken eyes, gaunt features. Greeting Noy, he crossed over to her desk and seated himself opposite her.
‘Well, we’re on our way to Washington, D.C.,’ said Noy.
‘A visit vital to our interests,’ said Marsop. ‘I’m pleased you’ll be lunching with President Underwood.’
‘Obviously not a social lunch,’ said Noy.
‘I would not characterise it as that. We know we need money from them. I’ve learned clearly what they want from us, not in detail but in general.’
‘We get a loan,’ said Noy simply. ‘We give an air base.’
‘I’m quite certain that will be the arrangement.’
Noy was thoughtful. ‘The loan. How much do we want from the United States?’
Marsop grunted. ‘As much as we can get, Noy.’
‘But in practical terms. You’ve already felt out the United States ambassador here. You know what they’re thinking about.’
Marsop shook his head. ‘I really don’t know. I know what we need. I’ve met with the cabinet and I have a fair idea.’
‘What do we need?’
Marsop picked a package of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and loosened one. He considered the cigarette before lighting it. ‘We need $200,000,000,’ he said at last.
‘Can they give it to us?’
‘They can, but they won’t,’ said Marsop, puffing at his cigarette.
‘Will they consider it excessive?’
‘Only in the sense that they already have huge loans outstanding to Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, and a dozen other countries. Congress has been putting pressure on their president to tighten up and stop the handouts.’
Noy showed her concern. ‘All right, I ask for $200,000,000. What if they refuse it?’
‘You’re in trouble with our programme at home.’
Noy was considering something else. ‘Dare I hold the Soviet Union over their heads?’
‘No, absolutely no. Not even as a bargain chip, a threat. They’d be appalled to even imagine you’d consider letting the Russians in here, especially with America’s Pacific problem
and their reason for meeting and negotiating with you. They want an air base for the very reason that it would be anti-communist.’
‘Well, what am I to do if they refuse the $200,000,000?’
Marsop was quick to reply. ‘They mustn’t be allowed to. You must demand the $200,000,000 and be steadfast in your demand.’
Noy sighed. ‘You’re making me very nervous, Marsop.’
He smiled. ‘I meant to. Actually, you don’t have to be. Don’t forget, President Underwood wants something from you. He wants it very much.’
‘He can have it. We agreed to that.’
‘Not quite,’ said Marsop. ‘He’ll want an extremely large air base. I don’t think your followers would like that kind of giveaway. It would hurt you domestically. You’ve got to be very stingy about the air base. We’ll talk in more detail on the flight to Washington. Actually, you have one more bargaining chip. It is the one I rely on most of all.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Your charm, Noy.’
‘Please, Marsop, that’s impossible. I can’t be a femme fatale for an American.’
‘You don’t have to be.’ Marsop smiled broadly. ‘You can just be your regular, everyday, natural self. Believe me, you can’t fail to impress him.’
‘I wish I could believe you. I wonder what he’s like?’
‘You mean, President Underwood? I’ve got a complete rundown on him. I’ll give it to you on the plane. Now we’d better get ready to go and meet him in person.’
High over the Pacific Ocean, Noy Sang and Minister Marsop Panyawan were seated on a velvet sofa aboard the Lampang presidential plane, finishing their late dinner. When they were done, and a dusky stewardess in jacket and pants had removed their trays, Noy leaned to her right to peer out of the small window.
‘I think I can see the coastline of California,’ Noy said.
‘Not yet,’ said Marsop. ‘The horizon is deceptive. We won’t reach the United States for another hour.’
‘Then on to Washington, D.C
‘Yes, almost another five hours.’
Noy gave a shudder and turned back from the window. ‘Too soon,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can sleep away some of the time.’
‘A rest would be helpful.’
‘Marsop, I need more than a rest. I need an anaesthetic. I’m afraid I’m not quite ready for my first foreign affairs meeting.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get on with President Underwood just fine.’
‘I wish I could be half as confident.’ She reached for her purse, then did not open it. ‘This is one hell of a time to give up smoking. Marsop, can you spare a cigarette?’
He fumbled for his pack, opened it, held it out for her while she extracted a cigarette. Finding his lighter, he rolled his thumb across it and lighted her cigarette.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then stared through the smoke at her minister of foreign affairs.
‘I’m really not scared of dealing with President Underwood,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m just scared of being face to face with him
for two hours. Who am I dealing with? Abraham Lincoln? Theodore Roosevelt? Richard Nixon?’
Marsop gave a short laugh. ‘Hardly. He’s none of those, as you very well know. Last night, when I ran an hour of videotapes of Underwood for you, you could see that he is not that formidable.’
‘What could I tell from those? Public speeches. Interviews. But no human being. I keep trying to think of him as a human being, and to imagine what he’s truly like. Who will I be talking to?’
‘A person no different than yourself, with his own ambitions, frustrations, aggravations, pleasures. Make believe Prem is beside you. Relax tomorrow. Feel secure.’
She shook her head gravely. ‘Dear Prem is not beside me. I saw him dead. I can’t play that game anymore. I’m on my own from now on. It’s me alone.’ She reached out and gripped Marsop’s hand tightly, then released it. ‘Of course, you’ll be there standing behind me.’
‘I will be. But es
sentially you will be on your own. Just as the president of the United States will have his chief of staff and secretary of state with him, but finally both of you will be on your own together.’
‘What’s he like, Marsop?’ she said suddenly. ‘What’s he really like?’
‘I have a fair amount of intelligence on him,’ said Marsop. ‘You really want to know? Let me dig out my folder, and read you what I have.’ He unlatched the leather briefcase beside him on the sofa, and pulled out a blue folder. ‘Let me read to you a bit more about President Matthew - they all call him Matt -Underwood. I hope the knowledge will make you feel easier.’
‘Any light you shed will illuminate.’
Marsop was parting his folder. ‘All right, let’s find out what there is to find out, and pray that it is accurate.’
‘Tell me everything,’ said Noy.
‘Everything, Noy.’
He studied the contents of the first page in his folder. He raised his head.
‘Matt Underwood is fifty-two years old.’
‘I thought he was older.’
Marsop smiled. ‘It’s his manner. A trick of solemnity when he was a television anchorman. To make him seem more fatherly.’
‘He was a television star, a real one?’
‘A very real one, and an important one in his day.’
‘It’s very hard to conceive, a television actor becoming president of the United States.’
‘Everybody has to be something, even a television star,’ Marsop said. ‘They had a Hollywood actor once before him. And a peanut farmer earlier. And a male model long before that. It’s very hard to be born a politician and stay one.’
‘Go on.’
Marsop consulted his notes. He absorbed what he was reading and turned closer to Noy.
‘According to our intelligence,’ Marsop said, ‘Matthew-Underwood went to Columbia University ’
‘I remember. That’s in New York City.’
‘Yes. As a young man, Underwood was blessed with a deep, resonant voice, and a wonderful easy presence. He took speech and journalism courses and became captain of his debate team. Columbia finished first in everything in those years. One of Underwood’s professors was so impressed with him that after his graduation, the professor sent him to a close friend who was an executive of The National Television Network - that’s the largest cable network in America. It broadcasts out of New York and Washington, D.C. The executive was equally impressed with Underwood and hired him to do reports around America from Pittsburgh, Chicago, New Orleans, Los Angeles. This was one of those rare cases where an individual’s charisma affected all the viewers. In two years, Underwood was hired as anchorman for the national nightly news. It was his personality and weight that held a whole team of reporters in place. The anchorman starts off the news every night, and his person and style become so familiar to so many millions of Americans who welcome him into their homes that he becomes
famous. Before Underwood there were such ones at the CBS network as Edward Murrow and Walter Cronkite. When Underwood became even better-known than the others, he became a legend. His word was law. Everyone believed everything he reported. Anyway, his name began showing up on the popularity polls.’
‘That’s how Americans choose their leaders?’ Noy marvelled.
‘Underwood’s name was pitted against the biggest political names, movie names, sports names, and he always came out ahead as the one whose name was most easily recognisable and whose person everyone trusted. That’s what led him into politics. You recall that in America there are two senators from each state?’
‘Yes, you forget, I have studied the American system. I know about senators to Washington.’
‘Very well,’ said Marsop. ‘One of the two from the state of New York died in the middle of his six-year term. The governor of New York had the right to pick a replacement for the deceased senator, to finish out his term.’
Noy understood. ‘So he picked the anchorman Matthew Underwood, and Underwood accepted the appointment.’
‘Yes, he quit the network and marched off to Washington to be sworn in as Senator Matthew Underwood. He was an instant celebrity in a new profession. He was better-known than any politician. He was an ongoing media event, someone to write about and report on, especially considering the similar celebrity of his wife.’
‘Alice Underwood,’ said Noy, nodding. ‘The woman he married after she became Miss America.’
‘You know about Miss America?’ asked Marsop.
‘I have read about it,’ said Noy. ‘I have seen many photographs of her. She is still very beautiful. Isn’t it unusual for an American president to marry a woman only for her beauty?’
‘You are misinformed, Noy. Underwood was not the American president when he met and married her. He was still an anchorman, and Alice had been hired by TNTN as a reporter. Of course, Underwood was moved by her beauty. There is no
denying that. But -‘ Marsop dipped into his sheaf of notes again. ‘- Alice Underwood is known for more than her beauty. She is intelligent as well. She is also well known for being aggressive, you know, pushy, wanting to get ahead or see to it that her husband remains ahead.’
‘Marsop, how can you know such a private and personal thing as that?’
‘That’s the purpose of having a first-rate intelligence service. Our country may be small, as small as Israel, but our intelligence in topnotch, just as Israeli intelligence is unbeatable.’
‘So,’ said Noy, ‘the American first lady is ambitious. But how much farther can she go? She is first lady already.’
Marsop said flatly, ‘She wants to stay that way. She wants Matthew Underwood to remain president. In short, she wants him to run for re-election, for a second term.’
‘Is he interested?’
‘No.’
‘How surprising,’ said Noy. ‘How can he not want it again? It’s the single most important job in the world, much more powerful than that of the Soviet Union’s general secretary.’
‘But it is not the most interesting job, at least that’s what our intelligence source reports on Matthew Underwood’s feeling about the presidency. Underwood is an intellectual man and a curious one, despite his facade of bluff geniality. The presidency of the United States is not a job you hold if you want to pursue matters of intellect. It is a job of taking advice, weighing advice, and of decision-making. I’m led to believe that Underwood finds it tiresome.’
‘Why did he run for president in the first place?’ Noy asked. ‘We know how I became a president. It was thrust on me. But Underwood had a choice.’
‘Not quite,’ said Marsop, ‘not quite. He was a wildly popular senator, and his party needed a presidential nominee. The offer was hard to resist. And then there was his wife, Alice.’
‘She wanted him to be president?’
Marsop offered a smile to correct Noy. ‘She wanted to be first lady.’
‘And she won.’
‘A landslide victory for both of them,’ said Marsop. ‘He’d have the same kind of victory if he ran again. He’s immensely popular.’
‘Is he as hard on communism as I’ve heard?’
‘Almost every American president is. It comes with the turf. To defend the homeland against communists who are out to destroy capitalism and democracy. That’s why you were invited to the White House. They want to fit you in -Lampang actually - as part of their defensive ring in Asia against communism.’
‘I feel I’m going to be used.’
‘Not actually,’ said Marsop. ‘After all, homegrown communism is a problem for you, too.’
‘True. Yet I’m willing to negotiate a compromise.’
‘I’m afraid the United States is not as trusting.’
‘Will he trust us? Will he feel I’m being soft on communism?’
‘He’ll just want to know you wish to make the world safe for democracy.’
‘But I do,’ said Noy fervently.
‘Then tell him so.’
&nb
sp; ‘How can I make him believe me?’
Marsop smiled. ‘By being yourself, Noy. Whatever Underwood and the others say, do not bend to them merely to please them.’ Marsop paused. ‘Be yourself, Noy, from the first to the last minute you are with President Matthew Underwood.’
The president and Chief of Staff Blake were at the mahogany sideboard in the President’s Dining Room on the second floor of the White House when the door opened and Secretary of State Morrison showed Noy Sang into the room.
Immediately, Underwood looked up from his Scotch and soda, and set the glass down as he watched Noy Sang proceed across the carpet towards him.
Something about her surprised him. He tried to discern what it was. Probably her unexpected attractiveness and grace.
He was familiar with beautiful women. After all, he had married a Miss America. But Alice’s beauty was technical, more professional. This woman from Lampang was utterly different.
Underwood’s eyes held her. He had been prepared for a diminutive, native-type woman. She was indeed small, delicate really. Her light brown skin was flawless. She had long black hair - a barrette held it in place at the small of her neck, a high forehead devoid of makeup, penetrating green almond-shaped eyes, a broad tilted nose, full red lips set in an unaffected smile. Her approach towards him was fluid and graceful.
She was wearing a gauzy soft yellow dress. He assumed she had worn the dress because of the heat outside. The dress disconcerted him briefly. It clung and highlighted every protrusion of her body. The full, gently bobbing breasts, and the wide hips above slender shapely legs.
One word fleetingly passed through Underwood’s head, a word that had not been inside it for years: erotic. This woman exuded natural eroticism.
How, he did not know, but it was there.
Noy was before him, Secretary of State Morrison beside her.
‘The Honourable Matthew Underwood, the President of the United States of America,’ Morrison announced. ‘Her Excellency, Noy Sang, the President of the Republic of Lampang.’
To his surprise, and her own, Underwood took Noy’s hand, bent, and kissed the back of it.
(1989) The Guest of Honour Page 5
