behavior abated some.
“How did you know this is what I needed?” Darlene asked.
“Honey, it doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure out that you’re stressed out. Look at those circles under your eyes. You’ve got a social schedule that would exhaust a rhinoceros. On top of that, you’re working every spare moment trying to change the eating habits of three hundred million Americans, while keeping the fragile ego of their president appropriately stroked. Sometimes, I don’t think you realize just how much you’ve taken on.”
“Well, maybe it’s time I put my agenda on a diet.”
Kim took a healthy swallow and set her glass firmly on the table. “Nonsense,” she said. “Just because the president of the United States acts like your work is irrelevant doesn’t make it so. You just have to pace yourself better, that’s all-a little more shopping, a little more spa time, a few more vacations, an extra hour at the gym. Sweetheart, you’re changing things out there. You’ve read the reports. You’re like the pediatrician to the nation, and people are starting to pay attention to your message.”
“Sure, they’re starting to listen, but change is coming very slowly. And if we don’t get reelected, any chance of making much of a difference will be gone.”
“Meal by meal, isn’t that your war cry? Keep pushing, Dar. Just don’t push yourself over a cliff. Blow off steam when the pressure gets too intense, and for God’s sake, don’t let that galoot you’re married to get away with not giving you or your cause the respect you deserve.”
Darlene clinked Kim’s glass with more enthusiasm. “You know, Hajjar, I think you’d make someone a great chief of staff. Are you looking for a job?”
“Depends,” Kim answered, her rich brown eyes gleaming playfully. “Will I have to keep reminding you how terrific you are?”
“Absolutely,” Darlene said.
“Well, then, count me in.”
Just then, Ochoa came over to their table, leaned down, and spoke softly in Darlene’s ear. “Madam First Lady, Russell Evans is upstairs in the private party room. He asked if you two would be willing to join him for a drink.”
Darlene took a hard swallow of her V amp;T against the tightness that had developed in her chest. She flashed Kim a surprised look.
Evans, former Secretary of Agriculture, had been one of her husband’s first cabinet appointments. His resignation, in disgrace, had been responsible for at least some of the drop in Martin’s numbers. The scandal had been especially hard on Darlene. She and Evans went back to their childhood years in the Kansas plains town of Dubuque, where their farming families were neighbors even though they lived several miles apart. In fact, Martin had first met Evans through her, not long after the three of them started at Kansas State, and often used him as an adviser during his climb up the political mountain.
“Russ Evans is upstairs,” Darlene whispered.
“Goodness.”
“He wants to speak with us.”
“You okay with that?”
“Are you?”
“Part of me still thinks he was set up, if that’s what you mean.”
“I feel the same way,” Darlene said, “but so far, the way the facts are stacking up, things look pretty bad. Still, he never was anything other than helpful to me. Victor, we’d be happy to speak with him.”
CHAPTER 7
Agents moved quickly to escort Darlene and Kim to the front of the bar. The tightness in Darlene’s chest refused to abate. Meeting with Evans like this would be juicy fodder for the paparazzi.
Darlene had heard rumors that Evans was going to plead guilty to statutory rape charges in connection to a motel rendezvous with a teenage prostitute. When the news broke, Darlene had sent him a supportive note expressing her hope that an explanation would come clear for the episode, and urging him to put his faith in the justice system. Perhaps, she wondered, he had been unable to take her words to heart, and wanted to position himself for a presidential pardon.
Not only had their lifelong friendship endured, but she had taken a med school elective course in farming and nutrition that he taught. Years later, she was the one to suggest that Martin consider appointing Evans-then an instructor in farming economics-as Secretary of Agriculture. Martin subsequently stood by their friend despite a fair amount of opposition in Congress.
Darlene and Kim followed the agents through a doorway to a narrow stairwell that ascended to the balcony level. At the end of another hallway, they came to a padded vinyl door.
“We’ve already checked the room. It’s safe to go in,” Ochoa said.
Darlene pushed open the door and allowed Kim to enter first. Evans was alone, seated at a low table in the center of a dimly lit, cavelike room. The paneled walls were painted black, and the mood lighting cast deep shadows across Evans’s round face. During the months since Darlene had last seen him, he seemed to have aged years. He stood up somewhat clumsily as the women entered, and Darlene wondered if he might have been drinking. He was a large, usually cheery man with thinning light brown hair, and at this moment, he exuded gloom.
“Darlene. Kim. Thanks for coming up,” he said, extending his meaty hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Russ,” Darlene said, giving him a quick hug in lieu of his proffered handshake. “You look as if you’re holding up okay.”
Evans replied with his trademark deep baritone laugh. “I’ve gained fifteen pounds and am rapidly losing what little hair I had left,” he said. “But I’ll accept the compliment anyway.”
Darlene’s apprehension was replaced with a heavy sadness at seeing the man looking so beaten. Evans had eschewed life on his family’s farm in exchange for a master’s degree and a faculty position at an agricultural college. Before the scandal hit, she had enjoyed meetings in his office, surrounded by framed photographs of America’s farmland.
“Agent Ochoa said you wanted to speak with me. Is it about your case?”
“Please. Have a seat.” Evans pushed closer to the table. “I was at your event today.”
“You were?” Kim asked. “I didn’t see you there.”
Again, that laugh, but this time there was an undisguised tinge of bitterness. “Well, I kept to the background,” Evans said. “Not that it matters.”
“How so?” asked Darlene.
“I guess I’m still surprised how little anyone recognizes the guy who, for two years, was ninth in the presidential succession order. Once you’re not a player in this town, well, you’re not a player-except, of course, to the press corps. Now, those guys still have no problem recognizing me. Scandal sells papers. This morning, though, they were too focused on you to notice me. Everyone knew the president had blown off the event. Not even an appearance by Farmer Pornpone, as the tabloids are calling me, could pull their attention away.”
Darlene reached across the table and cupped Evans’s hands in her own. “You know you have supporters out there, Russ. Not everyone believes the charges against you.”
Evans managed a pale smile of appreciation. “Nice of you to say, Darlene. Unfortunately, whoever paid off the girl gave her enough to keep her lies coming, to say nothing of the impact of the box of kiddie porn that investigators found in the back of my closet.”
“Sorry if I’m out of place,” Kim said, “but what were you doing in that hotel room? We’ve heard all kinds of rumors and-”
Evans held up his hand. “No, don’t be sorry and don’t you worry about it,” he said. “My lawyer asked me to keep my side of the story away from the press until he heard what the U.S. Attorney had against me. Now that we know they’re calling off the prosecution because they can’t find the woman who filed the complaint, I’ll tell anybody who’ll listen-not that it will help get my job back. You see, my son, Derek, has been in trouble since his teens. Drugs and such. I haven’t spoken to him in nearly three years until I got this anonymous phone call telling me he was holed up at a motel just outside of D.C., and that he was in some sort of trouble. I think you know that Derek’s
