He shot a suspicious look at Jack, who shook his head and held out his hands and shrugged as if he didn’t know anything about this.
“The President,” came the measured response from a White House operator who had heard the same reaction before.
Matt’s mind went numb at the sound of the words: THE PRESIDENT. His eyes glazed over and he stared straight ahead, almost unaware what was happening, what he was hearing.
“The President?” he mumbled.
“Yes, sir. Please hold while I connect you.”
Matt stood still, holding out the phone and looking at it in his hand as if he’d never seen one before, frowning, suddenly overcome with a case of nervousness mixed with his hunger. His head floated with a numbness, like a smoker’s first cigarette in the morning. He looked at Jack.
“It’s Norwalk. What the fuck does he want?”
“Hell if I know, Matt. I’m serious.”
“Matt Hawkins?”
“Yes, uh, yes, this is he,” he replied, suddenly coming to. He knew that husky voice.
“This is President Norwalk, Matt. I’m sorry to ask you on such short notice, but would it be possible for you to come see me?”
“See you, sir, I mean, Mr. President?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, when should I come?”
“As soon as you can. Right now if you can.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, Matt,” said Norwalk a little impatiently. “If you can.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I can come now.”
“I’m not interrupting you, am I?” asked Norwalk.
“No, Mr. President, I’m just here with Jack Houston St. Clair. He’s been trying to—”
“Trying to get you to vote for his dad, right?”
“Yes, Mr. President. Even invited me to lunch.”
“Well, Jack knows the best places in Washington. You could do worse than have lunch with him. Tell him I’ve got his dad sitting outside my office this very minute. In fact, why don’t you just bring Jack along with you?”
“All right, Mr. President, I will.”
“Good, I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes.”
Matt’s mind was in a whirl.
“At the White House, Mr. President?”
“Yes, Matt, at the White House. That’s where I have my office,” said Norwalk indulgently, quickly adding: “I can send a car.”
“No, sir. We’ll just take a taxi.”
“Very good. I’ll expect you.”
He rang off.
Matt put the cell away.
“And you’re saying you don’t know anything about this, Jack?”
“Swear to God,” said Jack, holding up one arm like a Boy Scout.
“He says your dad is sitting right outside the Oval Office.”
“I don’t know anything about that, either,” said Jack.
Matt gave him a skeptical look.
“He wants me to bring you over with me.”
“Fine. But did he say what he wanted?”
“Don’t you think that’s pretty obvious?”
“Yeah, he’s gonna lean on you somehow, I guess.”
“Should I go?”
“You told him you were coming.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re gonna have to face the music eventually.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Then let’s go see what the old man has on his scheming little mind,” said Jack. “And then we’ll go get that lunch. I know some great places.”
“That’s what he said.”
Matt turned and walked towards the door and put his hand on the knob to turn it. He opened it and stood in the doorway thinking: What could he possibly have to say to me? He was nervous, fearful, unsure, hesitant. Matt couldn’t believe, couldn’t comprehend that he was attracting so much attention for his one lousy vote. It simply didn’t register that he could be so important that the President himself would have to intervene. He was saturated with apprehension, fear, all somehow mixed with a weird kind of elation.
He glided to the elevator in a daze, following Jack, reached the lobby and walked outside mechanically to take a taxi. The cold air and bright sunshine outside hit him forcibly and he realized he hadn’t even put on his topcoat. He stepped into the taxi after Jack.
“Where to, bud?” asked the driver, looking at him through his rearview mirror.
Matt sat in the back seat looking straight ahead.
“What?”
“Where to?”
“Oh, yes. The White House.”
He glanced at Jack, who wore a thin smile.
Matt half thought that a magic carpet would pick him up and deposit him on the White House lawn. He didn’t notice the impressed driver’s eyebrows rise as he drove off and joined the traffic on Connecticut Avenue for the short drive to the White House.
“Well, this is a first,” said the cabbie.
“What?” asked Matt.
“Twenty-six years driving a cab in D.C. and nobody ever—not once—gets in my cab and says, ‘Take me to the White House.’ Not one single time.”
“No?”
“No. I tellya, it’s a first for me.”
“That makes three of us,” said Jack with a crooked smile.
What could Matt say to Norwalk when he asked him to switch his vote? Could he just say “No” to him?
Matt rolled down the window to let the freezing air in. He breathed deeply, trying to restore his senses, which remained dulled to the point of numbness all over. He decided he would just tell the President that he’d made up his mind and that he would appreciate it if the White House would let him vote his way without any interference.
He felt his weakness and hated it. He gently massaged his forehead and then pounded his head with his fist. Everything was so sudden. He should’ve put off Norwalk a day or two. But no one put off the President when he called. You had to be ready, thought Matt. You had to be ready when they threw you a curve. If you couldn’t measure up, you were out. They walked all over you and you were out, out, out!
“Hey, mister!” said the cabbie for the second time.
“Huh, what?”
He focused on the cabbie, who looked over the seat at him and jerked his head backwards towards his window. Matt looked out. A uniformed guard was looking in at him through the cabbie’s window.
“Your name, sir?”
“I have an appointment with the President,” said Matt.
“Yes, sir, but what is
