“That I have,” Rivera said, “though we disagree on a few issues.”
“I hope they’re local, not national,” Will said. “We can’t have any public squabbling between you two until after the election.”
Rivera seemed under no illusions about the seriousness of Will’s little joke. “You can rely on me, Mr. President.”
Will finished his first course, and when the filet mignon was served, he cut it in two and ate only half and a few vegetables. He avoided dessert and drank only a few more sips of his champagne. When coffee was being served he excused himself for a moment and used a backstage men’s room. “Don’t let anybody near here,” he said to an agent as he went inside. He had visions of Charlene barging in and holding his dick for him while he peed.
When he left the men’s room he stood in the wings and pretended to consult some notes while the little lectern was placed on top of the dinner table and the microphone rigged. The Secret Service used the opportunity to herd all the waiting and bussing staff out of the room and guard the doors against any premature return. Finally, when only guests and guards were left in the room, Miguel Rivera stood, welcomed the audience and, eventually, after what sounded like a campaign speech for his next term, introduced Will. As the crowd leaped to their feet, an aide exchanged the California seal for the presidential seal on the lectern, then Will stepped out.
He stood there waving and pointing at people until the applause slowly died, then began to speak. “As I was saying twenty-five million dollars ago…” The crowd roared and applauded again.
Will finished his speech, then turned to Mrs. Branley to receive her check for a million dollars. As he thanked her profusely, he saw Charlene remove an envelope from her purse and push her chair back; then Kitty Conroy appeared from nowhere, plucked the check from her hand, and surreptitiously used a hip to shove her chair back in.
Will took the check from Kitty and put both checks in his inside jacket pocket. “And I also want to thank the beautiful and talented Charlene Joiner for her continuing support of our party and her generous donation of a million dollars to the Democratic National Committee. I’ll bet no Academy Award winners are doing that for the Republicans!”
Charlene tried to get up, but Kitty was standing behind her chair, blocking her move.
Finally, with a wave, Will was escorted from the room by a rear entrance and was whisked back to his suite in a golf cart with Kitty. “Nice work,” he said to Kitty as he opened the two envelopes and gave the checks to her. Then he noticed a note in one of the envelopes.
“Remember how good it was between us?” Charlene had written. He did. “I’ll be at the back entrance to the Presidential Suite twenty minutes after you leave the dinner.”
Will tore the note into small pieces and handed them to Kitty for disposal. “Tell the Secret Service to double the guard on the back door,” he said to her, “and to be careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlene knows jujitsu.”
24
The following morning Will walked with his Secret Service detail through the gardens of the hotel to the parking lot where his limousine was to be waiting. The Secret Service would have much preferred the car to come in the back way to his suite, but the driveway had been torn up by workmen repairing a water main.
He walked over the bridge that straddled the little pond with the swans and came to the end of the awning. The car was not there.
A Secret Service agent was on his radio immediately. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, there was an accident on Stone Canyon Road, and the car was held up for a couple of minutes. It will be right here.”
“It’s all right,” Will said. Then he heard the click of running high heels on the bridge behind him and a female voice, shouting.
“Mr. President!”
He turned to see Charlene Joiner running toward him. A Secret Service agent stepped in front of her, and she ran into him with a sound like a deer striking an oak.
“Will!”
Will sighed. “It’s all right,” he said to the agent. “Let her through.”
Charlene strode quickly toward him, and he held up a hand. She grabbed it and pressed it to her considerably exposed bosom. “Please, Will, I just need a moment.”
“What is it, Charlene?” he asked, attempting to disengage his hand from her left breast.
“It’s Larry,” she said. “I know it’s early to be talking about this, but once you’re reelected, you can pardon him.”
“Pardon him?” Will asked, incredulous.
“Yes, you can do it without political consequences, once you’re reelected.”
“Charlene, the man is a rapist and murderer, and I will never, ever loose him upon an unsuspecting citizenry.”
“Will, Larry has done nearly ten years,” she said, and a tear trickled from the corner of an eye and down her cheek. “Please do the humanitarian thing. I’m going to set him up in a little business, and he can live a quiet and respectable life.”
“Charlene,” he said, finally recovering his hand from her bosom, “I will not pardon Larry Moody, and if you ever so much as mention him to me again I will not speak to you further, under any circumstances, and I don’t care how much money you give the party. I hope that’s perfectly clear.” The car rolled up, and an agent quickly had the door open. “Good-bye, Charlene,” Will said with a wave, and dove into the car. He looked back through the darkened glass as they drove away, and she was standing there, waving.
Air Force One took off half an hour later from Van Nuys Airport, and Will was very happy to be putting the entire country between himself and Charlene Joiner, though he was not sure it was enough. He had a long day’s travel ahead, with campaign stops in Denver, St. Louis, and Indianapolis on the way back to Washington, and there was work to deal with in his office between stops. It was dark when Marine One set down on the White House lawn.
“Where’s Kate?” he asked Kitty as they got off the copter.
“On the way in from McLean,” she said. “She should be here in twenty minutes.”
“Call her and tell her we’re having Martin Stanton to dinner in the quarters this evening,” he said. “Tell her she can take her shoes off.”
“Will do,” Kitty replied, flipping open her cell phone.
Will’s own cell vibrated on his belt, and he opened it. “Yes?”
“It’s Sam Meriwether, Mr. President,” his campaign manager said. “The Senate confirmed Martin Stanton as vice president a couple of minutes ago. We kept them here late to get it done.”
“That’s great news, Sam. Thank you for calling.”
“He’s at the White House now. I suggest a swearing-in ceremony in the East Room tomorrow morning, then Marty can head west for Mike Rivera’s swearing-in. We’re lining up half a dozen stops in California for him after that. There’s a real celebration going on among Hispanics in L.A. and San Diego, and we want to take advantage of that mood.”
“Good idea. Have you cleared my schedule for the swearing-in?”
“We have to move only one half-hour appointment with the Pakistani ambassador and the secretary of state to tomorrow afternoon.”
“Have the secretary call the ambassador personally about that. I don’t want him to feel shunted aside when
