that had nothing to do with his age. He drew a cigar from the inside pocket of his coat. “Mind?”
Clay Dixon handed his father a silver ashtray. The senator slowly unwrapped the cigar, snipped the tip, and lit up with a wooden match from a small box he pulled from the pocket of his pants.
“You’ve done a fine job as president. I’ve been mighty proud of you, son.”
“But.”
“But now you need to make sure you’ve got a bridle on that bride of yours.”
“I can handle Kate.”
“Can you? My impression is that she’s on the verge of doing something drastic. She isn’t considering leaving you, is she?”
“My marriage is my concern.”
“If it stands to affect your election, and I’m beginning to think it may, then it becomes a concern for many of us. You need to handle your wife.”
“Don’t presume to dictate to me regarding my marriage. You of all people.”
The senator pointed his cigar at his son. “As a presidential candidate, Wayne White continues to be very appealing. A war hero. A widower. That old allegation of spousal abuse will be forgotten quickly if your own wife were to abandon you at this juncture. And if she were to speak frankly about why.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“It’s a great deal stronger than a suggestion. I speak for the party, I assure you. Do whatever is necessary to make certain Kate stays at your side. If she asks you to get down on your hands and knees and lick the floor, then, by God, you will lick it. Because if you lose her, you may well lose this election. But frankly, if circumstances were different, it wouldn’t break my heart if she left you.”
“Dad-”
He waved off his son’s objection. “We both know if I dropped dead tomorrow she’d do a little jig in celebration. I’m sure she believes I’m the devil himself, or at best one step away from him.” He laughed, enjoyed a long draw on his cigar, then spoke through the haze he expelled. “Any man or woman who enters politics takes a few steps closer to the devil. Katie’s a bright lady. I would have thought she understood that by now. In fact, considering that sheusedto share your bed, she should understand that occasionally one even has to sleep with the devil.”
Although he tried not to show it, Clay Dixon was angry. Not so much at his father’s barb as at the obvious fact that someone on the White House staff had been talking indiscreetly about the current sleeping arrangements in the Executive Residence. The telephone rang and he grabbed at it. “Yes?” He listened and said, “Send them up.” He put the phone down. “John Llewellyn’s on his way with McGill and Bobby Lee.”
“They’ve got the most recent polls, I’d bet,” William Dixon said. “By the way, how is Tom Jorgenson?”
“I spoke with Kate this afternoon. He’s still unconscious.”
“An unfortunate accident. Still, it will probably work to your advantage. Sympathy vote and all.”
“What the hell kind of thing is that to say?”
“Nothing personal. You take your votes however you can get them.” The elder Dixon rose, put his cigar in his left hand, took up his cane in his right, and walked to the door. He moved stiff as a man made of pipe cleaners. War had done much of that, time the rest. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Listen to me and to Llewellyn, Clay, and you’ll be fine. You hear me?”
At the door to the Treaty Room, the senator encountered Llewellyn and the others.
“John,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Senator.”
“How’s Doris?”
“Good. Waiting for an RSVP about Saturday night.”
“RSVP? You know I’ll be there.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“I can see that you and the president have business. Good night, John. Gentlemen.” He nodded to McGill and Lee, and he caned his way down the center hall toward the elevator.
“Was your father here on business or pleasure?” Llewellyn asked as he entered the study.
“The senator is never all about one thing. Brandy?” Dixon offered the others after they’d come in.
They declined, and the president decided that he’d had enough.
“How’s Kate holding up?” his chief counsel asked.
“Fine, Bobby. I spoke with her this afternoon. She’s hanging in there. Ed, I thought you’d gone home for the day.”
“I was hoping to get an early report on the polls,” McGill said.
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Wayne White still has you by a margin that concerns us.” He seemed to have more to say, but was reluctant.
“Go on.”
“We believe it’s because you didn’t accompany the First Lady to Minnesota,” McGill said.
“What?”
“It may have made you appear callous.”
“It might help if you were to join her in Minnesota,” Llewellyn said.
“Jesus Christ, John. This isn’t a national disaster. I can’t simply drop everything and go running to Kate. I leave for the Pan-American summit in less than two weeks. Before that I have a dozen campaign appearances. To say nothing of a government to run.”
“This is different,” Ed McGill argued cautiously. “He’s your father-in-law, a man much in the hearts of Americans these days. Also, maintaining proximity to the First Lady would be helpful.”
“It sounds like everybody’s suggesting I ride into the White House on Kate’s skirt.”
“It will show your compassionate side,” McGill said.
Clay Dixon exploded. “I showed my compassionate side by throwing my support behind the Basic Human Services Bill.”
“This is different,” Bobby Lee said quietly. “This is about family.”
“You agree I should go?”
“I do.”
“Tom Jorgenson doesn’t like me.”
“He’s comatose. He won’t even know you’re there,” Llewellyn said. “It would be very good for your image, sir.”
Lee said, “You could easily join Kate for a day or two as a show of concern, of marital solidarity in this difficult time.”
Dixon breathed out his anger. “When?”
“It will take a couple of days to set up,” his chief of staff replied. “But Ed will have Patricia give a statement at the press briefing tomorrow morning.”
“All right.” Now Dixon felt ready for another brandy. “Is there something else?”
“No, sir,” Llewellyn said. “I’ll bid you good night.”
“Bobby?” Dixon said as Lee turned to leave. “Could I have a word with you?”
The president closed the door behind the others, then walked to the window and stared through his own reflection into the night. “The economy’s healthy. We’re not at war. Crime is on the decline. But what do the American people care about? They care whether I scurry to the side of a man who doesn’t particularly like me and a woman who, at the moment, treats me like a leper.”
“If he dies and you didn’t make a visit, you risk appearing heartless,” Lee pointed out.
The president put out his hand and touched his image in the glass. “Before I married Kate, I asked him for his daughter’s hand, did you know that, Bobby? I thought it was respectful. He said it didn’t matter what he thought. The choice was Kate’s. When I pressed him, he said, ‘It’s a rare man who doesn’t become his father.’ He never did give me his blessing. And when I ran for president, same thing. Because of who my father is, he refused to give me his endorsement.” He turned back to his chief counsel. “I’m not my father.”
