And then: “Cessy, I didn’t know that was your husband. I’ve watched that footage a half-dozen times and I think he and the other boy were splendid. Bartholomew Coleman, right? A captain. And your husband’s a major. Brilliant record in the war. They’re starting to tear at him already, aren’t they?”
So Sandy had briefed him.
“I really called just to tell you—oh, this is silly, I’m just wasting your time—Mr. President, he’s the—”
“LaMonte. Please. I’m not on Rushmore yet. There are forty guys ahead of me in line.”
“LaMonte, Reuben Malich is the real thing. A true patriot. Unlike me, he really is a Republican. He loved the President. This is tearing him apart.”
“I can imagine.”
“I’m not just a loyal wife talking here. I just wanted to make sure you knew that whatever they say about him, whatever evidence got planted to incriminate him, he did not do anything wrong. He fulfilled a legitimate assignment. He did not pass those plans on.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure of that,” said LaMonte.
“What I’m asking is—stand by him, sir. Please.”
“Let me tell you my dilemma,” said LaMonte. “I’m walking into a White House filled with people chosen by the late President. They’re used to regarding me as an obstacle to getting things done because they never understood that the Speaker isn’t boss of the House the way the President is boss of the White House. But these people have been part of the administration. And one of them—at least one of them—pinpointed the President so that somebody could kill him.”
“You’ve got trust issues. But my husband—”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Cessy. I don’t have trust issues, I have a major world-class investigation going on around me here while I’m trying to transition into being President. Plus everybody’s crying, which is understandable but doesn’t help much. I need you here. I need somebody I can trust.”
“I’m a Democrat, remember?”
“I know, and I need someone who knows that language, it’s foreign to me.”
“LaMonte, I’m flattered, I’m honored, but I have a family.”
“I’ll pay you a huge salary. We raised all the White House salaries last session and I promise you, you can afford to live in Georgetown if you want to.”
“LaMonte. My parents already own a house in Georgetown, if I needed one. You can’t lure me with money. You can’t lure me at all. But as I said, I’m honored.”
“Money can’t seduce you? What about pleading? I can whimper and beg if you want. I learned how to do that in conference committees.”
“You can’t use me in the White House. My husband will be testifying before the congressional committee investigating the assassinations. And it won’t be pretty. The last thing you need is, ‘Major Malich, whose wife is an aide to President Nielson.’ There is such a thing as bad publicity.”
“Well, just for you, I’ll wave my wand and make that all go away.”
“If only,” said Cecily.
“You’ll see. We’re going to have a very harmonious administration.”
“Don’t count on much of a honeymoon.”
“Work for me, Cessy. Your husband won’t hurt us, he’ll help. He’s a hero. You’re the wife of a hero. Plus Sandy assures me you’re the only aide she ever liked.”
“She did not like me,” said Cecily. “Not till I left.”
She felt herself getting sucked into the vortex. She really did miss it. And to think of a White House in transition, under internal investigation, in desperate need of people who could concentrate, who could get things done—she knew she could do it. She had a knack for getting along with people. For isolating differences
and making them seem small. She was good at the minutiae of making things happen in Washington. She wanted to say yes.
But she wanted even more to say no. The last thing Reuben needed right now was a wife with a sixteen-hour-a-day job. It had been her decision to stay home with the kids and she had made the right choice—for her and Reuben, anyway. With Reuben often gone for weeks and months at a time, the kids needed somebody who was an island of stability in their lives.
“We’ve got five kids, Mr. President. You know better than to try to take me away from them.”
“Patriotic pep talk won’t do it?”