Foster's Fall (Foster's Life)

by Jake Williams

  Rob cleared his throat and he was standing in front of us grinning. “Is this not the best fucking commando disco gunfight suit ever made?” He patted the jacket and pulled his gun out. “You can barely tell I’m wearing this!” I looked at him and in that eerie almost space-flight light of the jet travelling miles over normal passenger flights the suit took on a shiny gray white glow around the edges. The height and speed of a private jet always made me feel special—you could go to the best restaurants, be on the VIP list of a hot club, escort somebody on a red carpet, anything that made people feel elite and privileged—but hurtling this high and this fast with the potential for catastrophic results and dramatic headlines made my heart beat a little faster.

  Dave looked serious and asked, “How’s the commando part working for you? Did Gustav get an accurate fondle of you?”

  Rob jumped up and down a little and tugged on his fly. “It feels good, it’s okay.”

  The nose of the plane began to aim back toward the ground and Rob buckled himself in across the aisle from me. One of the guys from the cockpit came on the intercom and told us we’d touch down in about ten minutes. He said, “Please buckle up and secure any loose items in the cabin.” I propped my feet up on the cooler and figured we were good to go.

  The Dinner Date

  When we landed and taxied to a small building at the edge of the airport Rob told us to wait a minute, and he hopped out of the plane as soon as the cabin door was opened. He walked over to another Secret Service guy with the trademark sunglasses and ear bud and the two of them shook hands. The other guy pulled on Rob’s lapel with gentle fingers and then Rob spun around in what I hoped was him showing off his suit, and not some secret Secret Service greeting or handshake or whatever. He popped his head into the cabin and motioned for us to follow him. When I got out of the plane the first thing I noticed was how warm and balmy the air was. Rob and the other agent opened the doors of a long dark sedan and we all climbed in as somebody from the ground crew threw our bags into the trunk. Now that I knew how bumpy and dark it was back there I almost felt sorry for the luggage.

  Spence looked around the car and said, “No wonder your father’s going to lose the election.”

  “You mean other than Megan?” Maybe it was the beer or a pill or a joint or something but I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about.

  He nodded. “Aren’t the conservative politicians always lecturing about buying American? This is a Mercedes limo.” I looked around and he was right.

  The limo shot out of the airport and we hopped onto an interstate for about five minutes then exited on to a road that was lined with hotels, fast food places, and gas stations. The traffic was backed up at every light and we crawled forward. After the clean, blue, deserted atmosphere we had been in this scene felt over lit with gray, hostile, afternoon sunlight and the air pushing through the air conditioner had a burning-asphalt kind of smell.

  It wasn’t my first time at the travel rodeo but I couldn’t see a single landmark that helped me figure out what city or state or whatever we were in. I thought about pulling my phone out to check but it really didn’t matter where we were.

  Dave studied both sides of the street and wondered out loud, “Where do you think we’ll have dinner? Looks like there are a lot of options. Oh!” He leaned forward in his seat and pointed to the right. “It’s Red Robin! I wonder if your Dad and Megan are craving a big ol’ burger?”

  I shook my head, “Megan is a vegan.”

  Rob looked back from the front seat. “Are you sure about that, Foster? It sure seems like she was swallowing a lot of sausage this summer.” He and the agent who was driving both cracked up and I found the switch to raise the partition.

  “Okay, well, how ‘bout Ruby Tuesday’s? They have a decent salad bar.”

  I shook my head no. “Yeah, but I’m not really in the mood for that.”

  Spence spoke up. “Between sitting across from the loving couple and the buzz that you’ve kicked into overdrive—give me the rest of those pills, by the way—do you really think you’re going to be hungry?” I showed him the joint I had stashed in a pack of cigarettes and he snatched it away from me.

  Dave looked at the pack of smokes and gave me a fist bump. “I was hoping somebody would bring some cigarettes, I forgot mine. And Spence, you’re not fooling anybody, don’t smoke that joint by yourself.”

  Rob’s voiced crackled through a speaker and we all jumped. “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes, Foster. You’re an athlete, you know better.”

  I wasn’t sure where the mic was so I leaned forward and spoke into an ashtray. “I raised the glass, Rob. That was a subtle hint that we wanted privacy.”

  He laughed at that. “With two Secret Service agents in the front seats? Good luck with that.”

  “Yeah,” I shot back. “Where were you two when my father was screwing the President’s daughter?” There was no reply from the front seat and I laughed, then I wondered who had known what was going on.

  Dave pointed out a place on the right. “Ha! That’s perfect, let’s all go to Hooter’s!”

  I elbowed him in the side and we rode in silence the rest of the way. Just when the franchise food places and hotels started to be replaced by office parks and personal-injury law firms we hung a hard right. The limo went past a golf course and we slowed down a little, then the car pulled into the parking lot of a non-descript Something Suites hotel and stopped under the portico.

  Rob’s voice came through the speaker. “You fellas sit tight, I need to check us in and coordinate security.” He walked through the front doors as soon as they slid open, and then I opened my door.

  “What are you doing, Foster?” Spence sounded more annoyed then he did worried.

  “C’mon Dave, let’s have a cigarette while we wait for Rob.”

  The other agent’s voice cut in. “I can’t stop you, but Rob’ll be pissed.”

  I shrugged and we got out of the car. I headed to the side of the front doors and found the little Pinocchio-nose cigarette butt disposer. Dave and I lit up and I looked around. The landscaping had those generic invincible hedges and plants around the edge of the parking lot, and in front of the building little flowers still in their plastic containers were arranged in a haphazard way. Dave and I were both wearing hats and sunglasses and blended in well with the few other guys pacing slowly and smoking quickly so they could head back inside. A couple of hotel employees, guys about our age, came out and started gathering our luggage up and putting it on a cart.

  I pulled one of them aside and handed him a hundred. “Thanks!” He said, “But that’s a lot of money for carrying some suits and a couple of gym bags.”

  “Yeah—I mean no. I have a favor to ask you.”

  He gave me a once over and raised an eyebrow. “I can take care of you, man, but you don’t have to pay me.” He grinned, “I mean, if you want to hook up later—”

  “Oh, well thanks, I guess. I would, but I’ve got my buddies with me and we have a...business meeting.” There was a well-worn path through the hedges to a convenience store. I pointed at the cooler. “Do you mind going to that store and refilling this for us?”

  He stuffed the bill in his pocket and looked a little embarrassed. “No problem. I’ll drop it off at your room. Are you sure you don’t want to hang out? You’ve been here before, right? You work for some pharmaceutical company, right? You look familiar, I thought maybe we had already—”

  I tugged my cap a little lower on my face and shook my head. “Nope.” I grinned at him. “But maybe next trip,” I studied his name tag, “Jeff.” I put my cigarette out and headed into the lobby. I looked over my shoulder and Dave and Jeff were talking about something, and it looked like Dave had his wallet out.

  We all walked into the lobby and saw Rob talking to the girl at the front desk. I was once again struck by the sameness, the doppelganger effect of chain hotels—the quiet, the neutrality, the bland background music, the soft sound of a TV in the corner p
laying Headline News over and over, the USA Today’s spread out on a table—all of it screamed don’t panic, you’re not at home, but everything’s okay.

  The lady at the front desk was tapping away on a keyboard with her head tilted at the screen, and it was obvious she was buying time to avoid some question Rob had posed. She looked up and noticed her audience had grown and she started typing faster and shaking her head. She gave Rob a weak smile and said, “I really am sorry, but the reservation was for one room, and we’re actually overbooked through the weekend for the football game. We already have a business conference going on here. So...there are four of you?” I had to count heads but she seemed to have it right.

  Spence shrugged and said, “I guess if there are two beds it won’t be the end of the world.” We all nodded.

  She finally gave us a genuine smile. “It’s a little better than that. It’s a suite—two bedrooms, one bath, king-size beds.”

  Rob patted me on the shoulder and told her, “Not a problem, this big fella and I have been sharing a bed all week.”

  The desk clerk stared at him and then switched back to that semi-smile and started producing room keys for each of us. “Well, good for you two. If more guys would just admit that it would make my job a whole lot easier. And I see we have the Azalea room booked for a private dinner, should I let hospitality know that instead of dinner for...four, it’s going to be for six?”

  “Sure,” I spoke up. “I’m having dinner with my father. I guess Rob has to be there, and these other guys may as well tag along in case things get ugly.”

  She gave me a solemn nod. “So you think telling your father about the two of you may be—may not go so well. I understand.”

  I shook my head. “That would actually be a more relaxed dinner conversation, I think.”

  We wandered down the hall, on the non-offensive carpet in a vague color and pattern that was nice, but that you would never want for your own house. We found our room number and after about three swipes Rob’s card unlocked the door. When we all stepped into a little living room kind of space Rob motioned for us to stand still. He went into one bedroom and then came out through the other. “I just wanted to do a quick check, I didn’t expect to find terrorists or the media waiting to kidnap Foster, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Spence and Dave went into one bedroom and Rob and I went into the other. I crashed on the bed and grabbed the remote like I usually did when I got into a hotel room, but then I remembered why we were here and I put the remote back on the nightstand.

  I heard a knock on the door and then Dave talking to that Jeff guy. There was a sound of a cooler sloshing a little as it was set on the floor and then the door clacked closed. I noticed how white the comforter was and how fresh everything seemed. The last road trip I had made with Dave and Rob was to Cancun, and the comforter in my room was almost crunchy from spilled liquor, sand stuck in the seams, and a smell that hinted at the ghosts of DNA past and coconut oil.

  I heard the sliding glass door in our room open and felt a micro burst of warm humid air come in to the room. “Foster, don’t come out onto this patio unless you have to smoke or something. The only thing standing between this and the parking lot are these sorry-looking bushes. You’d really think they’d have better security.”

  “They plan on security for soccer moms and widget salesmen—not people under Secret Service protection. I wonder where they have my father and Megan stashed away?”

  “Not here, they’re in a guest house at that country club we went by. They’re only coming here for dinner.”

  “What the fuck? He’s staying at a country club and we’re all eating in the Azalea room of this place? Why can’t we meet somewhere in the middle—a Chili’s or a Subway or somewhere? I’ve had meals in hotels like this before, it’s going to be lukewarm chicken with some kind of flavorless whitish sauce, maybe some rice, with a little steamed broccoli and those tiny slivers of carrots. And rolls—rolls in a basket with those little tiny packets of butter that are impossible to peel open.”

  Rob shrugged as he hung up his suit and pulled on some shorts. He propped himself up on pillows on the other side of the bed. “Well, it’s just a security thing. Maybe it’s what he or Megan wants, I don’t know, Jake. But you know we can’t go to Chili’s. Are you, Spence, Rob, Dave, your Father, Megan, me, and four other agents just going to walk into a Chili’s and wait at the bar while they put together seating for about a dozen people?”

  “Sitting at a bar sounds awesome, if you ask me. And they’re really good at the seating thing, I’ve seen lots of birthdays and shit there—but wait! The two of them have four agents? How long is the president going to authorize that bullshit? I mean, he’s a generous guy but he’s gotta be tempted to just drop the two of them out of a plane over a volcano somewhere!”

  Rob sighed. “Oh my God, no offense but this bed is ten times more comfortable than yours. But as far as protection, from what I understand your father’s going to have to get his company to arrange security, that’s already in the works.”

  I guess we both drifted off, I woke up freezing in the Arctic air that only those wall-unit air conditioners could create. I was stiff with fatigue and hypothermia and the only thing that made me move was the need to take a leak, and the need for a beer. I walked into the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom and bumped into Spence shaving at the sink. I moved around him and unzipped as he said, “Get moving, Sleeping Beauty, dinner’s in about thirty minutes.”

  I heard the shower running and asked Spence, “Who’s in there?”

  Dave stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. “It’s all yours, Rob’s down the hall with the other agents—checking the Azalea room for bugs or cameras, tasting the food to check for poison, whatever secret-agent people do. He’ll be back for us, soon.”

  I asked them, “Do we have time to burn a joint?”

  Dave stopped scrubbing his curly hair with the towel and grinned. “We always have time for that.”

  Spence looked at me as I dropped my clothes on the floor and started to get in the shower. “And against my better judgment I’ll give you one of Brent’s magic pills,” he said. My gut’s telling me that we should probably all take one.”

  We got suited up and stepped out on to the little patio. The parking lot lights were flickering on and you could hear a few TV’s and some laughter coming out of the rooms around us. “So,” I asked them, “how exactly am I supposed to play this?” I passed the joint to Dave. “I mean, should I be angry with him?”

  Dave exhaled and said, “Don’t make any wild threats, his Secret Service team outguns yours four-to-one.”

  “Right. Should I act hurt, then?”

  Spence shrugged. “I guess you could. I mean are you, really?”

  “Well, this week has been a pain, but it’s also been kinda cool. The drone shit, riding around in trunks, seeing Gustav again, hanging out with Rob—it would be a stretch to say that I’m hurt. But I am annoyed, and he does owe me for Rob’s suit. And part of me wants to grab him by the ears and shake Megan’s tits out of his brain.”

  Spence handed me the joint and told me, “Don’t give him the impression that you’re overly concerned about him and Megan. Except for the underwear ads and whatever the hell happened to you last fall break you haven’t interrupted his life all that much. What gives him the right to inconvenience you like this?”

  I nodded. “Plus I like Chuck, the President, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. I mean, he’s got to be a little angry that his running mate and his daughter ruined his political career. I don’t think I’d piss off a guy that has his finger on the button or whatever. One cruise missile and the honeymoon’ll be over for Megan and my father.”

  Rob spoke up from the darkened room. “No doubt. Let’s not keep the happy couple waiting, gentlemen.” We went down the hall and headed back through the lobby. There was a crowd of fellow guests milling around and sipping wine or drinking beer. “It’s the complimentary happ
y hour,” Rob said out of the corner of his mouth. “Just kinda keep your heads down and walk fast, and keep Foster in the middle of our group.” Nobody really seemed to notice us in the crowd of youngish professionals wandering around. As we walked past the table with the beer and wine Spence grabbed a bottle of wine and tucked it under his jacket. “I saw that,” Rob warned.

  Spence raised an eyebrow at Rob. “Don’t worry about that—it really wasn’t theft if it’s complimentary. You just keep Foster safe from snipers and ninjas and kidnappers and terrorists and shit.” That comment made me tuck my head down a little further and walk a little faster.

  We walked past rooms named after trees and bushes and I glanced into them as we moved down the hall. There were name tents on the conference tables, and dry-erase boards with scribbles on them, and I tried to imagine hanging out with a bunch of people in one of these rooms and brainstorming ideas about target markets and key demographics and brand image and whatnot. I wondered if I just stayed here at the hotel if I could wander from tree room to bush room and randomly attend conferences and meetings for the next few years. If that happy hour thing happened every night it might be a nice place to live.

  We kept going until we found the Azalea room. It was the last room on the right, and there was a glass door leading out to the parking lot within five feet of the room. Rob put a finger to his ear and whispered into the direction of his lapel and the rest of us exploded in laughter. The door swung open, the other agents pulled as Rob pushed us and we all basically fell into the room, and I was immediately face-to-face with my father and Megan.

  He was still my height and weight, still had the salt and pepper politically correct plastic hair, and had that pretend version of a smile on his face that always sent a cold river down my spine. I was shocked at how utterly normal he looked. I had imagined him as either a ruined shadow of his wasted political career, or a man rejuvenated and beaming with the happiness of new-found love. This guy in front of me looked like he had just stepped out of one of his own campaign ads.