“Is it that you can’t find him, or you don’t think anyone else will be able to find him?” Daniel asked.
“Both. We’re okay. People knew you were Presidential material in your second term in the Senate. If they haven’t dug it up by now, they’re never going to.”
“I wish I could just talk about it.”
“Not a chance. Nobody would understand.” Peter was almost annoyed. “You have a chance to run for President and win. You have an obligation to yourself and to your country to run.”
“What do you think they’ll come at me with?”
“They won’t be able to for a while. I mean some crazy Chinaman almost just killed you because of what you stand for. You’re bulletproof, for the moment. Of course, they’ll ask you about the drug use. They’ll make a big deal about that. It’ll blow over. I don’t think they’ll find out about the Israeli money. And basically they’ll say you didn’t do enough as a Senator. And that you were a flip-flopper. When they do, we’ll kill them on that.”
“Maybe I should think some more,” Daniel said.
“Senator, it’s been five weeks. Everyone in the press has been waiting for you to declare. I think you should do it.” Peter got closer to Daniel. He sat on his desk. “You have the chance to become one of the most powerful men in the world. You can implement the vision you’ve wanted to have your whole career . . . since Harvard. When that snotty defense attorney told you justice didn’t matter. Well it does here. You want to know why? Because this is the Goddamn United States of America. And Daniel Carlson is the President of this country and things are done a little differently here than in the rest of the world.” Peter could tell that Daniel was eating his flag waving up. “One question? If you could avoid the campaigning, just instantly be the President, would you want to do the job?”
“Yes,” Daniel said instantly. Daniel recognized the duality in his own character. He would be happy as a teacher. He would also be happy as the Leader.
“I’ll get you elected. You just listen to me. It’ll be like old times. Send D.C. to the White House! Then as President, you can do as you like.”
“Okay, Peter. I’ll announce as expected.” Peter couldn’t believe that it was that easy. He was impressed with himself.
“Very good, Daniel. I look forward to it.”
“Good day, my friend.” Daniel said and smiled.
What is the motive for the party coming to a candidate and asking him to run? Daniel pondered this question continually throughout the last five weeks. They obviously think they can control me. They’ll learn. I’ll spank anyone who gets out of line. The party needs me. If they want to get me, they’ll have to pay me in respect.
“Lynn, send out the press release and call a press conference in Florida,” Daniel said confidently into the intercom.
A few close friends of Alan Carlson’s fraternity gave Alan the high five at 12:00 a.m. as he was leaving the party. They gave him the cheer for his father, who decided to run for President, but more importantly, he was leaving the party with a very attractive co-ed who was coveted by every man in the room. Her name was Karen and she had long blonde hair down to her roots. Her blonde eyebrows confirmed the fact that the color was natural. With her pale blue eyes to match, Alan knew for sure that he was getting a California girl to go back to his room with him.
Actually, Karen looked like a girl from the sunny west coast but was from Binghamton, New York. Her father was a powerful person in the real-estate market and in the Republican party of New York. Her father now and again was asked to run for office, but nothing serious. He was a man who liked accumulating power behind the scenes.
Alan had been chasing Karen all semester but never seemed to get anywhere with her. He even tried to appeal to her father’s need for power once. Alan had met him on a parent’s weekend at Yale. He approached Karen’s father and informed him that his father was indeed a Senator from Florida. Karen’s father knew of Senator Carlson, but since he was from Florida and could do nothing for the real-estate power master, he was impressed but not seduced.
Tonight was different. Alan Carlson was the son of a candidate for the nomination for President of the United States. Now he possessed significant influence on a man who could one day be the most powerful man in the free world. This influence aroused Karen. Alan was right; he could appeal to her sense of power, like her father’s. She hung on Alan all night. She danced toward him in a way that was indisputable, she wanted him. He too could be part of a legacy. The legacy that develops around a powerful family. Alan Carlson, the son of a President. He would be very powerful someday.
Thoughts of this kept Karen drunk all night. Alan helped by filling her glass with the spiked punch. He loosened up and danced with her in an overtly erotic way. He didn’t care what the onlookers were thinking. This would be the last night that he could act crazy. He would have to put on a show for the media, or political spies, who would seek to discredit his father through him.
Karen slurped Alan’s tongue into her mouth, in lasting kisses on the dance floor. The disc jockey, who was a friend of Alan’s, lowered the lights on the dance floor to give him some sense of privacy. She pressed her chest against his body, hard. Karen wiggled her pelvis slowly up and down his body, knowing she was making him horny. After she caressed the inside of his thigh during a slow song, Alan could no longer stand being at the party anymore and guided her off the floor and out of the fraternity house. He sang her a romantic song as they crossed the grassy sports field on the way to his room.
Alan opened the door of his dorm room. He led Karen into the dark and shut the door behind him. She went for the light switch but he grabbed her hand gently, and made her rub his crotch on the outside of his pants. She massaged him as she sucked his bottom lip softly. Karen was impressed with his size, but she wouldn’t go further: “Not until you make the phone call.”
“Okay,” Alan replied. But first, Alan went to his desk and picked up his electronic dictaphone, which he found with some help from the moonlight that cracked through the blinds. He turned it on and said in a semi-drunk state, “Let the record show that Ms. Karen Dansky has consented to come up to my room, Mr. Alan Carlson, son of the President to be, and by her own volition has consented to have sex in my room. Is that correct, Ms. Dansky?”
“Yes. But only after you make the call.” Alan clicked off the dictaphone and tossed it on the desk.
Alan took off his sweater and unbuttoned his pants. He sat on his bed, and fixed his pillow behind his head. Alan waved his hand to Karen to join him on the bed. She took her sweater off. She was magnificent. She wasn’t wearing a bra and she didn’t have to. Her breasts were awesome, like a nineteen year old girl’s usually were. Her nipples were dark and large, taking up almost half the diameter of her breast. She smiled at Alan as she crawled onto the bed and rested her head on his crotch.
Alan then picked up the phone that was on his night table and began to dial. He waited for a ring. Karen heard the click through the phone that someone had picked up on the other end. She unzipped his pants as Alan said, hello. She licked and sucked his belly button as he continued to speak.
“Congratulations, Dad. —I’m proud of you. . . . I’m glad you decided to run.” Alan had to pause for a moment while Karen worked her hand into his underwear. “So what finally made you decide to run? . . . Uh huh, right.” Karen now had her mouth around Alan’s hard penis. She was moving her head up and down, and slightly side to side. Alan was having a tough time concentrating on what his father was saying. “Dad, I want you to say hello to a friend of mine. She wants to wish you good luck.”
Alan handed Karen the phone. She took it from him while still massaging his cock. “Hello, Senator Carlson. I’m Karen Dansky. We met at a parents’ weekend once.” Daniel convinced her that he had remembered her. “I just wanted to wish you good luck. I know you’re going to get the nomination. It’s just all so
exciting! My father, Daryl Dansky, is an officer in the New York State Republican Party. I know he’s going to support you. All right, good luck again. Here’s Alan.”
Karen continued sucking and Alan picked up the phone again.
“What? Secret Service? I don’t need any of that. I suppose. Alright, fine.”
Daniel ended the conversation by saying, “Oh, and Alan. Don’t forget to use a condom.”
“Right, Dad. Thanks.”
Alan had difficulty hanging up the phone. He groaned loudly. Moments later Karen jerked her head back quickly as Alan came intensely. This was a wonderful day.
CHAPTER 13
Footsteps
Our past haunts us in moments like these. When we’re asked to reflect and determine what would be objectionable to others. The objectionable actions, solicitations, and foibles in our lives make us always regret. But why? None of us thinks we are doing anything wrong at the time we do it. Yet, the present looks back on the past with a relentless unending scrutiny. The scrutiny can wreck futures. The people do the scrutinizing. They pass judgment. Don’t judge me! Ridiculous. We make judgments all day long. From the time we wake up, select our clothes, until we decide what time to go to bed. These are judgments. And, the Silent Majority judges too. Their judgment is random and sometimes stupid. At times, they can be curiously insightful, if inspired. In short, it remains a matter of luck which way a President will be selected.
The Carlson family, committed to helping their father, was asked to reveal the scandals in their pasts to a stranger. The strange man was Roger Rock. Rock was in charge of investigation strategy of Daniel’s campaign. He needed to prepare the responses in the event the opposition’s investigations turned up any of the personal scandals. Rock assured each of them that he alone would know the facts of each event and he would never reveal them to anyone. Still, it was difficult to rehash old memories. Painful ones, that were deep and repressed, had to be dug up and shared. One note that Rock left with the family: He would not reveal the secrets even to the other family members. Each one of them had to schedule a private meeting with him. With that promise, Rock expected all secrets, even if nobody else in the world still alive can possibly know about the event. He was saying that no such an instance existed, and he must prepare for every possible image destroyer. The opposition cannot get ammunition to use with the Silent Majority.
Alan looked straight up at the ceiling in bed the morning after the meeting with Rock. His breathing was long, shallow, and hesitant. He scanned memories of grade school that were excusable but disturbing. Instantly, his thoughts went to high school. He delayed the thought of one major incident for which he was ashamed. The major footstep in his life that left the most remarkable print. At first, scared to roll the film from the beginning, he forced himself to recall, for his father. Thinking about your footprints is one thing, telling Rock about them is another. Too much shame.
The house was hauntingly big. A place where a stranger could get lost. Inside it was arranged like a museum. Tonight the parents were away. The whole decor was changed by the music that was being played. It was somewhat loud, but it didn’t preclude speaking at normal tones. Beer and mixed drinks were plentiful. Alan had a light beer in his hand. He liked fitting in. He felt comfortable with something in his hand. Alan had a tendency to fidget, but with a beer, he was completely confident, from his hands to his painted smile. Liquid courage.
Cynthia saw Alan making small talk with Lee Travis. Lee, apparently excited about something, spoke rapidly as perspiration ran down his face. Alan tried to get excited about what Travis was talking about, but he couldn’t quite follow the story; Travis was very drunk. Travis was the nerdy type. He spent most of his time at school researching for debate tournaments, as school presented little challenge. He was speaking quickly, desperate to keep Alan in a conversation with him. Perhaps a girl would see Travis with Alan and think they were close. That would be prestigious and appealing to others.
“Alan,” Cynthia called from atop the stairwell looking straight down. He looked up and smiled, feeling the buzz of his second beer. She waived him upstairs. Alan slapped Travis on the shoulders and turned to walk away when Darren Kingsford, the prep school quarterback, who was closest to a hero as the team had, yelled to him. Kingsford was tough off the field, outclassed on the field.
Alan looked up again, enjoying his buzz and smiling slowly. He appreciated that Cynthia was saving him from the drunken stumblings from Travis. He lifted one finger to her to say “one minute,” and then he walked to the other side of the room, close to the stereo.
Kingsford was six foot three inches tall and appeared large in his football vest. He was sweating beer, trying to cover the pain of being sacked four times earlier that night. Kingsford put out his hand and Alan smacked it in a gesture of approval.
“What’s up, man? Tough game tonight. Almost had ‘em,” Alan said. Kingsford pursed his lips then let out a fake laugh.
“Not even close. I’m lucky there were no scouts out there for me tonight. Thirty-five to three, that fuckin’ sucks man.” Alan realized he couldn’t console Kingsford. It was a lousy exhibition of football, and Alan couldn’t even make up a bright side.
“Hey, man,” Kingsford slurred. “Cynthia wants to do us all tonight.” Alan’s curiosity was aroused.
“What?” He spoke softly.
“She wants you start the train on her.”
“What does that mean?” Two other guys around Kingsford laughed. Alan shifted his stance in his defense. Like who the hell ever heard of training someone. “Like what is that the new word for the week?” Did any girl in her right mind want to have more than one man in a night? Women are supposed to be the monogamous creatures, and men, the wolves on the hunt.
“No man. Training. She wants to screw us all.” Kingsford waited for Alan’s reaction. Alan squinted his eyes in disbelief, not sure he could take Kingsford seriously. He enjoyed the fact that Kingsford, one of the most popular guys in school, even was talking to him. Alan felt he never really was in with the football crowd. But Alan had a following of his own. He was in charge of the intelligent preppie crowd, the ones who were most likely to succeed. His group was popular, but in a different way. The girls who liked the more refined characters, the ones who could see a little into the future and know who was going to be something other than a real-estate broker living off of Granddaddy’s trust went for Alan and his crowd.
“I’m telling you man, she wants us: Me, you, Davis, and Hopkins. But she wants you to be the first.” Kingsford spit the s and the t.
“Uh, say it, don’t spray it!” Alan said. Kingsford pushed Alan to regain his honor. Alan thought. She wants to fuck us all?
“That’s right. But she needs a little convincing.” Alan smiled at Kingsford’s last sentence.
“She needs a little convincing. If she wants to screw my brains out, and she needs some convincing to screw you three, why do I care? I’m getting what I want.” Alan thought he found his perfect way out.
“Because I’ll tell Mr. Dieterson, you were the one who posted the German exam answers in the showcase a half hour before the exam. And considering you did it, and we know about it, you’ll probably get nailed for it.” Alan also thought that since he did it, Kingsford was probably right; he would get nailed for it. Dieterson was such a Nazi for lack of a better, probably no more accurate word. He ran his class like a storm trooper, embarrassing one after the other. He coddled the Aryans, it seemed, and blitzkrieged the other men and all the women. Steven Gold, the only Jew in the prep school, dropped out of his class after the first week, because Dieterson was such a pig to him. Alan could hear the slapping of the wooden pointer against Dieterson’s knee. “Carlson, you cheated on the exam! Der are consequences for such behavior!”
“He’ll never believe you.” Alan said. The other two football rogues were getting frustrated. They were pacing and spi
nning about.
“Calm down,” Kingsford said to his cohorts. Three of us we’ll say we saw you,” he said to Alan. “Do you think that it would look good if a Senator’s son was suspended for cheating? Or getting a hand-job from Baker’s fifteen-year-old sister?” Alan was sweating. “That’s a crime isn’t it?” Alan didn’t reply. “You’re the one who wants to be the lawyer. It’s a crime isn’t it? You’re eighteen, she’s fifteen. . . . Doesn’t matter you were a senior in high school.”
“I’ll talk to Cynthia about it if it comes up. But no promises,” Alan said looking for as many words that gave him space to work.
“Good. That’s all we ask.” The whole scenario was unbelievable to Alan. As manly and worldly as he thought he was, he didn’t think training happened in the real world. Maybe in some very wild fraternity parties and pornographic films that happened, but in high school?
“How do you know she’ll even go for it?”
“She’s a hound, man. It was her idea. She’s fucked everyone on the Sunset high football team. Tell her she should do it as a favor to you.”
“Alan!” Cynthia called out. Alan just turned away from Kingsford and took two swallows from his beer. His legs were heavy and he drudged up the stairs to meet Cynthia. He forgot about Kingsford and his pals half way up, and smiled widely. Cynthia met him at the top of the stairs and embraced him. He squeezed her hard and smiled at one of her friends he didn’t recognize.
“Oh, this is Rachel.” Alan said hello and shook her hand. Rachel resembled a pretty girl’s best friend. She felt above the high school courtship games and knew all about men at age seventeen. She was of no consequence, though. Rachel said, “I’ll leave you two alone,” and walked downstairs.
By Silent Majority Page 14