Powerless. That’s how he felt. Like a rat in a cage who sees the red light go on and knows he’ll be shocked— and there’s nothing he can do. As he looked down, he reflected on the scandal that forced Senator Bratton into early retirement. Daniel didn’t quite understand at the time what Senator Bratton meant when he gave his soliloquy years ago in his office. Now he understood the point about the irrelevancies of the job requirements. He felt bad for Senator Bratton, but always felt that if a man betrayed his wife, someone who he’s supposed to have a sacred trust with, how difficult would it be to forsake the trust of the people he isn’t so intimate with?
Daniel was a man of integrity, and he was gay. He was gay in first term, and the most popular President in the history of this country. What had changed? He was still the same man. It was true what Peter said all those years, from the days of Senator Bratton to the Presidency. It’s all about imaging. Truth is irrelevant. Competency is irrelevant. Do you appear truthful and competent? Straight and mainstream?
He picked up the file and stopped as he was about to open it. What happens if it’s Peter? Could it be? For whatever Peter was or wasn’t, one thing for sure, he was loyal. Everything he did was to protect the person he worked for and the ideals he stood for. He never served a cause higher than the person he served or worked with. Yet, on the other hand, that is the nature of the deep cover spy. The Talbots, the Yuris, the Sashas, the Woo Tai Chins, they all had the implicit trust of the people they worked for. They knew how to hide well. The best cloak was hiding above the heads of the people you were acting against.
The irony had come to a head at this point. Daniel felt from time to time that he was destined for the Presidency, yet never considered himself above anyone else because of it. The Silent Majority allowed him to be the king on the throne. Will it take it away? A man like Peter, his scar was on the outside. Daniel’s scar was on the inside. The Party didn’t want to support Peter because of that scar. Jealousy? What better motive for Peter. Yet, the real question was, would the Party have supported Daniel Carlson if they had knows he was gay before the election?
After all is said and done, Daniel thought, what would be the point of knowing who started this mess? Would it change the minds of the American people? Would it prevent a scandal like this from happening again in the future? Then he looked critically at his philosophy and values system. It was bad management to figure out the cause of a crisis when the situation demanded a solution. What a way to vent anger. Lynch the man who started the whole damn thing.
Daniel picked up the file, nodded his head, and threw it in the garbage. Lynn got on the intercom and reminded the President that it was time to meet Charles Mathews for the final election day run-down.
The strategy was to go back to the core of his support. Hit the Universities, starting with Yale and a quick stop by helicopter at Harvard, and turn the tide back to him before the end of election.
The President brushed himself off. With the whole investigation over, he was willing to give the American people a chance. As futile as it may have seemed, Daniel had forsaken the polls, which cited massive undecided, and was determined to finish the final days of the campaign in strength.
As the President was leaving his office, Lynn buzzed in and said Peter Spark was on the line.
“Hello, Peter. What’s happening?”
“Never mind me. How are you doing?”
“I’m hanging in there.”
“Please, Daniel, make it a good day. You can’t afford to be down,” Peter said sincerely.
“I’m giving my best effort.”
“Good. Did the Director finish the report on the leak?”
“Yes, Peter, he did.”
“And—Are you going to tell me what it said.”
“I don’t have time to explain my motives, but I didn’t read it and I don’t plan to.” Peter suspected that he might not read it. He knew Daniel well.
“What do you plan to do with it?”
“I just threw it out, Peter. All I can say is the person who’s responsible should be the next Vice President,” Daniel joked.
“Ah, I really don’t agree, but, okay. Keep your eye on the ball. I’ll speak to you in a couple of hours.” Daniel was about to hang up and to start the long day, but Peter interrupted with one last comment. “By the way, Mr. President. The Receptionist is none other than our friend Eugene Hawkins. Your messages in the message room were from a friend. I guess he liked what you stood for.” Daniel didn’t know who was a friend or what was a friend.
Peter made his way up to the office suites in the White House. He was wearing a dark pin striped suit with a dark black tie. In his right hand he had a large shipping envelope. He walked past the Secret Service man standing outside the Oval Office. He waved at Lynn who was on the phone and said that he wanted to drop his file on the President’s desk. She absent mindedly waved him in.
Peter slipped over to the President’s desk. He looked down at the waste basket and saw the FBI report sealed in the shipping envelope. He switched envelopes. Quickly, Peter opened the envelope and started to read the report. He scanned the first few paragraphs and then turned the pages quickly. It was about a ten page report. Then he just skipped to the last page and read the last sentence very slowly. The Fedral Bureau of Investigation, on special assignment in service to the President, find that the individual who leaked the personal and private information about the President’s homosexual nature was Bruce Porter, White House domestic staff.
Peter was in shock. His suspicions were with someone high up in the Administration. After all, what about the Chinese and the CIA? It was Bruce Porter—the President’s masseur. Peter asked the question: Who was Bruce working for? The answer to that question, Peter knew, could never be answered fully. It was also quite apparent that Bruce Porter didn’t know that he was found out. The investigation was strictly, hush, hush.
Peter picked up the President’s telephone.
“This is Mr. Spark. Set up a massage for me in the President’s massage room in an hour. Oh, and I would like the President’s masseur. What’s his name? Yeah, Bruce, great!”
As Peter hung up, he noticed the Secret Service agent standing at the doorway. Peter smiled as he folded the report and tucked it in his jacket pocket.
“Sorry, I took so long,” Peter said to the agent. He waved at Lynn, left the Oval Office, and went on his way to his office.
Behind closed doors Peter read the FBI’s analysis. The analysis backed up by an interview substantiated the fact that the President spoke with members of the Republican party six months after the election. The President would discuss the complications of being homosexual and having a family. Bruce, a homosexual himself, would discuss problems and joys of raising a family, and being a husband. This whole account made for fascinating reading for Peter. He couldn’t believe Daniel was discussing something so sensitive with a domestic staff person. No wonder he was never to be disturbed when he was having a massage. Everyone thought it was because of the messages. Daniel really had everyone fooled.
According to the report Bruce admitted that he never had any sexual relations with the President. It was strictly therapeutic discussions. Bruce was pressured under blackmail, either he finds something the opposition could use, or his family of Czech descent would be deported. A host of other threats were used, like IRS audits for the whole extended family that would make them all broke or serve a term in jail. Unbelievable, Peter thought.
Peter stood up, unbuttoned his jacket, and began undressing. As he finished dressing in casual clothes for his massage he picked up the FBI file and ran it through the shredder. He told his secretary to call and say that he would be going to the third floor for his massage. She thought that was odd considering it was days before the election. She then assumed it was a meeting Peter Spark didn’t want to talk about.
Peter approached the massage room. He sa
id to the Secret Service agent, “Like the President, I don’t want to be disturbed—for any reason.” The agent wondered what the Chief of Staff was doing getting a massage on what should be the busiest day of his life, even if he had little to do with the campaign management. Peter stepped in the room and saw Bruce setting up the table. The spa jets were on heating up the water.
“Hello, Mr. Spark.”
“Hello,” Peter said.
“Have you ever had a massage before, Mr. Spark?”
“No, I don’t think I have. Well, just from my wife.”
“Well, just take off your clothes and lie face up on the table.” Peter disrobed and adjusted himself on the table.
Bruce draped a white towel discretely around Peter’s hips. As Bruce rubbed the oil into Peter’s body, Peter thought it felt pretty good. He understood why the President enjoyed them once or twice a day.
Peter turned over and felt his muscles relax and his disks in his back slip into place. He was amazed. It was wonderful. Several minutes later Bruce remarked:
“Why don’t you slide into the tub, Mr. Spark?”
“Hmm, I will.” Peter enjoyed the hot-tub as well. He told himself to remember to tell Melissa to buy one for their home in Maryland.
“Would you like some of the President’s orange juice, Mr. Spark?”
“Yes.” Bruce was suspicious of Mr. Spark’s congeniality. Peter had the reputation of being somewhat of a tyrant. If a massage and hot-tub doesn’t loosen up a tyrant, nothing would.
“Any of the President’s rice paper in the fridge?” Peter wanted to see if Bruce would break security protocol. Bruce just smiled politely pretending not to understand what Peter meant.
Bruce admired Peter’s body. He thought for a man in his early sixties, a man a few years older than the President, Peter had stayed in great shape. He looked good.
Peter stepped out of the tub and dried off. He began to dress quickly as Bruce said, “I have to leave, Mr. Spark. I have to work out with the Vice President’s wife in a couple of minutes. Anytime you want to have a massage, let me know. I mean, I hope that we’ll be able to do this again. I know the President enjoys the massages.” Peter tensed up again.
“Oh, just another second, Bruce.” Peter adjusted his shirt and looked in the mirror and saw he was acceptable. Peter walked toward the door and put his hand on the knob. He was a few feet from Bruce, and leaned over as to only be inches from his face. “Bruce, I’m going to have you killed,” he said a matter of fact. Bruce smiled in disbelief.
“What?”
“I’m going to have you killed. You see, I know you’re the one who leaked, that the President is gay, you fucking faggot. You ruined the presidency, you fucking fudge packer,” Peter said as he poked his index finger into Bruce’s chest. “You ruined a great man. I’m going to fuck your world if it’s the last thing I do as Chief of Staff. You have two weeks to move some place where I can’t find you. One week, if you don’t resign at the end of business day today.”
Bruce gulped and said he was threatened. They already knew.
“Didn’t you think I would protect you if you’d have told me they were threatening you? You chose to deceive the President. Well, now you’re going to have to pay for your stupidity. Have a nice fucking life. Two hours. If my people find you after two hours, you’re dead!”
Peter turned the door knob and left Bruce standing with his mouth opened and his knees shaking.
CHAPTER 28
Existential Aloneness
An hour after his telecast, on the President’s desk was one letter informing him of Carl Wills’ resignation. Of all the people to resign, Carl Wills. It was not that he was the most valuable person on the Committee to Re-elect, but he was a known homosexual. Daniel was sure he, like Peter, once had political ambitions, but knew that he resigned to a life behind the scenes because their scars were visible or were known.
Daniel didn’t think about Carl very long before Lynn ushered in Daniel’s old college buddy, Scott Witherspoon. Lynn opened the door and smiled. She was excited about the reunion until she saw Scott stagger in slowly. The Times was supposed to come in and take a photo of the two. Two war buddies reunite—that kind of theme. It would be for the morning edition. It became a hot news day so the papers wouldn’t cover it. Only the White House photographer would be covering it now.
The whole election was a shoe-in for the incumbent President. Now every ten minutes somewhere in the country every political advertisement on President Carlson was focusing on the strength, power, and leadership he’d offered. The Committee to Re-elect was piecing together films it never thought would be necessary. Action shots of him playing tackle football with a group of ex-football players on the lawn of the White House. A total shift in campaign strategy was started on the day of the election. Military issues were being discussed on the radio and television. Generic strength in foreign policy was being bolstered and tagged with President Carlson. Fox News was just repeating segments of President Carlson’s speech stating he was a homosexual. Commentators were getting personal and mean. They referred to the most effective President in the history of the country as Danielle. The talking points were all the same: homosexuals are weak, indecisive, and ladylike. Operatives from the campaign have fanned out on the news networks defending President Carlson. He’s the man you all know. He’s the same man, the operatives pled. Do you care who brought you this strong economy?
Scott Witherspoon still looked the same, but older. He even looked a few years older than Daniel, although they were the same age. Scott walked with a cane as a result of being near a freak explosion on a Marine base in Lebanon. Scott served in the Marines as an infantryman. President Carlson stood up to greet him, but detected that Scott was uncomfortable. His first clue was that Scott didn’t bring his family along with him.
Scott was different. He wasn’t the guy’s guy he was in college. He was an alcoholic, and instead of being jovial and fun he became uptight and surly. His raspy voice spotlighted the last shadow of doubt that he was occasionally sober.
“Hello, Scott.” Daniel patted Scott on the shoulder.
“Hello, Mr. President. How are you?”
“Could be better my Phi brother.” Daniel couldn’t lie.
“Hmm.” Scott adjusted his position and looked down at the floor.
“Why don’t you sit down, Scott?”
“I’d rather stand because of my hip and all. You knew about that. Besides I can’t stay very long. I’m taking the grandkids to my wife’s parents in Maryland. It’s kind of a long ride.” It occurred to President Carlson that this was the first time in almost four years that someone said to him, ‘I don’t have time for you, Mr. President.’ Daniel didn’t note this as a matter of arrogance, just as a plain fact. People don’t dismiss the President. As President, Daniel was instinctively angry. Who was he to dismiss the President? Daniel had such a flash of anger. Peter Spark wouldn’t dismiss such an idea as quickly as Daniel did.
“Oh, why didn’t you bring the grandkids?” Daniel asked even though he knew the real answer.
“Well, the little one is sick from the trip. And Mary wanted to stay with him. You know, I think about our trip to Jamaica all the time. That was the best time of my life.” Not a bad side-step. Scott should’ve been a politician.
“Yeah, I loved that trip too.”
“Daniel, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t interested in girls. I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.” Daniel wasn’t surprised with Scott’s bluntness. They were very old close friends. Haven’t been close for a while. Then it occurred to Daniel, had he ever been close with anyone? Daniel then wondered about Elana. Didn’t she know him the best? Didn’t she know he was different? She realized they were not destiny in her first stolen kiss in her car in Miami. In the Oval Office. President Carlson was enraged with Scott’s disappointment.
“Scot
t, in the Oval Office, I prefer to be called, Mr. President. I don’t know. I’m not sure I really knew.”
“All those years I thought you made it with that beautiful woman who wanted to be your first. I just figured out that it was that big guy, Bob. Yeah, was that his name?” All those years of one or two minute phone calls to Scott and Daniel never realized that Scott lived vicariously through him. It was the only way to explain Scott’s exceptional recall of the situation.
“Yeah.”
“Goddamn, I never would’ve thought that big guy. He worked out, he had a tremendous body. He was magnificent. What a handsome guy he was.”
“Watch it, someone might get the wrong idea, Scott.” Scott gave a short laugh. A sudden serious look swept over Scott’s face.
“Tell me, Mr. President, did you really believe you could’ve led a platoon into battle, like you wanted?” Daniel wondered where Scott had been for the past four years. He opened the door to his office and said, “Yes, Scott, I think I could have.”
On the plane ride to a weekend in Star Island, Daniel phoned Peter. Melissa answered the phone and spoke to Daniel only long enough to say that Peter had a hangover from the last night, and was sleeping it off. He understood but didn’t like it. Peter was drowning in alcohol and tears because it seemed he kept investing his life’s energy in losers—first Bratton, now Daniel. If only he didn’t have that damn scar. Some inspirational support from Peter was necessary for what Daniel was about to do—talk to his family, some of whom might not have learned of the scathing disclosure in the media.
Daniel poured himself a “D.C.” with vodka. If Peter wouldn’t help then perhaps the Russians would. What was this weekend going to be like? The reason he scheduled this weekend off was because he had a sizeable lead that a weekend with the family would advertise confidence and continue the family man image. Now the only thing it advertised was that he was hiding. For the rest of the trip he played cards with a Secret Service agent that was assigned to the flight.
By Silent Majority Page 29