The Willard

by LeAnne Burnett Morse

  Catherine had an immediate thought. Probably because pretending to be someone or something you’re not is freaking hard.

  “How do you do it?” Catherine asked. “How do you stand up there and act out scenes when you already know the ending of the play? For example, you are all innocent and tentative about love at the beginning of the play, but you know your paramour is going to die in the final scene. How do you play the happy parts knowing the sad is coming?”

  Laura thought about it for a minute. “I guess I’ve never considered it that way. When I play a character I do my best to really become that person in the moment. At the beginning of the play, if my character is falling in love she’s at that point and has no idea of the tragedy to come. I don’t focus on the tragedy until the character gets to it. That way I can keep my reactions as genuine as possible. I suppose you could say I start the character’s journey over every time the curtain goes up.”

  Catherine was quiet as they ate the tender roast beef and potatoes the waiter had brought. She seemed to be deep in thought, but made all the right responses as Laura kept up the small talk. Laura noticed the silence.

  “Are you still tired, my dear? Would you like to go back to the hotel?”

  “I’m sorry, Laura. My mind is preoccupied with something I have to do. I didn’t mean to be rude. I have a lot on my mind,” Catherine apologized.

  “It’s no problem. I’m ready to head back myself. I have a few costume adjustments to attend to and a short afternoon rehearsal tomorrow. Would you like to meet for dinner again tomorrow evening?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if I might stop by and watch your rehearsal. I’ve never seen anything like that,” Catherine wondered if her request was out of line. Big stars are particular about people watching them rehearse. At least that’s what she’d heard on TMZ.

  “I would love for you to join me. It gets so tedious and I would be happy to give you a tour of the theatre and have you sit in the wings for the rehearsal. And while you’re here this week I welcome you to be my guest for Friday’s performance. Rehearsals are fine, but you really must see the full show with sets and costumes. This show is quite humorous and the light fare will give you a chance to get your mind off serious things for a few hours,” Laura said.

  Oh, Laura, you have no idea how serious this is.

  “Thank you for the kind invitation. I accept.”

  I’m in, Catherine thought. Now what?

  CHAPTER 28

  TOM KELLY

  1962

  Tom cleared security again at the White House gate and found himself waiting outside an unknown meeting room on a lower floor. He had a feeling it was the fabled Situation Room, but nothing about it looked like he expected when he was finally admitted. A quick look around the table confirmed that he was part of something at the highest levels. Seated around the table was the famous “ExComm,” the executive committee Kennedy had pulled together to deal with the crisis. Over the next few hours Tom learned firsthand what was happening and some of it differed from the textbook versions he remembered.

  About a week before, reconnaissance photos had revealed construction of offensive missile sites on the island nation of Cuba. Information that had come in since then showed the sites had been under construction for several months. While the history books claim the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. were equal in their nuclear capabilities, what that really means is that they had enough between them to blow up the world so there wasn’t much point counting beyond that. Where they weren’t equal was in delivery methods. The U.S. could fire long-range missiles into the homeland of mother Russia, but the Soviet missiles were only capable of shorter-range deployment, making them a threat to Europe, but not to the continental U.S. The Soviets needed a closer geographic location where their limited flight capability could target American soil and they got that by exploiting the fears of one impressionable Cuban dictator. Fidel Castro’s men had repelled the Bay of Pigs invasion, but he feared a new and more successful invasion by American forces. To add to his own security, he approved the Soviet plan to put missiles in his country and, just like that, the Soviets had their launch pad for North American destruction.

  In his address to the nation last night, President Kennedy had announced a naval blockade of Cuba aimed at preventing the Soviets from landing more parts and supplies that could make their sites operational. The scariest thing Tom learned was that Soviet field commanders in Cuba had been given authority to use their battlefield nuclear devices in case of invasion. All it would take was one Rambo-esque commander feeling like he was in the crosshairs of the U.S. military and this tinderbox would be lit. Tom couldn’t help thinking about the fog of war and how easily a mistake in judgment could be made. He shivered in his chair, which did not go unnoticed by the military brass in the room. The commanders reported that U2 planes were currently conducting low-level recon flights over the sites every two hours. Analysts were pouring over thousands of frames of film, checking for any change in the readiness of each location. The group in the room with Tom was now on day eight with little sleep and the literal weight of the world on their shoulders. Tensions fluctuated between high and extremely high and tempers were short. Only the two Kennedys seemed to fly above the fray like kings watching their gladiators fight for supremacy. They were listening to every point and carefully evaluating the arguments for and against every proposal. One man in the room would be the ultimate authority and he held tight to his brother’s counsel. These two would watch and listen and, when the time came, they would act. Tom was impressed by the questions they asked when they did interject. The questions were thoughtful and complex. It was clear these two men were imagining changing scenarios and they challenged their team to think beyond step one and step two to steps ten, and eighteen, and twenty-five. What will happen if we do this? What if we do that instead? The elephant in the room, the one who could not be questioned, was the Soviet Union itself and its recalcitrant leader, Nikita Khrushchev.

  On the wall, a giant map of the behemoth nation held sway over the room, its sheer size and the unfortunate shade of red that had been used in printing causing it to feel like a sinister monster, the color of blood. All the mystery of the land behind the iron curtain only served to increase the ominous presence felt anytime it was mentioned. Tom knew why they called it cold war now. The very sight of the red map in this environment chilled him to the bone.

  One poor general had been tasked with providing potential casualty reports. It was clear right away that his job was a bit like explaining how many grains of sand there are on the earth. It doesn’t matter if the estimate is wrong because there’s really nobody in the world who can count them anyway.

  “For all practical purposes, Mr. President, it will get everyone. Millions in the initial strike, millions more from radiation exposure over time, the rest from sickness, starvation. From suicide.” He paused, and then continued. “There might be some left, sir, but the government will be gone as will the food supply and all infrastructure. Those remaining won’t be in the Middle Ages. They’ll be in the Dark Ages.”

  Tom sat stunned. And there will be no one left to count them.

  The marathon session broke for a quick meal. Sandwiches were brought in from the White House mess and the group separated into smaller groups at the president’s request. A man with round glasses approached Tom and extended his hand.

  “I’m McGeorge Bundy. I’m the one who sent for you. Don’t worry about it if you get some flack from McCone. He took over the agency a few months ago and has a different opinion of the Soviet threat than official reports that were issued before he got there. They underestimated the possibility this could happen, but he didn’t. He’s a sharp guy. I think when he sees what you have to offer he’ll be ready to work with you.” He motioned for Tom to follow him. “The president would like to see you in the Oval in ten minutes. Walk with me upstairs and I’ll park you in a conference room. Someone will come for you when we’re ready,” he said.


  Tom followed the man up the stairs, recognizing that McGeorge Bundy was the president’s National Security Adviser. He wasn’t positive but he thought “McCone” was John McCone, head of the CIA.

  I’ll bet he’s not happy I’m here. I doubt if the CIA is accustomed to getting advice on covert communications from a Hollywood reject.

  Bundy deposited Tom in a room as promised and Tom pulled out a sheet of paper and started making a list of all the people from the meeting.

  President Kennedy

  Bobby Kennedy, Attorney General

  McGeorge Bundy, National Security Adviser

  John McCone, Director of CIA

  Dean Rusk, Secretary of State

  C. Douglas Dillon, Secretary of the Treasury

  Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense

  General Maxwell D. Taylor, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Assorted deputies and under-secretaries

  Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson

  The last one was a surprise, not because he was there but because he was fairly quiet. Everything Tom had ever heard about the bombastic vice president and later president from Texas had prepared him for a loud, bossy, expletive-spewing man, but Johnson had kept his tongue in the meetings. He participated, but he didn’t try and take over. Whatever his feelings about the president, he knew better than to overstep in this situation.

  Tom was mulling this latest discovery over in his mind when he heard a familiar voice calling to him from the doorway. He turned to find Ethan York standing there.

  “Are they ready for me?” he asked the young man.

  “Not yet, sir. I asked to be assigned to you for the day so I’ll be in charge of getting you from place to place. I thought that way it would be easy if you want to tell me anything,” he said with a knowing look.

  “Listen, son, I appreciate that you’re scared and I’d like to tell you there’s nothing to worry about, but you strike me as a smart guy so you’ve probably figured out there’s plenty to worry about. The problem is, if this thing goes down you won’t have time to get to South Carolina and it wouldn’t matter if you did because it will disappear just like Washington,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

  Ethan had a look of terror on his face and Tom knew he had gone too far. He tried to do damage control. It wasn’t going to do anyone any good to have this kid lose it in the West Wing. Who knew how many others were right on the verge themselves? It could set off a mass panic.

  “What I meant to say, Ethan, is that anything that might happen will likely happen fast. On the other hand, as nice as South Carolina is, it’s not a strategic location like Washington so it probably wouldn’t be a major target. Even so, getting there could take a while and I can’t tell you whether or not you should head that way because I’m not sure it would matter where you are. Anyway, this may all blow over instead of blowing up.” His attempt at lightheartedness went nowhere.

  Ethan sat down in the chair next to Tom, a clear violation of intern protocol, but he wasn’t thinking about those things.

  “Mr. Kelly, I appreciate what you’re telling me and I do understand. We had those nuclear drills when I was in high school and it always seemed stupid to me to get under a desk and expect that to protect me from a hydrogen bomb. I always figured it made the grown-ups feel like they were doing something when there really wasn’t anything they could do. I knew that then and I know it now.” His thoughts seemed to drift away for a moment.

  “I guess I just hate the thought of not being with my family. Dying here or dying there, both options are pretty terrible. I just don’t want my mother to worry about me. And I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “How old are you, Ethan?”

  “I’m eighteen. I graduated from high school in May. Top of my class at Fort Mill High,” he said with pride. “It’s just a little place, hardly a dot on the map but it’s right beside Charlotte, North Carolina so sometimes I tell people that’s where I’m from because they know where that is. But it doesn’t feel right to say that because it feels like I’m not proud of where I’m from and I love South Carolina. Especially the beaches. Have you been to the beaches in South Carolina, Mr. Kelly?”

  “Ironically, it was a beach in North Carolina that brought me here today but I haven’t had the pleasure of your South Carolina beaches. I’m sure they’re much nicer,” he said with a smile.

  “I like to think they are, especially down around Charleston. I like to go there with my mom. We both like history and when we go to Charleston she says they’re still fighting the war down there,” Ethan said.

  “You’re very close to your mom it seems.”

  “I am. I’m close to my dad, too. He’s a really good guy, but he has more in common with my brother so they do a lot of stuff together. They like to play golf and football and I like to do nerd stuff like read books and talk to grown-ups. I guess I’m a grown-up now too, but I don’t feel like one. Anyway, my mom heard me say once that I thought it would be cool to come to Washington and work at the Capitol or the White House. She never forgot it and decided it would help me get into the best college so she’s been working for two years to get me this chance. They usually take kids who are already in college, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was right, too. Just showing I was going to be an intern here helped me get into the University of Virginia. I kind of wanted to go to Clemson back home but she told me the University of Virginia is the school of Thomas Jefferson and I should aim high. So I’ll be going to Charlottesville in January.”

  “You’re a good kid, Ethan. You’re doing what your mom wants you to do,” Tom said with what he hoped didn’t betray a hint of sarcasm as he thought about how disappointed his own mother would be by his life choices.

  “No, I’m really doing what I want to do, except maybe the Clemson part. I never thought I could be the best at anything, but she told me I could and she helped me along the way. I’m kind of awkward and shy, not exactly class president, you know? She was always telling me I was as good as everyone else. I didn’t believe it, but I decided to work at it and it paid off. It turned out I was a lot smarter than I thought. I owe her a lot. She’s really proud that I’m here doing this. I think everyone in Fort Mill is sick of hearing her talk about it. She hasn’t stopped since I found out in the summer I had been accepted.”

  “Why did you wait until October to start?”

  “I had to save up the money to live here for a few months. I share a small apartment on the other side of Capitol Hill with four other interns. I wanted to be able to pay for it myself so I worked at a grocery store back home,” he answered. “I won’t be here that long but it will be enough to count, Mom says. I just really thought I’d be here longer than a few days.” Tom could see the tears forming in the corners of Ethan’s eyes.

  “When’s the last time you spoke to your mom?”

  “Ten days ago, when I caught the Greyhound bus in Charlotte. I sent her a letter when I got settled in and I’ve gotten a couple of letters from her. I can’t afford to use the phone for long distance except in an emergency,” he said wistfully.

  Tom felt a pang of identification with this boy who wanted so much to make his mother proud and was so afraid of failing. He knew the feeling well.

  “You said you’re assigned to me for the day, right Ethan?”

  “That’s right, sir,” Ethan answered.

  “Then I need you to do something for me. It’s really important.”

  Ethan sat up straight in his chair. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Tom held up a brass key. “I need you to go to the Willard Hotel, two blocks east of here. Go to room 1022.”

  Ethan was all ears, perked up at the thought of doing something important.

  Tom continued, “Keep in mind what’s happening here is highly classified so you can’t give away information or you might scare someone. You have to be upbeat and positive.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course,” Ethan reassured him.

  “You can handle this for
me? You’re sure?”

  Ethan nodded his assent.

  Tom leaned in closer and pressed the key into Ethan’s hand. Ethan leaned in to hear his assignment from this important man who was here to help the world avoid nuclear annihilation.

  “Here’s what you do when you get to my room: pick up the phone and call your mother.”

  CHAPTER 29

  CALVIN WALKER

  1963

  The man who had done all the talking was called Fish. Calvin didn’t catch any other names, but after they had lowered their weapons a heated discussion had broken out among them and it was clear Fish was their leader. They addressed every question and every objection to him. The last thing he heard was Fish’s assurance that if Calvin proved to be full of shit they could draw straws for who would get to off him.

  Note to self, avoid the appearance of shit-fullness.

  Calvin found himself seated across the table from Fish as the others were relegated to other work around the apartment.

  “Start talkin’,” Fish said.

  “My name is Calvin Williams.” The last name was a small lie and he knew the lies were going to get bigger before they were done. He just didn’t want them knowing his real name, as though that would somehow protect him from retribution. “I’m from Tennessee and I came here to find a group who would be willing to do something about this march. I’m tired of the bullshit way these guys are sucking up to the police and the government. They’re selling us out and we might as well be slaves again if we go around shaking hands and asking them to please give us some rights. Some of these march assholes are acting like we’re dogs or something when they go around the white man’s table and beg for the scraps.” He hoped the brusque language would lend him the necessary street credibility.

  Fish wasn’t laughing anymore, but he wasn’t convinced. He circled the table where Calvin sat, building the tension with his silence. Finally he spoke, “You know what I think you are? I think you a cop. I thought you was a professa but now I think you a cop. You talk all fancy and you walk up in here and won’t say how you found us. I suppose you know who we are?”