by Jayne Lind
Taylor didn’t see Beth again for four days. Four very long days. To keep herself occupied and from literally going stir crazy, she browsed through all the Smithsonian museums and took in all the monuments. She knew that someone from the protective service was always nearby, but it was done very discreetly. She was fascinated by this world of undercover people, this world of people who followed other people; they were really very clever. She soon recognized them, even though their faces changed. They were dressed in ordinary clothes, of course, usually suits and ties and smart business suits for the women. She was sure no one else ever knew they were there and they acted as if she were the last person in the world they were interested in. No one followed her all the way; it seemed that as soon as she suspected someone of seeming to always be around, that person disappeared and she never saw him or her again. She never caught anyone looking directly at her or talking into his or her sleeve.
She also spent a lot of time in the solarium on the weekend, knowing that Beth and the President were away. Susan told her this room would probably be a life saver for her and she was right. Even on dark days, much more light came in than in her rooms. She could see out; she could temporarily lose some of her growing claustrophobia. Stepping outside her room, into the cluttered hall, and into this one room which looked like a normal, albeit large, lounge area was a relief. She had space to move. A television and several comfortable sofas and chairs, all upholstered in more modern prints graced the room.
Jackie hadn’t messed with this room. She’d read that this room had served as a kindergarten for Caroline Kennedy. Rather than have her leave the White House to go to a school, a teacher and several other children were brought in. Amazing what resources one has to hand when one is president, although as far as she knew, the Kennedys paid for this out of their own deep pockets.
While it was good to get out of her room, she was still alone. She longed to have a conversation with someone, anyone. Lillian was certainly not available. She was all but totally unfriendly, abrupt was the nicest word Taylor could use to describe her.
She had conversations with Josh in her mind, said things to him she wouldn’t dare say in an email. She told herself she was having a fantasy romantic relationship with a man she would probably never see again and who had an impossible job in terms of a permanent relationship.
She read, watched television, and gazed out the windows. Washington D.C. looked beautiful in pictures. It was carefully planned by a French architect named Pierre L’Enfant to mimic the wide streets of Paris. The broad avenues and major streets which radiate out from roundabouts were designed to provide vistas to the monuments. These monuments are placed in a direct line with each other, beginning with the Lincoln Memorial, then on to the Washington Monument and ending at the Capitol building. She thought the long reflecting pool which extends from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial was beautiful and had a calming effect.
While the surrounding area looked green from a distance and the buildings themselves were beautiful, even up close, Taylor knew from her outings that the surrounding areas were surprisingly unkempt, which surprised her. There were gaping stretches of just plain brown earth and holes here and there where plants had died. Up close, there were lots and lots of bare spots. Up close, it didn’t look all that beautiful.
On one of the bookshelves, Taylor found a DVD called Inside the White House. It was made by National Geographic and narrated by Morgan Freeman. In many ways she learned more from watching this than she had from all her reading and also saw more of the interior of the White House than she had been allowed to see living here. But the information wasn’t the most important thing she learned from the documentary. Rather, it was the sense of awe and reverence that the American people have for this house, this Executive Mansion, as it used to be called. And what surprised her most of all was the sense of patriotism she felt for the country as she watched, the country she’d left and hadn’t intended to return to.
The film spoke of the dedication of the staff here, over a hundred of them, who stay on through different administrations, those of differing political beliefs. They feel they are honored to serve the President and therefore the country. Just as the documentary was ending, a woman appeared with a duster and a Hoover.
“Oh, I’ll come back later,” she said.
She turned to go, but Taylor stopped her, saying, “No, please. I don’t want to upset your schedule. Carry on, I’ll just sit here and read.” She switched off the television with the remote.
The woman looked uncertain for a moment, then began dusting. When Taylor realized she was about to turn on the vacuum cleaner, she asked, “Have you worked in the White House long?”
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, ten years, that ain’t long compared to some folks.”
Taylor smiled at her. She couldn’t tell how old she was. She was thin and was dressed in the uniform all the cleaning ladies wore, a white apron and cap over a light blue dress. “I’ve just been watching this documentary about the White House. I guess people do stay on for many more years than that.”
The woman just nodded and once more went to plug the vacuum cleaner into the wall.
Desperate for some conversation, Taylor continued. “So do you like it? Working here?”
The woman straightened up again and smiled, “Yes mam, ,I do like it. They treat us right here, you know. We get good benefits and it’s an honor, you know? Servin the President of the United States.”
“So you’ve seen presidents come and go, I gather that everyone who works here stays on when a new president is sworn in.”
She nodded. “Yes, mam, that’s true. We don’t ever have to worry about losing our jobs unless...” She hesitated and looked a bit frightened.
“Unless?”
“Well, you know, mam, unless we do somethin we’re not supposed to, like steal somethin or tell somethin about what we’ve seen.” With that, she determinedly plugged in the Hoover and its roar precluded any further conversation. When she was through, she gathered up her cleaning materials and with only a nod, left.
Taylor wondered if the woman wondered who was staying in the guest rooms so long. She would have liked to ask her about the homeless situation here in D.C., she would have liked to know where she lived, how she obtained this job, was she married, did she have children. She was naturally curious about people. That was one reason her job was fun and rewarding.
On Sunday she went to church again, her motive being mainly as a way to be out and about, amongst real people, as opposed to the ones on her flat screen television. She couldn’t speak to anyone, or at least she felt constrained, and her friendly keepers sat one row behind her, which made her feel self-conscious.
She was called early on Monday morning. When she entered the room, Beth stood up and gave her a thin smile.
“Oh, Taylor, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve had a terrible weekend.” Her forehead was creased, she looked as if she hadn’t slept the night before and her usually immaculate appearance was a bit disheveled.
“What happened?” Taylor asked, as they both sat down.
“Sam….of course, it’s always Sam, isn’t it? There was no one else at Camp David this weekend, no one important. Oh, that sounds, you know what I mean, so I asked Ben if he could join us. He doesn’t like it here, in the White House, and I don’t see him enough because of that. I see him in the summer and on holidays….anyway, he came. He arrived Saturday afternoon and we had a long walk in the woods together, just Ben and I. Sam never walks when we’re up there—no photographers, you see,” she gave a wry smile.
She was speaking uncharacteristically fast, her anxiety obvious. “Anyway, that evening, Sam began drinking. I always know the signs; he starts early when he really means to do some serious drinking. And it kept up through dinner, he was becoming more and more belligerent.”
Belligerent was a word she hadn’t
used before. Taylor’s breath quickened along with the pace of Beth’s.
“You know, Taylor, I’ve heard about alcoholics, how some people get nicer when they drink, get very sentimental, or more loving, but not Sam. He gets mean.”
Taylor’s mind was picturing everything as Beth spoke. The woods, Ben, the President downing one after the other. She was feeling the apprehension Beth must have felt as she knew what was coming.
“Ben is, in many ways, afraid of his father. He’s afraid of his tongue lashing, which happens at the drop of a hat. He just doesn’t act as though he even likes Ben. I think he’s ashamed of him.”
“Why is that, because he wanted to be a dancer?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s much more than that. I think he’s disappointed in Ben because he isn’t a carbon copy of himself, isn’t interested in politics, has never worked on a campaign for him, and he has always stayed out of it as much as possible.”
“So, Sam may think Ben disapproves of him…”
“Yes. And you know, that’s something he can’t tolerate, can’t understand. He has such an exalted opinion of himself, and as he’s grown higher and higher in office, there are more and more people who seem to adulate him. Well, you know about people like him better than I do, Taylor.”
Taylor shook her head. “I know about personalities and about personality disorders, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about the political mind, what drives politicians.”
“Well, I’m sure everyone isn’t like Sam. But that’s my point. If a person is normal and doesn’t have a large ego, would they enter politics in the first place?”
Taylor thought that over for a second or two before she answered. “I suppose many are idealistic, at least in the beginning.”
Beth nodded, “Yes, but those don’t last. They don’t last very long on the ladder because they aren’t ruthless enough.” She looked at Taylor with that hopeless look she hadn’t seen for awhile.
She was very curious to know what had happened that weekend, what had upset Beth so, but she seemed to be circling around the topic, so Taylor let her lead.
As if she knew what she was thinking, Beth said, “I guess I’m getting off the story about what happened this weekend, aren’t I?”
“That’s okay. Take your time and tell me in your own way.”
“Anyway, Sam got quite drunk. And he became very abusive, verbally, to Ben. I tried to argue with him, to get him to stop, but he didn’t pay any attention to me. It was almost as if I weren’t in the room. He just zeroed in on him. Taylor, it was frightening. I’ve never seen him that bad with Ben before.” She looked down at her lap for a moment and when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “There was a look of sheer evil on his face, a look I’ve never seen before....it was so scary, I...I can’t really describe it, but I really didn’t know what was going to happen next and I knew I couldn’t leave Ben alone with him, even for a minute.” She stopped, took a tissue out of the box on the table and dabbed at the tears on her face.
“What were you afraid he’d do?” she finally asked.
“I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I was afraid of what he was going to say to Ben.”
“What did Ben do?” Taylor asked, feeling sympathy for this kid she’d never met, but whom Beth had described so well as a sensitive, caring young man. She was alarmed about how Beth described the President. It sounded as if he was breaking out, as if all the controls he was able to use when sober had gone, weren’t within his reach.
“Eventually, Ben walked out, went to his room and slammed the door. Before that, he was silent. He sat there looking at the floor and just took it.”
“I’m wondering if his father wasn’t trying to provoke him in to fighting back. That’s what people who bully others want, they want a good fight and while they want to win, they don’t like what they see as weakness in others.”
Beth looked at Taylor, holding a steady gaze for a few moments. “You’re right. That is exactly what it seemed like.”
“So then what happened?”
Beth shrugged her shoulders, “Nothing really. I left the room as well and I have no idea what time Sam came to bed. I know he snored horribly, as he does when he’s had too much to drink and he slept late the next day.”
“Was Dr. Bolton there?”
“Yes, he’s always with Sam, but he keeps his distance, he has a cabin of his own and I sometimes see him at meals or on the grounds, but he doesn’t really mix socially with anyone.”
“I was just wondering if he knows about this. Do you want to tell him?”
Beth sighed. “I’d rather you told him. You know, the secret service people must know how much Sam drinks when he’s there, away from the White House, and the servants must know, but they are very discreet.”
“All right, I’ll tell Dr. Bolton. But now, how are you? How are you coping? You don’t look well at all.”
“I have a migraine. No wonder, huh? I just think the pressures of the office have exacerbated Sam’s drinking. And they haven’t done much to help his moods either.”
“So what is the main emotion you are feeling?”
“Fear,” she answered immediately.
“And what are you afraid of?” Taylor asked, “What is going through your mind right now?”
“I’m wondering if Sam is going to be able to finish his term, much less get re-elected. And I’m afraid he’s going to do something violent—physically, I mean.”
“To whom?”
“To me or to Ben, I guess. I talked to Ben the next morning. He left before Sam woke up. He says he’s not going to come round his dad anymore. I don’t know what he means by that, but he said he hoped I would come to see him on the weekends now and then, that he wasn’t coming back.”
“So the family will be broken….”
“It’s already broken,” Beth answered, in a very faint voice.
Already broken. If she didn’t get away from this ego- maniac, her husband, Taylor was afraid Beth was going to be broken. Unlimited power, a sociopathic personality disorder, and alcohol—an explosive mix.
Chapter Fourteen
Taylor’s mind was full of what Beth had just told her as she returned to her rooms. She was worried and needed to talk to Frank as soon as possible. She dialed the number to his office.
He answered curtly, “Bolton here.”
“Frank, this is Taylor. Do you have a moment to see me?”
“Yes, right now I do, shall I come there?”
“I don’t know, if you think it’s safe...”
“I’ll be right there,” he interrupted, and hung up.
A soft knock on the bedroom door, rather than the sitting room, where Taylor was waiting, went almost unheard. When she opened the door, he came right in before she had a chance to say anything. “Let’s go in here,” she said, “it’s more like a sitting room.” She noticed he looked the room over as she led him through the connecting door. She was grateful the room was tidy—it wasn’t always. She gestured toward the small sofa and he sat down, looking up at her expectantly.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“Mrs. Carlson had a bad weekend at Camp David. You were there. Did you notice anything?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m just there in case the President needs a doctor. I really didn’t see him at all last weekend. I did notice Ben and Mrs.Carlson, they seemed to be out and about a lot, even though it was windy and cold up there. Why, what happened?”
“Well, evidently the President was drinking more than usual,” Taylor replied. “Beth said there were no important meetings and that on Saturday, he began drinking early, before dinner. She says he is a mean drunk and he evidently took after Ben.”
“Physically?” he asked.
“No, just verbally. She said he zeroed in on him, criticizing him, making fu
n of him. I asked her if she had told you about the excessive drinking and she said no, that she wanted me to tell you.”
“Well, it sounds like my job is getting more intense. Is Mrs. Carlson afraid of her husband?”
“Yes.” Taylor answered immediately.
Frank shook his head as he stood up and moved toward the door. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer; I have someone waiting in my office. But Taylor, please keep in touch.” With that he smiled for the first time and touched her arm as he went out the door.
Taylor wished he could have stayed longer. She was grateful she had someone to talk to about this. Writing to Josh about the specifics of the sessions was verboten and though he said he was allowed a private email, she couldn’t say anything incendiary.
When he briefed her on the plane, Josh told her about Echelon, the listening devices based in England, through which all emails as well as mobile phone calls are filtered. He said that while people like him don’t sit around relishing in the content of people’s private emails, they do pick up on key words. If a world leader’s name is used, for instance, or the names of countries that are at presently at war, any word that has significance, then the email is read. Key words trigger something in their computer and then the entire email may be read. So he had cautioned her about what she said in emails, cautioned her to always use code words, code words of her own making.
She logged onto the internet to write to him and was delighted to see there was a message from him.