The President's Wife Is on Prozac

by Jayne Lind

He poured her a cup and then sat down opposite her. “I wanted to talk to you before we meet with Mrs. Carlson. She has told me about the incident. She also said to tell you that anything you and she have talked about is all right to reveal if it is relevant to what we’re facing.”

  Taylor took a sip of the hot coffee before she answered him. “As we said before, the President definitely has a personality disorder, if not several. He’s very rigid and controlling of Beth, but now he seems to be breaking out. Do you think he’s a danger to anyone?”

  “There have been men in the White House who haven’t been exactly stable. Whether they were when they entered this place, or not, I don’t know, but if it is a personality disorder, then, of course, it wasn’t something that occurred afterward. He would have been born with it.”

  ”Taylor nodded, “So what do we do? Where do we go from here?”

  “I’m the one who has to do something. I always have access to the President and we have a fairly good relationship. Of course, he doesn’t even know about you. I can’t imagine what his reaction would be if he found out.”

  Taylor nodded in agreement. “Have you seen any signs of this before?”

  “Yes…and no,” Frank said, grimacing. He has a temper, everyone, well, everyone but the general public, knows that. And he’s gone off a few times at me.”

  “What did you do—what was your reaction?”

  “I simply stared back at him until he looked away. If you act tough to a bully, and that’s what he is, a schoolyard bully, they usually will back down. Everyone around the President bows and scrapes, because he or she wants to keep his or her very well paid job, and it’s exciting to be part of the White House. But I don’t. I know that he could fire me, but I’ll go back to my career, so I do stand up to him. And like many people he does defer to me because I’m a doctor.” Frank stood up and moved around the small office, as if he needed to let off tension. “Did you ever read the book, The Emperor Has No Clothes?”

  “No, I’ve heard the expression, but I don’t know where it came from.”

  “It’s about a king who went out parading around the kingdom with no clothes on and no one told him he had no clothes on—they were afraid to. So he was kept ignorant. Of course, it’s a fable, meant for a point, but I have often thought of that story since I came to work here.”

  “Yes, I see how that would fit,” Taylor replied, looking up at him standing by the narrow window, his face in profile. He really was a very handsome man, she found herself thinking. As with all single women, she quickly looked at his left hand, which was holding the curtains back. No wedding ring. “So what are you going to say to him?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I do know I need your help, as well as the First Lady’s. My main duty is to the President whereas yours is to her, but if you weren’t seeing her, this would be a lot harder. By the way she has been very complimentary about you, she’s grateful to you.” He paused and took in a deep breath before he continued. “She knows the President better than anyone. They’ve been married for almost 30 years and we need to get her input, to add her historical, anecdotal knowledge to our professional knowledge. That way, hopefully, we can come up with a plan.”

  That made sense to Taylor and she was once more glad to have a colleague, someone she could talk to about all that had and was happening. “So are the three of us going to meet together?”

  “Yes. I think the safest place to meet is in your quarters, but I don’t know her schedule. If you can be available, we’ll begin this afternoon, all right?”

  He smiled and she was stunned at how that smile transfigured his face. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? “Of course, “she stumbled out an answer. “Is it safe to leave?”

  “I’ll see,” he said, opening his door and speaking to the agent outside said, “Yes, the coast is clear, to use a very old cliché.”

  Taylor started through the open door and felt his hand on her arm. “I’m glad you’re on board, Taylor,” he said, once again smiling.

  Back safely in her room, Taylor’s first instinct, as always these days, was to get on the computer and write to Josh. She knew she couldn’t tell him any of this, but tried to in code. Events were overtaking whatever was going on personally between them. If he was leading her on, she still needed him as a friend.

  Dear J: I wish you were here. Things are hotting up and I’m feeling very helpless. Sure could use a confidante, but know this isn’t the time or place. If you’re a person who prays, please pray for me. Love, T.

  She had no hesitation this time in how she signed the email.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beth and Frank came to Taylor’s sitting room at two o’clock. There were no preliminaries. Beth and Taylor sat on the small sofa and Frank remained standing.

  “Mrs. Carlson,” Frank began, “we need to intervene with your husband—I do, at least, as quickly as possible. How did he seem last night and this morning?”

  There was no expression on her face as Beth replied, “He acted as if nothing had happened, but then he always does.”

  “So he didn’t tell you about the incident,” Frank said.

  Beth shook her head. “No, not a word. But he did drink more than usual last night.”

  “How much more?” Frank asked in a sharp voice.

  Taylor registered the thought that it was a good thing he wasn’t in her field; he didn’t seem to have a lot of empathy.

  “Well, at least half a bottle of scotch,” Beth answered in a soft voice. “I went to bed as early as I could manage it without making him angry, so I don’t know after that.”

  “And what was he like this morning?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. He woke up early and I faked being asleep. I often do that in order to avoid him.” She looked at both of them rather helplessly. “So I’m sorry, but I can’t help you much.” There was not even a hint of tears.

  “Beth,” Taylor said, “I know this is difficult for you. Things were bad enough before, and I don’t, I’m sure Frank doesn’t either, want to make things even harder for you.” She didn’t want Beth to feel they were putting the President’s mental health above hers. She had had to quash her feelings all these years, but this was an emergency and someone might and probably would, leak what happened to the press at any moment.

  “I know,” Beth said, nodding, “and I’ll help you all I can, after all, it directly affects me.”

  Frank sat down opposite the sofa and leaned forward toward Beth. “Mrs. Carlson, Taylor told you that we both think Sam has a personality disorder, maybe several. If we’re right, and we need to get more information from you before we know for sure, then it is going to be difficult to treat him, that is, if he lets anyone treat him. You know him better than anyone. What would be the leverage we need to get him to accept help, what does he not want to lose, above everything else?”

  “His image,” Beth replied immediately. “He cares more about his image than anything, more than me, more than Ben and Anna. He absolutely wants everyone to believe he’s the person he pretends to be. You know, Frank, you’ve seen him at public appearances. He thrives on the adulation. He eats it up. He doesn’t want the public to ever know he is anything but a hero.”

  “So if he were afraid that would be lost, would he accept help?”

  “I can’t answer that…I don’t know.” She looked at Taylor as if she was expecting her to know the answer to the question.

  Taylor wished she had a magic wand; she wished she could tell her that there is help and that the President would soon be his old self. The problem was, his old self wasn’t that great, was it?

  “I am sure the drinking is exacerbating his personality problems,” Frank said. “I’m wondering if that isn’t the place to start. Maybe confronting him about the amount of alcohol he’s consuming is a way in.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and when no one said a
nything, he looked at his watch and said, “Okay, that’s what I’ll do. I’m afraid I have to get back to the office.”

  Beth sat still and Taylor sensed she wanted to speak to her alone. After the door shut, she asked, “How are you right now, how are you feeling?”

  She sighed deeply. “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I’m afraid that everything is going to come out in the open, about Sam and about me as well.”

  “And if that happens? What if that did happen—what would be the worst case scenario?”

  “If that happened, I guess he would have to step down, like Nixon did,” Beth answered, with a calmer look on her face.

  “And if he stepped down? What would happen to you, to the children?”

  Beth looked steadily at Taylor for what seemed like a very long moment. “I would get out of this cage.”

  Taylor wrote to Josh the moment Beth left her room.

  Dear J: Is there any way you can phone me? I desperately need to talk to you. This is getting more and more serious and I’m frightened. Please, please arrange it. Not only for my sake…..Love, T.

  She didn’t think he would call her, but she didn’t think it would hurt to ask. She really did want to ask his advice about what to do in this situation, but she also knew that her motives weren’t completely altruistic. She wanted to hear his voice, the emails weren’t satisfying her. She wished she had a picture of him; the memory of what he looked like was fading.

  ***

  Josh finished reading Taylor’s last email. He was grateful they could communicate in this way, because he couldn’t phone her unless he was in her vicinity.

  He knew he couldn’t go on doing the physical jobs he was trained to do. He knew his timing was a bit off lately. He was healthy, had never smoked and only drank alcohol in moderation with a meal.

  The internet was a great invention. If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t be able to contact Taylor at all. But it also had been a horrible invention. The number of pedophiles had grown exponentially since they could go onto websites and watch children being abused. It used to be that men who were so inclined traded magazines or pictures. Now, whatever they wanted to see was right there, in their homes. MI6, Interpol and all the other crime-fighting organizations had increased their personnel as well, but they couldn’t keep up. Hundreds of computers had been confiscated, downloaded, and destroyed. Yet the men kept coming, feeding their insatiable appetite.

  Sex, something that was fun and satisfying with someone you cared about, yet perverted by these men into unbelievable evil. There were countless children in the countryside of Thailand, Cambodia, India, and China who could easily be kidnapped. Sometimes, the children were taken away on the pretext that they would be given a better life. And then there was the serious money. A rich man could order a boy or girl to order, blonde, blue-eyed, whatever. He wanted to tell Taylor about his work; he wanted to ask her opinion about these men, about how they could be so callous, but he couldn’t, not now.

  He had given up on his relationship with Brittany. He called to tell her he wouldn’t be seeing her anymore, phoned from a telephone booth, as always.

  “But Josh, I thought we had something together,” she said, in her little girl voice.

  He was silent for a moment. “Look, Brittany, you’re a lovely person and you deserve more time and attention than I’m able to give you. So I won’t be calling you anymore. Bye.” He hung up before she could say anything. He didn’t feel good about it afterward. Was he like those men who used the children? Brittany was a grown woman and had a career. Well, she had a job at a perfume counter in Harrods, and he wasn’t, could never be, cruel. But he didn’t love her; he didn’t feel the way he was growing to feel toward Taylor.

  Back to work. There was a meeting in five minutes to plan the next raid. Which seemed endless—would this crime against children ever be vanquished? He knew the answer.

  ***

  After the meeting with Frank and Beth, Taylor phoned Lillian for permission to go out into the garden. Wary of someone spotting her, she walked down to the swimming pool which was surrounded by trees and bushes and thus hidden from passersby. Although it was cold, the sun was bright and she turned her face toward it, enjoying, as always these days, the outside air as opposed to the heated warmth of her room. Now and then a helicopter buzzed overhead. Was someone looking at her from up there? Taylor shuddered and shivered at the same time. What a life. Only someone who loved power could enjoy this. Was it worth it? Giving up your freedom? You were safe, yes, but ordinary citizens were safe most of the time.

  Restless, anxious, she wondered if Frank would prescribe something to help her relax. Not for the first time, she thought she needed a therapist herself or a priest. Her mood picked up with this thought and she quickly went back inside and wrote to Josh.

  Dear J. Could I speak to a priest? That would be confidential, wouldn’t it? Could I go speak to an Episcopal priest and he or she not reveal what I said? Would L. approve? And could I go without her approving? I’m every bit as trapped as my client. I can’t cut and run; I have to stick this out for her sake. Love, T.

  He must have been at his computer because within minutes, he answered.

  Hi there T: First, about a phone call. The only way I can do that is if I’m in the vicinity, which I’m not. But maybe sometime soon I will be. I would like to hear your voice once again, I must admit. About the second request. I don’t think so. Sorry, but I am certain it wouldn’t be approved. If you were going for your own problem and didn’t have to reveal why you are where you are, it would be okay. But obviously, your problem is because of where you are. Sounds dicey to me. I’m stationary for a few days, so write often and vent to me, in cryptic language, of course. I really, really look forward to hearing from you. Love, J.

  Taylor read and reread his email. She didn’t want to delete it, but she knew she couldn’t copy it to a file. He was her only source of support and he sounded as if he was growing more and more fond of her, but was this real? For either one of them? Did internet relationships ever work out? She had clients who had or were having, an internet relationship with someone. She had warned them that it was dangerous, that communication which wasn’t face to face could hide all sorts of problems. On the internet, everyone seemed to be more eloquent, less inhibited, more self-confident.

  Finally, rebelliously, she copied out the content in longhand on a legal pad and put it away in the safe along with the laptop. At least, if she needed emotional support, it would be there for her to read again.

  She was still luxuriating in the words Josh wrote when the phone rang. No one other than Lillian ever called her, so she was surprised when she heard the voice.

  “This is Frank.”

  “Oh, hello Frank.” Had he seen the President in the short time since their meeting? Had something happened, she wondered?”

  I thought perhaps we could have dinner together this evening,” Frank said in a pleasant tone.

  Whoa, this was a twist. Taylor didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, she said, “Is this allowed?” She knew that his identity wasn’t a secret, that someone, perhaps many, in D.C. would know him.

  “If you agree, I’ll clear it with Lillian. I’d like to talk to you more about our mutual problem.”

  Taylor certainly welcomed the opportunity to do that. “All right, yes,” she said, “it would be nice to eat a meal with someone. I always eat alone, you know. But won’t you be recognized, aren’t you known in this city?”

  “Great!” Frank said enthusiastically and a little loudly. “Shall we say seven o’clock?”

  “All right. I gather I will be driven.” Taylor laughed. “Of course I will be driven, what else?” Saying goodbye, she hung up. She was excited. She was actually going to sit across the table from someone, eat a meal, and have a conversation, albeit about business. Then she realized Frank hadn�
�t answered her question about someone recognizing him. Dismissing the thought, she went about planning what to wear and getting ready.

  They didn’t, however, go to a restaurant. The driver took her to an apartment in the Georgetown area. One of the men accompanied her to the door of the building and rang the outside buzzer next to Frank’s name. Except it wasn’t his name. She looked at the man with an arched eyebrow.

  “He doesn’t use his real name out in public for security reasons,” he said.

  Feeling a bit uneasy, she heard Frank’s voice come over the speaker and he buzzed them in. Taylor’s guardian pointed to the lift and told her the floor and apartment number.

  Frank opened the door. He was dressed in casual civilian clothes, but very GQ, a deep blue cashmere sweater over corduroy trousers and a soft blue oxford cloth shirt. “Come in, Taylor,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her on both cheeks, Continental style.

  She laughed, “Goodness, I haven’t had that happen since I’ve been here.”

  “Well, I wanted to make you feel more at home,” he said, as he helped her off with her coat.

  Taylor looked around the room. It was lovely; a soft beige colored carpet and sofas were complemented with tables of deep mahogany. Classical music played quietly in the background. “I thought you lived in the White House,” she said, as she sat down on the comfortable sofa.

  “I do and I don’t. I’m allowed this apartment, which I have to admit, I spend very little time in, but it’s a bolt-hole, a place where I can get away from the dullness of my days over there.” He didn’t sit down, but went over to the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. “Red or white?” he asked, holding up a wine glass.

  “Um, red please,” Taylor said.

  Frank poured two glasses of merlot. After handing her a glass, he sat down on the chair next to the sofa and leaned over to clink her glass. “To our first meal together,” he said.