A Shade of Difference

by Allen Drury

  Fundamentals! he repeated with a bleakness that would have surprised his many friends and colleagues. Was the same old merry-go-round really to be classed as fundamental? He supposed it was, in the minds of those who had not been so endowed with easy access to it as he. For him, however, who always hoped, without success, to stumble upon something more kind and lasting, something really fundamental, the word did not seem to apply. Fundamental physically, maybe, but, after all, you said that much, and then what? There must be something else; at least, he told himself with a pathos he did not realize, at least he had read about it and some people, such as the Knoxes and the Munsons, seemed to have it. But somehow it never came to him. Chassuer formidable he might be, but that was the extent of it. You could only hang so many trophies on the wall, and after a while you got tired of going in the game room. And as for his quick-dying hope that he might find something more permanent in marriage, that was a laugh, he told himself darkly. That was a real laugh.

  Maybe, though, that was justice. Maybe he was like the character in the story who went down the corridor of mirrors opening door after door, only to find more corridors and more mirrors forever and ever. Maybe he deserved so futile a reward for what was, essentially, so futile a pastime. Certainly he had not picked well when he had finally chosen. Anyone with an ounce of brains and perception, anyone without his conditioning, perhaps, would certainly have known that the willing little girl who had tripped away from his apartment after an all-night visit on the morning of the Leffingwell nomination six months ago would hardly be the type on which to base a lasting marriage. Anyone who wasn’t so used to slipping away from apartments himself would have realized that his was not the only apartment she had slipped away from. Or would continue to slip away from, he thought sourly.

  He wasn’t sure which of them had reverted to type first, but after exhausting each other on a hectic honeymoon it hadn’t taken them long. He had realized abruptly that he was monumentally bored, and so, apparently, had she. For a very brief period he had tried to keep up appearances for the sake of his reputation and the sake of his pride, for he knew Washington was waiting to indulge in much cruel laughter at his expense. Then he had decided that the best way to meet that problem was to start laughing first. A couple of weeks of being back on the prowl had accomplished it. Irene, whose pride was perhaps less justified but certainly as strong as his, had chosen to make a scene about it at “Vagaries,” and Justice Tommy Davis, that silly old busybody, had watched and spread the word like a gabbling schoolgirl. This had probably been a good thing, though he had resented it at the time. There had been much joking in the cloakrooms, much knowing comment around the Senate; he realized that his pride had been saved, all right. It was only in his moments of deepest bitterness that he realized at what a cost, in lost hopes, lost dreams, in personal comfort and happiness apparently to be denied him forever.

  And yet, he thought with a hopeless protest, what had he done to deserve it? Was it really justice? What had he ever done to hurt anybody? Possibly he had, here and there, though he had tried not to. As much as conscious care could prevent it, he had tried to be as kind as possible, to make it pleasant, to keep it light, to be sure that his partners understood that it was all in fun and not to be taken too seriously. It was true that there had been a few instances when women had taken him too seriously; it had been clinging and messy, but could that be blamed on him? He had never promised them anything, never offered his heart any more than was necessary to achieve his physical objective. Maybe that explained it, he thought forlornly with a rare flash of self-analysis; maybe he had never received anything because he had never given anything. But it wasn’t that he meant to be hurtful to anybody, he told himself with a bewildered truthfulness. It was just that he meant to be kind.

  “You are so moody,” his companion said, and he came out of his reverie abruptly to realize that he wasn’t paying attention to business at all, either national business or international business or, for that matter, monkey business. He was suddenly aware that Felix and LeGage seemed to be having a most serious discussion, LeGage apparently intrigued but reluctant about something, Felix apparently urging him on. And as for little Miss—or was it Mrs.?—he would have to find out sometime—Indonesia here, she gave signs of being puzzled by his inattention, and that, too, required active application.

  “Not moody at all,” he said with his engaging grin. “Just thinking about how fortunate I am to have so lovely and talented a companion this morning. And,” he added, his voice dropping, “this evening.”

  “Oh,” she said with a blush. “Oh. Now.”

  “How long,” he asked, deciding that was enough of that for the time being, “have you worked in the Medical Service?”

  “Two years. Since my husband started at Columbia.”

  “Oh,” he said politely, telling himself with some amusement that that certainly answered that. “I didn’t know he was going there.”

  “Oh, yes. He is studying medicine, too.”

  “And then you’re going back to Indonesia and help your own people, is that it?”

  She smiled with a soft certainty that pleased him.

  “Oh, yes. There is much need, you know.”

  “I know. I think that’s very worthy of you—a very nice thing to do. I admire you for it.”

  “Thank you,” she said demurely.

  “I wonder,” he said, for Felix and LeGage were still talking, although LeGage appeared to be agreeing and he estimated the talk would not run much longer, “how we Americans shape up alongside the others, as you see us in your office? Are we more healthy, or less, or about average, would you say, or what?”

  “Quite healthy, I would say,” and added, with just a touch of irony, “headaches, nerves, upset stomachs—simple things. But you have so many remedies for that nature of ailment in this country that it is very simple to provide treatment.”

  “I think I’ll bring Senator Fry in someday soon. He’s been complaining of feeling a little peculiar, lately.”

  “He has already been in. Did he not tell you?”

  “No,” he said, rather blankly. “He did not. When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, quite late. He talked to one of the doctors for several minutes and the doctor had me give him a prescription to soothe his nerves.”

  “I hope that does it,” Lafe Smith said, more concerned than he liked to admit.

  “I hope so too. I think he is quite worried about it, although he does not let on.”

  “I am too,” he said frankly. “Look, do me a favor, will you? Let me know when he comes in again, and if you hear the doctor say anything specific about what’s wrong with him, let me know that, too. Okay?”

  She shook her head with a smile.

  “I could not do that; it would not be ethical. Nurses are not allowed to do that, Senator. You know that, surely.”

  He nodded.

  “I know that. On the other hand, this man is my friend and colleague, and the Secretary of State and I are worried about him. He may not tell us if anything serious should occur.” He smiled. “I would have to have a friend who could tell me.” He mimicked her tone gently. “You know that, surely.”

  “What makes you think something serious might occur?”

  “Just say I have a hunch.”

  She nodded.

  “So have I. So does he.”

  “How about the doctor?” Lafe said. She smiled.

  “I heard him say nervous tension. It is such an easy answer to everything; so many of them use it when they are too lazy to think of anything else. If he returns, I will tell you.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “And thank you,” he said, for Felix was standing up and exchanging his final words with LeGage, “for coming to have coffee with me. I shall see you for dinner, then?”

  She smiled quickly.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And what about your husband?”

  “He will be on duty at Harkness Pavilion all night. He do
es that to make extra money for his studies.”

  “His success means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?”

  She nodded, without smiling. “To Indonesia also.”

  “Well,” he said, “perhaps I too can contribute some money to help with his studies.”

  “It would be nice,” she agreed. He laughed.

  “And you say we’re direct,” he remarked, and this time she did smile, somewhere between humor and shyness.

  “It is not as though I did not like you at all,” she observed.

  “Thank you. For the betterment of Indonesia, the cause of stability in the Far East, and greater peace and democracy in the world, I shall do my best.” She smiled in a way that provoked the old familiar excitement, the well-worn but ever-hopeful interest that never knows, poor fool, when it has had enough, and said demurely, “I too.”

  He walked her as far as the door, aware out of the corner of his eye that LeGage was still sitting, apparently in deep thought, where Felix had left him; bade her farewell with a genuine friendliness until the evening, and then turned back and stood as if irresolute in the center of the tide of delegates flowing in and out of the entrance to the Lounge. Quite by accident, or so it seemed, he wandered toward the magazine racks, still without seeing LeGage, idly picked up a copy of the Times of India, and looked about for a place to sit. He gave a start of recognition just as the chairman of DEFY finally looked up and did the same, and moved purposefully toward him even as LeGage gestured automatically to the neighboring seat.

  “Hi,” Lafe said easily, taking the chair with an air of relaxed leisure. “Been here long?”

  “Not too long. How about yourself?”

  “Just came in,” Lafe said. LeGage reacted as he expected, with a grin and a knowing wink.

  “Tell me you just came in! I saw you with that little cutie of yours just now. How do you do it, Lafe? I swear I wish I had all the contacts you have.”

  The Senator shrugged.

  “I haven’t so many. One at a time. That one’s pretty nice, I grant you.”

  “I didn’t know you liked our side of the bed,” LeGage remarked, not offensively but in the tone of one genuinely discovering something he hadn’t known.

  “Didn’t you?” Lafe said. If this was the way to LeGage’s heart, he would play it to the hilt. “Why not? Of course I don’t want you to tell Seab Cooley about it, now. He might not understand.”

  “Expect he would,” LeGage said, scowling. “Expect lots of men down South would understand. At least I’ll say for you, you’re honest.”

  “I try to be,” Lafe said. He assumed an air of man-to-man frankness, not patronizing, not prurient, just candidly matter-of-fact. “I like it on your side. There’s a certain acceptance you don’t get on mine, maybe. It’s comforting.”

  “Give her my phone number when you get through,” LeGage said with a self-conscious laugh. “She’s right cute.”

  “I might at that,” Lafe said, adding mentally, when I’m a hundred and five and ten feet tall, buster. “What brings you over this morning,” he asked casually, “Fourth Committee?”

  “No,” LeGage said, rather evasively, his fellow delegate thought. “I just decided to come over and find out how things are going on Felix Labaiya’s amendment.”

  “Good. And how are they?”

  “I haven’t had time to talk to anyone yet. I just got here.”

  Lafe gave him an amused glance.

  “Sure, you and me both. We’re a couple of bum liars, ’Gage. What did Felix say? Does he think it’s coming along okay—for him, that is?”

  “Oh,” LeGage said with an elaborate disinterest. “Did you see us?”

  “You weren’t exactly hiding. What does he want you to do, help him line up votes against us?”

  He was aware that his colleague was considering several answers, all evasive. Finally ’Gage turned toward him with a grin that did not, really, contain so much humor, Lafe thought.

  “Why, sure. Sure, that’s just it. Do you think I should, Lafe?”

  The Senator from Iowa shrugged and became aware that the young lady at the telephone desk, who had not been able to break through his concentration heretofore, was now calling insistently in an apparently vain attempt to round up Mr. Jansen of Norway and Mr. Selim Bukawara of Malaya, please.

  “Why, I don’t know, ’Gage,” he said. “I think it’s a rather sad commentary if you really have to ask.”

  The chairman of DEFY gave a shrug and a deprecatory laugh which did not, however, ring entirely true to Lafe Smith.

  “Shucks, you didn’t think I meant that, did you, Lafe? Felix is too smart to make me a proposition like that. I’m too smart to consider it. Now, wouldn’t I look silly going around behind my own country’s back trying to help put her in a bad light?” He laughed abruptly and slapped his thigh. “That old man in the White House’d have my scalp so fast I couldn’t say de-se-gre-gation, if I did that. Now isn’t that right?”

  Okay, friend, Lafe thought, if you want to be nasty; I expect we can all play that game.

  “Might even happen so fast you couldn’t say DEFY, ’Gage,” he said pleasantly. “That would be even faster, wouldn’t it?”

  LeGage gave him a sudden sharp and ugly look, then concealed it immediately with a forced laugh—not quickly enough, however, to prevent the thought in Lafe’s mind that something quite drastic must really be under way here.

  “Now,” he said, suddenly determined to get to the bottom of it, and no nonsense, “what does Felix want you to do, ’Gage? I wouldn’t want you to get yourself in a bind that could hurt you, up here.”

  “You wouldn’t?” LeGage said, and now nothing concealed the savage sarcasm in his voice and eyes. “You wouldn’t? Well, isn’t that kind of you, Senator Smith. I didn’t know you cared. What makes you think I’ll believe that you care one little tiny damn what happens to me?”

  “All right,” Lafe said indifferently. “Maybe I don’t, if you want it that way. But I do care what happens to this country, and if you don’t care, friend chairman, I think you’re a damned fool, because it’s just as much your neck as it is mine.”

  “Is it?” LeGage demanded, breathing heavily but trying to keep his voice down. ‘Is it, now? Maybe we’ll see about that someday, Lafe. Maybe we’ll just see.”

  In response Lafe spoke sharply and too fast, and his reply could not have been more infuriating had he deliberately planned it so.

  “You’re talking like a child. A sick child. You’re off in some dream world someplace.”

  “I know,” LeGage said softly. “Tell me we’re all Americans together, why don’t you?”

  “You’re going down a bad road, boy,” Lafe said, and was aware of a sudden convulsive movement in the chair alongside.

  “Don’t ‘boy’ me,” ’Gage whispered savagely, turning his face away from the room and pretending to study the telephone dial, so that no one but Lafe could see his angry, half-crying expression. “I hate that!”

  “I didn’t mean it the way you choose to take it,” he said, equally low-voiced, equally absorbed in studying the dial. “I said it as I would to any of my friends, that’s the way I talk, you know that. But I guess it wasn’t—to a friend, in this case. But watch out for yourself, that’s all I can say. It’s a dangerous game and we could all get hurt.”

  “I’ll play it right,” LeGage promised fiercely, still averting his face from the room. “You can be sure of that. I’ll play it right!”

  “I hope so for your sake,” Lafe said, forcing himself to relax and turn back casually, nodding brightly to a Pakistani, bowing politely to the Italian Ambassador, noting with half a thought the little group of interested delegates surrounding the M’Bulu and Krishna Khaleel, far down the room near the bar. His eyes came back to the entrance and it took him several seconds to really focus on the figure that stood there, peering about in a slightly self-conscious but typically brash and arrogant fashion. It was a figure so out of place in this set
ting that for a moment he literally could not believe it was there. When he accepted the fact, he started to rise, but too late. The junior Senator from Wyoming had noted his movement and was upon them both before they could escape. There was one small bright note for Lafe: LeGage’s face was as much a study as his own, and he could not believe there had been any prearrangement about this unexpected meeting.

  “Well, if it isn’t Iowa’s gift to the motherhood of the whole wide world,” Fred Van Ackerman said with the unctuous heartiness that always trembled on the edge of a sneer. “How’s it going up here? Getting all you want?”

  “Want some, Fred?” Lafe asked evenly. “I might have a little extra lying around that I could arrange for you, if you’re hard up.”

  “I’ve got more important things to think about, thanks,” Senator Van Ackerman said. “Such as this almighty mess old Half-Ass Harley has gotten us into right here in the UN. What are you doing about that, Lafe? Anything?”

  “We’re working on it,” Lafe said, rather lamely. Fred Van Ackerman snorted.

  “Well, that’s good. I’m glad to know somebody is. Why don’t you run along and let me talk to LeGage here? Maybe he has some practical ideas about what we ought to do.”

  “What brings you up here, Fred?” Lafe asked. “Is Washington getting to be too small an area for you to do damage in?”

  The Senator from Wyoming gave him a sudden furious look but refrained from reply. Instead he sat down abruptly in the chair Lafe had just vacated and turned to LeGage as though no one else were there.

  “I’d like to talk to the only sane man in the U.S. delegation. How’s it going, boy?”

  “Tell him, boy,” Lafe said, turning on his heel. “Tell him, and have fun.”

  “I never know what that fornicating jackass means, half the time,” Fred Van Ackerman remarked, shaking his head. “Do you?”

  But LeGage only gave him a strange look, as though words failed him, and after a moment the junior Senator from Wyoming dismissed it.

  “Now look here, boy,” he said, leaning forward and clamping a hand on LeGage’s arm, “I think you and I can do business on this. I’ve got some powerful friends in COMFORT, you know, and I think maybe all of us liberals can get together and—”