The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  “But this hardly seems the time to hide from the press.”

  “I’m not suggesting that, sir. We’re on a roll here. We’ve made a big score. We ought to get the maximum out of it. I think we should ask the networks for some prime time tonight. Fifteen minutes ought to do it. A quick setup here in the Oval Office. You sitting beside your desk, maybe. Informal. Get that globe in, and maybe that model ship.”

  The president gave the anchor another flick, then turned the miniature brig around with bow facing forth.

  “Fifteen minutes? What do I have to say, aside from being very pleased about the Foreign Relations Committee vote?”

  “You’ve got a lot to say. You can seize upon this as a major expression of the public will, treat the full Senate vote as a mere formality, keep the momentum going. Your pitch can be a call to the world leaders who’ve been dragging their feet to get behind the treaty now. You can lace it with some more horror stories. I’ve got a guy on the intergovernmental council from the State Department who has come up with some beauts. Did you know that it’s now expected that ninety percent of the population of Australia will get some form of skin cancer because of ozone depletion?”

  “Gosh, no? Is it as bad as that?”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about going on television tonight, sir, but just in case, I got the speechwriters going on this yesterday.”

  “You were that confident?”

  “Yes sir.”

  The president smiled. “Well, I think it’s a fine idea, Bob. By all means.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll have the press office get on to the networks right now.”

  He started toward the door, then halted, lingering. The presidential eyebrows went up. The anchor flicked again.

  “Something else, Bob?”

  “I was wondering, sir, if you’ve given any thought to a replacement for Secretary Hollis yet.” Moody was taking a chance here. The man had only just been laid in his grave.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. What do you think about Acting Secretary Richmond?”

  Moody swore to himself. He should have been moving on this a hell of a lot sooner.

  “He’s a fine man, sir. An excellent career officer. I’m sure Secretary Hollis found him indispensable. But he’s a follow-through guy, an implementer, not an initiator. You need someone who will seize the initiative wherever possible, press the issue at every opportunity. Not just carry out instructions. And there’s something else, sir. Richmond is a longtime career man. He’s served five presidents and I don’t know how many secretaries of state. Given what’s at stake here, I think you need someone who’s devoted fully to you, fully committed to the cause. Someone, well, like Secretary Hollis. I mean, as devoted and committed as Secretary Hollis was.”

  The tiny anchor swung up hard and got caught in the ship model’s rigging. The president pushed the boat away.

  “Well, I do want to attend to this soon. Any other suggestions you may have would be appreciated.”

  “Yes sir. In the meantime, I wondered if you’d mind if I took a few initiatives of my own. Lean on a few ambassadors now that we’ve won the committee vote. As a matter of fact, I’ve got the Japanese ambassador coming by this afternoon. I’m sure he would have gone to Secretary Hollis, if it hadn’t been for the tragedy, but in the, er, interim, he sought me out. I think they may finally be open to some negotiation. What I was wondering, sir, is whether you’d mind if I was a little firm?”

  “Firm? With the Japanese? By all means.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll give you a full report.”

  He reached the door, but this time the president halted him.

  “Uh, Bob? I’d rather it didn’t get bandied about that we refer to the ladies and gentlemen of the news media as hardasses around here.”

  He smiled. So did Moody.

  Moody had his secretary bring him fresh coffee. While sipping it, he decided he’d best attend to the call from Deena.

  She was still in their apartment at the Watergate. Normally, she’d be out on her social rounds at this time of day. He wondered if she was ill. She’d still been in bed when he’d left that morning.

  “Hi, honey,” he said. “What’s up? We’ve got a pretty full plate here today.”

  “I heard. It’s all over the radio about the vote. Did he say anything about secretary of state?”

  “Please, Deena. Not now.”

  “Sorry, darlin’. That’s not why I called. I just wanted to tell you I’ve invited Bernie and Sherrie Bloch over for dinner tonight.”

  “Denna, the president’s going on television tonight. I’ve got to be with him. I won’t be able to get out of here until at least nine thirty. Why didn’t you ask me about it this morning?”

  “You left at six thirty, Bobby. I’ll make it a late supper. Bernie wants to talk to you. He knows you don’t like him to call you at your office.”

  “He could call me at home.”

  “Bobby, you haven’t been home before eleven all week. Come on, darlin’. We haven’t seen them since we all went out to the races. It’ll be fun.”

  Moody sighed. He needed to unwind, charge his batteries. He owed himself a few belts with his best friend. He was a big winner that day. Winners did what they wanted. “All right.”

  “Thank you, darlin’. You’re the best husband I ever had.”

  As he hung up, an excellent idea occurred to him. He had been neglecting Bernie. Whatever it was his friend had in mind to say to him, there was something he could do to put him in a good mood. Bloch had never been to the White House. Moody hadn’t thought it wise to have him call on him during business hours, but on a social occasion, as part of a big mob of guests, it ought to do no harm at all. He flicked through his calendar, then had his secretary ring up the first lady’s social secretary—in this administration, a man.

  “Robert, dear boy.” There were rumors about social secretary Toby Kevin’s sexual preference, but Moody didn’t let that bother him. You had to deal with the players, and the fellow was certainly that. He was another of the administration figures who had been to school with the president. His job wasn’t as lowly as it seemed. People were almost willing to kill for White House invitations.

  “We’ve got the president of Mexico coming this month,” Moody said. “Is that going to include a state dinner?”

  “Why, of course.”

  “Well, I was just thinking. The guy’s a big horse nut, isn’t he? Raises Arabians or something?”

  “He has one of the biggest stables in Mexico.”

  “Well, why don’t we invite some local horsemen? I was thinking particularly of Bernard Bloch.”

  “Bernard Bloch?”

  “Sure. Not because he’s a friend of mine. He’s about as major a horseman as we have around here nowadays, and he’s gone into this steeplechasing in a big way. Won a big race recently, what was it, the Valley Dragoon Chase? Out in Dandytown. I was there.”

  The other man was silent. Another bright idea occurred to Moody. His mind was firing on all burners that day.

  “Not just Bloch. I was thinking maybe the Fairbrothers, too. Lynwood Fairbrother? And his lovely wife. Keep the Republicans happy. We’re going to need them on that treaty business.”

  “That, Robert, is an excellent idea. I’ll have them put on the guest list.”

  “And the Blochs.”

  “And the Blochs. If you insist.”

  “Just a suggestion. After all, he is a big campaign contributor.”

  “There’s a place for those people, I suppose.”

  “Thanks, Toby. You’re a prince.”

  After the receiver was safely in its place, Moody allowed himself a loud profanity. The social secretary’s disdain for Bloch infuriated him. For crying out loud, they had had some sleazy rock star at the last state dinner, and some prime-time television soap opera queen who must have slept with every producer in Hollywood twice.

  The Japanese ambassador was exactly on time. Moody made him w
ait. He was about to have the envoy ushered in when he realized there was one more call he had to make—one he should have made days before.

  The chairman of the Democratic National Committee was in a meeting. Moody got him out of it immediately, on pain of a job transfer to something dreadful in the Health and Human Services Department.

  “You’ve got a man named Peter Napier working for you,” Moody said, once hurried and pointless pleasantries were dispensed with. “Where is he?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” the chairman said. “He didn’t come in today. He doesn’t come in a lot of days. He’s always off doing stuff for Reidy or somebody.”

  “Well, I need him to do some stuff for us. I need him out of town instanter.”

  “Out of town where?”

  “I don’t care.”

  There was a pause. “What’s going on, Bob?”

  The man was a straight shooter—rare for his line of work. Moody knew he had to reply in kind if he was going to get his cooperation.

  “Someone signed his name to something that could cause us a problem. It’s my job to take care of problems. It’s your job to help.”

  “What was it he was supposed to have signed?”

  “You don’t need to know. No one knows about it. Napier doesn’t know much about it. I don’t want him to. I want him out of town. Far. You have a committee put together yet on site selection for the next convention?”

  “I’ve got a few guys in mind, but Bobby, the convention’s not for nearly three years.”

  “I know exactly when the convention is. Assign Napier to committee staff right now and get him off to do some advance work. I don’t care what. You have San Francisco or New Orleans on the list? I hear he’s the kind of guy who’d be happy in either place.”

  “San Francisco and New Orleans are always on the list. Let the good times roll. It’s a hell of a municipal slogan.”

  “Give him his choice, but get him on a plane. This afternoon. Tell him to check out hotel accommodations. And recreational opportunities. Tell him to take his time.”

  “I’ll have to find him first. Honest, I don’t know where he is.”

  “I’ll bet you probably have a pretty good idea. I can think of a bachelor congressman or two who can give you a tip, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “We’ll find him. But seriously, what’s up? Is this a problem that could affect the National Committee?”

  “It never happened. Neither did this call. Okay?”

  “Okay. You great statesmen sure move in mysterious ways.”

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Thanks. I owe you.”

  He buzzed his secretary. “All right, Anne. I’ll see Mr. Aomori now.”

  The ambassador was tall, balding, thin, except for the slight diplomatic paunch to be expected of those who spent so many working hours at embassy receptions, and very formal. He even bowed. Moody took him to the comfortable armchairs he had carefully arranged in the corner, giving the ambassador the one with the best view out the windows of the Ellipse. He was going to be firm, but also friendly. He had Anne bring tea. He hated tea.

  “I’m really sorry to keep you waiting,” Moody said. “The fur has really been flying around here today.”

  “Please?”

  “I mean, we’ve been very busy. I know you’ve been wanting to see me, so I thought I’d give you the very first opportunity. I won’t have many until we get this treaty ratified.”

  “Yes. I am most grateful. Uh, we would like to congratulate you on your success today.”

  Moody shrugged. “It was a foregone conclusion. So’s the full Senate vote. Politicians read the polls, Mr. Ambassador. There’s not a lobbyist in town as persuasive as a poll. The American people want this treaty. They’re afraid of what could happen to them without it. They don’t want to put this off any longer.”

  “You have helped to make them afraid.”

  Moody put some sternness in his voice. “The president has made his concern very clear.”

  The ambassador took a sip of his tea. His hands were very graceful. He held his cup as though it were a precious work of art.

  “Mr. Chief …”

  Mr. Chief? Where the hell did he get that? “The official title is assistant to the president. Most people call me Governor, or Colonel.”

  “Colonel? You were in the military? In …?”

  “In Vietnam. I’m not old enough to have been in World War Two.” He laughed. The ambassador did not. “Why don’t you just call me Bob? The president does.”

  “Mr. Moody,” the ambassador began again. He struck Moody as a fellow who had probably never called anyone by his first name in all his life. “We are informed that you are not confining your efforts on behalf of the so-called Earth Treaty to the United States Congress.”

  “Of course not, Mr. Ambassador. The treaty is the centerpiece of the president’s foreign policy. We want to get everybody aboard. It won’t work otherwise.”

  “We are informed that you are now intending to focus these international attentions on Japan.”

  “We’d sure like to have you with us, if that’s what you mean.”

  “We are informed that you may be contemplating certain, uh, inducements to Japanese cooperation, inducements involving trade, import restrictions, government regulation, limitations on foreign investment—all very serious matters.”

  Moody decided his best response would be to say nothing, to sit there impassively. Inscrutable.

  “We are informed there is an internal White House memorandum to this effect.”

  “Internal memoranda are for internal consumption, Mr. Ambassador. But I know of no such memo. And believe me, I see all the paper that moves through here.”

  “There was a communication from a Mr. Napier. He is on your staff?”

  “I don’t know who your sources are, but there’s no Napier who works for the White House. I think there’s a guy by that name with the National Committee, but they don’t have any official status. They’re strictly political. And they represent the entire party. They don’t speak for the administration.” He paused. “Not necessarily.”

  The ambassador studied him a moment, then smiled. “Would it be possible, do you think, to arrange a meeting with your president?”

  Moody shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m as high as you’re going to get, at least until a new secretary of state is appointed. You know the protocol.”

  “I have already spoken with Acting Secretary Richmond. He suggested I talk with you.”

  Moody appreciated Richmond’s deference, but not his failure to tell the White House he’d been approached by the Japanese. He made a mental note to give the guy a good kick in the ass about it, at some future and appropriate occasion.

  “Your prime minister could meet with the president,” Moody said, “if he’d like to make an official visit. I can ask the president if he’d be willing to meet with your foreign minister, should he visit the United States, but the president’s awfully busy these days, as I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Mr. Moody. This matter is of some urgency. Legislation is to be introduced next week in both the House of Councillors and the House of Representatives of our Diet. It is legislation for the consideration of the so-called Earth Treaty. Do you understand what I am saying? My government is interested in giving this treaty very serious consideration, to see what is possible.”

  “I understand, Mr. Ambassador. I think it’s terrific news.”

  “It is not news yet, Mr. Moody. I have come to speak with you so to make certain that you understand that the very serious matters I spoke of before—threats of trade restrictions and all such—these could have very serious repercussions in Japanese domestic politics. These could be very disruptive if they became public. Most regrettable.”

  Moody took a sip of his own tea. It was weak and lukewarm. Letting Aomori wait a little longer, he took another sip, then set down his cup with finality.

  “Mr. Ambassador,
I understand you perfectly. And I’ll make sure the president does, too. And let me tell you, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever.”

  He stood up. The ambassador, taken aback by Moody’s abruptness, finally did so also. Moody shook his hand.

  “I’m really glad you came by,” Moody said. “What you’ve told me is very encouraging. I’m sure the president will be delighted. He considers Japan one of America’s closest friends, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Moody.” The ambassador gave another slight bow.

  “If anything,” said Moody, putting his hand on Aomori’s shoulder to urge him toward the door, “if what you say about the Diet continues to be encouraging, why, I think new trade restrictions and all that would be the last thing you’d have to worry about. In fact, I think some new understandings might be reached. In time.”

  “This is very good to hear, Mr. Moody.”

  Moody accompanied the ambassador all the way out to the lobby. He felt so good, he would have gladly opened the man’s car door for him.

  Returning, he went directly to the Oval Office, walking right in.

  “Mr. President, I’ve got some terrific news. The Japanese are beginning to move on the treaty.”

  ABC declined to clear time for the presidential address, preferring to run its scheduled Diane Sawyer interview with Madonna, but CBS, NBC, CNN, and Fox made fifteen minutes available. The president was as stilted and uncomfortable-looking as always, but his stiffness at least went well with the gravity of his message. The instant analysis by news commentators that followed was all favorable. The president was pleased, and Moody was ecstatic. He hummed to himself in the car on the way home. He couldn’t recall when he had last done that. Probably not since the first night he had gone to bed with Deena.

  She had whipped up a buffet straight out of the recipes of Southern Living magazine, heavy on olives, dips, and minced salad. Moody had grown used to such food, but Bernie Bloch, a steak, potatoes, and matzo ball soup man, showed little appetite for it. Sherrie was more than halfway toward drunk and, after spilling her plate onto the carpet, ate nothing more at all.