Hicks said nothing, watching her over the rim of his cup. The coffee was very good.
“My husband is peculiar that way. He keeps advisors on long after they’ve served their purpose or have his ear. He tries to maintain an appearance of fairness and keeping an open mind, having those about him who disagree. But he doesn’t listen very often. He is not listening to you.”
“I realize that,” Hicks said. “I’ve been moved out of the White House. To a hotel.”
“So my secretary informs me. You’re still on call should the President need you?”
Hicks nodded.
“This election has been sheer hell for him, even though he hasn’t been campaigning hard. Their ‘strategy.’ Let Beryl Cooper hang herself. He’s sensitive, and he doesn’t like not campaigning. He’s still not used to being top dog.”
“My sympathies,” Hicks said, wondering what she was getting at.
“I wanted to warn you. He’s spending a lot of time with a man whose presence at the White House, especially during the campaign, upsets many of us. Have you ever heard of Oliver Ormandy?”
Hicks shook his head.
“He’s well known in American religious circles. He’s fairly intelligent, as such men go. He’s kept his face out of politics and out of the news the past few years. All the other fools” — she practically spat out the word — “have turned themselves into clowns before the media’s cyclops eye, but not Oliver Ormandy. He first met my husband during the campaign, at a dinner held at Robert James University. Do you know of that place?”
“Is that where they asked for permission to arm their security guards with machine pistols?”
“Yes.”
“Ormandy’s in charge of that?”
“No. He leaves that to one of the bellowing clowns. He glad-hands politicians in the background. Ormandy is quite sincere, you know. More coffee?”
Hicks extended his cup and she poured more.
“Bill has seen Ormandy several times the past week. I’ve asked Nancy, the President’s executive secretary, what they discussed. At first she was reluctant to tell me, but…She was concerned. She was only in the room for the second meeting, for a few minutes. She said they were talking about the end of the world.” Mrs. Crockerman’s face might have been plastered on, her anger stiffened it so. “They were discussing God’s plan for this nation. Nancy said Mr. Ormandy appeared exuberant.”
Hicks stared at the table. What was there to say? Crockerman was President. He could see whom he pleased.
“I do not like that, Mr. Hicks. Do you?” • “Not at all, Mrs. Crockerman.”
“What do you suggest?”
“As you say, he doesn’t listen to me anymore.”
“He doesn’t listen to Carl or David or Irwin…or me. He’s obsessed. He has been reading the Bible. The crazy parts of the Bible, Mr. Hicks. The book of Revelation. My husband was not like this a few weeks ago. He’s changed.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“He’s called Cabinet meetings. They’re discussing economic impact. Talking about making an announcement after the election. There’s nothing you could tell him…?” she asked. “He seemed to place great trust in you at first. Maybe even now. How did he come to trust you? He talked about you often.”
“It was a difficult time for him,” Hicks said. “He saw me after he met with the Guest. He’d read my book. I never agreed with his assessment…”
“Punishment. In our bedroom, that’s the key word now. He almost smiles when he talks about Ormandy’s use of the word. Punishment. How very trite that sounds. My husband was never trite, and never a sucker for religious fanatics, politically or otherwise.”
“This has changed all of us,” Hicks said softly.
“I do not want my husband undone. This Guest found his weakness, when nobody in three decades of politics — and I’ve been with him all that time — has ever gotten to him. The Guest opened him wide, and Ormandy crept into the wound. Ormandy could destroy the President.”
“I understand.” He could do worse than that, Hicks thought.
“Will you please do something? Try talking with my husband again? I’ll get you an appointment. He’ll do that much for me, I’m sure.” Mrs. Crockerman stared longingly at the French windows, as if they might be an escape. “It’s even strained our marriage. I’ll be with him on election eve, smiling and waving. But I’m thinking about staying here now. I can only take so much, Mr. Hicks. I cannot watch my husband undo himself.”
The air in the chief of staff’s office was thick with gloom.
Irwin Schwartz, face long and forehead pale, startling in contrast to his florid cheeks, sat on the edge of his desk with one leg drawn up as far as his paunch would allow, raised cuff exposing a long black sock and a few square inches of hairy white calf. A small flat-screen television perched on his desk like a family portrait, sound turned down. Again and again, the screen replayed the single videotaped record of the explosion of the Australian robot emissaries. Schwartz finally leaned over and poked the screen off with a thick finger.
Around him, David Rotterjack and Arthur Gordon stood, Arthur with hands in pockets, Rotterjack rubbing his chin.
“Secretary Lehrman and Mr. McClennan are with the President now,” Schwartz said. “There’s nothing I can say anymore. I don’t think I have his confidence.”
“Nor I,” Rotterjack said.
“What about Hicks?” Arthur asked.
Schwartz shrugged. “The President moved him out to a hotel a week ago and won’t see him. Sarah called a few minutes ago. She spoke with Hicks this morning, and she’s working on getting an appointment for him. Everything’s tight now. Kermit and I have had it out several times.” Kermit Ferman was the President’s appointments secretary.
“And Ormandy?”
“Sees the President every day, for at least an hour. Off the calendar.”
Arthur couldn’t get Marty out of his wandering thoughts. The boy’s grinning face was detailed and sharp in memory, though static. Heir apparent. He could not conjure an overall picture of Francine’s face, just individual features, and that bothered him.
“Carl’s got one last chance,” Rotterjack said.
“You think he’s giving him the good old ‘presidential’ speech?” Schwartz asked.
Rotterjack nodded.
Arthur glanced between them, puzzled.
“He’s going to talk to the President about what it means to be presidential,” Schwartz explained. “Taking coals to Newcastle, if you ask me. The Man knows everything there is to know about presidentiality.”
“The election’s day after tomorrow. Time to remind him,” Rotterjack said.
“You and I both know he’s got this election sewed up, as much as any election can be. You don’t understand what’s going on in his head,” Schwartz said.
“You’re supposed to be his cushion, his buffer, goddammit,” Rotterjack shouted, one arm shooting out suddenly and almost hitting Arthur. Arthur backed away a few inches but did not react otherwise. “You’re supposed to keep the crazy idiots away from him.”
“We’ve done everything we can to save him from himself,” Schwartz said. “McClennan tried ignoring his suggestions about national preparation. I pushed the meetings with the governors back in the schedule, lost the timetable the President drew up, changed the subject in Cabinet meetings. The President just smiled and tolerated us and kept hammering on the subject. At least everybody’s agreed to hold off until after the election and the inauguration. But between now, and whenever, we have to put up with Ormandy.”
“I’d like to talk with him,” Arthur said.
“So would we all. Crockerman doesn’t specifically forbid it…but Ormandy never lingers long enough for any of us to confront him. The man’s a goddamn shadow in the White House.”