Always (36 page)

After speaking with him for an hour, Marcus walked out bewildered. He told us the more he spoke to Dirk, the more dead set the governor was against accepting our invitation. Henry folded his arms across his chest, deep in thought for several minutes, as he would do when he problem-solved, and then I overheard him whisper to his key adviser, “Listen closely. This is how you sell a big Texas oil man like him. Keep repeating win-win to him. It's like music to his ears, believe me. Tell him if he runs, and we win, he will be a shoe-in for '08. If he runs and we lose, then he will have lost that racist tag. He'll pick up a number of female and minority voters and he'll win the nomination hands down in 2004.”

Marcus returned to the room armed with the new strategy, and after another hour, Henry and I walked into the
gray cigar-smoked-filled room. Dirk Gallagher looked at me as he was about to light a Cuban as if to ask why I was there, and the more he stared, the more I smiled at him. He looked down his nose like we needed him more then he needed us. Unfortunately, sometimes in politics that is the case, and on a warm night in August, Henry and I joined hands with him and his wife in the L.A. Convention Center in a sign of solidarity. After we left the stage, we didn't speak to them, nor did they speak to us. We attended a star-studded reception given by Rob Reiner and Steven Spielberg after we left the building, and it was the last time the four of us would ever be in the same room again.

Teddy and I were never the partying types, so although we were invited to several other galas around town, we returned to our room in the presidential suite of the Beverly Wilshire a little after midnight. One reason Teddy did not want to go out was that he did not want to be seen as a part of the Hollywood crowd, which might turn off too many people in the more rural parts of the country.

Henry sat in bed reading a book that had been sent to him about this black man running for president. Very rarely did he have time to read for sheer enjoyment, and as he sat there, I put on one of his T-shirts and no panties, which I knew always turned him on, and sat beside him reading a book entitled
Invisible Man
. On the television his face appeared and he looked up from his book. They showed a sound bite where he was looking into the sea of delegates and then the camera zoomed in on his face.

“Tonight I would like to say, as we stand on the brink of the next millennium, that we can make it right. In Dante's
Inferno
, the great author wrote that man has the ability to make a hell out of heaven, or a heaven out of hell. We have an opportunity to create something of beauty. No, it will not be utopia. But it will be a place called America. A place where—” And that's when I cut off the television. Henry's eyes returned to his book. I think even he was tired of hearing him.

I sat there wanting to touch him, to kiss him, wanting to hold him in my arms and rub his head and tell him that I
loved him. That I was there for him. But there was this thick wall of ice that ran down the center of our bed, so I sat there and pretended to read.

I had grown tired of the forced period of celibacy. Not of a physical nature, but of the heart. I wanted to open it to him again, to delve deeply into the passion of lovemaking with the only man I ever loved. But I turned the page and my thoughts elsewhere.

Then I looked at Henry and gently put my hand on his forearm. Teddy stopped reading and our eyes met at my wedding band and then he looked over his reading glasses into my eyes. “I just wanted to touch you, honey. That's all. Don't get so scared.” He smiled and turned the page in his novel. I started to roll over and go to sleep as I had done nearly every night before, but I stopped. No, not tonight. Tonight, no matter what, I was going to regain my husband.

So I laid my novel down on the nightstand and slowly reached for his book. As I pulled it away from his hands, he broke his grasp and looked at me with that “I'm not ready for this” look. I rolled up his shirt and kissed him on his chest and I could feel him lean his head back. I kissed his nipples and ran my tongue all over his abdomen, and when I looked at him, he was staring at me as if I'd jumped over a fence and were trespassing on private property. But I was not going to give up, on him or our marriage, so I kissed him again and then my kisses fell below. I had not kissed him below the belt for so long I'd almost forgotten what I was doing. As I continued to kiss him, I noticed there was
no
reaction; however, I was going to be persistent. So I kissed him and caressed him and saw there was still nothing. I kissed him harder and more lovingly. I knew it had been a while, but I thought I knew what to do to get what I wanted. Now I was all out of ideas.

Finally I looked him in the eyes, pulled up his underwear and turned on the television with the remote. As he reached for his book, I picked up my novel as well and as I tried to find the page he clicked off the television and I looked at the screen and in it I saw his reflection looking at me. We seemed to just look at each other via the darkened TV, both
obviously wondering what had happened to what we shared. And then he turned his back and said “goodnight.”

The next day Henry took off on a campaign swing through Texas, Arizona, and Oklahoma with his running mate. I flew out to a meeting with Dorothy Height in D.C. and then to New York to address the National Council of Negro Women. Penelope had warned me not to do the speech for fear the organization was “too black,” but as with most issues of this nature, I made my own decision. Afterward I was sitting with a group of campaign volunteers in the Harlem restaurant Emily's when a call came through on my cell phone. “Hello?”

“Les, Penelope. I just got a call from Courtland Milloy at the
Post
. He put me on the phone with someone who told me there are photos being circulated. Do you know anything about this?”

“What kinda photos?” I asked while eating my lunch.

“I don't know. They are shopping them, and the person I spoke to had not seen them. They're supposed to be of you.”

“What about me?” I asked, looking at two photographers changing their lenses in an attempt to capture every breathing moment of my life on film.

“I don't know, girl, that's why I'm calling. Can you think of
anything
? Anything at all?”

Quietly I said, “Well, Teddy and I used to make love outside at night or sometimes early in the morning. But that's been several years. Now we—”

“Les, this has nothing to do with Henry. That was the first question out of my mouth. Now, if you can think of anything, I'll jump in there and try to buy the motherfuckers myself. We got a little play money socked away.”

“Penelope, you know me. I don't know of anything anyone could have photographed.”

The next day Penelope called me from our Northern war office in Washington, needing me to sign a bank authorization for her.

“What for?”

“Les, it ain't pretty.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen, I don't like talking on cells, you know that. Both Herbert and Ed are flying in on the red-eye. We are keeping Henry
completely
in the dark. Please don't say a word to him about any of this. If you give me authorization to sign checks from the play-money fund, everything will be cool.”

“Penelope, I know you don't like talking on the phone, but this is ridiculous. Now, you obviously have spoken to Herbert and Ed about these
supposed
photos of me. Why don't you—”

“The photos are of you and some white man going into a room.”

I fell on the bed. How could there be photos of me and James?

“He's holding your shoes and a bottle of wine. The photo may have been touched up a little for clarity, because you can read the room number, and yes, I called, and yes, that was your room.”

I was speechless. My first instinct was to lie and tell her it wasn't me. Possibly my head was superimposed on some other woman's body. But she obviously did not want me to be in that position, so she kept talking.

“The photographer was already offered a hundred by a couple of the tabloids, sight unseen. If they see these, they will give him more,
trust
me. Maybe as much as a half. Marcus spoke to him and he's just looking for quick cash. He does not have an agenda nor is he connected to the right or anything. He apparently worked for James Wolinski at
Time
and has been sitting on these photographs waiting for the most opportune time to sell them, and I be damned if this ain't it. Now, I don't know how you guys are looking financially, but if you don't have it, I suggest we take the money out of the travel fund, depending on how much we need, and after the election, and before the accounting, we wire-transfer it back in. That will give you a little more time to sell stocks or whatever to locate the funds.”

With my throat dry and a quake traveling from my head
to my toes, I whispered, “Penelope, we can't take out money without it raising red flags.”

“Trust me, we can, but if you have a better idea, let me know. I've seen the photos, Les. If we don't want them to hit the six-o'clock news every night between now and the election, we gotta pass the hat, wash cars, hold bake sales, or something to get that money, now!”

Dearborn, Michigan

Joe Lewis Center

Presidential Debate

October 2000

CHERYL

The most memorable event of the election for me came the Sunday of the first debate. Due to the hours I was working at the hospital, I was forced to volunteer fewer and fewer hours to the Davis/Gallagher campaign.

The reason I was nervous was that Henry's numbers were starting to fall as it got closer to Election Day. Initially he tried to stay above the mud that both candidates were slinging at him, but eventually he had to sink to their level and the first negative ads rolled out regarding Vice President Steiner.

Earlier in the week, footage had surfaced of Henry at Harvard. No one had seen the tape before it surfaced on an Internet web site, and an AP writer wrote a story that appeared in papers all over the world. In the article the young man, who was originally unidentified, was quoted as saying, “Is calling yourself an American not good enough, sir? Not good enough for the man wishing to run this country?” The headline for over a week was “Hyphenated President?” The day after the release of the tape, the young man was on
Good Morning America
, the
Today
show, and
The Early Show
, all before 8:00
A
.
M
. Eric King, whose appearance screamed bigot, spoke with a deep southern slur and wore his slick,
black, cowlicked hair pulled back and to the side. After his appearance on
Larry King Live
, there was a debate on
Crossfire
as to why the term
African-American
was or was not needed in our society. By that time talk radio caught wind of the story and the national firestorm of debate had begun, and Henry's once apparently insurmountable lead had evaporated.

Two days before the presidential debate, while Dirk Gallagher was campaigning in Atlanta, a reporter asked him if he thought it sent the right message for a presidential hopeful to refer to himself as an African-American and refuse to consider himself as simply an American.

“Well, guys, you know me. I'm a straight shooter. Let me speak for
myself
. My grandpaw died for this country. He was stationed in France and died of mustard-gas wounds. My daddy fought in World War II and Korea and was injured. I, as many of you know, fought in Nam and was imprisoned in the “Hainoi Hilton” for two years. So I don't think anything is wrong with being called an American. Too much of my family's blood was shed to give us the right to say that, and that's all I can say about the subject.” When I heard his answer, it was obvious this man was sabotaging Henry's campaign for his own run to the White House.

Henry looked stunning the night of the first and only presidential debate. He wore a wool navy pin-striped suit with an American flag on the lapel and a light blue shirt with a bold striped navy tie. On C-SPAN they showed his wife as she and his key staff people walked into the auditorium and she waved at him for good luck. The moderator was Bernard Shaw. Since Henry had given in on the number of debate stipulations, he wanted to have the moderator of his choice.

Henry smiled often and looked poised and relaxed as he gave his opening statement. He spoke of the America he envisioned and bills he had sponsored in the Senate that would help not only the people of his home state but people throughout the country. As he spoke, his campaign theme of “One People, One Man, One Vision” clearly came to life.
When he completed his statement, the crowd was not allowed to applaud, but there was no need to. He had gotten a hit and was standing on base.

Governor Tom spoke next and he was not very effective. Just as you could tell every comma of Henry's opening was carefully crafted, the governor seemed to fly from the seat of his pants. Then he looked at Henry, wrinkled his lips, and said to the world, “I'm a little older than both of you young fellas. But I will say that I'm just a plain ole ordinary American, a proud American. I am an American today. I will be an American tomorrow, and forevermore will I be an American.” A collective gasp coupled with a sprinkling of applause was heard throughout the building as Henry looked him in the eye and smiled that confident smile of his. But I wondered,
Will a smile be enough
?

After the dust settled, Ronald Steiner spoke of his dreams for America, ignoring the bombshell that had just exploded in the building.

The first question from the three-person panel was directed toward Henry. “Senator Davis. Why is it you refer to yourself as an African-American, and not
just
an American?”

“My question to you is this. Does my statement that I am an African-American offend you? And if so, why? No one in this room is prouder of their American blood than I. No, my grandfather did not die fighting German soldiers, but he cleaned a storefront where Americans shopped for goods and services for over fifty years. My dad was not killed or maimed in World War II, but he raised two sons and sent them to college while he later graduated from college after he worked for sometimes eighteen hours on his feet. To me, that's the embodiment of the American dream. This is a great country and there is no doubt about it. Leslie and I have had opportunities to travel abroad and I have been to some wonderful cities, but if I am gone more than three days, there's a burning desire inside of me to return home.