Preserve and Protect (16 page)

“No, no, Jawbone,” the President said, “go right ahead.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. President, sir—”

“And you don’t have to ‘sir’ me every minute,” the President told him with some testiness. “And you don’t have to talk corn-pone. You’re a Rhodes scholar and one of the smartest men I know, so just pretend I’m still Speaker and give it to me straight, okay?”

“Now, there!” Jawbone exclaimed. “There! You hear that now, you hear that?”

“Who hears what?” the President demanded sharply. “Is someone else on the line?”

“Oh, no, sir,” Jawbone said hastily. “No, sir, not at all, now. Just Miss Bitty-Bug, she sittin’ right here beside me, Mr. President, you know how she is—”

“Yes,” the President said, wincing as always at Jawbone’s pet name for his wife, “I know how Miss Bitty-Bug is. Why don’t you tell her to go nibble on some other tree and let us talk in peace? If you really have something to tell me, that is?”

“Now, Mr. President, sir—” Jawbone began in a shocked voice.

“Tell her,” the President ordered sternly. Jawbone clamped a hand over the receiver, there were muffled murmurs. Presently he came back on the line with a vigorous cheerfulness. “Well, Miss Bitty-Bug gone, Mr. President,” he announced happily. “You know lil’ ol’ Miss Bitty-Bug, she don’t like to get left out of
anything,
but she agreed maybe this time I better talk to you alone. Miss Bitty-Bug sends her love.”

“You give my love to Miss Bitty-Bug,” the President said dryly. If this weren’t the chairman of Foreign Affairs, whose support he needed, and if he weren’t President, whose support Jawbone was going to need in his campaign for the Senate seat of the late Seab Cooley, he would have been tempted to tell Jawbone and Miss Bitty-Bug to fly off home and leave him alone. But Jawbone was a good weather vane, among other things. “Now tell me what you hear.”

“Well, sir,” Jawbone said, “well, sir, Bill, I been talking to some of these National Committee people, now, and they say, Mr. President, they
say,
that they really want that old convention there called back into session. They really do say that, Mr. President. Because there’s a feelin’, Mr. Speaker, Mr. President, sir, just a wee lil’ ol’ teensy
feelin’,
that mebbe now things all been cleared away, here, it might, it jes’ might, be time to take another look at that mighty fine Governor of California out there,
the
Honorable Edward M. Jason. Yes, sir!”

“This wouldn’t be just a lil’ ol’ teensy mite of wishful thinking on your part, would it, Jawbone?” the President inquired, remembering vividly how the chairman had been one of the leaders in the fight against the Gorotoland resolution, and then had gone on to the convention to give active support to the Jason cause.

“No, sir!” Jawbone declared stoutly. “No, sir, not a-tall, now! Why, I just been on the phone with some of ’em, Bill, Mr. President, and—”

“Who?”

“Well, sir,” Jawbone said in a confidential tone, “I wouldn’t want it to get away, now, I surely wouldn’t want it to get away—”

“This is the President, Jawbone,” he said. “It isn’t going to get away. Who was it, Esmé Stryke and Roger Croy?”

“Well, sir,” Jawbone exclaimed in a tone of breathless admiration, “well, sir, if you just don’t say the damnedest, if you don’t now, Bill, Mr. Speaker, Mr. President, sir! It surely was Mrs. Esmé Harbellow Stryke, that great distinguished National Committeewoman from California, and it surely was that great distinguished National Committeeman from Oregon, Mr. Roger P. Croy, ex-governor of that great state of our great Northwest—”

“I’m not a meeting, Jawbone,” the President said. “So it was Esmé and Roger—and that’s all.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Jawbone confirmed hastily, “but they been in touch, now, oh, yes, sir, they been In Touch. Why, Esmé, she told me she’d heard from at least ten Committee members this a.m. already, Mr. President, and Roger P. Croy, he said he heard from about ten more, and they all, Mr. President,
they all,
are in favor of gettin’ together here in D.C. jes’ as soon as they can and then declarin’ the convention reconvened, and have a vote and put Ted Jason on top of that ticket, and go—to—
town!”

“Mmmmhmm,” the President murmured, with a skepticism Jawbone knew from long experience in the House.

“Now, Bill, Mr. President, sir,” he said hastily, “you-all musn’t jes’ go ‘Mmmmhmm’ at ol’ Jawbone here. You-all musn’t jes’ Mmm
hmmm
me, Mr. President, sir! These people, now, Mrs. Esmé and Mr. Governor Roger P. Croy, they know what the mood is, Mr. President, they know what the country wants, and they got pledges, Mr. President—”

“Oh, have they?” the President interrupted sharply. “How many?”

“Well, sir,” Jawbone said, and his tone became crafty and uncommunicative, “I couldn’t rightly say, now, I couldn’t rightly say, but quite a few, I dare say, quite a few. And they and their friends, now, they do want that ol’ convention called back, Mr. President. I have a feelin’, now, a distinct feelin’—and Miss Bitty-Bug,” he added triumphantly, “you know Miss Bitty-Bug, she got pretty good political instincts too, now, and she agrees with me—we got a feelin’ that gettin’ that ol’ convention back is what that National Committee’s goin’ to want to do when you call ’em into session next week.”

“Who said I was going to call them into session next week—” the President began in a deliberately indignant tone, and then dropped it because there was no point in fooling anybody, the realities were clear enough. “Of course you’re right, Jawbone, I’ve got to get them back, and fast. We can’t stall it. But I wouldn’t be so sure about pledges, if I were you. I don’t tell everybody, Jawbone, and I wouldn’t want you to, either, but I’ve been getting a few phone calls myself from the National Committee, and some of them don’t agree with Esmé and Roger—”

“Some of ’em don’t,” Jawbone interrupted triumphantly, “some of ’em don’t but some of ’em do, that right, Mr. President? Yes, sir, some of ’em do!”

“Yes,” the President conceded slowly, “some of them do. But I haven’t tried a head-count yet, Jawbone, and I don’t think you should, either. I haven’t really had time to get to it, but when I do …” He let his voice trail away significantly, and for a moment his ebullient caller was silent too. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, thoughtful tone.

“You fixin’ to give that nomination to ol’ Orrin, aren’t you?” he inquired softly. “Yes, sir, that’s what it is, you fixin’ to give that nomination to ol’ Orrin.”

“I’m not fixing to do anything, yet,” the President said calmly. “And I think you’d be making a great mistake to tell anyone I am. After all, Jawbone”—and he made his voice deliberately as forceful, blunt and menacing as he had always been able to make it when dealing with recalcitrant Representatives—“you and Esmé and ol’ Roger and your friends, now, you overlook one thing, don’t you?
I’m
in the White House, now.
I’m
the President of the United States, now. What makes you so sure, Jawbone,” he concluded softly, “that I might not just stay right here where I am?”

“Well, now,” Jawbone began hurriedly. “Well, now—”

“Do you think you and your friends can kick me out if I want to stay?” the President demanded. “Maybe you better think about that before you go getting pledges. Maybe I want that nomination myself, now I’m in here. Maybe I like it, Jawbone. Maybe it’s fun.”

“Then,” Jawbone said in an aggrieved voice, “you don’t aim for us to call that convention back, do you? You jes’ aimin’ for a real fight in the Committee, and you don’t aim for us to call that convention back. I know it, I know it!”

“I’m not saying what I’m going to do,” the President told him calmly. “The Committee has to meet, that’s obvious. After that, we’ll see.”

“Lots of folks just can’t stomach ol’ Orrin, Mr. President,” Jawbone said sadly. “I tell you, lots of ’em just can’t.”

“If there has to be a fight, there has to be a fight. Thanks for calling, Jawbone. You can be sure I’ll have an announcement in a day or two about the Committee. You can tell Esmé and Roger and anyone else you talk to.”

“It’s going to be a toughie,” Jawbone said thoughtfully. “Yes, sir, like I tole Miss Bitty-Bug, it’s goin’ to be a toughie. She agrees with me, too, Mr. President. She agrees, that Miss Bitty-Bug. A real toughie.”

“You tell Miss Bitty-Bug I agree, too. Tougher than any of us imagine, maybe. Might even involve that Senate race of yours in South Carolina, if it comes to that.”

“Now, Mr. President,” Jawbone began in alarm, “surely, now, Mr. President—” Then his tone changed, and for the first time the President began to be really worried about the outcome of the National Committee meeting. “Well, sir,” Jawbone concluded flatly, “if that’s how it’s got to be, that’s how it’s got to be.”

“You really feel that deeply about Orrin Knox and Ted Jason,” the President said in a wondering tone. “You really do.”

“Miss Bitty-Bug and I, we talked it over,” Jawbone said solemnly, “and we agreed. Folks in this country mighty worried ’bout how things goin’, Mr. President. They mighty worried. We got a big responsibility in that National Committee. We got a real big responsibility.”

“And you really feel that Ted Jason, with all his wishy-washy attitude toward the Communists, and all his encouragement of violence—”

“You say wishy-washy, Mr. President,” Jawbone objected, “but seems to lots of folks it’s not wishy-washy a-tall, just common sense and workin’ for peace. Folks want peace, Mr. President, don’t you forget that. Oh, my, do they want peace. And violence? Why, shucks, a few lil’ ol’ riots don’t add up to much.”

“More than a few, Jawbone,” the President remarked grimly, “and you know it.”

“Well, shucks,” Jawbone said. “Well, shucks, now. I guess folks got a right to indicate how they feel, now, don’t they, just a right to
indicate?”

“Stop being disingenuous,” the President snapped with a sudden anger. “You know damned well what’s under way here, and you know damned well it’s got to be stopped. You can tell that to Esmé and Roger, too.”

“’Course, Mr. President, ’course, now, sir, nobody’s goin’ to endorse or support unwarranted and unnecessary violence—”

“As distinct from warranted and necessary?” the President demanded. “You crossed the line there, Jawbone. You crossed right over.”

“Well, sir, no, sir,” Jawbone said hastily. “I don’t mean it’s ever warranted or necessary, but just the same”—his tone became stubborn and he concluded with a dogged defiance—“just the same, lots of folks want Ted Jason.”

“The Committee will be convened in due course,” the President said flatly. “And we shall see then what happens.”

“Yes, sir,” Jawbone agreed. “We surely will, Mr. Speaker, Mr. President, sir.”

And so they would, the President promised himself grimly as the conversation ended. Here was Ted Jason again, to complicate his problems: here was the justification for violence, if it could but be tied to a purpose that could be rationalized as good. Again he uttered a wry, disgusted, impatient sound, with such vigorous vehemence that his sister, just going by in the hall, called out and asked if he was all right.

“First-rate,” he called back. “Can you bring me a glass of ice water?”

And when she did he tried, as he always had, to erase the worried look on her face with a matter-of-fact, comforting remark that would give her something else to think about besides him and his problems, which now were multiplied beyond even her usual loving concern.

“Ellie,” he said, “how would you and Tom like to come to Washington and live in the White House? You could be my official hostess. You’re the logical one, and now that Tom’s retired there’s no reason why you shouldn’t, that I can see. Tom could be my unofficial eyes and ears to scout around the government for me, and you could sashay around with Dolly Munson and Patsy Labaiya and the best of them. How about it?”

“Oh,” she said, putting her hand to her cheek in her characteristic way, “I’m sure that’s awfully kind of you, Bill, but I’m really not used to that kind of life, with all those glamorous people, and—”

“Now, nonsense,” he said with a big-brotherly firmness. “Never let it be said that a child of Leadville can’t cope with the world’s great. I have: you can. Anyway, Ellie, your President needs you. You know you and Tom will be happy as clams. Let’s have no more talk about it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a little smile. “Masterful Mr. Speaker does it again.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if I should even speak to Patsy Labaiya.”

“Better,” he said with a chuckle. Then the chuckle died. “Her friends will picket the White House if you don’t.”

“Billy,” she said earnestly, “do be careful. Please, be careful.”

He gave her a long look.

“As careful as can be. But you know how it is.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “And it terrifies me.”

He shrugged.

“The alternative is to run away. I can’t do that. It’s against my nature and against my job. I’m the only President there is. I can’t duck it, even if I wanted to.”

“I can imagine you wanting to,” she said with a trace of returning humor. He smiled.

“I’m beginning to see its possibilities. I may just stick it out for the fascination of finding out what’s going to happen next.”

But nothing, probably, could have prepared him for it, either for the telephone call from California or the calls he made thereafter, or the events that followed. It just proved, he told himself wryly now as he sat and stared across the dark water, hearing the sounds of distant parties, the murmur of wind-touched trees, that there was no point in trying to imagine, if you sat in the White House, what might happen next.

Nor was there much point in anybody else’s trying. Because the headlines that burst upon the world after the urgent call from Orrin Knox were such as to confound and dismay all those who thought events could be tailored to accommodate the wishes of the naive and the fears of the timid.

PRESIDENT ORDERS ALL-OUT DRIVE TO CAPTURE GOROTO REBEL CAPITAL, HINTS U.S. MAY SEAL PANAMA REBEL PORT TO WORLD SHIPPING …

… SOVIETS, BRITISH DEMAND UN SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, HEADS OF STATE TO ATTEND ON WAY TO HUDSON FUNERAL.