Authors: Robbins Harold
Marlene's voice choked off in her throat as he grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her violently. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"
She reeled dizzily when he let her go, and almost lost her balance. She stumbled as she sank into a chair, glaring at him, her breast rising and falling. "Now I suppose you're going to beat me like Fritz did," she said sarcastically.
Jeremy stared at her for a moment, then shook his head slowly. "That's what you'd like, isn't it? It would satisfy your German sense of guilt."
Her mouth twisted into an ugly line. "At least I'm not her, offering herself first to the father, then to the son. I know all about French girls like her. Soldiers told me how they came running after them in the streets, lifting their skirts."
An icy calm seemed to settle over Jeremy. "Haven't you got the story a little mixed up? The first time I heard it they were German girls with the Russians, and later the Americans."
"Is that what you really think? That I ran after you?"
"Is there any other way to look at it?" He smiled coldly. "Remember, it was you who called me."
CHAPTER 9
The President's secretary got up from behind his desk and held out his hand as Jeremy was ushered into his office. He smiled. "It's always a pleasure to see you again, Congressman."
The handclasp was firm but brief. Jeremy made no reference to being called congressman. The secretary knew as well as he that he no longer was a member of that august body.
"Have a chair," the secretary said graciously. He sat down again behind his desk and pushed a box of cigars toward Jeremy.
"No, thanks." Jeremy took out a cigarette. "I'll stick to these."
The secretary came straight to the point. "The President read your letters with a great deal of interest. He thought many of the points well taken, and wished me to express his gratitude."
Jeremy nodded. He didn't speak, for he wasn't expected to.
"We had a long discussion about the question of your appointment. And the President came to the conclusion that this was just not the time for it."
"Oh? The Senator gave me the impression that the matter was settled."
The secretary smiled bleakly. "I'm afraid the Senator was laboring under a misapprehension. The Senator is rather young, you know, and sometimes his enthusiasms run away with him."
"Yes?" Jeremy's voice was expressionless. The man was a fool. Young the Senator might be, but not in politics. That was a subject he had been nurtured in since the cradle. He never misunderstood anything.
"This is an election year," the secretary continued smoothly, "and the new President would expect your resignation as a matter of course. So rather than risk upsetting the apple cart with an interim appointment, we thought it would be best not to make any appointment at this time."
"The President thought so, too?"
The secretary's eyebrow shot up. He didn't like being questioned. "Of course," he replied icily.
The Senator was expecting him and Jeremy was ushered right into the office. "Well, Congressman?"
Jeremy looked back at him. "Well, Senator?"
"Jeremy, we've been screwed."
"You know already?"
"This morning," the Senator said, "right from the White House. The old man called me himself."
"Then why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me go over there?"
The Senator smiled and then his expression changed as he said, seriously, "I wanted you to see for yourself that I hadn't gone back on my word."
"You know I wouldn't think that."
"Thank you."
"I wonder what fucked it up?"
"I don't have to," the Senator replied. "I know. It wasn't the old man and it wasn't State. That leaves only one possibility."
"You mean our friend the secretary?"
The Senator nodded.
"But why? I've always gotten along with him pretty well."
"I guess he just doesn't like Harvard men." The Senator smiled. "The prick went to Yale, you know." The smile left his face. "I'm sorry, Jeremy."
Jeremy shrugged. "That's all right. It was a nice try."
"What are your plans now?"
"I don't know. I haven't given it that much thought."
"Coming out to the convention?"
"Of course. I wouldn't miss that."
"We're getting behind Stevenson."
"Do you think they'll be able to talk Eisenhower into it?"
"I don't think they'll have to try very hard," the Senator replied. "They'd really rather go with Taft but more than anything they want to win. They'll go with Eisenhower."
"Ike will take it in a walk."
"I think so too," the Senator replied thoughtfully. "In a way it's too bad, because I know Stevenson would make a hell of a President." He glanced at Jeremy suddenly. "We'll need all the help in Congress we can get. It's not too late for you to get on the ticket, you know."
Jeremy shook his head. "Thank you, no. That's not my game. I'm strictly an amateur. I'd rather leave it to you pros."
"If the Republicans get in," the Senator said, "I may not be able to do anything for you for a long time."
"That's all right. I understand."
The Senator got to his feet. "Well, when you decide on something, let me know. Maybe I can be more help then than I have been in this."
Jeremy also rose. "Sure, I'll let you know. I'll have to think of something soon or my old man will be on my back."
"I know what you mean." The Senator grinned. "I have a father too."
Actually it was his father who was responsible for the newspaper offer, as the publisher explained to Jeremy over lunch at "21." "I was having dinner at your father's the other night. A question about French politics came up, and to make his point he brought out a folder of your recent letters. I read one. I was intrigued. I read another, then another. Finally I asked your father if I might take them away with me. That night I stayed awake until three in the morning reading them. At first I thought what a marvelous collection they'd make for a book. You can write, you know. Then I thought, no, the great thing about them was that they were written while the events were still fresh in your mind. With a facility like that the only logical step would be a newspaper column. Would you be interested?"
"I don't know. Every day? I'm really not a writer, you know."
"Who is?" the publisher asked. "At one time the major requisite for becoming a novelist seemed to be a GI background. Earlier, truck drivers were very popular. The way I see it, the only requirement for being a daily columnist is that you write interestingly and have something to say. Well, you say it simply and clearly."
Jeremy laughed. "If you want it simple you came to the right guy."
"Then you'll consider it?"
"I might, if I knew what the hell to write about."
"The conventions are coming up. Just for the hell of it why don't you go to them both and send me a few columns on what goes on. Not for publication, you understand, just to try it out and see if maybe we can come up with the right formula."
Jeremy was intrigued. "I'll give it a spin, but the chances are we'll merely find out how wrong I am for something like this."
But his very first column proved how wrong he had been. After a frantic call from the publisher for permission to run it, which Jeremy gave with reluctant misgivings, the column appeared throughout the country the day the convention opened.
It was headed: "A Foreign Country."
"Foreign countries all over the world are pretty much the same," the first paragraph read. "The average man seems happy to see Americans and likes them very much. Only the politicians, hotel clerks, and taxicab drivers seem to hate us. Chicago is like any other foreign country."
Within a year the column was appearing three times a week in over two hundred newspapers.
In Paris, the baron finished reading that first column in the European edition of The New York Times and pushed it across the breakfast table to Caroline. "Did you see this?"
Caroline looked down at the paper and nodded. "Yes. I think it's very clever."
"He's an extremely bright young man."
"Yes," she agreed, "extremely."
"Very strange," the baron said, his brow wrinkling, "we never heard from him after the dinner party."
"Denisonde received a lovely bouquet of roses and a thank-you note the next morning."
"I mean, he never called you or anything like that?"
"No." Then Caroline smiled her secret smile. Poor Papa, he was always at his most obvious when he thought he was being devious. She couldn't resist teasing him. "Why, should he have?" she asked innocently.
CHAPTER 10
The hand gently shook Amparo's shoulder. "Pardon, Princesa. Your father is downstairs and wishes to see you."
Amparo felt the band around her temples tighten as she sat up in bed. There was a heavy taste still in her mouth. She looked sleepily at the anxious face of her maid. "My father?"
"Si, Princesa." The maid cast a sideways glance at the naked young man on the bed beside her. "His excellency is very much in a hurry!"
Amparo shook her head. Something had to be very wrong if her father came here this early in the morning. He had never done so before. "Tell him I'll be right down."
"Si, Princesa," the maid replied and hurried out of the room.
Amparo turned to the young man. "Stay here. I'll let you know when he's gone."
He nodded silently as she reached for the negligee lying across a nearby chair. Before her hand could reach it, however, the door opened again and el Presidente stomped in.
"Excellency!" the young man cried out in terror, and leaped from the bed, to stand stiffly at attention.
El Presidente brushed past him as if he did not exist. He stood at the side of the bed glaring down at Amparo. "I must talk to you immediately!"
She held the negligee over her breasts as she looked first at her father, then at the young man. "Jorge, don't be such a fool! There is nothing more ridiculous than a naked soldier trying to stand at attention. Get out!"
Frantically the young man gathered up his clothes and fled.
When the door had closed behind him Amparo looked up at her father. "What is it?"
"I know that you're not much interested in what your husband is doing," el Presidente answered in a sarcastic voice, "but you might have let me know he was arriving today."
'Today?" Her voice was incredulous.
"Yes, today."
Her lips parted in a humorless smile. "I didn't know. This must be the one time your censors sent you the photocopy before I had seen the original."
El Presidente walked over to the window and looked out. "If I'd only known yesterday I might have stopped him."
"What good would that have done?" Amparo asked, getting up off the bed. "Sooner or later he would have found out what you were doing."
"But today of all days." Her father took a folded newspaper from under his arm and handed it to her. "El Diario is running a front-page editorial demanding a court-martial over the cowardly resignation of his commission in Korea. They say it reflects disgrace on all Corteguay."
Amparo didn't even open the paper. "I suppose you didn't know about this either?" she asked sarcastically.
"Of course I knew about it," he replied angrily, "but I didn't know he would be here today. If I had I would have had them print it later."
"Blame your stupid spies, don't blame me." Amparo pulled the bell cord behind the bed. "I want some coffee. Would you like some?"
He nodded.
"I'll go to the airport and meet him. I'll explain to him—"
"You will explain nothing. You are not even to see him!"
"Not even to see him? But I'm his wife. What will people think if I'm not there when he gets off the plane?"
"I don't give a damn what they think!" he shouted angrily. "You are also el Presidente's daughter. You will have nothing to do with an accused traitor!"
"So that's the way it's going to be?"
El Presidente didn't answer.
"You've finally figured out a way to get rid of him," she continued in a low voice. "I could see it coming. Ever since our honeymoon, when the papers began to speculate openly about his being your successor."
El Presidente stared at her. "And you were loyal to him? As soon as he was gone you leaped into bed with the first man who came near you."
Amparo smiled. "You'll never convince me that I'm not your daughter. We're a fine pair, you and I, exactly alike."
El Presidente suddenly relaxed. The maid came in with coffee and then hurriedly left the room. He walked over to the table and filled his coffee cup. He sipped the coffee with satisfaction. "I'm glad to see you're beginning to make some sense at last."
Amparo came to the table and filled her own cup. She sank into a chair. "You're not going to kill him as you did the others," she said quietly. "I won't allow it."
"You won't allow it?" he asked skeptically. "What can you do?"
Amparo smiled again. "A few days after Dax left I wrote a long report. In it I recorded everything I knew about you— what you've done, whom you've betrayed, where you hid the money you stole, everything. That report is in a bank vault somewhere in the United States, with instructions that it be opened and published if anything should ever happen to Dax or myself."
"I don't believe you. Nothing of yours gets out of the country without my knowing about it."
Amparo smiled and sipped at her coffee. "No? You know so much about me I'm sure you are aware that I went to bed with a man a few days after Dax left. Do you by any chance happen to remember who it was?"
There was a curious expression on her father's face but he didn't answer.
"An attache to the Mexican Embassy on his way to the United States. And from time to time there have been further additions to that report. Others have been only too happy to do a small favor for la princesa in exchange for her own."
El Presidente was still silent. After a moment he sighed. "What do you expect me to do with him then?"
Amparo looked down at her coffee cup. It was empty. She leaned forward to refill it, careless of the way her negligee fell away. "You will send him away," she said. "There are still many ways he could serve you abroad. As soon as he is out of the country I shall divorce him. That will show the people he is out of favor." "And you will bring your report back into the country?"