Johnny let go of Carter’s hand, but still the two of them looked at each other.
‘What the hell was that?’ Carter asked, very softly.
‘You’ve probably got someplace to go, don’t you?’ the Secret Service guy said suddenly.
He put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. It was a very big hand. ‘Sure you do.’
‘It’s all right,’ Carter said.
‘You’re going to be president,’ Johnny said.
The agent’s hand was still on Johnny’s shoulder, more lightly now but still there, and he was getting something from him, too. The Secret Service guy
(eyes)
didn’t like his eyes. He thought they were
(assassin’s eyes, psycho’s eyes)
cold and strange, and if this guy put so much as one hand in his coat pocket. if he even looked as if he might be going in that direction, he was going to put him on the sidewalk.
Behind the Secret Service guy’s second-to-second evaluation of the situation there ran a simple, maddening litany of thought:
(laurel maryland laurel maryland laurel maryland laurel)
‘Yes,’ Carter said.
‘It’s going to be closer than anyone thinks … closer than you think, but you’ll win. He’ll beat himself. Poland. Poland will beat him.’
Carter only looked at him. half-smiling.
‘You’ve got a daughter. She’s going to go to a public school in Washington. She’s going to go to…’ But it was in the dead zone. ‘I think … it’s a school named after a freed slave.’
‘Fellow, I want you to move on,’ the agent said.
Carter looked at him and the agent subsided.
‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you,’ Carter said. ‘A little disconcerting, but a pleasure.’
Suddenly, Johnny was himself again. It had passed. He was aware that his ears were cold and that he had to go to the bathroom. ‘Have a good morning,’ he said lamely.
‘Yes. You too, now.’
He had gone back to his car, aware of the Secret Service guy’s eyes still on him. He drove away, bemused. Shortly after, Carter had put away the competition in New Hampshire and went on to Florida.
2.
Walter Cronkite finished with the politicians and went on to the civil war in Lebanon.
Johnny got up and freshened his glass of Pepsi. He tipped the glass at the TV. Your good health, Walt. To the three Ds – death, destruction, and destiny. Where would we be without them.
There was a light tap at the door. ‘Come in,’ Johnny called, expecting Chuck, probably with an invitation to the drive-in over in Somersworth. But it wasn’t Chuck. It was Chuck’s father.
‘Hi, Johnny,’ he said. He was wearing wash4aded jeans and an old cotton sports shirt, the tails out. ‘May I come in?’
‘Sure. I thought you weren’t due back until late.’
‘Well, Shelley gave me a call.’ Shelley was his wife. Roger came in and shut the door.
‘Chuck came to see her. Burst into tears, just like a little kid. He told her you were doing it, Johnny. He said he thought he was going to be all right.’
Johnny put his glass down. ‘We’ve got a ways to go,’ he said.
‘Chuck met me at the airport. I haven’t seen him looking like he did since he was … what?
Ten? Eleven? When I gave him the .22 he’d been waiting for for five years. He read me a story out of the newspaper. The improvement is … almost eerie. I came over to thank you.’
‘Thank Chuck,’ Johnny said. ‘He’s an adaptable boy.
A lot of what’s happening to him is positive reinforcement. He’s psyched himself into believing he can do it and now he’s tripping on it. That’s the best way I can put it.’
Roger sat down. ‘He says you’re teaching him to switch-hit.’
Johnny smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘Is he going to be able to take the SATs?’
‘I don’t know. And I’d hate to see him gamble and lose. The SATs are a heavy pressure situation. If he gets in that lecture hall with an answer sheet in front of him and an IBM
pencil in his hand and then freezes up, it’s going to be a real setback for him. Have you thought about a good prep school for a year? A place like Pittsfield Academy?’