“I saw you on television this evening, Riley. At supper.” He paused, inviting response.
“Yeah, I suppose you did. That wasn’t too good, was it.”
“I did feel pretty bad to hear it. I suppose you’ve been having second thoughts.”
“Well, she didn’t talk too nice about me yesterday.”
“No, no she didn’t. But, Riley, it might be well to make peace with her, instead of war. She’s trying to steer the country through one of the most dangerous times in our history, and while I wouldn’t urge you to vote one way or another, she needs all the moral support she can get. And what you did was, you basically implied she’s a homosexual. You see.”
Riley Woodrow exhaled audibly through pursed lips. He did see.
“But I suppose you’ve already thought about all that, and decided whatever it is you want to do.”
“Well, not entirely. I’m still thinking on it.”
There was another lag, and he thought of asking McGrath how he’d vote on the Balanced Budget override, but he already knew.
The older man filled the vacuum. “How’s Addie these days?”
“Addie? She’s fine. Like always. Busy with the library board and the DAR—that sort of thing. Makes herself useful in the world. Goes to the Senate wives’ club three times a week, and cavorts with the bouncing ladies, to keep her figure.”
“Good for her. Wish I’d taken better care of myself . . . Well, I didn’t intend to make this a long call. You’ve got more important things to do than spend the evening talking to someone who doesn’t. Give Addie my kindest regards, and next time you get to south Florida, it’d be nice to see you.”
With that, McGrath cut the connection, leaving Riley Woodrow looking at the blank screen for several long sober seconds. Then the senator called his bodyguard and chauffeur, gathered his coat and briefcase, and headed for the subterranean parking garage.
* * *
When she arrived at the White House next morning, Andrea Jackson’s face was puffy, her eyes red.
Florence Metzger didn’t ask why. She simply said, “Andy, you could use a drink.” Without waiting for a reply, she pressed keys on her intercom, signaling the second butler. “Romney, bring two whiskeys and water to the Oval Office. I’ve got a friend in need, and I could use one myself. Make them weak though.”
She touched the key again, the light blinking out, and turned to Andrea. “I don’t keep a bottle in my desk. Temptation.
“So. You look like you need a friend. Besides Franklin. You want to talk?”
Andrea’s voice was barely audible. “Madam President, here’s my resignation.” She held out an envelope, and when the president didn’t take it, laid it on the desk. “I—can’t work here any longer. I just can’t.”
The tears began to flow then. It’s a wonder she’s got any left, the President thought, and getting to her feet, went around the desk and gripped her friend’s arms. A hug might not be welcome under the circumstances. “Honey,” she said, “you’ve done nothing wrong and said nothing wrong. There’s no reason on God’s green Earth for you to leave.”
“There is. It looks bad for you, for me to be here.”
“The hell you say. Tell you what. I’ll ask Woodrow over, and when he gets here, I’ll butter his necktie and shove it, um, down his throat. You can watch. How’s that?”
Andrea smiled in spite of herself. “No, ma’am,” she said, “no need to do that. There’s other jobs; I’ll be all right. We can live on Franklin’s pay.”
Well, shit! “Tell you what. I won’t accept this right away. Maybe later. But first I want you to take a two-week vacation, with Franklin. You’ve both got annual leave coming. I’ll buy you plane tickets to Miami, and a cruise.”
Andrea shook her head, but her eyes were uncertain.
“Think about it. Talk to him. Here, I’ll buzz him. You can talk in Sheri’s office. She’s off today.”
Before she got to her intercom though, it buzzed for her. She answered. “What is it, Marge?”
“A call for you on three, ma’am. Senator Woodrow.”
Metzger moved quickly to her chair, thunder on her brows, and faced the screen. “Put him through,” she said grimly.