Stuart Woods - Mounting Fears

“Well, yes.”

“Our relationship has been very close but entirely professional. She has nothing to do with my divorce.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Again, my congratulations on the hearing. I hear they’re voting today, and your nomination will go to the full Senate tomorrow. I don’t anticipate much of a debate.”

“Anything I can do, anyone I can talk to, let me know, Will.”

“You’ve already done your footwork. Let’s have dinner in the quarters tomorrow night and celebrate.”

“I’d love to. Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks, Marty. Good-bye.”

Stanton hung up and heaved a sigh of relief. He had not been kidding when he had told Barbara how horny he was. He was having wild dreams about her, and when he was back in Sacramento it was going to be very difficult to keep his hands off her.

At seven-fifteen, Will left his suite with Kitty Conroy and four Secret Service men to walk to the meeting room where the dinner was being held. More agents would be stationed along his route through the gardens, he knew. The Secret Service didn’t like him walking through hotels or their gardens, even one as upscale as the Bel-Air.

Will had spent the last hour going through a three-ring binder filled with photographs and short bios of the dinner guests, who were the hundred biggest contributors in California. It was his habit at the smaller dinners to rule out name tags and impress everybody with his memory of names.

The guests had been drinking since six-thirty, so they would be well oiled by the time he began to move among them. This was the kind of event the Secret Service liked, where every guest was known to them and had been vetted for criminal records or threats against the president. This was a “soft” event, except for Charlene.

Kitty spoke as they walked. “The committee chairman has followed your instructions to the letter,” she said. “Mrs. Branley will be seated on your right, perhaps in a wheelchair, we’re not sure yet, then Ralph Braden, the new CEO of Branley Industries, then Charlene, and boy-girl after that. Rivera, the governor-to-be will be on your left, then his wife, then boy-girl.”

“Charlene will try to change the place cards,” Will said.

“I’m on that, and so is the Secret Service.”

“How am I going to avoid an embrace with Charlene?”

“Frankly, I don’t know,” Kitty replied, “but even with no press or photographers there, you’re going to have to avoid the appearance of pushing her away. She’s a very popular lady with this crowd, and she has probably slept with half of them.”

“There’ll be a photographer there to take pictures of me with everybody,” Will said. “See that he leaves the room before the presentation of Charlene’s check.”

“Don’t worry, there’s only one, and he’s on my staff,” Kitty replied.

“See that no photos of me in the same frame as Charlene are released to the press.”

She opened the door to the meeting room for him. “Don’t worry.”

Will strode into the room and grabbed the first outstretched hand. “Hello, Mike,” he said. “How are Alice and the girls?”

The astonished man, whom he had never met before, managed to say, “Just fine, Mr. President,” before Will grabbed another hand. The photographer stayed at his elbow, getting at least one shot with every contributor. Then, out of a corner of his eye, Will could see Charlene Joiner elbowing her way through the crowd toward him. He tacked to his left, allowing the crowd to fill in between them, giving Charlene a cheerful wave.

A minute later, however, she appeared before him, wearing a dress that reminded him of the one Marilyn Monroe had worn when she sang “Happy Birthday” to Jack Kennedy, but lower-cut.

As she held out her arms to him, Will grabbed her hands and pulled them in front of her as he pecked her quickly on the cheek. He could feel the backs of his own hands pressing against her impressive breasts. “How are you, Charlene? Good to see you!”

“Will… ah, Mr. President, I need a moment of your time,” she was saying, but Will had already turned to another guest and his wife and was posing for a quick photo with them.

God only knew what cause Charlene wanted to buttonhole him about, he reflected. Larry Eugene Moody, her murderous ex-boyfriend, already had had his death sentence commuted. What the hell did she want now?

Will worked his way forward in the room, making progress, shaking hands, making eye contact, hugging and kissing wives, occasionally unable to block a hug from a male guest. Mentally, he counted, and when he was at ninety-two he had made the dais. Mrs. William Branley was being pushed in a wheelchair toward her seat next to his. Charlene was standing on the other side of her, and he managed to keep the wheelchair between them. Then, as he was about to take his seat, Charlene made her move and was deftly blocked by a large Secret Service agent who pretended to adjust Mrs. Branley’s chair, while another agent held Charlene’s chair. Reluctantly, she sat down next to the Branley Industries CEO, who immediately engaged her in conversation.

Will sipped lightly from a glass of champagne and conversed with Mrs. Branley until the first course arrived. Then he turned to Lieutenant Governor Rivera. “Mike, congratulations on ascending to the throne.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Rivera replied, smiling broadly, “but it may be more of a hot seat.”

Will laughed. “I expect you’ve got a pretty good handle on the job by now. After all, you’ve had a great role model in Marty.”

“That I have,” Rivera said, “though we disagree on a few issues.”

“I hope they’re local, not national,” Will said. “We can’t have any public squabbling between you two until after the election.”

Rivera seemed under no illusions about the seriousness of Will’s little joke. “You can rely on me, Mr. President.”

Will finished his first course, and when the filet mignon was served, he cut it in two and ate only half and a few vegetables. He avoided dessert and drank only a few more sips of his champagne. When coffee was being served he excused himself for a moment and used a backstage men’s room. “Don’t let anybody near here,” he said to an agent as he went inside. He had visions of Charlene barging in and holding his dick for him while he peed.

When he left the men’s room he stood in the wings and pretended to consult some notes while the little lectern was placed on top of the dinner table and the microphone rigged. The Secret Service used the opportunity to herd all the waiting and bussing staff out of the room and guard the doors against any premature return. Finally, when only guests and guards were left in the room, Miguel Rivera stood, welcomed the audience and, eventually, after what sounded like a campaign speech for his next term, introduced Will. As the crowd leaped to their feet, an aide exchanged the California seal for the presidential seal on the lectern, then Will stepped out.

He stood there waving and pointing at people until the applause slowly died, then began to speak. “As I was saying twenty-five million dollars ago…” The crowd roared and applauded again.

Will finished his speech, then turned to Mrs. Branley to receive her check for a million dollars. As he thanked her profusely, he saw Charlene remove an envelope from her purse and push her chair back; then Kitty Conroy appeared from nowhere, plucked the check from her hand, and surreptitiously used a hip to shove her chair back in.

Will took the check from Kitty and put both checks in his inside jacket pocket. “And I also want to thank the beautiful and talented Charlene Joiner for her continuing support of our party and her generous donation of a million dollars to the Democratic National Committee. I’ll bet no Academy Award winners are doing that for the Republicans!”