Stuart Woods - Mounting Fears

“Yes, and I have an eight-o’clock meeting with them tomorrow morning,” she said. “I don’t think you should attend yet. If word got out, it would get the media all stirred up. As it is, we can call it an unsubstantiated rumor, which it pretty much is.”

“Then let’s say no more about it this evening,” Will said, “and just enjoy our dinner.” He tasted the California cabernet and poured them all a glass.

They had finished their dinner and were on brandy when the phone rang. Will picked it up. “Yes?” He punched the hold button and turned to Stanton. “For you-your wife.”

“I’ll take it in my bedroom,” Stanton said, getting to his feet.

“Hello?”

“Marty?”

“Yes.”

“I hope I’ve called at an inconvenient time,” she said, and there was acid in her voice.

“I’m having dinner with the Lees. What’s wrong?”

“I had a meeting with my lawyers this afternoon. They want me to hire a forensic accountant.”

“What’s a forensic accountant?” Stanton asked, and he had an idea he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“That’s who a party in a divorce hires when she believes the other party is hiding money from her.”

“Betty, have I ever lied to you?”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that.”

“Why do you think I’m hiding money?”

“My lawyer says that, because you have family ties in Mexico, it’s very likely that you have money hidden there.”

“I’ve never lied to your lawyer, either. I gave him a complete and highly detailed financial statement, accompanied by all the backup documents, and nothing was omitted.”

“How about that vintage Cadillac you were born in? I’m told that’s worth a lot of money. California is a community-property state, you know.”

“Yes, I know that, and that car is not community property. It’s been in my family since a year before I was born.”

“How about brokerage accounts?”

“You have my brokerage statements. And by the way, the market is way down at the moment, so we’ll have to get current values when we sign the settlement.”

“So you’re going to try to screw me out of even more money?”

“Betty, you get half of my net worth. If you’d signed the settlement a month ago, when my net worth was higher, you’d have gotten more money. Even your lawyer advised you to sign then.”

“I wasn’t ready,” she said.

“Then you’ll have to accept the responsibility for that. I’ve done all I’m required to do, all I’ve agreed to do.”

“Then why didn’t you announce the divorce at the hearing, the way you said you were going to.”

“The president’s people decided it would be better to wait until I’m sworn in.”

“And when is that?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“And, of course, I’m not invited to Washington for that.”

“You told me you didn’t want to come to Washington.”

“So I can’t change my mind?”

“It’s too late now.”

“So what about this money you’ve hidden? Where is it?”

“Betty, neither you nor your lawyer has the slightest reason to think I’ve hidden money. Why would I put money in a Mexican bank?”

“Because you could.”

“Betty, I can only give you my word that I have no money that isn’t included in that financial statement. If you aren’t willing to accept that, then there’s nothing more I can do. I’ll ask my lawyer to call your lawyer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to dinner. Good-bye.” He hung up, and he was sweating. He was glad he wasn’t in Sacramento, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to strangle his wife. She had been reasonable up to now, but she seemed to have become deranged. Perhaps it was that she was being egged on by a mercenary divorce lawyer. He hoped that was all there was to it.

Will was wakened from a sound sleep by a heavy object being dropped on his abdomen from what seemed like a great height, making a whomp noise. “Huh?” he managed to say after he had gotten his breath back.

Kate was fully dressed. “Got your picture in the paper,” she said. “Enjoy!” She slammed the bedroom door on her way out.

Will struggled to sit up in bed. The object that had struck him was the combined weights of The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, the Los Angeles Times, and the New York Daily News. A headline from the News screamed at him: PREXY PAWS STAR. This was accompanied by a half-page full-color photograph of him with his hand on Charlene Joiner’s left breast. Will flung the newspaper across the room, just as the butler was entering with his breakfast on a tray.

The butler dodged the paper just in time. “Good morning, Mr. President,” he said, setting the tray in Will’s lap.

“Good morning,” Will replied. “Sorry about the newspaper.”

“Quite all right, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

The man left, and Will began searching for the TV remote control among the covers. By the time he found it and turned on the set, his breakfast was getting cold. He looked at the tray: a single, poached egg on dry toast, a small glass of orange juice, and a pot of coffee. He began eating as the Today show popped onto the TV screen.

“… and the president managed to get himself photographed in a compromising situation with Charlene… ”

Will switched to Good Morning America. “… Joiner, Hollywood’s biggest sex symbol,” the program continued. Will switched off the TV set and attacked the lonely egg.

Will entered the Oval Office at the stroke of eight o’clock. His top campaign staff were waiting, sipping coffee and eating Danish. Will grabbed a cheese Danish and poured himself some coffee. “Morning, everyone,” he said.

“You’ve seen the papers?” Tom Black asked.

“You mean the picture of me with Charlene Joiner’s breast in my hand?”

“That’s the one.”

“I put out my hand to hold her off,” Will said. “She walked right into it.”

“Funny there was a photographer on station at that very moment,” Sam Meriwether said.

“Yeah, funny,” Will said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Moss Mallet said. “In the past, every time your name has been linked with Charlene’s, your polls have gone up.”

“This time my hand was linked with her breast,” Will said. “That ought to make me the most popular man in the country.”

“With men,” Kitty Conroy said. “Women will want to kill both of you.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Moss said.

“As long as they get Charlene first,” Will said. “We’re going to have to take further steps to see that she doesn’t get near me again between now and the election.”

“What sort of steps?” Sam asked.

“I ordered Kitty to tell the Secret Service to shoot her, but Kitty failed me.”

“Mea culpa,” Kitty said.

“Charlene has this new thing,” Will said. “She wants me to pardon Larry Eugene Moody.”

There was laughter in the room.

“It’s funny to everybody but Charlene,” Will said. “And when she wants something, it’s very hard to stop her.”

“What is it you want done?” Tom asked.

“The first thing is, we have to be sure she is not on the guest list for any White House dinner. If she turns up here, Kate will shoot her and save the Secret Service the trouble.”

“Done,” Kitty said, making a note.

“It’s not enough just to screen the guest lists for her name,” Will said. “She’s perfectly capable of sneaking in here on the arm of some invited guest. In those circumstances it would be very hard to stop her.”