Irving Wallace - The Man

“Because you felt that no affidavit could adequately reveal what injury and humiliation you have suffered?”

“I believed the Senate should know what I know, sir.”

“We will proceed. Why did you, one week after Douglass Dilman assumed the Presidency, apply for the position as his social secretary?”

“Certainly not for reasons of personal advancement, Representative Miller. My father, as you know, has always been able to educate and care for his family. I had heard-because of my wide acquaintance in Washington-I had heard that many of the White House staff were resigning, since their loyalty had been only to T. C. Also, I had heard that Miss Laurel, the First Lady’s social secretary, was leaving the White House with her. I read and heard that the new President had no woman to bring into the White House to assist him with the ordinary refinements and duties that only a lady versed in the social amenities could help him with. Of course, at that time I did not know he had a grown daughter passing herself off as a white person in secret.”

“No, none of us knew that, Miss Watson.”

“I knew also that it would be difficult for President Dilman to find someone to fill a specialized position such as social secretary. Because of his-his background-his lack of knowledge of formal entertaining-it would make the position doubly burdensome. Few qualified ladies were prepared to undertake such responsibility for such meager recompense.”

“So you applied as a duty, in the same way a socialite might lend herself to hospital work?”

“If you want to put it that way, yes. I wanted to be of use, to do my part in maintaining the continuity of the social life in the White House.”

“You felt you were qualified?”

“I believed so. I had attended Radcliffe. I had handled the entertaining of account executives for an advertising agency in New York. I had often served as my father’s hostess. I believed that I was qualified, and apparently I was, for the President hired me during my first interview with him, and often congratulated me on my ability in managing his limited social affairs.”

“Did you find the position agreeable, Miss Watson?”

“In every respect except one.”

“Except one? Do I dare inquire in what area you found the position disagreeable?”

“I don’t mind. It is time the-the truth came out. Some of my friends begged me not to take the position. They said it was known that the President had been, well, carrying on with an unmarried white woman-of course, I later learned she was an unmarried mulatto woman-and that his morals were questionable. I ignored that as the inevitable rumor that precedes every new President into office.”

“You were generous, Miss Watson.”

“I don’t like to listen to petty gossip. And at first, the first few weeks, I believed that I was right. President Dilman behaved circumspectly. But then-”

“Go on, please, Miss Watson. Then what happened?”

“I don’t know. He-the President-seemed to begin to feel more confident about his office, his belonging up in the White House, and once the mourning for T. C. ceased, and he knew he was really the head man, his behavior altered. It was at first subtle, but it altered.”

“Can you give us any instances?”

“Oh, yes. His language became more imperious, coarser, and he was more demanding. Since we had many matters to confer about daily, he would insist, more and more frequently, that I come to see him in his bedroom or study, during the morning, while he was still in his pajamas. Sometimes he would demand that I stay on later at night, to meet with him the same way, and sometimes he drank in my presence and became heady.”

“Heady, Miss Watson?”

“Intoxicated. Perhaps Miss Gibson was right. He cannot hold drinks. Nevertheless, he drank. When he was under the influence of drink and we were alone-he would never permit me to bring another member of my staff along, not even his former secretary, Miss Fuller-he would become excessively informal. By that I mean he would make flattering allusions to my appearance, my features or my clothes. It made me uncomfortable. I hated to see him this way, and each time I couldn’t wait to leave him. I’m not a child, but there was something about him, the way he stared at me, that made me afraid.”

“I see. Until the night we shall discuss in a moment, the awful night he gave his true intent away, had President Dilman made an improper advance or gesture toward you?”

“No. He hinted at-at our dining alone sometime-spending a social evening together-but he never came out with it. I think he was inhibited by the possibility of gossip or what my father might say if I repeated it.”

“And, no doubt, he was put off by your own demeanor?”

“Oh, definitely. I was chilly and businesslike with him. It was so difficult, especially knowing, as I did, of his affair-or whatever you wish to call it-with another woman on the side.”

“But the President never touched you, physically, until the night in question?”

“No. If he had, I’d have quit on the spot, and told my father.”

“Miss Watson, we have arrived at the awful scene, the one that inspired the House of Representatives to condemn the morality of the nation’s President in Article III. I refer to the evening that the President, as specified in our charges, ‘while under the influence of intoxicants, made improper advances’ upon you ‘and did commit bodily harm’ to you.”

“It was an ugly experience.”

“The Senate and public will judge fairly the degree of the President’s degradation of his office, Miss Watson. I know their decision will never free your mind of the nightmare visited upon you, but you will know justice has been served. Let us, then, quickly and briefly recapitulate the events of that night. It was the evening of the dinner you had arranged on his behalf for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. There was a movie shown after dinner which you did not attend. Why did you not attend?”

“As we were leaving for the movie, the President drew me aside and whispered to me. He had a private conversation with me.”

“Yes, General Fortney has attested to that. What was the nature of the conversation?”

“The President said he wanted me to get out files on several of T. C.’s dinners given for the legislators, and review them with me, because he thought it was time to start buttering them up. He said he wanted to go over our future social program that very evening. He asked me to get the material and meet him in an hour in the Lincoln Bedroom. I had misgivings, because I could smell alcohol on his breath, but I had no choice. So I was there when he came.”

“What transpired next, Miss Watson? I know this is painful to you, and the evidence has already been introduced, but I desire that the Senate hear it from your own lips.”

“He came in-”

“President Dilman?”

“Yes, the President. He came in, and mumbled something about the movie, and brought out drinks, and kept insisting I have a drink of whiskey with him. I didn’t want to, but he forced one on me. He must have had three in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. I was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and he was sitting on the bed. He was babbling on about his life, what it was like to be Negro, how he was going to prove a Negro and other Negroes he’d bring into the Cabinet could run the government better than white politicians-then suddenly he asked to know if I had anything against him because of his color. I said no. There was more of this, his wanting to know how I felt toward him, then he began saying how he felt toward me, that I reminded him of his wife who was practically as white as I am. Then, suddenly, he asked me to bring him the papers I had in my hand, bring them to where he was sitting on the bed. So I did.”