Charles Sheffield - Aftermath

“I guess I’m on my own.”

Saul walked through to the outer office. The two drinks had been strong ones, and he felt slightly off balance.

“Auden, I don’t think I will be back in the office this evening.”

“Very good, sir.”

“I will not be leaving the White House. I will have no need of security, and short of another supernova or a major war I do not want to be interrupted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Still no hint of censure, but as Saul walked past, Travis added, “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Since you will not be working here, I would like to go out for the evening. Friends of mine are holding a small party, and they have invited me.”

“Go, Auden, go. Have some fun. Fill the cup that cheers. You know what they say, all work and no play . . .”

He walked on, wondering what had made Auden Travis jerk up in his chair at those final words. Did Auden have some assignation of his own? If he did, good luck to him. The man deserved a break.

The interior of the White House was unusually quiet. Saul’s heart was thumping as he walked slowly to the west wing dining room. He wondered why he was having dinner with Tricia at all; it no longer seemed a good idea.

She was the only person in the room, seated at a long, low-backed green couch on the wall by the window. As he entered she came to her feet and turned toward him in a single graceful movement.

“Saul! It’s wonderful to see you.”

No hint in her manner of any breakup. No suggestion of a two-year separation. Tricia was elegant as ever, dressed in a knee-length dress of midnight blue that outlined her small, firm breasts and showed off one bare shoulder. The kiss on the cheek that she gave Saul was a model of proper formality. But before she moved away she kissed him again, a quick and searching contact of lips and tongue with quite a different message.

“Here,” she went on calmly. She turned to the side table, picked up two glasses of white wine, and handed the fuller one to Saul. “I was drinking before you arrived. I don’t want to get too far ahead — you know me, two glasses and I’m out of it.”

Saul took a cautious sip. It tasted like a fine Puligny Montrachet, with none of the additives that Tricia on occasion indulged in. She didn’t know he’d had two substantial scotches and was actually ahead of her.

Or did she? She might well have smelled whiskey on his breath. Tricia was alert in all her senses.

And she was as beautiful as ever.

“It’s good to see you, too, Tricia. Where’s Pomerance? He was supposed to be here.”

“He was. I told Mungo that if he didn’t mind I wanted to serve dinner for you myself. I’ve known him for ages, and like a dear he agreed.”

Tricia’s comment went beyond a simple statement of fact. Her acquaintance with the White House extended beyond Saul’s tenure. He could certainly deal with Mungo Pomerance, the White House head of arrangements and master of the kitchen for fifteen years, but he would hesitate to attempt what Tricia had done, banishing the majestic and magisterial Pomerance from his own domain.

See, Tricia was saying. I know how to handle the White House staff, and they like me. Wouldn’t I make a wonderful First Lady?

The truth was, she would. Tricia had all the charm and social graces that Saul felt he lacked. She was at ease with diplomats and ministers. At the same time, her early years had given her a rapport with service personnel from waitresses to window washers. She would make a marvelous First Lady for President Saul Steinmetz.

There was, of course, a minor problem. Tricia happened to be married to someone else.

“How’s your husband?” Saul asked abruptly.

Tricia glanced at him over the top of her glass, her dark eyes catching color from her dress. “Joseph is fine.”

It was a typical Tricia answer. She had never said one negative word to Saul about her former husbands, why would she be any different with her current one? But there was an obvious next question: Does Joseph Goldsmith know you are here tonight, dining alone with a former lover?

Saul did not ask. Tricia could reply, in all innocence, that she had no idea they would be dining alone. Hadn’t Saul told her that he had business to conduct, and others would be present?

On the other hand, she knew his strong preference for one-on-one meetings.

She gestured to the table, where two places were set on the red cloth. “I don’t want to rush you, but if I don’t get some food soon, the wine will make me woozy.”

Saul sat down. He had offered the dinner invitation, but Tricia was apparently in charge. She was over by the side table, adding dressing to the endive salad, tossing it, and transferring it into two bowls using a long silver fork and spoon. She lifted the lids of the serving dishes and rapidly served medallions of beef, green beans, roasted peppers, and potato croquettes. The portions were generous.

“Pour the wine, would you?”

Again there was an unstated message. I know you like to handle the wine. I know you like your salad served at the same time as your entree. I know you like your plate well filled. I know you’d starve rather than eat a parsnip. I know your tastes, you see — all your tastes. Don’t we make a wonderful couple?

We do indeed. But we’re not a couple anymore. Saul poured the wine, a Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon ’05. Tricia possessed an uncanny ability to ferret out his likes and dislikes and remember them exactly. She would never wear yellow when they were together, or serve him cheese at less than room temperature, or pour wine into small glasses, or bring cooked cabbage or tomato juice within a mile of him.

“Here’s to us.” She slipped into her usual seat on his left, squeezed his hand for a moment, and raised her wineglass. “You’ll have to say if this is all right. I opened it to let it breathe, but you know me and red wines. I never can tell.”

Saul tasted the wine, aware as he did so that her fingers were gently rubbing his palm. “It’s fine. In fact, better than fine. Splendid.”

It was as if there had been no breakup between them, no election, no long separation, no supernova; the world not in chaos, whole continents not blighted, darkened Washington beyond the curtained window not torn by upheaval worse than the burning of the sixties or the Turnabout riots of ’07.

Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return. The temptation was strong. For one evening at least, bring the past alive; eat, drink, talk, and laugh together, and see where the night leads.

But to do that, you must forget the suffering beyond the White House walls. While you are enjoying your meal, dining as well as if there has been no worldwide disaster, what are Americans across the country eating? Are they eating at all?

You are the President of all the people.

Saul ate and drank in silence. He was a man complex enough to enjoy thoroughly the food and wine, while at the same time aware of those less fortunate. After a few minutes he realized that Tricia was staring at him, waiting.

She smiled when she caught his eye. “Ignore me, sweetie. I know you have lots on your mind. I’m fine just sitting here. Unless you feel like talking about it?”

She leaned over and refilled his glass. He noticed that hers was almost untouched. Tricia had the same attitude as Henry Ford, who believed that a car could be any color so long as it was black. For Tricia, a wine could be any color provided it was white.

He had nothing to say; then suddenly, with Tricia’s eyes fixed steadily on him, he desperately needed to spill out the thoughts that had been boiling in his mind for the past two weeks.

He pushed away his empty plate. “I was thinking this afternoon about the supernova. Trying to put it in some sort of perspective. I started to think about my father. I’ve told you about him before, haven’t I?”