Erich Segal - The Class

“No, thank you,” she politely overruled him. “I’m still feeling a bit chilly.”

And she kept the garment draped over her shoulder, with the offending sleeve as conspicuous as possible.

“Cathy,” said George nervously. “Do you know what th? hell you’re doing?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Do you? Look, if you want to date me, you have to take my principles too. They come with the package.”

“But people are staring,” he whispered. “Important people.”

“Don’t be paranoid, George. I only wish they were. This restaurant is closer to the seat of power than the White House gates.”

He shook his head in consternation.

“Can’t we even have a truce at the dinner table?”

“I’m certainly not in favor of belligerence.” She smiled. So Ill compromise for once and put you out of your misery.”

With that, she took the sleeve of her coat and slowly began to tear the armband from it.

Anyone who had not noticed it before now knew it had been there. Especially since Cathy handed it across the table to George, with an innocent smile.

“Here, Dr. Keller, use it as you see fit.”

Now, having made her point, she considerately changed the conversation to an issue of mutual interest. Was Henry Kissinger going to marry Nancy Maginnes or not?

“Why do I put up with you?” he asked, only half-jokingly, as they were driving home.

“Because, to paraphrase one of your heroes, Senator Goldwater, ‘in your heart you know I’m right.’ ”

“But it’s common knowledge that I don’t have a heart,” he replied.

“I disagree. It’s well hidden, but it’s there. Which is why I put up with you.”

Catherine Fitzgerald was not alone among the junior and senior members of the National Security Council who were trying to persuade the government to veer from what they regarded as a suicidal course.

Naturally, being “Kissinger’s shadow,” George not only held opposing views but was actively involved in the escalation of hostilities. Nixon still wanted a victory, and his inner circle was determined to give him one. They would spare no effort. And no bombs.

“Can’t you convince Henry that this is folly?” Cathy asked George one evening.

“Can’t you forget about the war even when we’re in bed?” he retorted.

“No, I can’t. Please George, I know he respects your opinion.”

“I can’t make him end it just like that.”

“You could try,” she said softly. And then added, “It’s going to get even worse, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do, too. But you just don’t trust me. Why? I’m not some undercover agent. Can’t you level with me?”

“Cathy, I swear I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“What do you think?” he asked, kissing her again.

On April 20, 1970, President Nixon announced that 150,000 American troops would be withdrawn from South Vietnam the following spring. The doves took heart.

Two days later, Nixon began a series of secret meetings with Kissinger and a few trusted aides. To discuss widening the war by invading neutral Cambodia, to destroy the enemy’s supply depots.

George was proud to be one of those who Kissinger regarded as trustworthy enough to include in these strategy sessions. His pride increased when he realized that not even the Secretary of Defense was present.

Nixon was in an angry mood. “The damn North Vietnamese are romping in Cambodia. We’ve got to move boldly to show them and the Russians that we can hang tough.”

“Not everybody in the State Department would agree with you, Mr. President,” George dared to comment respectfully.

“Jerks,” murmured Nixon.

On Sunday, April 26, 1970, the President decided to commit thirty-two thousand American troops to the invasion of Cambodia. In his own words: “Knock them all out.” Plans were finalized with the military in Southeast Asia without the knowledge of several key cabinet members.

That same afternoon, the National Security Council met to debate the merits of a possible Cambodian invasion, Only a few of them knew that the decision had already been made. The attack was set to begin forty-eight hours later.

Kissinger “objectively” presented the argument to his assembled staff.

“We have a very stark choice,” he began gravely. “We could permit North Vietnam to overrun Cambodia. Or we could commit troops and try to stop them. A successful attack might be a step toward achieving an honorable peace. Any comments?”

Many speakers had deep misgivings about this potential escalation.

Though she was by far the most junior person present, Catherine Fitzgerald bravely raised her hand. “With due respect, I think if the government goes ahead with this invasion, every campus in America will explode.”

Kissinger answered her calmly. “Our decision must not be swayed by a group of rootless, self-indulgent adolescents with no sense of political realities.”

Catherine could not stop herself from responding, “Isn’t that a bit harsh, Dr. Kissinger?”

“Perhaps that was an overgeneralization. I beg your pardon, Miss Fitzgerald.”

The debate grew more heated and even less conclusive.

“I’m glad you called Henry on that antistudent remark,” George said, as they were sharing a bottle of white wine in her apartment that evening. “But I think if you weren’t so pretty you wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

She brushed off the compliment and remarked, “You were certainly quiet today.”

“I don’t think I had anything to add,” he replied evasively. “Besides, everybody knows where I stand.”

“Yes. Right behind Kissinger. The point is, where does he stand?”

“I don’t know,” George lied.

Though the President did not announce it officially till the evening of April 30, the National Security Council was informed of the U.S. invasion of Cambodia on April 28.

There was outrage among some of the members, who realized that the entire debate on Sunday had been nothing but a charade. Several senior members stormed into Henry’s office and immediately resigned.

But the disaffection was even more widespread among the younger aides, some of whom cut off promising government careers to quit in protest.

Catherine Fitzgerald was among the first to leave. And after delivering a strongly worded letter to one of Kissinger’s secretaries, she marched ten paces down the corridor to the office of George Keller.

“You bastard!” she exploded before he had even shut the door. “You ruthless, heartless bastard! You have no respect for anything or anyone. You and that Svengali of yours trifle with human lives —”

“Cathy, please calm down —”

“No, let me finish, George. Because today I’m walking out of the White House and out of your life.”

“Cathy, be reasonable. I’m not responsible —”

“But you knew ! You knew and you didn’t even trust me enough to tell me.”

“Well, I was right, judging by this hysterical reaction,” George countered.

“It isn’t hysterical — dammit. It’s human. In all your great assimilation of English words, George, did you ever really learn the meaning of that word?”

Before he could reply, she disappeared.

He sat motionless at his desk for several minutes, mulling over what had happened.

I suppose it was inevitable, he rationalized. Anyway, we couldn’t have gone on much longer fighting our own private war.

Maybe Henry’s right. Women should only be a hobby.

Six days later, after four students were killed at Kent State University in a protest demonstration, a taxi driver appeared at George Keller’s home, bearing a battered suitcase.