Bentley Little - The Collection

"You got it."

"I'll speak to the groups individually, by job classifica­tion, explain the situation."

Simons nodded. "You want to do it in the Oval Office?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get right on it."

They parted halfway down the corridor and Adam con­tinued on to the Oval Office alone. He was struck each time he entered the room by how small it was. All the rooms in the White House were smaller than he'd imagined them to be. The building had been designed and constructed a long time ago, of course, but he'd expected the rooms to be big­ger than those in his Palm Springs house, and the fact that they weren't left him feeling disappointed and a little un­easy.

He walked over to his desk, sat down, swiveled his chair I, around to look out the window. He was filled with a strange I lethargy, a desire to just sit here and do nothing. For the first I time in his life, he had no real boss, no one standing over I him, and if he chose to unplug his phone and spend the afternoon staring out at the lawn, he could do so.

Power.

There would be demands on his time, of course. Obliga­tions and commitments. A lot of pressure, a lot of responsi­bility. But the federal government ran itself for the most part. He didn't need to micromanage everything. And if he wanted to, he could simply let it all slide.

No. He had to stop thinking that way. He had gone after this job for a reason. He had ideas. He had an agenda. And I he planned to go down in history as an effective activist, as a competent administrator and visionary leader, not as the first slacker president.

Simons led in the first group of employees—butlers and maids—sometime later, and Adam stood, smiling blandly, wanting to appear friendly and personable but not wanting to instill a false sense of security. "I'm sure Mr. Simons told you why I've asked you here to the Oval Office." He nod­ded toward the chief of staff. "As I'm sure you're well aware, we have a fairly serious budget crisis facing us this year, and as I'm sure you're also aware, I promised the American people that I would cut government spending by a third and that I would not exempt myself from this edict. I will receive no special privileges but will sacrifice along with everyone else. This means, I'm afraid, that we will be eliminating some White House staff positions. We've looked at this from every angle, and while we've considered cutting the total number of employees by doing away with certain departments, we have decided that it is fairer to sim­ply cut each department by a third."

A balding elderly man in a butler's uniform stepped for­ward. "Excuse me, sir?"

Adam held up his hand. "Don't worry. The layoffs will be by seniority—"

"There aren't going to be any layoffs, sir. You can't make any cuts in staff."

Adam smiled sympathetically. "Mr.—?"

"Crowther, sir."

"Mr. Crowther, I understand your concern, and believe me I sympathize."

"I don't think you do understand, sir. I'm sorry, but you can't fire any of us."

"Can't fire you?"

"We report directly to Buckingham Palace."

Adam looked over at Simons, who shrugged, equally confused.

"We're not under you. We work for you, but we're not employed by you. Sir."

Adam shook his head. "Hold on here."

"We report to Buckingham Palace."

He was growing annoyed. "What does Buckingham Palace have to do with anything?"

"Ahh." The butler nodded. "I understand now. Nobody told you. No one explained to you."

"Explained what?"

"You are not the head of the United States government."

"Of course I am! I'm ... I'm the president!"

"Well, you are the president, but the presidency is a fic­tion, a powerless position created by the Palace. The presi­dent is a figurehead. Someone to make speeches and television appearances, to keep the masses happy."

"The president is the leader of the Free World."

"I'm afraid, sir, that that distinction belongs to the Queen of England."

Crowther was still as calm and unruffled as ever, and there was something unnerving about that. It was under­standable that the butler would try to save his job or the jobs of his friends, it was even conceivable that he would lie in order to accomplish that goal, but this was so bizarre, so far out of left field, that it made no sense. If this was a lie, it was a damn creative one.

If this was a lie?

Adam looked into the butler's eyes.

Yes. If.

He licked his lips, cleared his throat, tried to project a confidence he did not really feel. "We fought and won a war of independence over two hundred years ago," he said. "The Declaration of Independence is our seminal national docu­ment."

"Independence?" The butler laughed. "America's not in­dependent. That was a PR stunt to placate the natives."

The rest of the hired help was nodding in agreement.

Adam felt cold. There was nothing to indicate that this was a joke, and the casual, almost nonchalant way in which the butlers and maids were reacting to the whole situation gave everything a boost of verisimilitude. He looked over at Simons for help, but his chief of staff was staring blankly back at him, obviously shaken.

Did Simons believe it?

Yes, he thought. And he did, too. He did not know why, but he knew that Crowther was telling the truth, and as he stared out at the faces of the domestic staff, he felt like the stupidest kid in class, the one who did not catch on to con­cepts until well after everyone else.

His entire worldview and take on history had been in­stantly changed by a meeting with a group of servants he'd intended to fire.

He took a deep breath. "You're saying we're ... still a colony?"

"Quite right, sir."

"But independence is the bedrock of our national charac­ter. We pride ourselves on not only our national independ­ence but our personal freedom. Our individuality is what makes us American."

"And we encourage that. It is why America is our most productive colony."

Colony.

It was as if all of the air had been vacuumed out of his lungs. He licked his lips, trying to drum up some saliva. He had never been so frightened in his life. Not during his first term as a senator when he'd been broke and read in the newspaper that the staff member with whom he had been having an affair was about to file a multimillion dollar sex­ual harassment suit against him, not when he'd been on the Armed Services committee and a right-wing wacko who had |; threatened his life showed up after hours at his home. He did not know why he was so scared, but he was, and the Oval Office felt suddenly hot, stifling. Five minutes ago, he had intended to keep one of his minor campaign promises to the nation and lay off some members of the White House staff. Now he was cowering before a group of servants, intimi­dated by their unnatural calm, by their proper British ac­cents. He felt powerless, impotent, emasculated, but he forced himself to maintain the facade, to keep up the benev­olent leader demeanor. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't believe you."

"That's perfectly all right, sir. Nixon and Carter had a dif­ficult time believing it as well." Crowther smiled. "Ford and Reagan accepted it instantly."

He couldn't resist. "Clinton? The Bushes?"

"They all got used to it, sir. As will you."

"So you're saying the United States is ruled by ... ?"

"The queen."

"But the queen's a figurehead as well. Britain has a par­liamentary democracy—"

The butler chuckled. "Parliamentary democracy? No such thing. Again, it keeps the peasants happy, makes them think they're somehow involved. The truth is, the prime minister's like you. A front. It's the queen who runs every­thing. Always has, always will."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"I don't accept this. I was elected by a majority of the citizens of the United States to be their leader, and I will not take orders from anyone else."