“Nice to see you again, Mr. Feist,” one barely had time to mumble back as the limo shot by.
“You’ve been here before,” Jack observed.
“I worked here, under two different presidents,” Bill noted with an obviously insincere attempt at modesty.
A young naval officer packing enough ribbons and gold braid to capsize a battleship escorted the foursome upstairs, then across a broad hallway, straight into the spacious state dining room, where more than a hundred guests in resplendent finery were already congregated, sharing drinks, stuffing hors d’oeuvres down their throats, and gabbing about important subjects.
Eva and Eleanor were instantly adored by every male in the room. By far the two youngest guests, the most scantily dressed, and the loveliest, half the room admired them with every cell in their body.
The other half plainly detested them.
On just one side of the room alone, Jack picked out the secretary of state, secretary of defense, and chairman of the Joint Chiefs huddled together with their wives. Slightly to their right, the clutch of bespectacled gents whispering seriously among themselves were either Supreme Court justices or excellent imitations.
Bill and Eleanor split off, leaving Jack and Eva to drink, chat, and ponder the incredible fact that they were in the White House. The White House!
Bill immediately launched into a fast-paced whirl, virtually dancing around the room, gripping illustrious hands, complimenting the ladies, flitting from group to group, pollinating laughter in his wake.
If he was trying to impress Jack with who he-and by extension, the boys of CG-rubbed shoulders with, the performance was nothing short of impressive.
On several occasions Eva pointed out some luminary. “Who’s the big man Bill’s talking to? Isn’t he a movie star or something?”
“Was. I think now he’s governor of California,” Jack answered.
“What about the lady beside him? I’m sure I recognize her face.”
“On his left, the attorney general. The other one, the good-looking blonde, she’s the intern the president’s sleeping with.”
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” Eva asked, looking more closely at the woman.
“I am, and you can stop now, Eva. The room is loaded with ridiculously famous people. I get it. Any moment they’ll notice I don’t belong here, and I’ll be forced to start waiting tables.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jack smiled. “Are you supposed to hustle me all night or can we have fun?”
Rather than pretend embarrassment, Eva laughed. “Am I that obvious?”
“I had you at hello.”
“I’m wounded,” she said, smiling coyly, apparently relieved to surrender her duties.
Suddenly the president and First Lady, accompanied by another couple, entered; the military band in the corner launched into a gusty version of “Hail to the Chief” and the roomful of powerful people began filtering dutifully in the direction of a reception line. Jack overheard somebody mention that accompanying the president and First Lady were the king and queen of a country he had failed to catch the name of, but where apparently everybody was tall, cadaverously thin, and had terrible complexions.
The royals stood shuffling their feet, making no effort to disguise that they were already bored out of their minds.
Eva grabbed Jack’s arm and nearly dragged him to the line. They found themselves crushed between a famous movie producer and a handsome, scowling senator who had run against the president and got creamed. The campaign had been long and nasty, an ugly mudfest. Together, they had polled the lowest voter turnout in history. It was the most expensive, and by general agreement, least inspiring campaign in history.
There was only one conceivable reason the senator was invited here tonight: “Hey, you sorry, loudmouthed loser, how do you like my digs?” they could picture the president asking him with a spiteful grin.
And the rampant rumors about the senator’s love life appeared to be accurate. He quietly ignored everything and everybody-that is, everything but Eva’s long legs and admirable fanny. The movie producer, on the other hand, launched into a long, simmering diatribe about the appalling situation in Swaziland. An obscure tribe of pygmies was apparently at risk of extinction from an equally indistinct disease the director pronounced differently each time he mentioned it. If only Americans didn’t care so little about the world, he moaned with a light flip of his hand, a miracle cure could be found. But for American indifference and stinginess, the tribe could be saved. Indeed, the only reason he had deigned to come here tonight, he confided loudly enough to be heard by everybody in the line, was to bring this abominable issue to the attention of Washington.
“A whole tribe? How awful,” Eva remarked, pinching Jack’s arm.
“Isn’t it?” the by now red-faced director snorted. “A whole line of DNA lost forever. What a terrible, terrible waste.”
“Maybe you should make a movie to bring it to the world’s attention,” Jack suggested, trying not to laugh.
The famous director’s face instantly shrank into a wrinkled scowl. “Yes… well, unfortunately, there’s no money in it.”
“How sad,” Jack said and he meant it.
The movie director was politely but firmly pushed and shoved through the handshakes before he could get out a half-strangled sentence about this poor ignored tribe and the poisonous microbe-like that, an entire tribe doomed to the dustbin of history.
Eva went next: nobody shoved or hurried her through. In fact, the president awarded her an extra ten or twenty hardfisted pumps with a smile that nearly broke his jaw.
Then it was Jack shaking the most powerful hand in the world. “Nice to meet you,” the president said, gripping and grinning with vigor.
“My pleasure, sir,” Jack replied, trying gracefully to ease out of his clasp and move on.
The president wouldn’t let go. He bent forward. “Hey, ain’t you the fella with that miracle goop I been hearing about?”
“Actually, it’s-”
“Jack, our boys are dyin’ like cattle over there.”
“Yes sir, I know.”
“Oughta get that stuff over there soon as possible.”
“I believe it might-”
“You know, you couldn’t do better than the Capitol Group.” The president’s free hand landed on Jack’s shoulder and squeezed. The smile widened and the grip tightened.
“I’ll definitely think about it, sir.”
“Do that, Jack,” he said, suddenly quite serious, before he flashed his trademark silly, lopsided, dismissive grin. “Anything I can do, be sure to let me know.”
The ambassadorship to the Court of St. James’s would fit the bill rather nicely, Jack was tempted to say, but a well-practiced shove from the president’s shoulder hand interceded and Jack found himself walking beside Eva to their dinner table.
“That was amazing,” Eva announced, shaking her head, leaving it unclear whether she meant meeting the president or the arm-twisting over CG.
Actually, it wasn’t at all unclear. “Absolutely amazing,” Jack agreed. The president of the United States had just hawked the Capitol Group. How much did that cost? he wondered.
“He’s right, you know.”
“That might be a first,” Jack replied. “Hasn’t been right about much so far.”
“I promise I won’t say another word after this,” Eva told him, placing her hand on his arm as they walked. “CG has the strength and resources to make your dreams come true, Jack.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
“You’ll sign with CG?”
“Don’t say another word. More champagne?”
The dinner was lovely and delicious, the speeches predictably horrible, with the president mangling the names of the pimply king and queen, and they danced till eleven before Jack reminded Feist of his promise to have him home by midnight.
Eva offered to fly back up with him, Jack politely and regretfully declined, said his thanks to Feist, and by twelve-thirty was sleeping peacefully in his bed.