“Ah, Madame President,” Parrish stammered. “After the press conference today, would that be wise?”
“It’s time to give poor Clarence a break,” she answered. Justice Clarence Wood was a widowed Supreme Court justice who served as Turner’s companion for functions that required an escort.
Parrish and Dennis exchanged worried glances.
“The Trog just walked in,” Brian said. He and Matt were standing in the new cadet side of the Post Exchange in John Ross Thomas Hall sipping Cokes. Until they were yearlings, they had to stand at the high tables in the section reserved for new cadets. But at least they were safe from upperclassmen. Zeth looked at them but said nothing and walked down the short flight of stairs to the lounge.
“Something’s buggin’ her,” Matt said.
A rare look of concern crossed Brian’s face. “Yeah.” Then he reverted to norm. “So who gives a shit?”
“I guess I do.” Matt sucked at his straw and drained his Coke. He picked up his backpack and followed her.
“Wait a minute,” Brian said. “I’ll go with you.” He dumped his Coke in the trash can and trotted down the stairs after Matt. They found Zeth at a small desk against a wall. She stared at a test paper. From four steps away they could see the big red F emblazoned on the front page. “You blow a big one?” Brian asked.
Zeth nodded. “It doesn’t make sense. I spend more time studying chemistry than all my other classes together and I still blow it.”
Brian sat down opposite her and looked at the test. He didn’t understand a word of it and handed the test to Matt. “Hey Maggot,” he said, enjoying the chance to rag her, “this looks like a piece of cake to me.”
Matt read the questions. “Carbon compounds is tough.”
“Tell me,” Zeth said. “This is my second shot at chemistry. If I don’t make it this time—” She stopped. There was no grade inflation at NMMI and approximately twenty cadets a year flunked out for grades.
“Take biology or geology,” Brian said. “They’re easier.” Then he relented. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“I’m not a total wuss,” she said.
Something in her voice reached Brian. “Then you gotta go for it. Look, why don’t you let Maggot tutor you? He’s getting me through biology. He knows all about this”—he almost said shit.
Zeth looked at Matt. “You do?”
Embarrassed, Matt shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah, I guess so. It just sort’a comes naturally.”
Brian got up and shoved Matt into his chair. “It won’t hurt to give it a try.” He picked up his backpack and headed out the door. He was always a little uncomfortable in the formal lounge. Then he reconsidered and went back inside. He dragged a chair up beside Zeth and sat down, joining in the study session.
“The simplest organic compounds are called hydrocarbons.” Matt began, listing a sequence of formulas. “Now watch how they’re related.”
Chuck Sanford, the Secret Service agent on duty, sat behind the desk with NMMI’s hostess, the trim and proper lady responsible for supervising the lounge and teaching cadets the social graces. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered, watching the three cadets.
“Mr. Turner is turning into a gentleman,” the hostess pronounced. “I’ve seen it happen before.”
ELEVEN
The blue Air Force staff car joined the line of cars pulling up to the White House. The driver was nervous and she kept glancing in the rearview mirror to check on her passenger. Pontowski sympathized with what the young airman was going through. “Your first time?”
“At night, yes, sir.” The young woman’s reply was a little too quick and the car jerked to a stop. A Marine guard opened the door and Pontowski got out. Automatically, he gave the short jacket of his dark blue formal uniform a tug. “Your hat, sir,” the driver said, handing him his wheel hat.
“Thank you,” Pontowski replied, tucking the hat under his arm for the short walk inside. “I always feel like a penguin in this outfit.”
“You look great, sir,” the driver said, confirming the truth of it. The mess dress uniform fitted him perfectly and he looked like he had stepped out of an Air Force recruiting poster.
Dennis was waiting for him. “General Pontowski, this way please.” Instead of going up the steps with the other guests, Dennis led the way to the second-floor residence. “You’ll escort the president down the main staircase,” he said. “At the bottom landing, stand aside and the president will proceed with the honor guard. An aide will take you to the State Dining Room where she will join you at the head table.”
Pontowski gave a low laugh. “Been there, done that.”
Dennis recovered nicely. “Ah, yes. When your grandfather was president. I doubt that much has changed.” He held open the door and Pontowski entered the family quarters. The old memories came rushing back and for a moment, he was a young second lieutenant and his grandfather was the president of the United States. He smiled when he saw his grandmother’s favorite chair by the fireplace. The elegant and kind woman called Tosh had really raised him after the death of his parents. Then he saw it. His grandfather’s portrait hung over the fireplace.
“The likeness is startling,” Maura said from behind him. “He was a handsome man.” Pontowski turned around. “No hugs,” she declared. “You’ll ruin the getup.” Then she hugged him anyway. “Ouch. Those medals are sharp. What are they for anyway?”
He pointed to the Distinguished Flying Cross. “Well, this one is because my group had 40 percent fewer cavities and—”
She touched another medal, interrupting him. “That’s a Purple Heart isn’t it?”
“I had a bad day.”
“Please, be serious.”
“Must I?”
“Yes, Matt, you must. Maddy likes you, more than she’s willing to admit. Sarah adores you and Brian, well, let’s just say you’re the good example he needs in his life.”
“But this is Washington,” Pontowski added, “and there are no rules for the first woman president. Especially a widow.” His grandfather had taught him well.
“She can be hurt,” Maura murmured, not thinking at all of Washington and its immortal politicians and bureaucrats who treated presidents as temporary interlopers on their terrain.
The door opened and Maddy walked in with a beaming Sarah. “Wow,” Pontowski managed. It was a classic understatement.
“You look lovely, darlin’,” Maura said. Maddy was wearing a slim floor-length dark blue evening dress with narrow straps that gave full play to her bare shoulders and intriguing hints of a trim figure. Her trademark gold chain was gone and, in its place, she wore a thin diamond necklace. The small pendant earrings matched perfectly. “I love your hair,” Maura said, passing her most critical judgment. Maddy’s hair was pulled back off her face and held in a simple arrangement that fell to her shoulders. But it was her gown that demanded a second look and would spur the fashion pundits to create new superlatives for understated elegance and glamour.
“We seem to be a matching pair,” Maddy said, joining Pontowski by the fireplace. She reached out and adjusted his bow tie. “Oh. It’s a real one. I didn’t know men still knew how to tie them.”
“My grandmother taught me.”
“Wasn’t she English?” Maura asked.
“The Lady Wilhelmina Crafton. Everyone called her Tosh.”
“Tosh,” Maddy mused. “What an unusual name.”
“I don’t know where it came from. I asked them about it once but they only smiled at each other. I think it goes back to when they met. My grandfather was flying with the Royal Air Force in World War II and was wounded, actually pretty badly. My grandmother never used her title after they were married. She became an American citizen in 1952.”