They were shown out of the West Wing, and their driver hurried over to them with an umbrella. On the way to the car, Adair asked, "What did he say?"
"Nothing."
"Does he think you accepted the job?"
"He does."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll think it over."
"Good. I've made a reservation for lunch."
They got into the car, and Adair said to the driver, "Ritz-Carlton."
They left the grounds of the White House, and the car made its way through the rain-splashed streets heavy with lunch hour traffic. Adair said, "You showed just the right amount of reserve and reticence. They don't like people who seem too eager or too self-promoting."
"Charlie, this was not a job interview. It was a draft notice."
"Whatever."
"Would you take that job?"
"In a heartbeat."
"You should take some time off to evaluate your life, my friend."
"I have no life. I'm a federal employee."
"You worry me."
"You worry me. You in love?"
"That's irrelevant. I don't want to return to Washington."
"Even if there were no Annie Baxter?"
"This subject is closed."
They rode in silence, and Keith watched the city go by outside his window. He'd had some good times here, he admitted, but the extremely rigid structure and pecking order of official Washington went against his democratic instincts, which was one of the paradoxes of the place.
Each administration that he'd served had started out with its own unique style, its own vision, energy, optimism, and idealism. But within a year, the entrenched bureaucracy reexerted its suffocating influence, and about a year after that, the new administration began getting pessimistic, isolated, and divided with internal conflicts and squabbles. The man in the Oval Office aged quickly, and the Ship of State chugged on, unsinkable and unsteerable, with no known destination.
Keith Landry had jumped ship, or more precisely been thrown overboard and washed ashore in Spencerville. A lady on the beach had been very good to him, but now his shipmates beckoned him to return. The lady could go with him if he wished, but he was reluctant to show her the real nature of this gleaming white ship, or introduce her to his crewmates for fear she'd wonder what type of man he really was. The ship would not wait much longer, and the native chief of the island, the lady's husband, just ordered him off the island. He said to Charlie, "Sometimes you get into one of those situations where, even if you wanted to take the easy way out, there isn't one."
"Right. But you, Keith, have always had a unique knack for finding just that situation."
Keith smiled and replied, "You mean I do these things on purpose?"
"The evidence seems to point that way. And you usually do it all by yourself. Even when other people put you in tough situations, you find ways to make it tougher. And when people offer to help you out of a bad situation, you turn them down."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Maybe it's my background of self-reliant farming."
"Maybe. Maybe you're just a contrary, stubborn, and ornery prick."
"There's that possibility. Can I call you on the phone now and then when I need more analysis?"
"You never call anyone. I'll call you."
"Was I difficult to work with?"
"Don't get me started." He added, "But I'd take you back in a second."
"Why?"
"You never let anyone down. Not ever. I guess that's the situation you find yourself in now. But your loyalties have changed."
"Yeah... somewhere on the road between Washington and Spencerville, I had a conversion."
"Try to take shorter drives. Speaking of which, here we are."
Chapter Twenty-five
They entered the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and walked into the Jockey Club, where the waiter welcomed Mr. Adair by name. As he showed them to a table for two near the far wall, everyone else checked them out.
This was one of the power restaurants in Washington, Keith knew, and had been for over thirty years since it opened and Jackie Kennedy was one of the first customers.
It was a masculine, clublike place, but the women seemed to like the food and the attention, he recalled. Washington, in fact, was a masculine town despite being the foremost equal opportunity employer, the spiritual home of politically correct and nonsexist language and laws. Some women here had power, to be sure, but it was a town whose fundamental attitudes toward females had lagged far behind the public utterances. For one thing, Keith knew, young, good-looking women outnumbered their male counterparts by some unhealthy ratio. For another thing, power was an aphrodisiac, and the men had it. The women who came to Washington from the hinterlands to work as government secretaries and aides were often the type who were content to bask in reflected power. In other words, the women in official Washington were furniture and happy to be polished and sat on once in a while. Everyone denied this, of course, and in Washington that meant it was true.
There were changes in the air, to be sure, but aside from a handful of rich and powerful old Washington dowagers, there weren't many women dining with other women in the Jockey Club.
Keith hadn't come here often, but when he did, he'd noticed that the place was fairly nonpartisan in regard to politics. Barbara Bush and Nancy Reagan were as likely to be at the corner table as were black civil rights leaders Vernon Jordan and Jesse Jackson. The place was heavy with media stars as well, and on this afternoon, Keith spotted Mike Wallace and George Will at separate tables. People seemed to be taking mental notes of who was dining with whom. Keith asked Charlie, "Will anyone important be joining us? We're disappointing these people."
Charlie lit a cigarette. "You could be here in a few weeks, wearing the uniform of a general."
"Generals are a dime a dozen in this town, colonels are office boys, and I don't wear my uniform anyway."
"Right. But you could have your secretary call and say, 'This is the White House. I'd like to make a reservation for General Landry.' "
"Hey, that's almost as important as actually doing the job."
"Well, then, think about this — with a promotion and thirty years' service, your retirement pay will be nearly double, and you can live comfortably. You'd still be a young man when you retire."
"What's it to you, Charlie?"
"I'd like to have you around again."
"I won't be around you. I'll be across the street."
"I'd like to have a friend in the White House."
"Ah. The motive."
"I'm also thinking of your best interests."
"That's two of us." He added, "I appreciate that." The waiter came, and Keith ordered a double Scotch on the rocks. Charlie had his usual vodka with a twist.
Charlie said, "I've booked you at the Four Seasons tomorrow. I figured you'd want to be in Georgetown."
"Who's paying for all this?"
"White House."
"Including tomorrow night with my married girlfriend?"
"Anyway, if you take the two-fifteen out of Toledo tomorrow, you should be in your room by five. I'll call you, and we'll all have dinner in Georgetown."
"Fine."
"We'll do a nice tour of the city on Monday, and by Tuesday, you'll have talked it over with her and come to a decision."
"In other words, I don't have to be at work on Monday morning?"
"I'll take care of that. We'll get you a residency hotel until you find something. I'll get that approved."
"Thank you."
Keith studied the menu.
Charlie said, "With a promotion, you can afford a town house in Georgetown."
"I doubt it."
"What's a brigadier general make these days? About eighty-five thousand?"