“Rather sensitive.”
“Hayden,” the President said, “we both know that he’s already told you what it is. So why don’t you just tell me and I’ll promise to sound surprised when he tells me.”
“President Urumbaga is going to announce that he’s pegging the Colombian peso to the price of cocaine in Miami.”
“And what am I supposed to do about that?” the President said.
“Essentially, the country is switching to what he calls an economía blanca. A white economy. He’s in effect legalizing cocaine.”
“He can’t do that. Can he?”
“Well, I’m sure the National Assembly has to be consulted. But you know how that goes down there. How it becomes our problem is that he’s declaring it legal export.”
“For God’s sake,” the President said. “We gave him a state visit last year. South Lawn ceremony, military band, testimonial speeches, dinner, entertainment by whatsername, Gloria Estefan and the Miami Noise Machine…”
“Sound Machine, I think.”
“I’d say that’s a matter of opinion. He swore-up, down, and sideways-he was committed to the drug war. ‘We stand with you against this scourge.’ His exact words. And now- this?”
“According to Elan’s people, he doesn’t really have much choice. The narcos kidnapped the last of his family last week. You’ll recall his wife and mother-in-law were taken hostage right after they returned from the state visit here. So he’s got the proverbial gun to the head.”
The President stared out the Rose Garden window. “All right,” he said, “send in the Nimitz. Maybe that’ll get their attention.”
Hayden pursed his lips. “Perhaps not the Nimitz, sir?”
“Why not? Is it in dry dock or something?”
“I know you don’t watch much television, sir, but Dexter Mitchell, he’s in a show now. It’s doing rather well. He plays a president.”
Vanderdamp snorted. “Finally. I know all about that. It’s called POTUS. President Lovebucket or some such. My grandchildren watch. They like it. They tease me about it. Little Ann Marie told me, ‘He’s more handsomer than you are, Grampy.’ Ha-ha. I said, ‘Well, if that’s the way you feel, I’m not going to name that new national park after you.’ Ha-ha-ha! Darling thing. Looks just like her mother when she was that age…”
“Yes, well, President Lovestorm, his solution to every crisis is to send in the Nimitz.”
“So?”
“I’m all for giving the Colombians the heebie-jeebies, sir, but why don’t we suggest to the Joint Chiefs they send in the George H. W. Bush or the Theodore Roosevelt or…”
“I don’t care what aircraft carrier we use,” President Vanderdamp said. “But for God’s sake, Hayden. What’s it come to when you can’t use an aircraft carrier because some TV president is using it.”
“Let me check with Admiral Stavridis, see what we have on station down there.”
“What’s happening, Hayden?” the President said philosophically. “You can’t tell anymore what’s real and what isn’t. Everything’s all jumbled. The world has been reduced to a wide-screen TV.”
“Yes, sir. With respect to that, it appears President Lovebucket has engaged Buss Scrump to form an exploratory committee.”
“For God’s sake.”
WOULD YOU KNOW ANYTHING about this?” Buddy said.
He was standing, florid faced, in Dexter’s dressing room, thrusting his BlackBerry at his star. Dexter, recoiling slightly, saw the headline on the little screen:
‘POTUS’ FOR PRESIDENT? DEXTER MITCHELL IN (REAL) PRESIDENTIAL BID
“Well, how about that,” Dexter said airily. “Great publicity for the show, huh?”
“Yeah. Wonderful. So. Is this true?”
“It’s true that there’s a groundswell out there. You saw that poll in USA Today. Some folks down in DC thought, well, let’s see how deep it is. It’s just in the, you know, exploratory phase at this point.”
Buddy stared. “Dexter, give it to me straight. Are you running for president?”
“It’s a complicated process, Buddy. My gosh. First you have to file a thousand forms. Then you have to get thousands of signatures just to quality for-”
“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me: did you hire this guy Shrump-”
“Scrump.”
“Whatever, to form this Mitchell for President Committee?”
“I wouldn’t say hire. It’s more of a-”
“This has your fingerprints all over it. O.J. Simpson left fewer fingerprints at the scene than you have here.”
Dexter thought, Goddamn Bussie. Asking a political consultant to keep his yap shut… might as well ask a nymphomaniac to keep her knees together.
“I was going to discuss it with you today after we finished shooting.”
Buddy was shaking his head and pacing and muttering. “What am I running here, a finishing school for Supreme Court justices and presidents?”
“I think you’re missing the big picture here. This could be a tremendous boost for the show.”
“Really? Is that what this is about? Funny. It’s what my last star said as she was blowing her nose on her contract. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. President, I’ve already got the top contracts law firm on retainer, and I’m sure they’ll cut me a discount for two lawsuits.”
Dexter laughed. “You’re going to sue me? For running for president?”
“In a word? You bet your ass.”
An assistant director put his head in and said, “We’re ready for you, Mr. President.”
“Let’s talk about this later, shall we?” Dexter said.
“Excuse me? I’m the fucking executive producer of this fucking charade.”
“And a fucking good one,” Dexter said. “Look, Buddy. Calm down. Don’t you see? All this, everything-is a testimonial to you. To your vision. You created President Lovestorm. Sure, I play him. But you created him. The writers… okay, they did their bit, I suppose. But he’s yours. I’m yours. You should be-my God-so proud of what you’ve done. Run with me, Buddy. Together, we can accomplish so much for this country. We can do what others have only-”
“Save it for the deposition,” Buddy said, stomping out.
DEXTER’S ANNOUNCEMENT press conference three days later was heavily attended by the media, and somewhat unusual.
Normally the candidate’s family clusters around, lending moral and visual support. But since Terry Mitchell was not at present speaking to her husband, her place was taken by Ramona Alvilar, wearing a quite fetching pantsuit that looked as though it might have been painted onto her.
Off to the side stood Buddy Bixby, producer of POTUS, trying with somewhat mixed success to look enthusiastic about this grotesque development. He had spent most of the previous days with contract attorneys, election law attorneys, and public relations advisers. The contract attorneys thought he had a very good breach of contract suit; the election attorneys said that airing POTUS in the midst of a presidential campaign would violate campaign finance laws. The public relations advisers thought that suing Dexter was definitely not the way to proceed. (“What if he wins?”)
And so Buddy Bixby found himself once again betrayed by his own creation, grinding his back molars as Dexter Mitchell enunciated his Agenda for America, a lengthy manifesto the reader will be spared here, other than to note that it included a call for: a) change, b) a return to greatness, c) a brighter future for all, not just some, Americans, and d) a pledge to change the way Washington does business.
The sun did not stand still, nor did the earth tremble at these pronouncements, but the news that President Mitchell Love-storm was in the race did lead the evening news that day.
CHAPTER 24
Pepper found it strange, sitting at the justices’ conference table, thinking what had happened the last time she had been in this room-preventing the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court from hanging himself.