“Nothing personal. You take your votes however you can get them.” The elder Dixon rose, put his cigar in his left hand, took up his cane in his right, and walked to the door. He moved stiff as a man made of pipe cleaners. War had done much of that, time the rest. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Listen to me and to Llewellyn, Clay, and you’ll be fine. You hear me?”
At the door to the Treaty Room, the senator encountered Llewellyn and the others.
“John,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”
“Senator.”
“How’s Doris?”
“Good. Waiting for an RSVP about Saturday night.”
“RSVP? You know I’ll be there.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“I can see that you and the president have business. Good night, John. Gentlemen.” He nodded to McGill and Lee, and he caned his way down the center hall toward the elevator.
“Was your father here on business or pleasure?” Llewellyn asked as he entered the study.
“The senator is never all about one thing. Brandy?” Dixon offered the others after they’d come in.
They declined, and the president decided that he’d had enough.
“How’s Kate holding up?” his chief counsel asked.
“Fine, Bobby. I spoke with her this afternoon. She’s hanging in there. Ed, I thought you’d gone home for the day.”
“I was hoping to get an early report on the polls,” McGill said.
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“Wayne White still has you by a margin that concerns us.” He seemed to have more to say, but was reluctant.
“Go on.”
“We believe it’s because you didn’t accompany the First Lady to Minnesota,” McGill said.
“What?”
“It may have made you appear callous.”
“It might help if you were to join her in Minnesota,” Llewellyn said.
“Jesus Christ, John. This isn’t a national disaster. I can’t simply drop everything and go running to Kate. I leave for the Pan-American summit in less than two weeks. Before that I have a dozen campaign appearances. To say nothing of a government to run.”
“This is different,” Ed McGill argued cautiously. “He’s your father-in-law, a man much in the hearts of Americans these days. Also, maintaining proximity to the First Lady would be helpful.”
“It sounds like everybody’s suggesting I ride into the White House on Kate’s skirt.”
“It will show your compassionate side,” McGill said.
Clay Dixon exploded. “I showed my compassionate side by throwing my support behind the Basic Human Services Bill.”
“This is different,” Bobby Lee said quietly. “This is about family.”
“You agree I should go?”
“I do.”
“Tom Jorgenson doesn’t like me.”
“He’s comatose. He won’t even know you’re there,” Llewellyn said. “It would be very good for your image, sir.”
Lee said, “You could easily join Kate for a day or two as a show of concern, of marital solidarity in this difficult time.”
Dixon breathed out his anger. “When?”
“It will take a couple of days to set up,” his chief of staff replied. “But Ed will have Patricia give a statement at the press briefing tomorrow morning.”
“All right.” Now Dixon felt ready for another brandy. “Is there something else?”
“No, sir,” Llewellyn said. “I’ll bid you good night.”
“Bobby?” Dixon said as Lee turned to leave. “Could I have a word with you?”
The president closed the door behind the others, then walked to the window and stared through his own reflection into the night. “The economy’s healthy. We’re not at war. Crime is on the decline. But what do the American people care about? They care whether I scurry to the side of a man who doesn’t particularly like me and a woman who, at the moment, treats me like a leper.”
“If he dies and you didn’t make a visit, you risk appearing heartless,” Lee pointed out.
The president put out his hand and touched his image in the glass. “Before I married Kate, I asked him for his daughter’s hand, did you know that, Bobby? I thought it was respectful. He said it didn’t matter what he thought. The choice was Kate’s. When I pressed him, he said, ‘It’s a rare man who doesn’t become his father.’ He never did give me his blessing. And when I ran for president, same thing. Because of who my father is, he refused to give me his endorsement.” He turned back to his chief counsel. “I’m not my father.”
“No,” Bobby said. “You’re not. But almost everyone who advises you now speaks for the senator. The truth is he’s casting a huge shadow over the White House, Clay.”
“He’ll get me reelected.”
“Will he? The polls don’t seem to be saying that. You know what I think? The American people want you to step away from your father so they can see clearly again just who you are. They’d love to see you leading the team.”
“Do you have any numbers to back that up?”
“Gut feeling.”
“Thanks, Bobby. I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Are you all right, Clay?”
“Just tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Dixon picked up the report Lorna Channing had delivered to him a couple of days earlier. So far, he’d had time only to glance at it. He took the document to his bedroom where he put on his pajamas, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and donned his reading glasses. He lay down on his bed, but found that he couldn’t concentrate.
