THE PRESIDENT 2 (34 page)

“She wants to destroy me.
 
And probably you too,” Dutch said, clutching his wife’s hand tightly.
 
“So brace yourself for more.”

“I’m braced, don’t worry,” Gina said, and then she hesitated, wondered if now was the right time, decided that,
under the circumstances
, there would never be a right time.
 
She exhaled. “The odd thing is,” she said, “she had it all wrong.”

Dutch looked at her.
 
“My mother?”

“Yep.
 
She wanted to break up our marriage so that I wouldn’t conceive her grandchild,” Gina said and looked at Dutch.
 
“When I already have.”

Dutch stared at his wife.
 
Stared with a look of happiness, horror, joy and fear.
 
“Are you saying that. . . that you’re. . . that we’re pregnant, Gina?
 
Are you saying that we’re pregnant?”

Gina nodded, tears coming to her eyes.
 
“I found out the day of the State Dinner.
 
I had planned to tell you later that night.”

“How far along?”

“Five weeks.”

Dutch stood up, Gina stood too, and they fell into each other’s arms, with Dutch’s eyes shut tight.
 

For the longest time they just stood there, oblivious to the world and the harshness that now surrounded them.
 
It was, for both of them, the happiest news they could have ever received.
 
And,
given the circumstances
, given their life in this fishbowl, the saddest.

Dutch pulled her back, his hands gripping her arms.
 
“I’m so happy,” he said with a smile.
 
But he kept looking at her, and his look was more painful than joyous
 

“What is it?” Gina asked, already knowing the answer.

“We have nearly four years left in office,” he said.

She nodded.
 
“I know.
 
I was taking birth control religiously when we first got married.
 
Then so many things started happening all at once that I just stopped thinking about it.
 
I’m so sorry, Dutch.”

“And I’m so happy,” Dutch said, managing to smile again despite his fears.
 
“It’s what I want so badly, Gina.
 
A child.
 
Our
child.
 
That will be the most beautiful thing, to have a child by the woman I love.”

“But we’ll have to raise our child in this place.”

“Do we?” Dutch asked, his hands rubbing her arms, his stark green eyes flickering with so many possibilities that even he couldn’t keep track.

Gina, however, couldn’t even entertain the thought.
 
“We can’t quit, Dutch,” she said.

A look so deflating came over Dutch that Gina wanted to cry.
 
But then he nodded, because he knew she spoke the truth.
 
“We will raise our child to be a wonderful citizen of the world,” he said.
 
“And we’ll be wonderful parents.”
 
They both smiled.
 
“But we’ll do it our way.
 
On our terms.
 
No matter what.”

Gina studied him.
 
“Even if it means quitting?”

“Even if it means quitting.
 
I have a responsibility to this country, and I have done and will continue to do all I can to fulfill that responsibility.
 
But my first obligation is to you, and to our child.”

Gina looked at him, and he looked at her, and both assumed what the other was thinking, but neither had the nerve to confirm it.

Because the world would take it the wrong way, and declare victory, and insist that they knew all along that a union like theirs could never take the heat.
 
That a union like theirs would wither, would fall right off the vine, under the bright lens of scrutiny.

But the bright lens of Dutch’s eyes saw it differently.
 
Because this wasn’t about the world.
 
This wasn’t about anybody scrutinizing anything about their relationship.
 
This was about him and his wife.
 
Their life.
 
Their happiness.
 
Their blessed child.
 

And in those matters of the heart the world and all its charges, countercharges, sex, lies, and videotape, didn’t have a vote.

EIGHTEEN

The Washington press corps stood on the press pad on the southern end of the White House as the president and First Lady emerged from the portico.
 
Looking comfortably attired in bright, casual clothing, the couple, hand in hand, made their way over to the pool of reporters anxiously waiting.
 
The agreement was that one of them would ask all of the questions on behalf of the entire press pool, although they rarely kept to those agreements.

“Where are you going, Mr. President?”
 
Andrew Singer, the designated reporter, asked.

“On vacation,” Dutch answered.

“On vacation?” Singer asked as if he was stunned.
 
“At a time like this?”

“Best time of the year to go.”

“But, sir, you’ve been accused of sexually assaulting three women.
 
Your own mother has come out in favor of the women and against you.
 
There are criminal investigations underway.
 
There’s talk of Congress drafting articles of impeachment.
 
And you’re going on
vacation
?”

“Yes,” Dutch said.

“But, sir, aren’t you going to at least proclaim your innocence?”

“I’m innocent.
 
There.
 
I’ve proclaimed it.”

“But that’s not enough, sir,” the reporter said.

Dutch and Gina laughed.
 
“Why am I not surprised?” he asked.

“You two seem to be taking this very lightly, sir.”

“Yes, we are.
 
Aren’t we?”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

The popular, but now frustrated reporter looked to his colleagues.
 
Another reporter, Nora Tatem, took over.

“Why don’t you proclaim your innocence, sir?” she said.

“Asked and answered,” Dutch said.

“Is it because you’re guilty?”

“Is that what it is, Nora?
 
Gosh.
 
Thank-you for pointing that out to me.”

“That’s what it appears to be.”

“Appearances can be misleading.”

“But why aren’t you fighting back if you’re so innocent?”

“I am.”

“You’re fighting back by going on vacation?”

“Precisely.”

“But where are you going, sir?” she asked as if her colleague hadn’t already asked it.

“On vacation,” Dutch said again.

“But you can’t just leave!”

Dutch looked at Gina, his face unable to stop grinning, although she could see the pain in his eyes.
 
The nerve of these people
, he wanted to say.
 
“Watch me,” he said instead, and he and his wife left the baffled press, walked up to the helipad, and boarded Marine One.

By the time the helicopter arrived at Andrews Air Force Base and they were boarding Air Force One, the cable news shows, as they predicted, were rerunning snippets of the interview and were livid with what their commentators viewed as the president’s cavalier attitude.

First, there was the commentator on MSNBC, who couldn’t get past the gaiety.
  
“He should be pulling his hair out,” the commentator insisted, “but he’s laughing?”

Then the CNN commentator: “The evidence is too compelling.
 
That videotape is too damning.
 
You’d laugh too, if you had no defense.”

Then FOX: “Dutch Harber is a disgrace to the office of the presidency and to the entire human race!
 
He should do all of us a favor and resign right now rather than take this country through a protracted impeachment trial. Especially since we all already know he’s guilty.”

And the commentators on CNN and MSNBC agreed: the president is guilty as sin and should stop that grinning, and come out and confess.

By the time Air Force One had taxied the runway, ready to lift up and fly the friendly skies, the commentators had turned their aim away from Dutch, and were now pointing it squarely at Gina.

“She’ll leave him for certain now,” a tall, thin woman on MSNBC predicted.
 
“Black women don’t put up with that mess.”

“Oh, she’ll leave,” said an anchor on FOX.
 
“No doubt about that.
 
Her feminist bona fides won’t allow her to stay.
  
Her independent,
I am woman,
superficial pride wouldn’t bear for her to be viewed as some stand by her man lovesick female.”

And a talking head on CNN summed it up this way: “With that videotape, with that level of evidence, she’s definitely leaving,” he assured the public.
 
“That marriage is over!”

And Dutch and Gina sat back on Air Force One, still holding hands, still staring at that CNN commentator, a man they didn’t know and had never even met, confidently inform the American people of the demise of their marriage.
 
And if it wasn’t so sad, they’d be rolling in the aisles with laughter.