ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (27 page)
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Authors: Harvey Ardman
Pickett realized he’d lost sight of Delphine, then spotted her on a couch,
chatting happily with Veronica Tennenbaum. He moved toward them.
“Not in the NAU,” Delphine was saying. “At least not yet. But if things go well
with the President and my father, I’d love to do concerts up here.”
“You’re already famous here, you know,” Veronica told her. “I’m told your CDs
are good sellers. If you were to perform in the cities, New York, Chicago, Los
Angeles, I think…
Pickett glanced toward Bourque and Callaway, who had strolled back to the desk.
“So where’s the Missus?” Bourque was saying. “I was looking forward to meeting
her.”
“She’ll be down for lunch,” Callaway said.
“Ah, lunch,” Bourque said. “Lovely word.”
That got a smile from the President. “Fifteen minutes,” he said.
The President’s wife was waiting for them in one of the White House’s smaller
private rooms, wearing something powder blue, simple but chic, looking
beautiful as always. She, the White House chef and the Chief Protocol Officer
had agreed on a light, delicious and uncontroversial menu of pasta salad, crisp
chicken with a mustard sauce, homemade potato chips and white chocolate
cheesecake, supplemented by fruit drinks and sodas, including a full range of
imported Coca-Cola products to make the guests feel at home.
The two Presidents were the first to drift into the little dining room.
“Mr. President,” Callaway said, “I’d like you to meet my wife, Julia.”
Bourque regarded Mrs. Callaway with enough warmth to heat the entire room. “My
honor and my pleasure, m’am,” he said gallantly, taking her hand and raising it
briefly to his lips. “I must say, you certainly do live up to advanced
billing.”
“As do you, Mr. President,” Julia said smiling, doing something like a curtsy.
“I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Kooter Barnes, who was entering the room with Vice President Garvey, witnessed
this little exchange and stopped momentarily, beset by cognitive dissonance.
His brain contained no nook or cranny into which he could fit the image of
Buddy Bourque kissing the hand of a colored lady, even a beautiful one.
But no one was better—or faster—at making adjustments than the Kooter. He
cleared his mind of conflicting feelings and greeted Julia in a fine imitation
of his Boss, ad libbing a graceful compliment. “Your pictures don’t do you
justice, Mrs. Callaway. Smiles like yours make the old feel young and the poor
feel rich.”
She beamed, pretending she didn’t know that Barnes did not habitually
compliment people of the Negro persuasion. Then she turned to greet the others
as they entered the room—Pinckney, who was something of a surprise, and
Delphine and Pickett, about whom she’d heard a great deal.
While they all stood near the door, schmoozing, Pinckney wandered over to the large
round table in the middle of the room, unobserved, and began checking out the
place cards. Yielding to temptation, and ignoring Herrera’s instructions, he
switched places, putting himself between Delphine and
Julia.
A millisecond later, the little crowd at the door broke up and headed for the
table. Julia sat down first and Pinckney went to sit beside her. “Wait,” she
said, “something’s confused here.” She gave Pinckney a sharp look. “The place
cards are all wrong.” She snatched Pinckney’s card, walked it around the
table and plunked it down in front of a vacant chair between Katz and Veronica
Tennenbaum. “There,” she said with a smile. “That’s better.”
What followed was a little more than an hour of slightly bizarre small talk,
frequently interrupted by eating and drinking, the comestibles brought and the
empty plates taken away by a young wait staff notable for its invisibility.
“That’s the best vittling I’ve done since the hogs et grandma,” President
Bourque allowed, touching his napkin to his lips and grinning. He fumbled
around in a pocket and came up with half a roll of Tums. “Just need an after
dinner mint,” he confided to Callaway.
“Those help?” Callaway asked.
Bourque shot a look at his counterpart. He smiled. “Not much.”
Delphine, who was sitting on Bourque’s other side, suddenly thought to examine
the china. “Did you see this, Dad?” She asked. “The Presidential Seal is
imbedded in every dish.”
“Mighty handsome,” Bourque agreed, glad of the distraction.
“We have whole pantries full of the stuff,” said Julia Callaway. She was
sitting on Delphine’s left.
“Must be amazing to live here,” Delphine said.
“Would you like a tour?”
“Do they let the public…”
“No, silly.
I’ll
be the tour guide.”
Pinckney, paying close attention, thought he saw a way to insinuate himself
into the party. “I’ve always wanted to see the White House,” he piped up.
Julia looked around and caught Marty
Katz’s eye. He looked away, but not quickly enough. “Marty, didn’t you say…”
To his credit, Katz made no further effort to escape his fate. “Oh yeah.
Gerard, why don’t you come back to my office? We need to talk about what you’re
going to say about this meeting, you know, in the biography you’re writing.”
“Couldn’t we…”
“Next couple of days are a little crazy for me. But I have some open time right
now.” He touched the left side of his comb-over to make sure it was doing its
job.
“He’s always very generous to writers,” Veronica Tennenbaum said helpfully. She
was sitting next to Katz and hadn’t missed a thing.
“You know, all the libraries in the NAU will want copies of your book,” Katz
said, sounding sincere.
“Really?” Pinckney said, pleased with the idea. “I didn’t realize that.”
Katz stood. “Come on, Gerard. My office. I got lots of ideas.”
He walked toward the door and out of the room, Pinckney padding after him
obediently.
“Ready for the tour?” Julia asked Delphine.
“Absolutely.”
The women said their goodbyes and left, the men watching them go, Veronica
Tennenbaum watching the men. She let them gaze a moment, then clinked a
fork against a crystal goblet. “Gentlemen,” she said. “Unless my memory has
failed me—again—I’m pretty sure we all have a meeting to go to.”
“Yes indeed,” Wang agreed, standing. “Let’s adjourn to the small Presidential
Conference Room. I’ll lead the way.”
They reassembled in the conference room just down the hall, to which some
faceless public servant had brought everyone’s briefcase and set up a simple,
but state-of-the-art audio recording system.
The room was dominated by a oval mahogany table, around which were arrayed
eight big black leather and rosewood Eames chairs, the most comfortable seats
ever devised by the hand of man. A side table held coffee, soda, pastries and
the inevitable box of Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Please,” Callaway said to Bourque, gesturing at the chair at one end of the
table.
raft of these things for the Plantation.”
Pickett flipped open his notebook and just down a few words. “They’re
expensive,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Bourque said. “Maybe our friend Wang can get us a discount.”
Wang laughed. “Just let me know how many you want.”
They all took seats, Callaway at the other end of the table, Barnes and Pickett
on one side, Garvey, Tennenbaum and Wang on the other. Wang and Pickett put
their cell phones on the table, which also held conference calling equipment.
President Callaway smiled at his Confederate counterpart. “Your serve,” he
said.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Bourque said. “Roy, why don’t you pass out copies
of the agenda?”
Pickett snapped open his briefcase, removed a stack of papers and passed them
around the table. Bourque picked out a cruller from the Dunkin’ Donuts box.
Silence prevailed for a few moments, while everyone read the meeting agenda:
Office of the President
AGENDA
CSA-NAU meeting
1. Environmental issues
Global warming
Water pollution
Air pollution
Wetlands Preservation
2. Cultural
Exchanges
Reciprocal sports contests
Musical performances
Theatrical performances
Scholastic exchanges
3. Trade and
Tariffs
4. Health Agency
Cooperation
1
5. Energy Issues
6. Transportation
issues: Roads, railroads, air
travel
7. Bilateral
Military Cooperation
8. Bilateral
Economic issues
9. Bilateral
Political Cooperation
10. Arms sales
and purchase
11. Immigration
12. Border
Control Issues
2
of settin’ up housekeepin’ somewhere hereabouts?”
“I don’t ‘spect we’re going to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s this time
out, Kooter,” Bourque said, chewing his cruller, “but I’d like to get at least
a running start.”
“Wait a minute,” Garvey said, looking straight at Bourque. “What’s this
bilateral
stuff? You got three items with that word. Exactly what does it mean?”
Barnes squinted at Garvey, then looked at Pickett. “I didn’t get that. What did
he say?”
“He was asking about the meaning of bilateral,” Pickett told Barnes, loudly.
Then he turned to Garvey. “It’s a, uh, technical diplomatic term. Just means
two sides. Ours and yours.”
“Oh. I see.” Garvey said. “Well, I wish you hadn’t used jargon. It just makes
me wonder, you know?”
“Nothing to wonder about,” Wang said. “It’s standard language.”
“For you, maybe,” Garvey said. “Not for me. I prefer plain English.”
Wang shook his head, but Pickett was the only one who noticed.
President Callaway was studying the agenda. “This is a pretty full plate,” he
said, looking at Bourque.
“It’s a six-course dinner if you count the ice cream,” the Confederate
President admitted, “But I ‘spect we’ll have leftovers.”
“Hmm,” said Callaway thoughtfully. “Maybe there are some things we can parcel
out.”
Bourque was momentarily confused. “Well, we can prioritize, if that’s what you
mean.”
“I think he’s talking about a division of labor,” Pickett put in.
“President Callaway,” Bourque said, grinning, “same dog bit me.”
“How about this,” Wang said. “Why don’t we let our very capable Vice Presidents
deal with some of these items, and the Presidents work on the rest?”
Garvey was suddenly alert. “Yeah, but which would be which?”
Barnes leaned toward Pickett, his jacket button popping open. “What did he
say?”
“He suggested we divvy up the agenda,” Pickett told Barnes, raising his voice.
“You and Vice President Garvey take charge of one part, the two Presidents and
maybe their assistants handle the rest.”
Barnes caught Bourque’s eye. “What do you think?”
“Depends on who’s cutting the pie, I guess,” Bourque said. He pulled another
Tum out of the roll and slipped it between his lips.
Veronica Tennenbaum raised a meaty arm. “Maybe I should give it a try,” she
said. “After all, I
am
the most senior diplomat here.” She smiled and
glanced around the room, as though she were hoping someone would challenge her.
“Sounds like you already have something in mind, Veronica,” President Callaway
said.
“I do,” she said, picking up the agenda. “Now look, the agenda has 12 items.
Let’s say that the Vice Presidents handle the first six and the Presidents
handle the rest. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
They all started re-reading the agenda, except for Pickett and Wang, who
exchanged glances. Wang winked owlishly behind his circular glasses and Pickett
struggled to stifle a smile.
“I don’t know about this,” Vice President Garvey said. “I’m not an expert in a
lot of these things. The environment? Transportation issues?”
Wang came very close to saying something.
“Well,” said Kooter Barnes, “there’s not much here in my bailiwick either. But
we could rustle up some experts I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” Garvey protested.
“Well, you’re in luck,” Veronica Tennenbaum said. “I cut my eyeteeth on the
NAU-German Friendship Treaty of 1996. I think I know just about every pothole
and dead end in the road. I could work with the two of you if you like.”
“Veronica, that would be wonderful,” Garvey said. He looked like a baby whose
mother had just restored his missing pacifier. “What do you think, Kooter?”
“Always good to have a knowledgeable woman on hand to show us the way,” he said
with a big smile, every syllable a lie.
“Always good to advise a handsome man,” Veronica purred, not fooled for a
second. “Even better when there’s two of them.”
“Excellent,” President Callaway said. “We’re already making progress.”
“We are?” Pickett asked, dubious.
“Oh yes indeed,” Wang assured them.
