‘I’m going to say: “You can do whatever you want, Mr President – but the next time you see me coming, you’d better run!”’
The cheers were deafening.
Pauline muted the sound and spoke into her phone. ‘What do you think, Sandip?’
‘It’s crap, but he’s damn good.’
‘Should we respond?’
‘Not immediately. It would just ensure that the clip runs all day tomorrow. Wait until we have some good ammunition.’
‘Thanks, Sandip. Goodnight.’ Pauline ended the call and returned to the Dining Room. The appetizer had been cleared away and a main course of fried chicken was on the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ Pauline said to Gerry and Pippa. ‘You know how it is.’
Gerry said: ‘That cowboy giving you trouble?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘Good.’
After dinner they had coffee in the East Sitting Hall and resumed the discussion.
Gerry said: ‘I still think what Pippa needs is to see more of her mother.’
Pauline was going to have to confront this. She said: ‘You know how much I wish I could do that, and you know just why I can’t.’
‘Shame.’
‘You’ve said it twice now.’
He shrugged. ‘I think it’s true.’
‘I have to ask why you continue to say it when you know there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Let me guess: you have a theory.’
‘Well, all you achieve is to shift the blame onto me.’
‘This isn’t about blame.’
‘It’s hard to see any other purpose.’
‘You’re going to think what you like, but I believe Pippa needs more of her mother’s attention.’ He finished his coffee and picked up the TV remote control.
Pauline returned to the West Wing and went to the Study to work. She felt frustrated. A UN resolution was a little thing, really, but she had been unable to achieve it. She hoped Chess’s plan of tightening sanctions on North Korea would do some good.
She had to review a summary of the annual Defense Spending Bill but, alone in the little room, late in the evening, her mind wandered. Perhaps it was Gerry, not Pippa, who needed to see more of Pauline. He could be attributing to Pippa the feelings of rejection that he himself was experiencing. That was the kind of thing a shrink might say.
Gerry appeared self-sufficient, but Pauline knew he could be needy. Now perhaps he wanted more from her. It was not sex: soon after getting married they had settled into a routine of making love about once a week, usually on Sunday morning, and that was clearly plenty for him. Pauline would have liked more but she hardly had the time anyway. However, Gerry had needs other than sex. He wanted to be stroked mentally. He had to be told he was wonderful. I should do that more, Pauline thought.
She sighed. The whole world wanted more of her attention.
She wished Gerry could have been more positive. Perhaps Pippa would be a supportive friend one day, but that time seemed a long way off.
I have to support everyone else, she thought, feeling sorry for herself.
Of course I do, that’s why I’m president.
Stop being such a wimp, Pauline, she thought, and she returned her attention to the budget for defence.
CHAPTER 10
The Bourbon Street nightclub had been Kiah’s last chance of making a living in Chad, she knew. But she had failed. I’m a failure as a prostitute, she thought; should I be ashamed of that, or proud?
She ought to have guessed what the job really was. Fatima had offered a home, food, a uniform, and even childcare: no one would do that just to hire waitresses. Kiah had been naive.
Should she have stuck it out? Young Zariah had. But Zariah had been happy with the work. She found it exciting and glamorous, and the money she made on that first night was probably more than she had ever held in her hand before. If Zariah could do it, Kiah asked herself, why not me? She had had sex before, many times, though only with Salim. It did not hurt. There were ways to avoid becoming pregnant. Prostitutes had to do it with unpleasant men as well as nice ones, but every woman at times had to smile and be charming to rude, ugly men. Had she been squeamish and cowardly? Had she thrown away the opportunity to provide for her child and herself? The questions were pointless: she could not do it and never would.
So her only hope was Hakim and his bus.
Her fastidiousness could kill her. She might die on the journey, long before reaching her dream destination of France. She could easily imagine Hakim abandoning all his passengers if he thought he could get away with the money. Even if he proved honest, something as simple as a breakdown could be fatal in the desert. And people said the smugglers sometimes used dangerous small boats for the voyage across the Mediterranean Sea.