As Bobby tightened the knot of his tie, Marilyn leant forward expectantly, closer to her TV.
“I have one final duty,” he said, “before I conclude my visit to this Chamber. Secretary of State Robinson,” he called. “Would you please join me and the Vice-President up here?”
Foster imagined his wife’s eyes boring into him, but in fact they were closed while she prayed.
As the Secretary rose from his front row seat, he quizzed his colleagues either side of him for an idea of what the President had in mind but no one had a clue. He stepped up onto the somewhat crowded podium to stand next to the President, on his side opposite Isabel and Davey.
Foster slid his hand into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a buff-coloured envelope. He handed it to the Secretary and began speaking before Robinson could slit it open.
“Madam Vice-President, Mr Senate President pro tempore, Senators, Representatives, Chief Justice, other dignitaries and my fellow citizens. I have made some critical errors of judgment, errors that do not reflect well on this great office. What I am about to do…,” he looked up at the ceiling, “what I’m about to do, however, is no error… no mistake. It is my solemn duty…” He threw back a mouthful of water.
Spencer Prentice’s mouth was open, something his mother, a stickler for good manners had noticed on her own TV, but this time she forgave him.
MARILYN Foster opened her eyes. No, she decided, Bobby wouldn’t do it. Even without her and the kids, the lust for power—his lust for fucking lust—would be too great for the philandering bastard. She stood, ready to pack her bags immediately if he faltered.
“TONIGHT,” said Foster, “it is my solemn duty to… to resign as your President. Here and now. According to the Constitution, Vice-President Isabel Diaz will automatically succeed me. She is a woman whose courage and selflessness have demonstrated she is who this nation needs, and deserves, and as I said earlier, wanted in the first place. In the presence of Congress, I have just delivered my written resignation to the Secretary of State and thus, following Section Twenty of Title Three of the US Code, I stand here no longer as your President. Instead, I present to you… the President of the United States. May God bless her, and may God continue to bless America.”
“HOLY fuckin’ fuck!” Andy Goodman shrieked and he slid off his friends’ shoulders onto the beer-swilled floor.
MARILYN Foster sat herself down again. He did it! The bastard actually did it… put his family ahead of his damn prick, and his career. She didn’t believe it; that he was really going to keep his dick in his pants for the next three years… to prove himself worthy of another run at the presidency. To prove himself to her and, if he passed that test, she’d certainly stand there with him. Again. But next time it’d be for keeps.
80
FOR THE SECOND time tonight, the Chief Justice stepped forward to swear Isabel in. During the oath, Paul Dawkins’ wife approached her husband, who was now perched on a stool at the bar. “Another idiot male blinded by sex,” she said, slapping his back.
“Yeah?” said Andy, next to Paul and keeping his eyes on the beer the barman was pulling for him, “and another idiot female blinded by love. What’s the fuckin’ difference?”
“MY fellow citizens,” President Diaz began, alert to the irony those words would have carried only months ago. There was much to say, but the row upon row of sapped faces before her, let alone her own flagging energy, told her she should save most of it for the next four years. What couldn’t wait, what the moment decreed, was a tribute to Foster’s astonishing altruism. But as she spoke, most of the Congress stayed flat, tolerating her words with barely glimmering smiles that might dupe a TV camera, but not her.
She was staggered… after what she’d been through, and they were exhausted?
But spurring her on, virtually alone on the floor of the House—a beacon among flickering candles—was Spencer Prentice. The gleam in his eyes energised her, cheered her on.
“President Foster led us only briefly,” she continued, “but lead us he has, and tonight, in a remarkable generosity of spirit and national renewal we saw him lead in the best way imaginable… by example. And in that same spirit, and by his example, I too will nominate my Vice-President…”
Hank Clemens, who’d kept his seat as Representative for North Carolina, was ready to step forward. He ran his fingers through his mop of brown hair, and still seated, pulled his jacket down as best he could to ensure the line at the back was smooth, perfect for when the TV cameras zoomed in on him as he got the call.
Isabel continued, “…a man who stood by me…”
Hank straightened his tie.
“… and has been my friend and counsel…”
Hank readied himself to stand.