George was flustered. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought you were out for the afternoon.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Bobby, though George was not sure he meant it. ‘This place is owned by the American people – they can look at it if they like.’
‘This is my mother, Jacky Jakes,’ George said.
Bobby shook her hand vigorously. ‘Mrs Jakes, you have a fine son,’ he said, turning on the charm, as he did whenever talking to a voter.
Jacky’s face had darkened with embarrassment, but she spoke without hesitation. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You have several – I was looking at them in this picture.’
‘Four sons and three daughters. They’re all wonderful, and I speak with complete objectivity.’
They all laughed.
Bobby said: ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Jakes. Come and see us any time.’
Though gracious, that was clearly a dismissal, and George and his mother left the room.
They walked along the corridor to the elevator. Jacky said: ‘That was embarrassing, but Bobby was kind.’
‘It was also planned,’ George said angrily. ‘Bobby’s never early for anything. Dennis deliberately misled us. He wanted to make me look uppity.’
His mother patted his arm. ‘If that’s the worst thing that happens today, we’ll be in good shape.’
‘I don’t know.’ George recalled Verena’s accusation, that his job was cosmetic. ‘Do you think my role here could be just to make Bobby look like he’s listening to Negroes when he’s not?’
Jacky considered. ‘Maybe.’
‘I might do more good working for Martin Luther King in Atlanta.’
‘I understand how you feel, but I think you should stay here.’
‘I knew you’d say that.’
He saw her out of the building. ‘How is your apartment?’ she said. ‘I have to see that next.’
‘It’s great.’ George had rented the top floor of a high, narrow Victorian terraced house in the Capitol Hill neighbourhood. ‘Come over on Sunday.’
‘So I can cook you dinner in your kitchen?’
‘What a kind offer.’
‘Will I meet your girlfriend?’
‘I’ll invite Norine.’
They kissed goodbye. Jacky would get a commuter train to her home in Prince George’s County. Before she walked away she said: ‘Remember this. There are a thousand smart young men willing to work for Martin Luther King. But there’s only one Negro sitting in the office next to Bobby Kennedy’s.’
She was right, he thought. She usually was.
When he returned to the office he said nothing to Dennis, but sat at his desk and wrote a summary for Bobby of a report on school integration.
At five o’clock Bobby and his aides jumped into limousines for the short ride to the White House, where Bobby was scheduled to meet with the President. This was the first time George had been taken along to a White House meeting, and he wondered whether that was a sign that he was becoming more trusted – or just that the meeting was less important.
They entered the West Wing and went to the Cabinet Room. It was a long room with four tall windows on one side. Twenty or so dark-blue leather chairs stood around a coffin-shaped table. World-shaking decisions were made in this room, George thought solemnly.
After fifteen minutes there was no sign of President Kennedy. Dennis said to George: ‘Go and make certain Dave Powers knows where we are, will you?’ Powers was the President’s personal assistant.
‘Sure,’ said George. Seven years at Harvard and I’m a messenger boy, he thought.
Before the meeting with Bobby, the President had been due to drop in on a cocktail party for celebrity supporters. George made his way to the main house and followed the noise. Under the massive chandeliers in the East Room, a hundred people were into their second hour of drinking. George waved to Verena’s parents, Percy Marquand and Babe Lee, who were talking to someone from the Democratic National Committee.
The President was not in the room.
George looked around and spotted a kitchen entrance. He had learned that the President often used staff doors and back corridors, to avoid constantly being buttonholed and delayed.
He went through the staff door and found the presidential party right outside. The handsome, tanned President, only forty-four years old, wore a navy-blue suit with a white shirt and a skinny tie. He looked tired and edgy. ‘I can’t be photographed with an interracial couple!’ he said in a frustrated tone, as if forced to repeat himself. ‘I’d lose ten million votes!’
George had seen only one interracial couple in the ballroom: Percy Marquand and Babe Lee. He felt outraged. So the liberal president was scared to be photographed with them!
Dave Powers was an amiable middle-aged man with a big nose and a bald head, about as different from his boss as could be imagined. He said to the President: ‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘Get them out of there!’
Dave was a personal friend, and not scared to let Kennedy know when he was irritated. ‘What am I going to tell them, for Christ’s sake?’
Suddenly George stopped being angry and started to think. Was this an opportunity for him? Without forming any definite plan, he said: ‘Mr President, I’m George Jakes, I work for the Attorney General. May I take care of this problem for you?’
He watched their faces and knew what they were thinking. If Percy Marquand was going to be insulted in the White House, how much better it would be if the offender were black.
‘Hell, yes,’ said Kennedy. ‘I’d appreciate that, George.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said George, and he went back into the ballroom.
But what was he going to do? He racked his brains as he crossed the polished floor towards where Percy and Babe stood. He had to get them out of the room for fifteen or twenty minutes, that was all. What could he tell them?
Anything but the truth, he guessed.
When he reached the conversational group, and touched Percy Marquand gently on the arm, he still didn’t know what he was going to say.
Percy turned, recognized him, smiled, and shook his hand. ‘Everybody!’ he said to the people around him. ‘Meet a Freedom Rider!’
Babe Lee grabbed his arm with both hands, as if afraid someone was going to steal him. ‘You’re a hero, George,’ she said.
At that moment George realized what he had to say. ‘Mr Marquand, Miss Lee, I work for Bobby Kennedy now, and he would like to talk to you for a few minutes about civil rights. May I take you to him?’
‘Of course,’ said Percy, and a few seconds later they were out of the room.
George regretted his words immediately. His heart thumped as he walked them to the West Wing. How was Bobby going to take this? He might say Hell, no, I don’t have time. If an embarrassing incident resulted, George would be to blame. Why had he not kept his mouth shut?
‘I had lunch with Verena,’ he said, making small talk.
Babe Lee said: ‘She loves her job in Atlanta. The Southern Christian Leadership Conference has a small headquarters organization, but they’re doing great things.’
Percy said: ‘Dr King is a great man. Of all the civil rights leaders I’ve met, he’s the most impressive.’
They reached the Cabinet Room and went in. The half-dozen men there were sitting at one end of the long table, chatting, some smoking. They looked in surprise at the newcomers. George located Bobby and watched his face. He looked puzzled and irritated. George said: ‘Bobby, you know Percy Marquand and Babe Lee. They would be happy to talk to us about civil rights for a few minutes.’
For a moment Bobby’s face darkened with rage. George realized this was the second time today he had surprised his boss with an uninvited guest. Then Bobby smiled. ‘What a privilege!’ he said. ‘Sit down, folks, and thank you for supporting my brother’s election campaign.’
George was relieved, for the moment. There would be no embarrassment. Bobby had switched to automatic charm. He asked Percy and Babe their views, and talked candidly about the difficulties the Kennedys were having with Southern Democrats in Congress. The guests were flattered.
A few minutes later the President came in. He shook hands with Percy and Babe, then asked Dave Powers to take them back to the party.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Bobby rounded on George. ‘Never do that to me again!’ he said. His face showed the strength of his pent-up fury.
George saw Dennis Wilson smother a grin.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ Bobby stormed.
George thought Bobby was going to hit him. He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge a blow. He said desperately: ‘The President wanted them out of the room! He didn’t want to be photographed with Percy and Babe.’
Bobby looked at his brother, who nodded.
George said: ‘I had thirty seconds to think of a pretext that wouldn’t insult them. I told them you wanted to meet them. And it worked, didn’t it? They’re not offended – in fact, they think they got VIP treatment!’
The President said: ‘It’s true, Bob. George here got us out of a tight situation.’
George said: ‘I wanted to make sure we didn’t lose their support for the re-election campaign.’
Bobby looked blank for a moment, taking it in. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you told them I wanted to talk to them, just as a way of keeping them out of the presidential photographs.’
‘Yes,’ said George.
The President said: ‘That was quick thinking.’
Bobby’s face changed. After a moment he started to laugh. His brother joined in, then the other men in the room followed suit.
Bobby put his arm around George’s shoulders.
George still felt shaky. He had feared he would be fired.
Bobby said: ‘Georgie boy, you’re one of us!’
George realized that he had been accepted into the inner circle. He slumped with relief.
He was not as proud as he might have been. He had carried out a shabby little deception, and helped the President to pander to racial prejudice. He wanted to wash his hands.
Then he saw the look of rage on Dennis Wilson’s face, and he felt better.