Anyway, she did not want to get into a discussion with the press corps about whether a woman could be a war leader. That would allow Moore to define the terms of the argument. She needed to bring it back to her own territory.
She thought for a long moment. An idea came to her, but it was a little off the wall. However, she decided to go with it. She leaned forward and spoke in a more informal voice. ‘Have you folks noticed,’ she said, ‘that James Moore never does this?’ With a broad sweep of her hand she indicated the correspondents massed in the room. ‘Here I have the networks and the cable channels, the broadsheets and the toxic tabloids, the liberal and the conservative media.’
She paused and pointed at the questioner. ‘Right now I’m responding to a question from Ricky, whose paper has never had a good word to say about me. What a contrast with Mr Moore! Do you know when he last gave an in-depth interview on network television? The answer is never. He has never facilitated a profile of himself in the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times or any of the mainstream newspapers, to the best of my knowledge. He takes questions only from his friends and supporters. Ask yourself why that is.’
She paused again. She had thought of a zinger to finish with. Did she want to be aggressive? Yes, she decided. She resumed before anyone could interrupt. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. James Moore is scared. He’s frightened that he won’t be able to defend his policies against a serious interrogator. And that brings me right back to your question, Ricky.’ Here comes the zinger, she thought. ‘When the chips are down, do you want America to be led by Timid Jim?’
She paused again, briefly, then said: ‘Thank you, everyone.’ And she left the room.
*
Pauline had dinner with Gerry and Pippa in the Residence that Sunday evening, looking out at the street lights of Washington, while people in Beijing and Pyongyang were getting up in the dark on a winter Monday morning.
The Residence cook had made curried beef, Pippa’s new favourite dish. Pauline ate the rice and the salad. Food did not excite her, nor did booze. Whatever was put in front of her, she would eat or drink a little.
She asked Pippa: ‘How are you getting on with Ms Judd now?’
‘Old Judders is off my case, thank God,’ Pippa said.
If Pippa was no longer attracting the attention of the school principal, it probably meant that her behaviour had got better. It was the same at home: there had been no more rows. Pauline thought the improvement might be due to the threat of home schooling. Regardless of how much Pippa rebelled, school was the centre of her social life. Pauline’s talk of a tutor had served as a reality check.
Gerry said irritably: ‘Amelia Judd is not old and she doesn’t judder. She’s forty, and an extremely competent and capable woman.’
Pauline looked at him in mild surprise. He did not often reprimand Pippa, and this was an odd issue to choose. The thought crossed her mind that Gerry might have developed a little crush on ‘Amelia’. Perhaps it was not surprising. The head teacher was an authoritative woman in a leadership role, like Pauline but ten years younger. A more recent edition of the same book, Pauline thought cynically.
Pippa said to her father: ‘You wouldn’t like Judders so much if it was you she was trying to push around.’
There was a tap at the door and Sandip came in. It was unusual for staffers to disturb family meals at the Residence; in fact, it was forbidden except in an emergency. Pauline said: ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m very sorry to interrupt, Madam President, but two things have happened in the last few minutes. CBS has announced a long interview with James Moore, live at seven thirty.’
Pauline looked at her watch. It was a few minutes after seven.
Sandip said: ‘He’s never done an interview with network television.’
‘As I pointed out this morning,’ Pauline said.
‘It’s a scoop for CBS, which is why they’re rushing it.’
‘Do you think he was stung by my calling him Timid Jim?’
‘I’m sure of it. A lot of the broadcasters used those words in their reports of the press conference. That was very clever of you. It’s forced Moore to try to prove you wrong, and for that he has to stick his neck out.’
‘Good.’
‘He’ll probably make a fool of himself on CBS. All they have to do is put up an interviewer with a brain.’
Pauline was not so sure. ‘He may surprise us. He’s slippery. Pinning him down is like trying to pick up a live fish with one hand.’
Sandip nodded agreement. ‘In politics, the only thing that’s certain is that nothing is certain.’
That made Pippa laugh.
‘I’ll watch the interview here then come over to the West Wing,’ Pauline said to Sandip. ‘What was the second thing?’
‘The media in East Asia have woken up, and South Korean television is saying that the rebels in North Korea now have control of both nuclear bases and two regular missile bases, plus an unknown number of ordinary military bases.’
Pauline was perturbed. ‘This is no longer just an incident,’ she said. ‘This is a real rebellion.’
‘Do you want to say anything about it?’
She considered this. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I’ve raised the alert level, and I’ve told Americans that we’re ready for anything. I see no reason to add to that message, for now.’
‘I agree, but perhaps we should talk again after we see Moore’s interview.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Madam President.’
Sandip left. Gerry and Pippa both looked thoughtful. They often heard hot political news, but this was more dramatic than usual. The family finished dinner in silence.
Just before seven thirty Pauline went into the former Beauty Salon and turned on the TV set there. Pippa followed her, but Gerry said: ‘I can’t bear to spend half an hour in the company of that fool Moore,’ and disappeared.
Pauline and Pippa sat on the couch. Before the interview began, Pauline asked Pippa: ‘What does Ms Judd look like?’
‘Small and blonde, with big tits.’
So much for non-binary gender descriptions, Pauline thought.
The interview took place in the studio, on a set that had been dressed to look like an anonymous lounge, with lamps and side tables and flowers in a vase. Moore did not look at ease.
He was introduced by an experienced television journalist, Amanda Gosling. She was perfectly groomed, as they all were. She had carefully styled blonde hair and a blue-grey dress that showed her perfect calves, but she was also smart and tough. She would not give Moore an easy ride.
Moore had moderated his appearance. His jacket still had Western stitching, but he wore a white dress shirt and a regular tie.
Gosling began sympathetically. She asked him about his career as a baseball star, then a commentator, and finally a radio host. Pippa got impatient, saying: ‘Who cares about this crap?’
‘She’s softening him up,’ Pauline said. ‘Just wait.’
Gosling quickly got around to the issue of abortion. ‘Some critics say that your policy on abortion means that women will be forced to have babies they don’t want. Do you think that’s fair?’
‘No one forces a woman to get pregnant,’ he said.
Pippa said: ‘What? What?’
It was obviously untrue, but Gosling did not say so. ‘I’d like to make sure we get your views perfectly clear for our audience,’ she said with sweet reasonableness.
Pippa said: ‘Good idea – then everyone will see what an asshole he is.’
Gosling went on: ‘In your opinion, when a husband asks his wife for physical intimacy, does she have the right to say no?’
‘A man has needs,’ Moore said, in a voice that suggested profound wisdom. ‘And marriage is God’s way of satisfying those needs.’
Gosling allowed her scorn to show. ‘So when the wife gets pregnant, is that God’s fault or her husband’s?’
‘It’s certainly God’s will, ma’am, don’t you think?’
Gosling avoided discussion of God’s will. ‘Either way,’ she said dismissively, ‘you seem to believe the woman should have no say in the matter.’
‘I believe that husbands and wives should discuss such things in a loving and caring way.’