The President's Angel Read Online Free PDF Page A

Jim’s head. It lay inside his voice. He was like a pitcher pouring yellow silence on the mahogany table, and it spread into puddles before the council members and Joint Chiefs of Staff.
    In a moment the vision was gone. The President could breathe again.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Stan asked.
    The President removed his glasses and pressed two fingers in the corners of his eyes. “I’m listening,” he said. “Jim, write me a memo, with your views, and, Steve, you do the same. One page.”
    The President dismissed the meeting, grateful that no one guessed what he had seen. At the doorway, he placed one hand on Jim’s shoulder in a familiar way.
    â€œAre you all right?” the President asked when the others were out of earshot. “Things okay with Susan and you?”
    â€œFuck it.” Jim laughed. “How do you know that? We had a fight last night. She’s asking for a divorce.”
    The President nodded, wondering why he thought Jim had thrown a plate of fish against the wall.
    â€œI threw a plate of fish in the kitchen,” Jim said. He shook his head sheepishly. “Damn stupid thing to do, but Jesus I was mad.”
    â€œYou can get back together,” said the President.
    â€œI don’t
want
her,” said Jim. “Let her come on her hands and knees, I wouldn’t fucking take her back.”
    â€œCome inside.”
    When the door closed on them, he threw himself in a chair and rocked back, feet on the desk. “Anything I can do?”
    â€œNo sir. She says I work too hard. Hell, what does she expect? She knew that when she married me. She thinks the White House shuts down at night? Sure, I‘m tense. So what else is new. And her going off with some guy behind my back. She’s got a
friend
, she says.”
    â€œA lover?” the President asked abstractly.
    â€œWho the hell knows. He listens to fucking classical music, if you can imagine. That’s what she likes.” And Jim gave a hoarse grunt that was meant to pass for a laugh. “Anyway, I don’t talk to her about my work. No need for worry there, sir.”
    The President nodded. “If you don’t talk about work, you must have little to say.”
    â€œThat’s what she says. Actually we don’t have a helluva lot to talk about. The kids. Hell, we’ve been married thirteen years, what does she expect?”
    The President could not answer. Had his marriage with Anne been any better? “What do you expect?” he asked.
    â€œI’ll tell you what I expect,” Jim answered vehemently. “I expect a person to stand by their word. She made a vow at the altar of God. I don’t believe in God, but you make a promise, you goddamn well stick by it.”
    â€œAnd if you don’t?”
    â€œAnd if you don’t, where are any of us, anyway? That’s all we’ve got, isn’t it? The law. Our promises. You should be punished, that’s all.”
    â€œPolitics breeds bad marriages.” The President came to his feet. He wanted to say much more. You’ll live through it. This is an opportunity, if you take the dare. Or perhaps he wanted to say that all marriages go through bad times. Hang in there. There were things he could tell about himself and Anne, and private pains he knew. Or maybe he wanted to tell Jim to go home now, take off the afternoon and spend some time with his wife, as he had not done years ago when the business first came up with Anne.
    Instead he said nothing. Jim’s face closed over his pain.
    At the door the President said: “Get me that memo soon as you can.”
    He put in a full day’s work. He read what had to be read, was briefed on the latest emergencies, signed papers, authorized others for his automatic signature. He posed for photographers, smiling triumphantly over a ceremonial award. He visited an honorary grave and had tea with a visiting minister of state, which became, at