I had taken a room at the Hay Adams. When I was alone I was a Holiday Inn man. But I was hoping for some time with Susan while I was here, and Susan was worth the Hay Adams. My room overlooked Lafayette Park and beyond it the White House. I hung up my clothes and had room service deliver a couple of beers and The Washington Post. Then I called Susan at her hospital. I could feel tension buzz in my stomach while I dialed. Of course she was with a patient, and of course she couldn't be disturbed. I left word that I was at the Hay Adams if Ms. Silverman got a moment free from succoring the afflicted.
Then I stood for a while and drank my beer and looked out at the White House. A guard leaned against one of the columns on the front porch. The people with the signs had them propped up against the fence out front. On the lawn to the right a television crew was filming a stand-up with the White House in the background. The President was in there somewhere, and the First Lady. She was there too, with the President. She wasn't off someplace far studying to be a doctor.
I got tired of looking at the White House and sat down in one of the chairs and put my feet on the double bed and read the Post. By the time I finished the Post it was getting dark outside. I looked at the White House some more. I could go for a walk, but if I did, I might miss Susan if she called.
I turned on the TV and watched the early news and wondered why the early-news people in every city were wimps. Probably specified in the recruitment ads. Early-News Person Wanted. Must Be Wimp. Send resume and tapes to… I shut off the television and looked out the window some more. I could order up some Irish whiskey and get drunk. But if Susan did call… It was dark now and the White House gleamed in its spotlights. I thought about Ronni Alexander trying to be Yvonne De Carlo and the look on Alexander's face when he left me there to watch. I thought about the lucky people that Susan was treating. Her undivided attention for fifty minutes. Son of a bitch.
They were having a party at the White House. Limousines pulled up the circular drive and let people out. Some people didn't come in limousines. They simply walked up the driveway. Maybe they took a cab. I'd always wondered how you said that. Sixteen Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, my good man, and don't spare the horses. The President and the First Lady were probably dressing. Or maybe they were necking. Or… Someone knocked at the door of my room. I went and opened it and there was Susan wearing a silver raccoon coat and carrying a bottle of champagne and smelling like Eden in springtime.
"Did you really say 'succor the afflicted' to the department secretary?" she said.
"Yeah," I said. "I think she was offended."
I stepped aside and she came in and put the champagne on the bureau and turned and smiled. I stood and stared at her. There were times when I wanted to strangle her. But never when she was with me. Her presence overcame everything.
"Jesus Christ," I said.
She opened her arms and I stepped in against her and hugged her. She raised her face and I kissed her. I felt liquid and dispersive, as if I might dissolve into the floor.
Susan was brisk and cheerful. "Now you have a decision to make," she said. "Do you want to drink the champagne before or after you jump on my bones?"
That was easy.
Afterward we sat up in bed drinking the champagne from water glasses.
"See," Susan said. "I do succor the afflicted."
"Yes," I said. "You give good succor."
Susan drank some of the champagne.
"Was Paul with you on Thanksgiving?"
"Yes. We ate out. How about you?"
"Super. There were five or six of us from the program and John, our supervisor, had us all out to his home in Bethesda. There were twenty-five people in all, including some very big people in the profession."
"Yeah, but how many of them can do a one-armed pushup?"
Susan smiled and drank more of her champagne. "Tell me about what you're doing down here," she said.
"Besides seeking succor?"
She nodded.
"I'm working for a congressman," I said.
"You? That doesn't seem like you."
"Maybe it was an excuse to get to Washington," I said.
"I wouldn't think you'd need an excuse."
I shrugged. "Anyway," I said, "I'm working for a congressman named Meade Alexander."
"Meade Alexander? Good God, what does he think of you?"
I poured the rest of the champagne evenly into our two glasses. "He has not been fortunate in his marriage," I said.
Susan settled back a little against her pillows and I told her about Meade and Ronni Alexander.
When I got through, Susan said, "The poor woman."
"I hadn't thought too much about that," I said. "I've been kind of identifying with Alexander, I suppose."
Susan nodded. "She must be very desperate."
"Most people are," I said.