In honor of The Honorable Stephen P. Kramer
Mrs. Richard S. McMillan
Requests the pleasure of the company of
The Honorable Davis Metcher
at Dinner
Seven o’clock
Davis glanced at the invitation again as he tossed a few papers in his briefcase and headed out his office door. He was going to be a bit late. Members of Congress were always late for dinner parties. They had the excuse of having to cast votes on the floor and attend prior receptions. Everybody knew that. Everybody expected it.
However, all the other guests would arrive at exactly seven-fifteen for a seven o’clock event, unless it was an invitation to the White House. In that case the cars would line up before the appointed hour, and everyone would alight and walk up to the north portico at precisely the specified time, like race horses at a starting gate.
This dinner was in Kalorama, a small but very prestigious area of the city. And while many of these affairs were boring as hell, this one might prove to be useful. After all, it was being given by the widow, the very rich widow of a Detroit industrialist who had been a major donor to the party. In exchange for his generosity, he had been named ambassador to Belgium. Unfortunately, the old guy had died a few years back. But fortunately for the party’s sake, the widow, Adelaide McMillan, had remained in Washington and become the reigning doyenne of the social scene. And she had continued to donate to the cause.
Davis was glad she had stayed in Washington. But that was no surprise. Everybody who had any kind of important position in this town stayed here when the job was over. There was a cultural archeology in the nation’s capital. When congressmen were defeated, they simply joined a law firm and kept the same house. They never even considered moving back to their districts in Nebraska or Alabama or Missouri. It wouldn’t be nearly as exciting as Washington, D.C. Not even close. Unless they had to go home to campaign for higher office, they stayed. They all stayed.
As for the dinner, not only would he be able to pay homage to the widow McMillan, he would have a chance to make some points with Steve Kramer. After all, what good was an event if you couldn’t score some points? Steve was being honored because he was the new Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, the previous chairman having suffered a heart attack just a few weeks ago.
Yes, the evening could be useful, Davis thought, as he motioned to his aide to bring the car around. He could tell Steve that he had just about finished his markup of the defense bill and make sure that they were working off the same sheet of music.
And he could play nice with Adelaide. Hell, she might even kick in a few bucks to his campaign coffers. So tonight might also be a profitable one for his agenda. And whenever anybody went anywhere in Washington, even to a nice little dinner party, he always had an agenda.
His driver headed through town and up Massachusetts Avenue to Twenty-Fourth Street where he turned right and then left to the McMillan address. Davis noticed that several other cars were parked near the house, their drivers quietly reading the paper or sipping coffee while they waited the requisite two and a half hours for the dinner to conclude. At least there was plenty of parking available. Good thing it wasn’t time for those damn prayers at the Mosque down the street because then nobody could find a parking place anywhere in this neighborhood.
A butler in black tie opened the door before Davis had a chance to ring the bell. Those guys must be watching out the window, he thought, as he stepped into the luxurious foyer with its marble floor and entry table supporting a massive vase of orchids.
“Congressman Metcher, at last,” Adelaide McMillan exclaimed as she welcomed him into her spacious living room. “You were so kind to accept my invitation tonight . . . and to come alone. You are the most gracious extra man to have at my table. And tonight I have you seated next to my cousin from Brentwood. She’s recently divorced, and I assured her that you would be a most charming dinner companion.”
So that was it, he thought. Oh well, no problem. Brentwood was good. Lady must be rolling in it. Besides, as he looked around the room, he realized that he had made the A-list, or at least the A-minus list. An A-list dinner party would have included the secretary of state and maybe even the president. But this president rarely went to local dinner parties. He preferred to have a few friends in to the White House. That way he was always in control and could go to bed early if he felt like it.
As Davis surveyed the room, he saw Janis Prescott. Interesting that the deputy director of the FBI would show up. She was usually so tied up with terrorists, white collar criminals and God knows who else, he rarely saw her out on the town. On the other hand, maybe she just needed a break.
He saw the former White House Counsel in the corner chatting up Russ Matthews, the senate majority leader. The counsel was no longer in his high-level job. But since he was now ubiquitous on the cable news shows as an analyst of every kind of legal question, he was still invited to all the good parties.
Over in another corner he spotted Richard Fairbanks and his wife Ann. Fairbanks had been our envoy to the Middle-East and had actually been shot at, so he always had good stories to tell.
In Washington, no one invited individuals to dinner parties. They invited job descriptions. If you held a high-ranking job in the White House, you were invited to everything. If you were a member of Congress with tons of seniority, you were asked to most things. If you were an ambassador, well, it was catch as catch can. After all, the name of the game was power—power, proximity and access. The center of power was the White House. An ambassador’s power and access were back home. No proximity. Too far away to impress anyone here.
Of course, if an ambassador represented a really important country like Great Britain or Russia, that was acceptable. In fact, that meant they were pretty interesting. Most of the other ambassadors only met the incrowd when they gave their own receptions on their National Days. That’s when the White House and State Department were obligated to send a bunch of people to attend.
He remembered back during the Cold War days when the Soviets would have their National Day celebration, like our Fourth of July parties, and the White House had to send someone. But they would send only one very low ranking NSC staffer to the event. Nobody wanted to draw that ticket, so they sort of rotated the dubious honor.
A few members of Congress would show up and make an effort at détente, but they never stayed long because all the Soviet boys ever served was six kinds of vodka and a bunch of jellied veal.
Davis figured that the dinner tonight would be a damn sight better than that. As if reading his mind, a waiter walked up and held out a tray of crab cakes with a Remoulade dipping sauce. Davis grabbed one and popped the whole thing in his mouth.
Another waiter stood silently with a silver tray lined with glasses of Champagne, Chardonnay and Perrier. Davis shook his head, looking for something stronger as he swallowed the hors d’oeuvre and turned to his hostess. “I’d be delighted to meet the lady from Brentwood. Always good to learn what’s going on in Hollywood country.”
“Yes, well, she’s not one of those, you know.” Adelaide said with a laugh.
“No. If she’s related to you, I wouldn’t think so.”
“You’ll be seated next to her at dinner, so of course you’ll want to talk with others during cocktails. And I see you wish something besides champagne or wine?”
“A scotch and water if you have it,” he said.
“Naturally.” She motioned to the waiter and whispered his request. “Now then I’m sure you know everyone, so I’ll leave you for now. I must get back to the front door.”
He turned and walked toward Russell Matthews, the majority leader of the Senate who was standing beside the large Steinway where a pianist was playing a classic Cole Porter song.
“Evening Russ,” Davis said extending his hand. “Good to see you here tonight.”
“Oh Davis, hello. Yes, nice shindig here for Steve.”
“Sure is. Lady throws a good party. So how do you think Steve will do as the next chairman?”
“He’ll do just fine. He’s already up to speed on the defense bill. We were just talking about it. I hope you boys are able to reconcile a few things. The president wants his whole package, you know.”
“Yes, that and then some,” Davis said.
“So I’ve heard. Well, try to work it out with Steve. I assume you’ve got your committee on board, and a majority in the house.”
“I’ve sent out the usual ‘Dear Colleague’ letters about a few things. But yes, I’ve got it under control.” He wanted to appear organized and powerful, especially in front of the Senate majority leader. After all, he had been thinking about running for the Senate in two years when one of the Maryland seats might open up. And it wouldn’t hurt to have old Russ know that he was on top of things and a good team player.
A waiter appeared with his drink as another waiter offered a tray of smoked salmon canapés on black bread with chive cream. Davis took two.
He turned and chatted with the former White House Counsel and his wife and noted that they were about the same age. Must be a first marriage, he thought. That was fairly unusual for this crowd. Davis wondered how the man stayed interested. It was all he could do to stay interested in the pretty young ones he was dating these days.
He thought about Roxy and the job she was doing in his office. She wasn’t very well organized, but he had his AA to keep track of everything. His administrative assistant was first-rate, had been with him since his first run for Congress. She really kept the place humming. He never messed with her. She was too important to screw around with. She knew it too. They understood one another.
Roxy was a different story. He had only given her a job because her father made a personal request. And it was hard to turn down one of your major donors. So there she was, sitting at the desk right inside the door to his office, answering the phone and greeting the inevitable throng of constituents who poured through the place asking for help on God knows what. Everything from human cloning to a flag burning amendment. At least the girl had a nice smile.
She had a few other nice attributes as well, he thought, as he remembered taking her back to his house on the Hill recently. She had been most obliging, most obliging indeed.
He checked his watch and realized that it was seven forty-five. This meant that his hostess would be seating her guests pretty soon. Since the evening was scheduled to start at seven, and since no proper hostess ever extended the cocktail hour beyond the proper forty-five minutes, he could usually plan these things to arrive in time to get a drink, maybe two, check out the best people to talk to, but not get bored by having to stand around too long before the main event.
As predicted, Adelaide walked up to announce, “Dinner is served.”
He followed her into the formal dining room where there was a long table for fourteen guests set with an ivory cloth reaching to the floor, ivory napkins, and a long low centerpiece of spring flowers surrounded by votive candles, so everyone could talk across the table and not have a whole forest in front of them.
He found his place card and saw that the cousin from Brentwood was at least fairly attractive, even if she was a bit older than he might have preferred. On the other hand, she was probably rich as Croesus. And for that, he could overlook a membership in AARP.
He stared down at his plate where he saw a delicate soup bowl containing something that looked light green with a slice of cucumber floating in it. He had no idea what it was.
He flashed a warm smile at his dinner partner, “So how are things in Brentwood?”
“Oh, we get by. We are in a bit of a pickle though. Deficits and all of that,” she said.
He noted what must be a five-carat diamond job on her right hand and figured she didn’t have to worry about it personally. “Yes, we deal with those things all day long here in Washington. Major difference is that your state government is supposed to balance its budgets. We never seem to get around to doing that here.”
“You talking about the deficit over there?” the guest of honor asked. “Here we are at this lovely dinner party, and we’re already discussing our problems on the Hill.”
“Oh, I love to hear about what’s going on in Congress,” the cousin urged. “Do tell me what you’re working on.”
That’s all any of them needed to begin their usual friendly debates. It didn’t take much encouragement. After all, they were doing the people’s business. What could be more interesting than that?
Senator Kramer looked down the table and announced, “First of all, we’re terribly shocked by that attack on our team in New Delhi.” There was a murmur around the table. Even though the event had been announced just hours before this gathering, everyone knew about it because everyone who was anyone had the news on all day long, lest they be caught unawares in an important conversation.
“Shocking,” Adelaide said. “Absolutely shocking. Do we know who did it?” she asked, employing the Washington we used by all insiders.
“Not yet,” the senator replied. “But I hear the president is mad as hell about this one and is promising to find them, come hell or high water.” Whenever anyone could quote the president, he did so, especially at a dinner party.
“Here, here,” the others responded.
“And speaking of troubles overseas,” the senator continued, looking directly at Davis, “how about the defense bill, ole boy?”
“About ready for markup,” Davis assured him. “We just have a few small items to add.”
“Add? My committee is subtracting this go-around.”
“Which items in the president’s request are you going to subtract?” Davis inquired.
“We all want to support the president and especially our troops.” Everyone nodded. “But there are a few things we can do without. At least this year. For example, the legislative affairs team from the White House has been paying me a visit. I expect they’ve hit you up too lately.”
“Right you are,” Davis responded. “I’ve had a call or two. I hear they’re pretty keen on this new missile defense technology.”
“New technology?” the cousin asked.
“Yes, pretty clever scheme. Takes over missiles, redirects them and all that sort of thing,” Davis said waving his soup spoon. He whispered to his dinner partner, “By the way, what is this?”
She replied in a low tone, “It’s grape and almond gazpacho. We thought it would be different.”
“Yes, it is,” Davis replied.
“That new technology from Bandaq sounds like something we should be funding. Don’t you agree?” the senator asked.
“I’m not sure we have the money for it,” Davis said casually.
Janice Prescott cast a glance down the table. “I’ve heard about that technology too. Seems that it’s so effective that a number of other countries would like to get their hands on it.” Then she added, “Of course we wouldn’t sell it.” Everyone nodded.
The majority leader intervened. “I’m sure we can find some other programs we can cut to make way for this new one. How about that, Steve?”
“Actually the White House staff put together a pretty good list of recommendations. Tops on my list are the blimps.”
“Blimps?” asked the former counselor and current CNN analyst. “Trade blimps for missile defense? Sounds like a slam-dunk to me. Old versus new and all of that.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Russ said. “And if it’s coming from the White House, and it means we can stay within our numbers. I’d call that a done deal, right Davis?”
Oh boy. What now? He could hardly argue with the Senate majority leader, the Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee and a TV commentator to boot. What the hell was he going to tell Roxy? It was her old man’s company that built those blimp things and wanted that appropriation.
Then he reflected on his other problem. What could be a big-time problem with Sterling Dynamics. Those boys not only wanted to keep their R&D appropriation, they wanted to knock Bandaq out of the box. And the bastard had the gall to threaten him with blackmail. Well, maybe it wasn’t a direct threat, but it was a pretty God-damned big hint.
He’d been stewing over that one all day. He thought back to when it all had happened. Sure the little page was cute. Sure she had come on to him. And sure, she had been hard to resist. But hell, he should have been more careful. He thought she was twenty. She looked about twenty-five. He was shocked to find out she was only seventeen. Then he about had a heart attack when she calmly informed him she was pregnant.
He wasn’t even sure it was his kid. But he had decided to do the honorable thing for once. He set up accounts for her and the boy. She had quit shortly after that and left town.
Now with Kooner making noises about the boy, he wondered how in hell he had found out. Washington was a sieve when it came to gossip and intrigue. Everybody knew that. But as he analyzed the situation, he finally decided he wasn’t about to cave in to blackmail.
So he made a decision. He’d go along with the funding for Bandaq and leave Sterling’s numbers alone. As long as they got a few contracts, they’d stay afloat. And what would be the point in Kooner going to the press about a piece of ancient history? What point indeed?
He paused for just a moment as a waiter removed his soup dish and placed a plate of rib lamb chops, steamed asparagus spears with a yellow pepper coulis and a grilled peach in front of him. He was grateful for the lamb. The rest of it might be colorful, but wouldn’t be very filling. It seemed that all of the hostesses around town were still trying to go with the low-carb thing at these dinners. And when he left one of these affairs, he always felt like stopping at McDonald’s.
He turned to face the majority leader. “I think you make a very good point, Russ. Now that I think about it, the amounts for those two programs were about the same. So a switch would just about wrap it up.”
“Well, I’m glad we settled that,” Adelaide said with a smile. “Now I’d like to know what you all think about the renovations at the Kennedy Center and that new wing for the Corcoran that had to be cancelled.”
Davis knew about the Corcoran Museum. They had planned a modern addition to a classic building right across from the White House. He was glad it had been cancelled for lack of funds. He always thought the plan, with its strange billowing walls, looked like a typhoon had blown through a sheet metal factory. Better not comment on that one, he thought. The cousin might have called it a modernist masterpiece.
The rest of the dinner progressed with amiable conversation about new concert halls and the recent visits of the Japanese and Russian delegations.
Janis Prescott told a story about how some Russians had behaved on the first state visit of General Secretary Gorbachev back in the eighties. It was long before the Berlin Wall came down, before many of their people had been allowed to travel, and before their economy had improved.
It seemed that some of our FBI agents escorting them around town had taken them into Brooks Brothers where they marveled at all the clothes that were available. They couldn’t speak much English, but they all kept uttering one word, “Leemits? Leemits?”
The agents finally figured out that they were asking what the “limits” were to purchasing socks and shirts. When told there were “no limits,” and they could buy as much as they wanted anywhere in America, they were positively stunned. Everyone loved that story.
Davis leaned back in his chair as the waiter cleared his dinner plate from the right and served a dish of chocolate mousse from the left. At least he’d have something sweet for dessert, although he would have preferred a nice slice of apple pie, preferably with ice cream on top.
He finished the mousse in three bites while he listened to the Brent-wood cousin declare that she was enjoying Washington so much, she just might prolong her stay. Oh great. Now he might have to go through this routine all over again. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was nine-fifteen. He still had some cabernet left, so he raised his wine glass as he exchanged a glance with his hostess. She nodded imperceptibly so he pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to propose two toasts this evening.” He turned to Adelaide. “First, to our most gracious hostess who always brings together good fellows for good fellowship. We thank you for a wonderful evening.”
“To Adelaide,” they all said in unison as they sipped what was left of their wine.
Turning to Senator Kramer, Davis cleared his throat, enjoying his moment as the center of attention. “And to our guest of honor on the occasion of his becoming the new Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. I know that the good senator shares the wish articulated by President John F. Kennedy when he said, ‘Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and success of liberty.’” He raised his glass. “To our liberty and your leadership.” There. That should make an impression, Davis thought to himself as he sat down.
Everyone murmured, “Here, here.”
The senator rose to respond. “I wish to thank my colleague from the House and my hostess as well for this most delightful dinner. And on the subject of protecting our liberty, I too would like to give you a quote. It is from Thomas Jefferson who said, ‘Government big enough to supply everything you need is big enough to take everything you have . . . The course of history shows that as a government grows, liberty decreases.’ And so I pledge to you tonight, that while I will work hard to maintain a strong defense, I will also keep an eye on your pocketbook,” he said with a wink.
Everyone tittered and murmured their approval as they raised their glasses in a toast to the new chairman.
The hostess rose from her chair and invited her guests into the living room for coffee. This always gave people one more chance to mingle and follow-up on points they might want to make before the evening was over.
Davis held the cousin’s chair and escorted her to the front room. Two waiters offered sterling silver trays covered with demitasse cups of decaf coffee with tiny silver spoons, along with cream and sugar. The trouble was that the sugar bowl was filled with those little sugar cubes and tongs that looked like they belonged at a child’s tea party. Davis could never make the damn things work quite right, so he took his coffee black.
He wished he could have had a nice steaming mug of real java. Oh well, Roxy would make him some first thing in the morning. Roxy . . . what was he going to tell her? Of course, he didn’t have to answer to his receptionist. On the other hand, he was kind of enjoying her talents these days.
He wondered if her daddy would pull her off his staff when he heard the bad news. No, he wouldn’t be that dumb. He would figure that as long as she was in there, he had a shot at next year’s appropriation. Yes, that’s what he’d think. And that meant Roxy could stay for a good long while.
At nine-thirty sharp, the guests began to bid their farewells. As they were moving toward the door, Davis found himself standing next to Janis Prescott.
“Janice, you made an interesting comment at dinner about other countries being interested in Bandaq’s technology. I didn’t know that word had gotten around already.”
“Oh yes, it most certainly has,” the deputy said.
“Well, I hope to God they never get it.”