collar of her blouse—exceedingly thin and skimpy, as seemed to be the fashion in this shameless new century—as if to indicate her bosom.
“Ah, thank you, no. Might you have a piece of paper?” He signed an envelope she was holding and moved on to the next person, walking slowly along as he did.
The next person—a young man with a particularly puckish look on his face—offered Taft a small, flat, shiny box to sign. Upon it were the words
President Kane
. Before he could get a good look at it, Kowlaczyk snatched it out of the man’s hand and had one of the other agents hustle him away.
“What was that?”
Kowalczyk traded glances with Rachel. Was that a grimace of conspiracy on their faces? No, it couldn’t be. He was being, as Nellie used to say, far too sensitive.
“Just a DVD, sir. A movie. Nothing you need to be bothered with.”
“A moving picture? In a little box? Why, that sounds exactly like something I need to be bothered with.”
Rachel put her face near his ear. “Are you doing okay?” she whispered. If Taft didn’t know better, he’d say she was changing the subject. “Really, I’d have no problem with Kowalczyk moving these people back. They’re like vultures.”
He laughed. “And when has the public ever not? Besides, I’m honestly a bit terrified about this traveling through the air business.”
“It’ll be fine. We just need to get to the damn plane already. At least it’s a private jet. If we were flying commercial, we’d be screwed right about now.”
Taft moved on to the next outstretched piece of paper in his path. “All I know is this: if Teddy Roosevelt could go up in an airplane, so can I.” He remembered that day in October 1910 when he was sitting in the Oval Office and got the telephone call from Teddy. “Bill! You’ll never believe what I did today. The Wright Brothers themselves gave me a ride in one of their biplanes! Glorious! You should see what the earth looks like from such a height. The reporters are on their way now. I just wanted to share this magnificent moment with you.”
That was Teddy. He always had to look down on you. It had become obvious to Taft, mere weeks after his election in 1908, that Roosevelt already chafed at seeing someone else in
his
White House. Even as a civilian, he had to blow his horn louder and make a bigger spectacle than the president himself. It was a petulant way to draw attention, but hadn’t that always been Teddy’s way? Taft was steady, deliberate, grounded. Teddy climbed into winged contraptions and laughed as they hurtled through the sky. It was hard for Taft to believe that it wasn’t all part of Teddy’s plan—to undermine Taft’s presidency, to constantly remind the American people that, mere months earlier, they’d had a virile and heroic commander-in-chief. Oh, and trim, too.
Was he still dwelling on the election? Curse it all. A hundred years had slipped by. He’d have to learn to get over it.
Suddenly Taft realized his procession had slowed from a crawl to a halt. What was it now? Blast it. Thinking of Teddy always had a way of stirring up his nerves.
“Mr. President. May I have a word with you? It’s about our correspondence.”
A woman, perhaps in early middle age, stood before him. She wore a cap and glasses tinted so dark he couldn’t see her eyes.
“Excuse me? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m quite sure I’ve not made your acquaintance.”
She stepped forward, bumped against the formidable barricade of Kowalczyk’s outstretched arm, and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. “President Taft, it’s me. Pauline Craig. From TV.”
And so it was. Even behind the glasses and beneath the ridiculous hat, she was striking. Hard-faced, composed, controlled, with an almost chiseled beauty—in person she reminded Taft uncannily of Nellie.
“Ah, why, yes, Mrs. Craig—”
“Ms. Craig.”
“Yes, Ms. Craig. How caddish of me. Did you receive my reply to your invitation? I had so many
“Ah, thank you, no. Might you have a piece of paper?” He signed an envelope she was holding and moved on to the next person, walking slowly along as he did.
The next person—a young man with a particularly puckish look on his face—offered Taft a small, flat, shiny box to sign. Upon it were the words
President Kane
. Before he could get a good look at it, Kowlaczyk snatched it out of the man’s hand and had one of the other agents hustle him away.
“What was that?”
Kowalczyk traded glances with Rachel. Was that a grimace of conspiracy on their faces? No, it couldn’t be. He was being, as Nellie used to say, far too sensitive.
“Just a DVD, sir. A movie. Nothing you need to be bothered with.”
“A moving picture? In a little box? Why, that sounds exactly like something I need to be bothered with.”
Rachel put her face near his ear. “Are you doing okay?” she whispered. If Taft didn’t know better, he’d say she was changing the subject. “Really, I’d have no problem with Kowalczyk moving these people back. They’re like vultures.”
He laughed. “And when has the public ever not? Besides, I’m honestly a bit terrified about this traveling through the air business.”
“It’ll be fine. We just need to get to the damn plane already. At least it’s a private jet. If we were flying commercial, we’d be screwed right about now.”
Taft moved on to the next outstretched piece of paper in his path. “All I know is this: if Teddy Roosevelt could go up in an airplane, so can I.” He remembered that day in October 1910 when he was sitting in the Oval Office and got the telephone call from Teddy. “Bill! You’ll never believe what I did today. The Wright Brothers themselves gave me a ride in one of their biplanes! Glorious! You should see what the earth looks like from such a height. The reporters are on their way now. I just wanted to share this magnificent moment with you.”
That was Teddy. He always had to look down on you. It had become obvious to Taft, mere weeks after his election in 1908, that Roosevelt already chafed at seeing someone else in
his
White House. Even as a civilian, he had to blow his horn louder and make a bigger spectacle than the president himself. It was a petulant way to draw attention, but hadn’t that always been Teddy’s way? Taft was steady, deliberate, grounded. Teddy climbed into winged contraptions and laughed as they hurtled through the sky. It was hard for Taft to believe that it wasn’t all part of Teddy’s plan—to undermine Taft’s presidency, to constantly remind the American people that, mere months earlier, they’d had a virile and heroic commander-in-chief. Oh, and trim, too.
Was he still dwelling on the election? Curse it all. A hundred years had slipped by. He’d have to learn to get over it.
Suddenly Taft realized his procession had slowed from a crawl to a halt. What was it now? Blast it. Thinking of Teddy always had a way of stirring up his nerves.
“Mr. President. May I have a word with you? It’s about our correspondence.”
A woman, perhaps in early middle age, stood before him. She wore a cap and glasses tinted so dark he couldn’t see her eyes.
“Excuse me? I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m quite sure I’ve not made your acquaintance.”
She stepped forward, bumped against the formidable barricade of Kowalczyk’s outstretched arm, and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose. “President Taft, it’s me. Pauline Craig. From TV.”
And so it was. Even behind the glasses and beneath the ridiculous hat, she was striking. Hard-faced, composed, controlled, with an almost chiseled beauty—in person she reminded Taft uncannily of Nellie.
“Ah, why, yes, Mrs. Craig—”
“Ms. Craig.”
“Yes, Ms. Craig. How caddish of me. Did you receive my reply to your invitation? I had so many
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