Windmills of the Gods (12 page)

The media blitz began. It was orchestrated by Ian Villiers, chief of press relations for the State Department. Villiers was
in his late forties, a dynamic ex-newspaperman who seemed to know everybody in the media.

Mary found herself in front of the cameras on
Good Morning America, Meet the Press
, and
Firing Line.
She was interviewed by
The Washington Post, The New York Times
, and half a dozen other important daily papers. She did interviews for the
London Times, Der Spiegel, Oggi
, and
Le Monde. Time
magazine and
People
did feature articles on her and the children. Mary Ashley’s photograph seemed to be everywhere, and whenever there was a newsbreak about an event in some far-off corner of the world, she was asked for her comments. Overnight, Mary Ashley and her children became celebrities.

Tim said, “Mom, it’s really spooky seeing our pictures on the covers of all the magazines.”

“
Spooky
is the word,” Mary agreed.

Somehow, she felt uneasy about all the publicity. She spoke to Stanton Rogers about it.

“Look on it as a part of your job. The President is trying to create an image. By the time you arrive in Europe, everyone there will know who you are.”

Ben Cohn and Akiko were lying in bed, naked. Akiko was a lovely Japanese girl, ten years younger than the reporter. They had met a few years earlier, when he was writing a story on models, and they had been together ever since.

Cohn was having a problem.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Akiko asked softly. “Would you like me to work on you some more?”

His thoughts were far away. “No. I’ve already got a hard-on.

“I don’t see it,” she teased.

“It’s in my mind, Akiko. I’ve got a hard-on for a story. There’s something weird happening in this town.”

“So what else is new?”

“This is different. I can’t figure it out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s Mary Ashley. I’ve seen her on the covers of six magazines in the last two weeks, and she hasn’t even taken up her post yet! Akiko, someone is giving Mrs. Ashley a moviestar buildup. And her two kids are being splashed all over the newspapers and magazines. Why?”

“I’m supposed to be the one with the devious Oriental mind. I think you’re complicating that which is very simple.”

Ben Cohn lit a cigarette and took an angry puff on it. “You could be right,” he grumbled.

She reached down and began to stroke him. “How about putting out that cigarette and lighting me…?”

“There’s a party being given for Vice-President Bradford,” Stanton Rogers informed Mary, “and I’ve arranged for you to be invited. It’s on Friday night at the Pan American Union.”

The Pan American Union was a large, sedate building with a huge courtyard, and was frequently used for diplomatic functions. The dinner for the Vice-President was an elaborate affair, with tables holding gleaming antique silverware and sparkling Baccarat glasses. There was a small orchestra. The guest list consisted of the capital’s elite. Besides the Vice-President and his wife, there were senators, ambassadors, and celebrities from all walks of life.

Mary looked around at the glamorous gathering.
I must remember everything so I can tell Beth and Tim about it
, she thought.

When dinner was announced, Mary found herself at a table with an interesting mix of senators, State Department officials, and diplomats. The people were charming and the dinner was excellent.

At eleven o’clock, Mary looked at her watch and said to the senator on her right, “I didn’t realize it was so late. I promised the children I’d be back early.”

She rose and nodded to the people seated at her table. “It’s been lovely meeting you all. Good night.”

There was a stunned silence, and everyone in the huge banquet hall turned to watch Mary as she walked across the dance floor and exited.

“Oh, my God!” Stanton Rogers whispered. “No one told her!”

Stanton Rogers had breakfast with Mary the following morning.

“Mary,” he said, “this is a town that takes its rules seriously. A lot of them are stupid, but we all have to live by them.”

“Oh, oh. What did I do?”

He sighed. “You broke rule number one: No one—but no one—ever leaves a party before the guest of honor. Last night it happened to be the Vice-President of the United States.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Half the telephones in Washington have been ringing off the hook.”

“I’m sorry, Stan. I didn’t know. Anyway, I had promised the children—”

“There are no children in Washington—only young voters. This town is about power. Never forget that.”

Money was proving to be a problem. Living expenses were horrendous. The price of everything in Washington seemed to Mary to be outrageous. She gave some laundry and pressing to the hotel’s valet service, and when she got the bill she was shocked. “Five dollars and fifty cents to wash a blouse,” she said. “And a dollar ninety-five for a brassiere!”
No more
, she vowed.
From now on I’ll do the laundry myself.

She soaked her pantyhose in cold water, and then put them
in the freezer. They lasted much longer that way. She washed the children’s socks and handkerchiefs and underpants along with her bras in the bathroom sink. She spread the handkerchiefs against the mirror to dry, and then carefully folded them so that they would not have to be ironed. She steamed out her dresses and Tim’s trousers by hanging them on the shower-curtain rack, turning the hot water of the shower on full force, and closing the bathroom door. When Beth opened the door one morning, she was hit by a wall of steam.

“Mother—what are you
doing
?”

“Saving money,” Mary informed her loftily. “The laundry charges a fortune.”

“What if the President walked in? How would it look? He’d think we were Okies.”

“The President’s not going to walk in. And close the bathroom door, please. You’re wasting money.”

Okies, indeed! If the President walked in and saw what she was doing, he would be proud of her. She would show him the hotel laundry list and let him see how much she was saving by using a little Yankee ingenuity. He would be impressed. “
If more people in government had your imagination, Madam Ambassador, the economy of this country would be in a lot better shape than it is. We’ve lost the pioneering spirit that made this country great. Our people have gotten soft. We rely too much on time-saving electrical appliances and not enough on ourselves. I would like to use you as a shining example to some of the spendthrifts in Washington who think this country is made of money. You could teach them all a lesson. As a matter of fact, I have a wonderful idea. Mary Ashley, I’m going to make you secretary of the treasury.
”

Steam was seeping out from under the bathroom door. Dreamily, Mary opened it. A cloud of steam poured into the living room.

There was the sound of the doorbell and Beth said, “Mother, James Stickley is here to see you.”

“The whole thing gets weirder and weirder,” Ben Cohn said. He was sitting up in bed, nude, his young mistress, Akiko Hadaka, at his side. They were watching Mary Ashley on
Meet the Press.

The new ambassador to Romania was saying, “I believe that mainland China is heading for a more humane, individualistic Communist society with its incorporation of Hong Kong and Macao.”

“Now what the fuck does that lady know about China?” Ben Cohn muttered. He turned to Akiko. “You’re looking at a housewife from Kansas who’s become an expert on everything overnight.”

“She seems very bright,” Akiko said.

“Bright is beside the point. Every time she gives an interview, the reporters go crazy. It’s like a feeding frenzy. How did she get on
Meet the Press
? I’ll tell you how. Someone decided that Mary Ashley was going to be a celebrity. Who? Why?
Charles Lindbergh
never had a buildup like this.”

“Who’s Charles Lindbergh?”

Ben Cohn sighed. “That’s the problem with the generation gap. There’s no communication.”

Akiko said softly, “There are other ways to communicate.”

She gently pushed him down on the bed and moved on top of him. She worked her Way down his body, flicking her long, silken hair across his chest and his stomach and his groin, watching him grow hard. She stroked him and said, “Hello, Arthur.”

“Arthur wants to get inside you.”

“Not yet. I’ll be back to him.”

She rose and padded off to the kitchen. Ben Cohn watched her as she moved out of the room. He looked at the television set and thought:
That lady gives me
shpilkes.
There’s a hell of a lot less there than meets the eye, and I’m damned well going to find out what it is.

“Akiko!” he shouted. “What’re you doing? Arthur’s falling asleep.”

“Tell him to wait up,” she called. “I’ll be right there.”

A few minutes later she returned, carrying a dish filled with ice cream, whipped cream, and a cherry.

“For God’s sake,” he said. “I’m not hungry. I’m horny.”

“Lie back.” She put a towel under him, took the ice cream from the dish, and started spreading it around his testicles.

He yelled, “Hey! That’s cold.”

“Sh!” Akiko put the whipped cream over the ice cream and then put his penis in her mouth until it became turgid.

“Oh, my God,” Ben moaned. “Don’t stop.”

Akiko put the cherry on top of his now rigid penis. “I love banana splits,” she whispered.

And as she began to eat it, Ben felt an incredible mixture of sensations, all of them wonderful. When he could stand it no longer, he rolled Akiko over and plunged inside her.

On the television set Mary Ashley was saying, “One of
the best ways to prevent war with countries opposed to the American ideology is to increase our trade with them…”

Later that evening, Ben Cohn telephoned Ian Villiers.

“Hi, Ian.”

“Benjie, my boy—what can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

“Name it, and you’ve got it.”

“I understand you’re in charge of press relations for our new ambassador to Romania.”

A cautious “Yes…?”

“Who’s behind her buildup, Ian? I’m interested in—”

“I’m sorry, Ben. That’s State Department business. I’m just a hired hand. You might drop a note to the secretary of state.”

Hanging up, Ben said, “Why didn’t he just tell me to go fuck myself?” He made a decision. “I think I’m going to have to go out of town for a few days.”

“Where are you going, baby?”

“Junction City, Kansas.”

As it turned out, Ben Cohn was in Junction City for only one day. He spent an hour talking to Sheriff Munster and one of his deputies, then drove a rental car to Fort Riley, where he visited the CID office. He caught a late afternoon plane to Manhattan, Kansas, and a connecting flight home.

As Ben Cohn’s plane took off, a person-to-person telephone call was placed from the fort to a number in Washington, D.C.

Mary Ashley was walking down the long corridor of the Foreign Service Institute on her way to report to James Stickley when she heard a deep male voice behind her say, “Now
that’s
what I call a perfect ten.”

Mary spun around. A tall stranger was leaning against a
wall, openly staring at her, an insolent grin on his face. He was rugged-looking, dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, and he looked scruffy and unshaven. There were laugh lines around his mouth, and his eyes were a bright mocking blue. There was an air of arrogance about him that was infuriating. Mary turned on her heel and angrily walked away, conscious of his eyes following her.

The conference with James Stickley lasted for more than an hour. When Mary returned to her office, the stranger was seated in her chair, his feet on her desk, looking through her papers. She could feel the blood rising to her face.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

The man gave her a long, lazy look and slowly got to his feet. “I’m Mike Slade. My friends call me Michael.”

She said icily, “What can I do for you, Mr. Slade?”

“Nothing, really,” he said easily. “We’re neighbors. I work here in the department, so I thought I’d come by and say hello.”

“You’ve said it. And if you really are in the department, I assume you have your own desk. So in the future you won’t have to sit at my desk and snoop.”

“God, it has a temper! I heard the Kansians, or whatever you people call yourselves, were supposed to be friendly folks.”

She gritted her teeth. “Mr. Slade, I’ll give you two seconds to get out of my office before I call a guard.”

“I must have heard wrong,” he mumbled to himself.

“And if you really work in this department, I’d suggest you go home and shave and put on some proper clothing.”

“I used to have a wife who talked like that,” Mike Slade sighed. “I don’t have her anymore.”

Mary felt her face getting redder. “Out.”

He waved his hand at her. “Bye, honey. I’ll be seeing you.”

Oh, no
, Mary thought.
No, you won’t.

The whole morning was a series of unpleasant experiences. James Stickley was openly antagonistic. By noon, Mary was too upset to eat. She decided to spend her lunch hour riding around Washington, getting the anger out of her system.

Her limousine was sitting at the curb in front of the Foreign Service Institute.

“Good morning, Madam Ambassador,” the chauffeur said. “Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere, Marvin. Let’s just drive around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The car pulled smoothly away from the curb. “Would you like to see Embassy Row?”

“Fine.” Anything to get the taste of the morning out of her mouth.

He made a left turn at the corner and headed for Massachusetts Avenue.

“It begins here,” Marvin said as he turned onto the wide street. He slowed the car down and began to point out the various embassies.

Mary recognized the Japanese embassy because of the rising-sun flag in front of it. The Indian embassy had an elephant over the door.

They passed a beautiful Islamic mosque. There were people in the front courtyard kneeling in prayer.

They reached the corner of Twenty-third Street and passed a white stone building with a pillar on either side of three steps.

“That’s the Romanian embassy,” Marvin said. “Next to it is—”

“Stop, please!”

The limousine swung to the curb. Mary looked out the car window at a plaque on the outside of the building. It read:
EMBASSY OF THE SOCIALIST REPUBLIC OF ROMANIA
.

On an impulse, Mary said, “Wait here, please. I’m going inside.”

Her heart began to beat faster. This was going to be her first real contact with the country she had been teaching about—the country that was going to be her home for the next few years.

She took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell. Silence. She tried the door. It was unlocked. She opened it and stepped inside. The reception hall was dark and freezing cold. There was a red couch in an alcove and next to it were two chairs placed in front of a small television set. She heard footsteps and turned. A tall, thin man was hurrying down the stairs.

“Yes, yes?” he called. “What is it? What is it?”

Mary beamed. “Good morning. I’m Mary Ashley. I’m the new ambassador to Rom—”

The man slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, my God!”

She was startled. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that we were not expecting you, Madam Ambassador.”

“Oh, I know that. I was just driving by and I—”

“Ambassador Corbescue is going to be terribly, terribly upset!”

“Upset? Why? I just thought I’d say hello and—”

“Of course, of course. Forgive me. My name is Gabriel Stoica. I am the deputy chief of mission. Please let me put on the lights and some heat. We were not expecting guests, as you can see. Not at all.”

He was so obviously in a panic that all Mary wanted to do was leave, but it was too late. She watched as Gabriel Stoica ran around turning on overhead lights and lamps until the reception hall was brightly lit.

“It will take a few minutes for the heat to come on,” he apologized. “We try to save as much on fuel costs as we can. Washington is very expensive.”

She wished she could have disappeared into the floor. “If I had realized…”

“No, no! It is nothing, nothing. The ambassador is upstairs. I will inform him you are here.”

“Don’t bother—”

Stoica was racing upstairs.

Five minutes later, Stoica returned. “Please come. The ambassador is delighted that you are here. Delighted.”

“Are you sure that—?”

“He is waiting for you.”

He escorted Mary upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a conference room with fourteen chairs around a long table. Against the wall was a cabinet filled with crafts and sculptures from Romania, and on the wall was a relief map of Romania. There was a fireplace with the Romanian flag above it. Coming forward to greet her was Ambassador Radu Corbescue, in shirt sleeves, hastily pulling on a jacket. He was a tall, heavy-set man with a dark complexion. A servant was hurriedly turning on lights and adjusting the heating.

“Madam Ambassador!” Corbescue cried. “What an unexpected honor! Forgive us for receiving you so informally. Your State Department did not notify us that you were coming.”

“It’s my fault,” Mary said apologetically. “I was in the neighborhood and I—”

“It is a pleasure to meet you! A pleasure! We have seen so much of you on television and in newspapers and magazines. We have been very curious about the new ambassador to our country. You will have some tea?”

“Well, I—if you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Trouble? Of course not! I apologize because we have not prepared a formal luncheon for you. Forgive me! I am so embarrassed.”

I’m the one who’s embarrassed
, Mary thought.
What made me do this crazy thing? Dumb, dumb, dumb. I’m not even going to tell the children about this. It will be my secret till the grave.

When the tea was brought, the ambassador from Romania
was so nervous that he spilled it. “How clumsy of me! Forgive me!”

Mary wished he would stop saying that.

The ambassador tried to make small talk, but that only made the situation worse. It was obvious that he was miserably uncomfortable. As soon as she discreetly could, Mary rose.

“Thank you so much, Your Excellency. It was very nice meeting you. Good-bye.”

And she fled.

When Mary returned to the office, James Stickley immediately sent for her.

“Mrs. Ashley,” he said coldly, “would you mind explaining to me exactly what you thought you were doing?”

I guess it’s not going to be a secret I’ll carry to the grave
, Mary decided. “Oh. You mean about the Romanian embassy? I—I just thought I’d drop in and say hello and—”

“This is not a cozy little back-home get-together,” Stickley snapped. “In Washington, you don’t just
drop in
on an embassy. When an ambassador makes a call on another ambassador, it’s by invitation only. You’ve embarrassed the hell out of Corbescue. I had to talk him out of making a formal protest to the State Department. He believes that you went there to spy on him and catch him off guard.”

“What! Well, of all the—”

“Just try to remember you’re no longer a private citizen—you’re a representative of the United States government. The next time you have an impulse less personal than brushing your teeth, you’ll check with me first. Is that clear—I mean
very
clear?”

Mary swallowed. “That’s fine.”

“Good.” He picked up the telephone and dialed a number. “Mrs. Ashley is with me now. Would you like to come in? Right.” He replaced the receiver.

Mary sat there in silence, feeling like a small child being
chastised. The door opened and Mike Slade walked in.

He looked at Mary and grinned. “Hi. I took your advice and shaved.”

Stickley looked from one to the other. “You two have met?”

Mary was glaring at Slade. “Not really. I found him snooping at my desk.”

James Stickley said, “Mrs. Ashley, Mike Slade. Mr. Slade is going to be your deputy chief of mission.”

Mary stared at him. “
He’s what?
”

“Mr. Slade is on the East European desk. He usually works out of Washington, but it’s been decided to assign him to Romania as your deputy chief.”

Mary found herself springing out of her chair. “No!” she protested. “That’s impossible.”

Mike said mildly, “I promise to shave every day.”

Mary turned to Stickley. “I thought an ambassador was permitted to choose her own deputy chief of mission.”

“That is correct, but—”

“Then I am unchoosing Mr. Slade. I don’t want him.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, you would be within your rights, but in this case, I’m afraid you have no choice. The order came from the White House.”

Mary could not seem to avoid Mike Slade. The man was everywhere. She ran into him in the Pentagon, in the Senate dining room, in the corridors of the State Department. He was always dressed in either denims and a T-shirt or in sports clothes. Mary wondered how he got away with it in an environment that was so formal.