Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [104]
Clarise was the last to arrive, which broke with protocol. Under ordinary circumstances, Dorothy Maloney, vice president of the United States, would be afforded the privilege of making her entrance after the others were there, like the champion in a boxing match climbing into the ring only after the challenger has arrived. Not that it mattered to Maloney. A large, square woman who was often described as being “handsome” rather than pretty, she was known for not standing on ceremony, except, of course, when there was something official on the line. She had a laugh that was contagious, bubbling, and knowing, and a perpetual glint in her emerald-green eyes.
Until Clarise arrived, most talk had been of Clarise and the problems she faced with her son. The city now knew that Jeremiah had been formally charged with the murder of the young intern, and there was the expected potpourri of theories, alleged “inside” information, and rampant, reckless speculation. The misanthropic proposed that because of Jeremiah’s father’s role, charges would eventually be dropped and swept under a political rug. Others expressed hope, in hushed whispers to those deemed safe to confide in, that justice would be served and that warped young men like Jeremiah Lerner would be kept off the streets. Said one: “We have enough crime in this city without young punks like him running around killing young women.”
“Clarise, darling, how wonderful to see you.”
“I don’t know how you do it, with everything that’s happening.”
“You look—wonderful, Clarise. Our next head of the NEA.”
Annabel sat between Vice President Maloney and Clarise during the catered lunch. Lunch consisted of light food and conversation consisted of light banter, and there was much laughter as Dorothy Maloney told tales out of school, in this case the White House.
When not participating in the chatter, Annabel tried to zero in on what Clarise must be feeling at that moment. She certainly seemed to be in control of herself, put together, gregarious, and tuned in to what everyone was saying. Could she be capable of parking her problem with Jeremiah in some neutral area of her brain while focusing on the moment? Not easy for anyone to do, but Annabel knew a number of people who had that practice down to a science, and she admired them. It was a requisite of success, the ability to sever personal problems from professional demands, handling each on its own merits, and never the twain should meet.
The vice president toasted Clarise at the end of the luncheon: “Clarise and I have been close friends for many years,” Maloney said, standing and raising her champagne flute. “She is, as we all know, a friend and staunch supporter of the arts in America, which, Lord knows, we need at this moment. There are those in positions of authority who view funding for the arts as money down the drain, money that could be put to better use—weapons, tax cuts for the rich, and other agendas that certainly cannot be labeled ‘artistic.’ Clarise has stood up against these other interests—and will continue to do so as our new head of the National Endowment for the Arts.”
There was applause around the long table.
Maloney announced she had to leave, and was escorted from the room by an aide and Secret Service agents. When she was gone, Clarise stood and said, “I’m blessed with friends like all of you here in this room.” She wiped away a tear. “Thank you so much for being here, and for being who you are.”
As people filed from the room, Clarise took Annabel aside.
“Can I ask a huge favor of you, Annabel?”
“Of course.”
“Bruce and I are giving a joint press conference this afternoon at five.”
“Concerning Jeremiah?”
“Yes. Bruce has scheduled it. I’m heading to his house from here to prepare.”
“Does Mac know?”
“I don’t think so. Bruce doesn’t want any of the attorneys to be there. He doesn’t want it to appear to be a conference about Jeremiah’s arraignment, or the trial,