No Rules, Ridge King [the snowy day read aloud TXT] 📗

of those chicken sandwiches I like so much. And tell ’em to make it snappy. I’ve got a guest and he’s starving. And a couple of iced teas.”

“Right away, Mr. President.”

“Mr. President, that’s not really—”

Norwalk waved him off.

“Aw, just wait’ll you taste this sandwich. It’s really a sliced chicken sandwich, not chicken salad. You’ll see. I think it’s tarragon or something.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Now back to business. You already know Governor St. Clair needs your vote badly.”

“Phil Slanetti has made me aware of that, Mr. President.”

He thought he was being a little rude, but he didn’t feel he could be responsible for what he was saying.  He felt like an automaton and tried to relax himself, but it was impossible. He was watching Norwalk’s face as closely as he could, trying to think ahead of him, but he knew he had no idea what the President was going to say.  Norwalk looked sharply at him and their eyes drilled into each other’s.  Matt looked again at the deeply lined face, the gently combed back graying hair.  Norwalk leaned towards him, still holding fast his gaze.  Matt thought Norwalk was going to rebuke him, but his face wasn’t harsh and his voice was kindly, fatherly when he spoke.

“You are too tense, Matt. I wish you’d relax.”

“I wish I could, too, Mr. President, but you’ll understand if I find it a little difficult under the circumstances.”

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

Norwalk had forgotten what it must be like for someone as young as Hawkins to be called into the Oval Office, someone who’d never left his home state before. He sensed it still in children who came in, ordinary people when he was on the road, but he’d been sequestered in the White House and its environs for a long time now, untouched by the masses.

“I don’t want a nervous man responding to what I have to say to him,” Norwalk said.

Just then, the doors flew open and two butlers appeared carrying trays—one with sandwiches and one with a pitcher of iced tea and glasses and lemons.

“Here we are, Mr. President,” said one of the butlers.

“Why, thank you, Milton. Just put those trays right here on the desk.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The other butler filled two glasses with iced tea.

“You know, the hell with the tea. Matt, you drink Scotch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring that decanter of whisky over here, Milton, and two glasses. Maybe that’ll calm you down a little,” Norwalk smiled.  “Now, try this sandwich.”

Matt pulled his chair a little closer and picked up the chicken sandwich. Taking a healthy bite of it, he savored the herbed mayonnaise slathered on the delicious bread and the slices of freshly roasted still warm juicy chicken breast and ripe tomatoes.

“What do you think?”

“About the best chicken sandwich I’ve ever had, Mr. President.”

“I wish you were as easy to convince about St. Clair as you are about sliced chicken sandwiches.”

“Here we are, Mr. President,” said Milton, setting down a silver tray with a crystal decanter, two glasses, and a small bowl of ice.

“Thank you, Milton.”

Milton poured generous portions and added a few ice cubes before leaving the room.

Matt drank the whisky and ate the sandwich. His senses were returning to him. He glanced at the decanter on the tray on Norwalk’s desk. Norwalk was watching him, reached for the decanter and poured him another healthy portion.  Matt sipped it and set the glass down.

“Better now?”

“Oh, much better. Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Now then,” said Norwalk, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin and swinging his chair around to Matt and resting one arm on his desk. “I regret not having met with you sooner to discuss your vote and its importance to St. Clair’s campaign.  It’s only become clear in the past few days just how important you are, Matt. Further, let me tell you that I regret Phil Slanetti’s tactics.  He’s usually a most efficient man, but perhaps in your case, because of its importance, he was overzealous. It’s just that time is running out for everyone and when time is important, feelings aren’t weighed.  In time, you’ll come to see what I mean.”

“I haven’t changed my mind about supporting Thurston, Mr. President,” Matt forced himself to interrupt.  He seemed to be going to extremes to calm Matt and Matt wanted to let him know right away what his position was.

“I see,” noted Norwalk quietly, but with a frown.  Matt felt encouraged.

“If everybody would just leave me alone to vote my own way, wouldn’t things be better for everybody concerned?” he asked.

Norwalk smiled.

“I wish more than you do that I could leave you alone, Matt,” said Norwalk seriously.  “I know you have your convictions and I wish I could honor them.  But in certain situations, ideals must be compromised, they mustn’t stand in the way.  I’ll tell you why I want you to come over to my position.”  He rested his hands on the desk.  “We both know the candidates’ positions on the Russian-Chinese dispute.  I’m telling you, as Sam and Jack and others have told you, that if Senator Thurston is elected, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, will prevent China from involving the world in an even greater crisis than we face today. The current leadership is crazed. There’s no limit to their fanaticism. Thurston won’t be able to contain them. That’s why they want him elected so fiercely. They know he’s not man enough to stop them. His entire platform is based on total support for the Chinese. Appeasing them. He’ll look like a fool, a complete fool, if he’s forced to abandon them after they take some action he finally decides he can’t live with. If what we’re facing now is not a life and death struggle, it soon will be, Matt, and I tell you that from the bottom of