BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 24. Sarah continues to mourn JFK, as Leon visits Bela and explains what he knows about Indians. Bobby and Jackie share the pain of history.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leon had never seen Sarah carry on to such a degree over any politician or national figure, and he was beginning to get peeved at her failure to fix meals on time or keep up with the laundry. It had been over two weeks since Kennedy had been put to rest, buried with honors, and yet all she did all day was mope around, gluing newspaper clippings into her folder and writing notes. For him, President Kennedy had been an OK guy, a handsome leader who did what presidents are supposed to do – look good and make speeches. But it now appeared Sarah had been madly in love with the man.

“Fixated” was the word that came to his mind sometime around the tenth day of her obsessed mourning period. Yeah, fixated...a word that Leon didn’t usually use or think about when he was turning nuts and bolts with a wrench to fix cars. But the word had jumped into his head from somewhere. Anyway, his wife’s insatiable fascination with the dead guy was beginning to make Leon jealous. She was showing more interest in that corpse than she showed in her own husband. And that hurt. He was already off-kilter because of his continued inability to maintain an erection. Now it felt like their relationship itself was floundering.

It didn’t help any that the twins persisted in waking him up in the middle of every night. First John would cry, then Jackson, a double-header of wailing alarms blaring. The sleep deprivation resulted in more difficult days at the shop. Leon found himself wandering around half-awake, hardly able to put words together when chatting with Sonny or Charles. Fortunately he wasn’t doing anything crucial, no serious mechanical work on engines or brakes where he could have caused some serious damage if he forgot to replace an oil pan plug, missed a cotter pin or something. No, he wasn’t responsible for much; he’d become a glorified office boy in his own garage, taking orders and ringing up the little money that crossed the counter.

It was hard to break the news to old customers that their repairs would actually cost them money now. They weren’t ready to hear that, and even if they were prepared for the idea of paying something there was no money anyway, so what was the difference? When someone brought in a car, Leon sat them down and explained that he had a couple of kids now and he needed an adequate income to support his family. Then he asked if they had any money for repairs. It was a simple question that almost always prompted a life story.

“Oh yeah, since I done moved up here from Oregon, been working at some job or ‘nother. But like after the appliance store, you know, they be the layoffs. And I was gettin’ pretty good at showin’ folk’s where things were on the shelves. Vacuum cleaners, power tools, even TV’s. We done had big color sets. That guy Sammy and me did the carryin’ back to delivery. He’s from New York. But I can promise yuh...that I be working again. And you’re gonna be the first one I pay, fo’ sure. Ah kin promise yuh that. Yessir. You’d be the first one on the list, my man!”

As often as not, when it came time to pick up their car, Leon would relent and let them drive off with the goods after hearing their latest song and dance. The trouble was that none of them ever showed up again until their car broke down for a second or third time. But still, somehow just seeing those repaired vehicles drive out of his already over-clogged parking lot, clearing a space on the asphalt, made Leon feel like he’d come out ahead. Unfortunately, while he derived a senseless satisfaction from moving deadbeat jobs through his shop, his failure to bring home a salary took its toll on his marriage.

One afternoon, while Sarah was at the market shopping for dinner, Leon let his conversation with Bela wander into a delicate zone. Old Bela. His old grandmother-in-law. What would he do without her sharing the rent with them at the apartment on 2nd Street in the U district. She changed diapers, babysat, even dropped a few bills in his direction.

“Hey, Bela...,” he called to her when she temporarily blocked his TV screen. “Ever see this here Mohicans movie? Last of the Mohicans? Sit yerself down a spell, take a load off.”

“Why shore...why not, ” answered Bela, craning her neck for a second to hear if both twins had indeed settled down for their afternoon nap. Sometimes the boys kept themselves awake with their little baby banter, each one oohing and ahhing, sounding out words to the other’s amazement. This time they had both conked right out after their heavy lunch of pureed broccoli and teething biscuits. Outside the window the rain poured down – a normal Seattle winter day.

“This movie...,” Leon continued, “it done shows how the white man killed off all them Indians to make way for his cities. Jesus, I guess even my garage is somethin’ plunked down on Injun land. Old Chief Seattle’s stompin grounds.”

“Don’t know much ’bout all that,” said Bela, taking a sip from her water glass and replacing it back on the cotton doily on the lamp table. “Jus figure’s I knows how them Indians felt, always worried about sometin’...where ta get food, or stay warm. Don’t...know what it’s like living in one o’ dem.... mmm....teepees, but yuh know they didn’t pay no rent...didn’t have to give no money ta sumbody every thirty days. Before da white man came along and bothered ‘em...they done had a purty good deal.”

Turning his attention back at the TV screen, Leon saw two Indians struggling in battle, one finally hitting the other on the head with a tomahawk.

“I don’t know if it was all that easy," Leon told Bela. While he sensed that she wasn’t particularly interested, he kept up the stream of babble anyway.

“Do yuh know that each feather in that thar head dress was for a wound they got in battle?” he asked her. “I ‘member learnin’ that in school.”

“And the feathers – they were stuck on the headdress right near where the wound was, down near the waist or leg if they’d a been hurt down there. And a bunch ah Indians had to vote to give yuh a feather, ten Indians maybe...all voting and telling stories about what they saw yuh do during the fighting, to decide if yuh deserved getting that special feather. Ain’t that sumptin’? A feather like you can just pick up off da ground sometimes when a bird...”

“Why Leon...,” said Bela, finally cutting in when she could no longer stand trying to hear both the TV and her son-in-law at the same time. “Didn’t know yuh was one a dem Injun ‘x...perts! ”

The rain had finally slacked off a bit. Bela, grunting some, pushed herself up out of the armchair and headed for the kitchen, becoming steadier on her feet by the third step. Turning her head back to Leon she called out, “Got sum chocolate chip cookies for yuh.” With a smile, Leon rose and followed her through the swinging door .

***

December 18, 1963

Jackie had been able to obtain the key to Jack’s suite of rooms at The Carlyle Hotel in New York and had told Bobby to meet her there if he had the time. Of course he did, though he certainly hoped the maids had cleaned up the traces of his brother’s last extramarital rendez-vous. The Carlyle had been the scene of numerous trysts, including many steamy nights with JFK and Marilyn Monroe. Bobby had to admit to a twinge of guilt when Jackie mentioned the meeting place. At any rate, meeting there or anywhere was not much of a problem. The funeral was over and all Kennedys were basically out of a job.

A light knock on the hotel room door brought Jackie Bouvier Kennedy to her feet. She let Bobby in, and as soon as the door was securely closed they fell into a long, hard hug. They had hugged before, but this time each was more aware of eachother’s body and spirit. Bobby could feel Jackie’s strong, straight back through her suit jacket, a very alive woman’s back, slender and appealing to the touch. Jackie let her arms wrap around Bobby, one hand finding his lower back while the other came to rest just under his solid shoulder blade. She felt his youth and healthiness as well, could sense his strong presence beneath the clothes. The two people most affected by the loss of Jack Kennedy needed each other now more than ever.

“Want a drink? Bourbon?” asked Jackie, as she broke the embrace and headed over to the bar.

“Sure, I’ll take one, please,” said Bobby, trailing a few feet behind. The golden sky beyond the windows was beginning to turn dark; new lights switched on every few seconds to reveal the vastness of the New York skyline. It was the end of a series of difficult days. While neither would have admitted it, all the newspaper and TV coverage had made them somewhat giddy. Remembering the years when husband and brother was just another presidential candidate trying to get mentioned in important newspapers, they couldn’t help being deeply moved by all the present attention. Jack had become immortal, a man for the ages.

The bourbon felt good going down. Bobby tried his best to suppress the relief that welled up from a dark place in his psyche and forced him to acknowledge the fortuitous nature of his brother’s glorification. Had things worked out differently, Jack’s bizarre lifestyle could so easily have instead resulted in impeachment hearings or worse. Any one of Jack’s women could have toppled his administration. And what about all the drugs, smoked and snorted, even intravenously injected at times! Bobby was sure that somewhere beneath the surface of her sorrow, Jackie also felt a similar relief. With Jack’s assassination, their lives had undoubtedly been spared a great deal of pain and confusion.

Jackie settled into the soft couch and Bobby followed, bringing along the carafe of bourbon. It was time to unwind. Two people on a couch, that’s all, thought Jackie. Her world had recently been so large, she and her two kids scrutinized by millions of people. Relieved to have completed her duties, she took a big swallow from her glass and said a silent pledge to become just a private person again. Thanks to the alcohol, some fire began stirring in her belly. And she could feel heat coming from Bobby as well, his warm breath on her cheek and strong leg pressed against hers. Her furnace was clicking back on. Jack, her beloved philanderer, was dead. Hero Jack. Maybe no one but old Joe Kennedy would really ever know just how close she’d come to demanding a divorce. As she and her brother-in-law sat silently in the elegant and spacious room, Jackie remembered her father-in-law sweet-talking her back into the marriage.

“You’re upset. Hell any woman would be, ” the senior Kennedy had said in a low voice, while they sat poolside at his coastal estate. “But you’re not just any woman and Jack isn’t just...a Joe blow from down the street. Jacqueline...he’s going to be the next President of the United States...”

Jackie had said nothing, propelling more sweettalk.

“So here’s my proposition. You stick with Jack, stay with my son, and you’ll never hurt for money again.”

Jackie hadn’t smiled or changed expression at all. Reaching into the side pocket of his white, terrycloth robe, Joe Kennedy had then removed a single piece of paper.

“Here’s a personal check of mine – a million dollars in your name. Take it and stay married to my boy. If you and Jack are still married five years from now I’ll hand you another check, just like this one, only double. Please say you won’t hurt his future.”

As if on cue, a tear had fallen from one of old Joe’s eyes. Jackie remembered that tear now, and thought about the man’s intensity of purpose. While the offer had offended her deeply, in the end she took it.

While Jackie sat silently lost in thoughts, Bobby took another swallow. Out of all the events that had transpired in recent weeks, what first came to mind was the cold cockiness of Hoover. When Bobby had taken the call from FBI on the poolside phone in Hyannis Port that day, he’d immediately detected something almost gloating in Hoover’s voice.

I have some bad news, Bobby. The President...(Hoover had hesitated a few seconds before delivering the punch)...has been shot in Dallas.

Hoover was saying much between the lines, thought Bobby. He was really announcing: This is what happens when people try to make ME look bad. You shouldn’t have pushed the mob so hard. I had it under control. See? You killed your own brother with your recklessness.

Bobby let the memory go as cold as the ice cube sliding into his mouth, before spitting it back into the glass. Fuck you Kennedys, he imagined Hoover saying. I’ll still have my job when you’re rotting in hell.

Jackie suddenly started crying. Bobby put down his glass and again wrapped around her with his arms. He kissed her tears. She kissed him back on the cheek. He kissed her neck. She kissed his ear. He kissed her cheek again. She kissed him harder before their wet lips met. Both Bobby and Jackie felt that the world owed them one small pleasure, to counterbalance all the pain

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(Chapter 25 next)