BLACK PRESIDENT-Chapter 91. Kissinger befriends the man he thinks is Jackson Little, to supposedly right his many wrongs. And code name "Dolly" sends a text to John that is a shocking game-changer.

https://www.nytimes.com/1974/10/06/archives/rockefeller-gave-kissinger-50000-helped-2-others-he-denies-any.html

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

After Kissinger departed, John read over the long note that his new Nobel-Prize-winning ‘friend’ had left behind. While the Kissinger handwriting scrawl had gotten more loose as time progressed, its lines curving up for a while, then down, John could still read it. Either it was the ravings of a senile old man, or an important document that could save the country from ultimate disaster:

Thank you, Jackson, for seeing me. I’m glad we’ve become friends. (Really? thought John. Actual f r i e n d s? Well, K. and Jackson had had a pretty real relationship! But still disturbing to John was the fact that his brother had not shared much from Bilderberg, especially not any past Kissinger meetings when Jackson was alive, which now he, the uninformed twin imposter, had to somehow factor in. In any case, Kissinger had revealed even more.

You, more than anyone, know that I have a public face, and also a private one. The private me regrets many things that I’ve been a part of. We’ve discussed this—you’ve heard the list, kind of a long one, sadly. But now (the thick K. underline jumped out at John) you and I need to combat this scourge on our beloved country. The military spending and corporate greed must be stopped. And we’re the men for the job!

John was dismayed. Wasn’t Kissinger totally in bed with the Military Industrial Complex? Didn’t he work for V.P. Nelson Rockefeller for decades?

I have a plan to strip them of power, in public. Because ONLY IN PUBLIC can we beat these people. Remember, they control all news outlets. Except maybe the social media— Facebook, Twitter, other new underground sites, that is. It must be a viral attack that they don’t see coming.

More later, H.

***

John Little couldn’t believe that he again stood on the front steps of his wife, Fran’s, house, but at least he had his step-father, Rudy, by his side on this occasion. With the Secret Service agents guarding the First Family member and the President, the property was ringed with armed men. The imposter-President pushed the buzzer and awaited his wife-in-real-life-Fran’s arrival. He understood that, above all, he had to end their relationship, that ‘s “Jackson’s and Fran’s affair.”

Rudy had been kind in lending an ear to the dilemma, but said he didn’t believe it could be accomplished without bringing Fran into the loop, revealing John’s true identity. John’s argument, of course, was that she couldn’t handle it. The instant he admitted he was actually her real husband, he would be taking the last bit of her happiness away. She would (a) feel like a fool for not recognizing her own husband in their lovemaking, (b) be mortified to realize she had revealed her affair with his brother, and (c) just be plain furious that he was set on depriving his own kids of their father.

As far as potential psychological damage went, she was in line for having her love relationship and emotional comfort completely stripped away. So, to John’s mind – all this had been hashed over with Rudy – it was crucial that Fran not learn his true identity. Revealing that was supposedly not an option.

“Jackson, Rudy, please come in,” said Fran, looking back and forth to the men. “To what do I owe this unexpected double pleasure?”

“Oh, you know, just making the rounds of our favorite people,” said Rudy, trying to generate a legitimate smile in her direction. Deep down, he carried some serious dread about solving the “Fran problem.”“Haven’t had much of a chance to see you – the kids – since, you know–” As Rudy stumbled, John tried to pick up the ball.

“Is there a place where we could talk privately for a sec?” asked John. The TV was blaring away, with John Jr. punching the controller in a frantic manner, trying to kill zombies before nuclear lasers cut them in half. “Kind of loud in here.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” said Fran, adding a slight tone of formality. “Just follow me.”

The nervousness that John could detect in Rudy was contagious. Halfway down the hall, he knew that it was utterly impossible for him to end the affair. Rudy was starting to sweat. John too. There was just no way to talk with Fran about anything serious. The woman was not prepared, and way too fragile, John looked at Rudy and just shook his head back and forth. His step-father got the message, using his finger to pantomime zipping his lips shut.

“OK, gentlemen, what’s up?” Fran had put a positive bounce to her voice. John could see her looking at him with a sexual fondness that was hard to disguise. No way was he going to mess with that.

“No big deal,” said John. “Just trying to get Rudy out of the big house for a change. We almost brought a Scrabble board over, but I knew the living room would be too hectic.”

He paused to think, then spoke. “Funny, I suddenly miss going to a movie in an actual public theatre. Completely impossible now...unless we rented the whole place and had our palace guards in place. Remember when we used to double date, J...John, Cissy, all of us. The good old days.”

Rudy was looking a bit odd, but tried to keep up with the small talk. Fran noticed it, but kept her emotions in check, as her lover prattled on. She, herself, even dropped in a few words here and there: “Good times, Harder for sure. And she then reached for a comment about the weather, Enough rain for you, Rudy?

Seconds were ticking by, and the main objectives was not being addressed. Rudy had been imprinted with the urgency of the mission, almost brow-beaten by John regarding the horrific dangers of Cissy discovering his “affair” with Fran. All the dominoes would crash down, John had said, emphatically. But it was all drifting in a hopeless direction, small talk going nowhere.

Finally Rudy couldn’t take it any more. He blurted out, “Fran, I know about your guys’ affair. It has to stop.”

Both John and Fran reeled back. Neither had been the least prepared for what they suddenly heard from the elderly Vietnam vet. John did his best to act surprised, as Fran looked toward him for guidance.

“What, Rudy? You mean...Jackson? And me?” Fran couldn’t talk properly. She suddenly got very emotional. After a stalled ten seconds, she addressed the man she believed was Jackson Little.

“You told Rudy about us?”

John lied. “No I didn’t. He just said he wanted to pay a visit today. I had no idea about this.”

Rudy played his part. “Sorry...Jackson. I wasn’t sure. I suspected this, and now I know. You two can’t expect this to go on without being caught. Imagine what it would do to the First Lady? To the country! It’s just too dangerous. Too selfish.”

Neither John or Fran was talking, so Rudy tried to wrap things up. “I love you both, and can understand, especially under the circumstances. But this just musn’t continue. Too much at stake. Sorry if it feels like I’m meddling.”

John was still tongue-tied. Fran was starting to cry. The TV sound from the living room suddenly seemed louder, even though it probably wasn’t. Both men found themselves frozen in the face of her obvious anguish, and said nothing. The only thing that could unlock them was Fran speaking again, saying something to move things ahead. Finally, after a few interminable minutes, she cleared her tears with the cuff of her robe, and raised her head toward John.

“You’re all I’ve got left. My life is a prison. My kids – John’s kids – don’t talk to me anymore. They either stay in their rooms or play video games or fool around with their phones, texting, internetting, flicking their fingers against the screen. Even if I can get their attention, they’ll always interrupt me – how can they always get a call while I’m standing there? It doesn’t feel like I’m their mother anymore…not even a person.”

John stayed silent. He could see Rudy out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t dare look over. Fran was vividly describing the tragedy that he had created. He had unfairly turned her into a single parent and it was all his fault.

“When I go out, shopping for food, anything, everybody stares at me. I don’t look at them long enough to see what they’re thinking, but it must be a mix of morbid fascination and maybe even sympathy. But I don’t care. I just want to be normal again, do normal things. And I can’t! I’m a prisoner. A PRISONER WHEREVER I GO!

“All I have is Jackson,” continued Fran, looking directly at Rudy now. “Some human contact, someone who loves me, at least a little, I believe. A little from a Little. Funny, right? I know it’s wrong. I know. He’s Cissy’s husband. But frankly, I don’t care anymore. Don’t I deserve something in this life? Without the few moments of his warmth, I think I’d go crazy. I already take Prozac. I’m barely above water here!

“You men – come here to do what? Stop little Fran because I’m not important enough to bother with. And it takes TWO of you to break the news. YOU – JACKSON,” she looked sadly in his direction, “You couldn’t have told me this yourself?”

With her suddenly clenched fists she approached and tried half-heartedly to pound John’s chest, but he caught her wrists mid-air, as Rudy moved in and wrapped his arms around her. The men could barely contain the thrashing. The noise of the encounter must have become pretty loud because John Jr. approached the backside of the door, video controller still in hand.

“Mom! What’s happening?” John Jr. called from the hallway. But she was in no condition to answer. President-John tried to calm his kid, “She’s upset, son,’ he said loudly. “This whole thing has finally gotten to her. We’re doing our best, here. He had used the “son” word, but no one but he, himself, had seemed to notice it—he remembered that mistake later., once safely back in the White House.

“Um, OK.” returned the distracted young man, as he turned and walked back down the hall to his gaming. Fran had begun crying and was becoming unsteady on her feet. Rudy helped move her to a chair where she could sit and hopefully wait things out.

“Just give me ONE good reason to stop seeing you,” said Fran out of nowhere, seemingly defeated, but still doing battle. “ONE REASON why I should let something this good go to hell.”

The right answer came to John’s mind, but he didn’t say it. He knew if he had had any guts at all, his answer to his wife’s question would have been a clear, albeit inconclusive, three-word reply:

Because I’m John.

On the drive back to the White House, both men were badly shaken. Rudy had done the best he could to get Fran settled in bed with an additional sedative, but John’s dark mood had now becomeRudy’s prevalent concern. He tried to jar his stepson out of his funk.

“JACKSON. Are you going to be OK?” Rudy quickly glanced at the driver. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like the man had noticed Rudy’s emphasis on the name, so probably no damage had been done. But he was still perturbed about making a mistake.

“Thanks Rudy, but it’s really not a good time to talk about this,” said John almost in a whisper. “I needed her, too. So there are no winners here.”

Rudy nodded.

“I’m not really sure it’s over,” added The President, minutes before the limo cleared the White House gate.

***

About fifteen minutes after President Little had settled into the comfortable seat behind the Resolute desk in the Oval Office, staring at a pile of mostly unimportant bills to be signed, he heard the first few bars of “Jealous Guy” by John Lennon coming from of his personal cell-phone, alerting him to the arrival of a text message. It was from “Dolly,” the code name Fran and Jackson had decided she should use.

I’m late.

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