The Unfolding, page 33
“Back to the zoo? I do all my best thinking between the zebras and the elephants.”
“Not the zoo,” Meghan says. “Mount Vernon.”
“Have we not been there?”
“Never.”
When Meghan was younger, every weekend they went to some kind of historical place: battlefields, Victorian houses, village greens, rivers, bridges, anyplace where something had happened. It was fun and no one seemed to notice that neither the Big Guy nor Charlotte had any idea of what you were supposed to do with a child on a weekend, but the one thing that none of them could bear was staying home.
They go to Mount Vernon.
“Who knew George Washington was the father of the American mule, a cross between a male donkey and a female horse?”
“I didn’t know that,” Meghan says.
“Reminds me of some couples we know,” the Big Guy says.
“Not funny. Who knew Washington had smallpox and recovered?”
“I never knew that,” the Big Guy says. “Did you know he surrendered only once? It was at the Battle of the Great Meadows.”
“Didn’t know that.”
This is a game they used to play.
“George Washington had slaves,” Meghan says.
“They all had slaves.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“He was the only founding father whose will specified that upon his death his slaves should be freed,” the Big Guy says.
“Upon death is too late.”
“Who knew that in 1787 Washington paid eighteen shillings to hire a camel to entertain his Christmas guests?”
“I didn’t know that,” Meghan says.
A docent interrupts. “Now every year a camel comes to visit us during the holidays. He just went back to his farm yesterday. George Washington loved animals.”
“I knew that,” both the Big Guy and Meghan say, stepping away from the docent.
“George Washington was America’s first spymaster,” the Big Guy whispers.
“I didn’t know that.”
“He used disinformation, false documents, dead drops, and multiple sources.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Meghan says.
“They call it black arts or tradecraft,” the Big Guy says.
Meghan nods. “Did you know he loved the theatre?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s possible that I love history as much as you do.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” the Big Guy says. “I just want you to know that since the election I have committed myself to doing everything I can to preserve and protect the America that our founding fathers risked life and limb to build. I want to be sure it is there for you when you are ready.”
Meghan nods. “I know. And you know that the thing about the cherry tree and the axe isn’t true—that’s not what happened.”
“I knew that,” the Big Guy says.
“It’s occurred to me that while preservation is important, like taping off a crime scene, accepting that America is an evolving narrative is also important. The contemporary version of what the founders were doing when they broke from England would look different today.”
“If I was to dig into what you’re saying, I might call you a revolutionary,” the Big Guy says.
“You might,” she says. “Perhaps one should ask—is a revolutionary the same as a patriot?”
They continue their tour. “His Highness, the president of the United States, or protector of the rights of the same,” Meghan says. “When they elected him president, they didn’t even know what to call him.”
“England was already on its third King George when Washington was elected.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“What was the most important thing Washington did?”
Meghan shrugs.
“He stepped down after two terms. He was the first president, and he established that a president should serve only two terms of four years. If he had died in office, it might have given the impression that a president should serve for life. We have another word for that—a king. What did America not want to be? A kingdom. In the end, that may prove to be the most substantial contribution. He wasn’t an original thinker, not like Franklin or Jefferson or Hamilton, but he knew how to do things. The smartest guy isn’t always the best leader.”
“First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen. I like that,” Meghan says. “It’s from a eulogy. Someday I want to be first.”
Back at the hotel, Tony has left word that they are invited to a party at nine p.m. in Chevy Chase.
They have a snack, high tea in honor of Charlotte, who always loved high tea. That was something Meghan and Charlotte would do in whatever city they were in; they would have high tea.
“It’s like a dessert cart,” the Big Guy says. “Only on three tiers.” He takes apart a watercress sandwich. “Weeds. Why do women eat weeds?”
“I feel like we’re cheating on her being here and going to meet the lady tomorrow,” Meghan says.
“It’s okay. She’s busy dealing with her stuff right now and we have things to do; it’ll all come together in the end.”
They rest until eight and there’s a quick debate about skipping the whole thing and going to bed early. The one thing that they are not talking about is the elephant in the room. The elephant that announces itself when the Big Guy receives a hurried call confirming their meeting tomorrow at nine a.m. in Northern Virginia.
“Was that her?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ask about me?”
“She didn’t ask anything. She just told me where to meet her.”
“Do you think she’s curious?”
“How could she not be?”
“Do you think she’s nervous?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m totally nervous,” Meghan says.
The front desk rings to say the car is waiting. They ride to Chevy Chase in silence. The Big Guy is afraid to ask what she’s thinking and she’s afraid to tell the Big Guy how scared she feels.
Before they arrive at the party, the Big Guy gives Meghan the “skinny” about whose house they’re going to and what to expect.
“He is William Nelson; she is Eunice Early. The Nelsons and the Earlys are both old Southern families. The two of them have known each other since they were children, but it’s not a first marriage. That’s the thing; they each grew up and both of them married someone else; then they found themselves in Washington about ten years ago. Strangely enough, they were both widowed and each had two children; he had two girls and she had two boys, and the rest, as they say, is history. I bet the crowd will be a little bit like Tony’s Thanksgiving dinner, a mix of media types, lobbyists, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a Supreme Court judge or two, several live nearby, as do a couple of well-known satirists. That’s what every New Year’s Eve party needs—a good comedian.” He is doing with Meghan what he always does with Charlotte, giving her the lowdown before they arrive. “And I bet the food will be good.”
“I feel sick,” Meghan says.
“Too many desserts?”
“Tomorrow,” Meghan says. “What if I can’t do it?”
“You can do it. Just say hello. That’s all you have to do.”
“What a pleasure,” Eunice Early Nelson says. “Come in, come in. The girls have gone elsewhere, but the boys are in the basement playing something they call beer pong. I have no idea how it works. I just hope that none of them vomit on the shag. I’m always having to get the shag rehabilitated.”
Bill Nelson finds them in the front living room. “It’s amazing,” he says. “I don’t know how she does it every year all by herself. She starts on the twenty-sixth and works around the clock. Tomorrow she won’t be out of bed until suppertime, and even then it won’t be pretty. Every year she swears she can’t do it again. ‘I quit,’ she’ll say. ‘Next year we’re going to order Chinese and people will have to live with it. I can’t kill myself over a ham.’ ”
“That’s not exactly true,” Eunice says, swooping in. “Every year I say never again, but tonight I’ll quit at one a.m. I’ll go to bed and he can do the rest.”
“Caviar and eggs for the stragglers,” Bill says. “What can I get you folks to drink?”
“Scotch,” the Big Guy says.
“And for you?” Bill asks Meghan.
“Just water.”
The large house is classic old Chevy Chase; fireplaces abound and flames lick logs that look like they’re glowing in multicolor. Crown molding everywhere. Family photos in silver frames on every surface, piles of books. The place looks lived in—it looks like home.
The Big Guy is jealous. This is the life he always wanted, entertaining with ease, a wife who likes food, comradery, music, noise. He eats a couple of olives, sees no place to put the pits, so he slides them on top of one of Bob Woodward’s books on the shelf. “That’s for you,” he mutters with pleasure. “I leave you the pits.”
He drinks. And has another. Soon he’s not drunk but needs to sit down. He lands on the sofa next to a decidedly senior citizen.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“Pardon?”
“I knew your father.”
“I don’t think so,” the Big Guy says.
“I’m sure I did,” the old man says. “Everyone here, I knew their fathers at one time or another; that’s just how this works. What did you say your name was?”
“Hitchens,” the Big Guy says. “And yours?”
“I didn’t say mine. But you seem nice enough, so I’ll tell you. Richardson. Dick Richardson.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Rings a bell, right? Secretary of defense,” he says. “Not currently, but for a good forty years I was in one position or another. I went back and forth across Pennsylvania Avenue putting out fires, managing dimwits, trying to keep the ship from going down.”
“Rings a bell,” the Big Guy says, signaling to a waiter that he’d like another scotch. “Do you want something?” he asks the old man. “A drink? Ham on a biscuit, black-eyed peas? They’re a good luck charm.”
“I want nothing,” the old man says. “I can’t dance, can’t play golf; I’m two feet from the edge looking out at all of you who think you know what’s happening. And you know what I see?”
“What do you see?”
“Nothing,” he says. “Just blindness and constipation.”
“They make some fiber supplements for that.”
“Political constipation, you idiot. You know what worries me?” He pauses for effect. “Horseshoes.”
“My daughter has a horse; I’m sure they have a—what do you call a footman for a horse? A farrier.”
“Teardrops, tendrils, U-shaped, V-shaped, recession and recovery. It’s all a load of bull. Keep your eye on the horseshoe. I’m telling you something real: the far sides, the extremes, are closer to each other than any of us are to the center.” He pauses to catch his breath. “It used to be we danced around the edges and met in the middle; now they’re repulsed by the middle. It’s soft white bread. You can’t even swallow it, no way to get it down, you choke on it.”
The waiter hands the Big Guy a fresh drink.
“I’m telling you that our balls are in the water; our balls are going under, and it’s not about who is on the right or who’s on the left, but the fact that we are history. Old white men. We’re done. Finis.”
The old man moves to get up off the sofa. As he pulls himself up, he farts in the Big Guy’s face.
“Apologies,” the old man says. “With great age comes wind.”
“We are history,” the Big Guy repeats. “Ass written on the wind.”
The basement smells like boys—sweat and beer. Meghan does one loop around the room and goes back up the stairs. Mark Eisner is in the sunroom stabbing cheese cubes with a toothpick.
He smiles when he sees her. “An unexpected treat,” he says.
“Last time I saw you, we both had towels around our heads,” Meghan says. “How do you know the Early-Nelsons?”
“Old friends of the family. I didn’t know you were in DC.”
Since Phoenix, they’ve exchanged a few emails, and despite the decades of difference in age, they would call themselves friends.
“Do you have a life?” Meghan asks. “Seriously, you never say anything about a girlfriend or a wife or even an ex.”
“That’s a rather aggressive question.”
“Is it? I would think that someone like you would have more of a life.” As soon as she says it, she realizes it sounds exactly like something her mother would say. She can hear the words coming out of Charlotte’s mouth and feel the sting with which they land. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You want to know the truth?” Eisner asks.
“ ’Tis the season.”
“I’m infertile. Genetic mutation. An extra X chromosome and I’ve got small balls.”
Meghan pauses, trying to make sense of what Eisner has just said. “That must be hard. I mean difficult.”
An awkward silence passes between them.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Thanks,” Eisner says, knocking back what’s left of his drink. “Who are you here with?”
“My dad,” Meghan says, nodding toward the Big Guy.
“He’s your dad?” he asks, cloaking his surprise.
“Yeah. It’s a long story.”
“At the moment I’ve got nothing but time and an empty glass.” He knocks the ice cubes around in his glass. “Two hours till the ball drops. You want to take a walk around the block?”
They walk up and down the wide streets of Chevy Chase, Eisner chewing on what it might mean to the Big Guy that he knows Meghan. Music wafts out of various houses, swing from one, heavy metal from another.
Small balls. It’s not like Meghan has seen a lot of balls, but in this case, she keeps thinking of the tiny red rubber ball that one plays jacks with and the pale pink version attached to a long elastic string that you whack with a wooden paddle. Small balls.
“When I was a kid, we lived just over there. The big draw was the club.” Eisner points to a country club hidden behind an ivy-covered stone wall. “My mother hated to cook, hated to clean, hated to entertain. She was an anthropologist from a very fancy family. All she wanted to do was write and be left alone. As often as she could, she would dispatch my brother and me to the club. ‘Go to the pool, go play tennis, go have lunch; I hear they make a nice cheeseburger. Maybe your father can take you to the club for dinner. Maybe you and your friends can organize a tournament.’ ”
Then he stops and turns to Meghan. This is the moment where a creepy older guy might try to kiss her or something, but instead he says, “Full disclosure. I know your father.”
Meghan laughs. “Everyone knows my father. Did he ever tell you that when he was a kid he thought his father owned the local country club? He thought he was a big shot until he discovered that they were just members like everyone else.”
“No. I never heard that one.”
“What do they say, ‘fake it till you make it’?”
Eisner laughs. “It just made me nervous; you’re his kid.”
“That’s the least of it,” she says. All of her tumult leaks out: the story about the baby, the mistress, Charlotte’s drinking, what’s going to happen tomorrow morning.
“Wow,” Eisner says. “That’s a lot from November until now.”
“Yeah. Half the time I’m not sure what’s real or what I’m imagining.”
“Carl Sagan, a very popular astronomer in the 1970s, used to say, ‘Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.’ ”
“How will I know when I know it?” Meghan asks.
“That’s the question for all of us. Right now you’re in a very specific moment. It’s called liminal space. You’re in the ambiguous or disoriented phase, also known as the middle of a rite of passage. Part of that is just growing up, but it also has to do with what you found out. Now you’re transforming, incorporating that information into your identity. It can be scary, like free-falling.”
“Exactly,” she says, with a newfound appreciation for Eisner. “How do you know that?”
He laughs. “My mother. Liminal was a favorite word of hers, ‘from the Latin limin.’ You’ve left something behind and are not yet into what comes next. I don’t know if there’s any comfort in the fact that this is how all of Washington feels from the first Tuesday in November until the twentieth of January. A cycle of suspension. It’s why they’re all so clingy. They cling to one another because at a certain point familiar faces are all they have. It doesn’t matter what side they’re on as long as they’re recognizable.”
They go back up the steps to the Early-Nelson house. Eisner finds the Big Guy in the small office just off the kitchen.
“I don’t quite know what to say,” Eisner says.
“Is my fly undone?” the Big Guy asks.
“I know your daughter.”
“Know her?”
“I met her in Phoenix; we spent time together talking about termites. She sent me her essay for history class, the one about the election, ‘Waking Up from the Dream: Or My Father’s Nightmare.’ ”
“I have no idea what you’re saying. You talked about wood eaters and my dreams?”
Eisner shakes his head.
“Let me ask you something. Do you want to marry her?”
Eisner laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Me,” Eisner says. “I’m the funny one. And no, I don’t want to marry her.”
“Then it’s not a problem,” the Big Guy says. “We all know people.”
“Thanks. I would have pictured your daughter as a girl in a twinset, with pearls and a tortoiseshell hair band, but she’s a very cool kid.”
