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 Vice President Dick Cheney strutted down the blue carpet leading to the West Wing. He felt the secretaries' eyes on him, but he had no time for such trivialities. He was the leader of the free world. Well, not officially the leader of the free world, because that was President George W. Bush. But Bush did what Cheney told him to do. He knew the score. It was a good day for the Vice President. He had just had a frank exchange of words with Democratic Sen. Patrick Leahy of Vermont, a state full of cowering half-men and wild-eyed lunatics like former Gov. Howard Dean. The television newspeople were breathlessly reporting that the exchange between the Vice President and the Senator had ended with Cheney telling Leahy to "fuck yourself," or to "go fuck yourself." The newspeople didn't know their asses from holes in the ground, Cheney thought. His actual words had been, "You can just fuck yourself, Senator Leahy." He had not said "go," though to do so would not have been inappropriate, Cheney thought. He allowed himself a smile. The Vice President reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of Debbie's desk. He would have to make this quick. Of all the secretaries longing after Dick Cheney, Debbie was the most irritatingly needy. She was 23, just out of the Pentagon's top secret secretary school, and she hungered after Cheney with more than a schoolgirl crush. The Vice President didn't want to get drawn into one of her dull, meandering stories. "Is he in, Debbie?" "Yes he is, Mr. Vice President," Debbie said, snapping to attention and hiding her Mad Libs under that morning's Washington Times. "And who should I say is here?" Jesus, what a brat, Cheney thought. A pouty little brat who needs a good spanking. His lip curled. "Very funny Debbie. And need I remind you that Mad Libs are not on the list of approved reading for this Administration?" He held out his open palm and she handed over the book, sulkily. Cheney flipped through the pages as he swung open the President's door. In every spot where she had to fill in a proper noun, Debbie had written, "Vice President Dick Cheney." Cheney quickly gathered that the President was on the phone again with the overweight liberal filmmaker Michael Moore. "I know that you have a good heart, Scrappy, and that you love this nation," the President said, using one of his many friendly nicknames for Moore. "And like I said, we're going to agree on some things and disagree on others. But I respect what you're doing." Cheney's brow furrowed. This was the President's greatest flaw -- his need to be liked. Moore's new film was full of lies and misrepresentations, but the President refused to object. Voicing even the slightest complaint, Bush had told Cheney, might seem like an attempt to use the presidency to intimidate an American from exercising the Constitutional right to free expression. That, the President said, is something I will never do. Bush hung up the phone when he saw Cheney. "Hi Dick," he said, rising from his chair to embrace the Vice President in one of his trademark bear hugs. "Thanks for coming down. I know this is a little unusual, but there's something I wanted to ask about." This was it, Cheney thought. The President was going to ask him to take over after the election. They had talked about it in 2000, when Cheney chose himself as Bush's running mate. On January 20, 2005, the President would announce his resignation and hand over power to Cheney. The transition would allow Bush to devote more time to family and wood-chopping. "Dick," the president said, smiling hopefully, "can you give me just a hint of who's on that energy commission of yours?" The president's grin seemed strained, awkward. Cheney squinted back at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. President?" "Come on, Chief," said the President, using his nickname for Cheney. "What can you tell me about this commission?" This was unheard of. The President never challenged Cheney's authority -- never. He was a naive man, practically less a man than a child, but he knew enough not to cross his second-in-command. It was too dangerous. "Mr. President, may I ask about the nature of the inquiry? May I ask, sir, why you're so concerned?" Bush leaned forward in his chair uncomfortably, then fumbled with one of the knobs on his desk. Cheney glared at the President until Bush finally made eye contact again. Then it all came spilling out. "I was walking by Debbie's desk to see how Kendall is doing -- you know, Kendall who cleans up in the Secret Service breakroom? Apparently his wife had an operation, but it turns out she's going to be fine. Laura and I visited her in the hospital yesterday. Anyway. Debbie had the newspaper open to an article in the Washington Times --" Bush opened his drawer and took out a photocopy of an editorial "-- and it said some people have, uh, raised questions about the commission's membership." Cheney scanned the editorial. "While some gloom-and-doom liberals have asked Cheney to identify the members of his secret Energy Commission, we think the Administration is doing a super job," the editorial said. "Maybe these pessimists will only be happy when John Kerry imposes a 50 cent gas tax." So this was it, Cheney thought. Someone had let the President see a newspaper. Jesus Christ. "Dick," the President said. "You know how I feel about the slightest appearance of conflict of interest. And I'm especially shocked that it would come from you..." "Well, Mr. President, what do you want me to do?" Cheney said abruptly. The President looked taken aback. He suddenly spun around in his chair so he was facing out toward the Rose Garden. It looked to Cheney like the President was shaking. When Bush finally turned back to face the Vice President, he had tears in his eyes. "I never wanted it to come to this, Dick," the President sobbed. "Never, ever, ever. Not in my worst nightmares. Why? Why is this happening?" "Mr. President, it's alright --" Bush stopped crying and caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. "It's not alright, Dick. It's not alright and you know exactly why," the President said, speaking haltingly. "Dick, it hurts me to say this. You know it does. But I need to ask you to clean out your desk." The Vice President clenched his fists. He almost opened his mouth to say something -- something about how Bush would find out how hard things were when he didn't have Dick Cheney to do the heavy lifting --but instead Cheney just swallowed. "Alright," he said to the President. "If that's what you think is best." Dick Cheney felt lightheaded as he walked out the door. As soon as he was back in the hall, he saw Debbie go for her mouse pad, no doubt to click away from a personal e-mail. "How did it go, Mr. Vice President?" Debbie asked, pathetically. Cheney could barely conceal a snarl. "You've really done it now," he said. "For me and maybe the entire free world." Debbie was too stunned to speak. She looked around, and the Vice President noticed that some of the other secretaries were watching. He didn't care. "Mr. Cheney, I'm so sorry --" Debbie gasped. But it was too late for that. "You know what, Debbie? You should fuck yourself," Cheney said. "You should really go fuck yourself." |
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