UNINVITED TO THE CHILDREN’S HOUR

 

"Doctor President Roosevelt's martini" demands Sentient, the ancient alien entity. What has Major Richard Blaine gotten himself into? 

UNINVITED TO THE CHILDREN’S HOUR

“A tough lesson in life that onehas to learn early on is that not everybody wishes you well.”

– Julius Caesar

 

I have a taste for solitude, andsilence, and for what Plotinus called “the flight of the alone to the Alone.” 

Ihave a hunger for the silent horizon of inner contemplation.

A yearning for the lightless edgewhere the slopes of knowledge dwindle, and love for its own sake, lacking anobject, begins.

Where you walk light as a handfulof Aurora borealis.

Unfortunately, as Major of theSpartan 300, I had to force myself to command. And part of being a goodcommander was knowing just how much of the truth to tell your men.

I realized that I had shared toomuch truth with my men just then when Amos shook his head. 

“You know, Rick, mytime with you has been so wild and bizarre, I just don’t know when you’rejoking.”

“And after that, I intend to tossdown a few glasses of vodka with Stalin,” I said.

Agent Cloverfield laughed, “Now,I know you’re telling the truth.”

“All right, gentlemen and lady,nap time.”

I caught Nurse Reynolds eyeing mesuspiciously as if not buying that I had been joking about President Roosevelt.

Still, she lithely curled aroundher backpack and closed those magnetic eyes. I noticed she’d chosen Lt. Steinfor a march mate. 

It was a prudent choice: not only was he a rabbi, but he wasdeeply in love with his wife, Rose.

Theo, who would have ratherchosen Nurse Reynolds, prudently and jealously chose “Doc” Tennyson who wasresponsible for his love being here in the first place.

Cloverfield had chosen Dickens.At least, he was erudite enough to understand the university professor.

The others had chosen friends:

Reese with Porkins, Johnny Knightwith “Kit” Carson, Evans with Taylor, Wilson with Stevens, Floyd with Mercer,Vincent with Lincoln (who insisted on Micheal never Mike, though he wouldanswer to “Link.”)

Dimitri and Kent weren’t friends,but one had the saved the other so many times in Sicily that they were family …“distant, aloof cousins family” but there for each other when the chips weredown.

I could feel Nurse Reynolds’ eyeson me through cracked lids.

‘No matter. In moments, she willslip into a coma with the others.’

‘What?’

‘I am quite impressed with yourperformance just now. They believe it was König, not I, who lined the walls ofthis tunnel with his devices.’

‘But ….”

“But me no buts, my champion. Our“Dance Card” as you might say is quite full. We must be off on our firstmetaphysical entanglement.’

As quick as a revolving door takesyou from inside to outside and without the accompanying dizziness, 

I foundmyself in a shadowed hallway, standing upon a lush red carpet, facing a well-waxedmahogany door.

‘The second story of the WhiteHouse. Listen to that deep laughter beyond that door which has fooled naïve maidensand jaded journalists who should have known better than to be seduced by it.’

‘Not a fan, huh?’

‘He is but another tribal chieftainof a long line of them which I have been forced to observe.’

Sentient sighed in my mind.

‘This one and his mate are thelast vestiges of the extinct Gilded Age where sheltered wealth, good manners, eloquence,and hypocrisy reigned. Sadly, all that is left of that age is the hypocrisy.’

‘No more sheltered wealth?”

“Oh, still naïve, are we? Wealthof that magnitude will always be sheltered.’

‘Good to be King, huh?’

‘Not if you are half-paralyzed …which we are here to correct.’

‘What?’

‘Besides, his paralysis is a fourthpsychosomatic, born of his guilt over his affair with Lucile Mercer and the attendanttailspin of depression to which his mate suffered because of it. The twain ofthem could benefit from decades of therapy.’

‘How am I supposed to three-fourthsheal the President?’

‘Just surreptitiously take a sipof the martini he is currently swilling, and I will take of the rest.’

‘Sure. I’ll just walk in thereand ….”

‘What a splendid idea. First, I willhave you walk through the door and “get the lay of the land” asyour Cloverfield puts it.’

Like a Zoom lens of a camera, I spedthrough time and space to find myself unnoticed smack in the midst of a laughinggroup of adults, one boy, and one Scottish terrier.

Well, the Scottish Terriernoticed me. But who pays attention to dogs?

Sentient gave me a rundown of thesituation:

‘The tribal chieftain alwayschanges his suit for the evening, putting on a clean shirt and a different tie.Then he is wheeled into the handsome oval study that is conveniently locatedright next door to his bedroom.’

An ill-looking man whom Sentient informedme was Louis Howe, Roosevelt’s personal secretary. In fact, that was hisofficial title.

To this day I can smell the SweetCaporal cigarettes he was smoking. They were pungent. The ashes from hiscigarettes fell down the front of his shirt.

Sitting opposite Roosevelt’s desk,Louis Howe laughed, “Want to hear what the Chicago Tribune says about yourlatest radio speech?”

Roosevelt boomed a hearty laugh. “Thatrag? The only thing it is good for is the mulch Eleanor makes of it for herroses.”

“It quotes William RandolphHearst who said ….”

“That man? He has the intelligenceof a hillbilly evangelist, the courage of a rat, the fairness of aprohibitionist skirt chaser, the education of a high school janitor, and thehonor of an ambulance chasing lawyer.”

A thinner, more ill-looking manSentient identified as Harry Hopkins snorted, “But do you like him, Franklin?”

To which the group gatheredaround the President’s desk all laughed.

I liked the man at first sight. Hisslanted but engaging smile made it seem as if he was on the edge of laughter orabout to make a sardonic comment.

Slouched, leaning forward, aslightly cynical expression on his face and a cigarette dangling from thecorner of his mouth—

‘That one is dying of cancer.’

‘‘Can I heal him, too?’

‘If you must, sentimentalist. Butfirst, drink from the President’s glass and arrange that he drinks from itafterwards.’

I inwardly groaned. ‘Surething. Piece of cake … Devil’s Food cake … which I have never had, by the way.

‘Duly noted.’

The elegant woman in the satin, sleekdress sitting next to him … Louise “Louie” Gill Macy … was his new wife. Shelaughed gaily and said,

 “Louis, you never read that paper. How do youknow what it said?”

Louis Howe waved a lazy hand ather.

“It was on the radio. You knowthis city. The radio stations here have such fun requests: ‘This is forBetty … I’m sorry I stabbed you’.”

Amidst new peals of laughter,Louise groaned, “Oh, Louis, you are too much.”

“What can I say?” he quipped, “I’min the prime of my senility.”

A somber looking man with a disapprovingwoman hanging on his arm … Judge Samuel Rosenman, the President’s chief speechwriter Sentient told me … huffed,

“As with most of the senators inthis city. There ought to be one day – just one day, mind you, when it is openseason on those scoundrels.”

Dorothy, the judge’s wife, slappedthe arm she was draped upon. “Samuel!”

A no nonsense woman … Sentientinformed me she was Roosevelt’s secretary, Missy LeHand, who coined the title“the Boss” for her employer.

Having worked for FDR since hiscampaign for the vice presidency in 1920, and having lived as part of thehousehold after Roosevelt contracted polio, she had a special place at thecocktail hour.

Missy chided the man’s wife. “Dorothy,you are much too hard on poor Samuel.”

Roosevelt looked as if he wantedto take the spotlight off his friend, Samuel. He lifted his martini glass high.

“To the gallant lads even now stormingNormandy beaches!”

Sentient knew a cue when sheheard it. The room’s clarity intensified around me as if I were tightening thefocus of a camera lens.

Dorothy shrieked, “Oh my goodLord!”

Glasses thudded to the richcarpet. I turned to Louise who had managed to keep her martini glass in herfingers.

“Sorry, ma’am. It is impolite tokeep your hat on in the presence of ladies. So ….”

I took off my Spartan helmet as Louisegasped, “Has anyone told you that you are the spitting image of Tyrone Power?”

Dorothy shook her head. “What areyou saying. He looks like Ronald Coleman.”

Missy frowned. “Are you all blind?He looks just like Gary Cooper.”

Roosevelt grunted,

 “I read it in thatMI6 report on you, Major Blaine. But I didn’t believe it. Your face looks differentto different people.”

He frowned at me. “What do youmake of it, Major?”

“I believe it is a metaphor fromthe Father teaching me that none of us are seen as we truly are.”

Roosevelt’s military aide, MajorGeneral Edwin Watson, grunted, “The Father is it? Being an orphan, you don’t knowyours, do you? So that makes you ….”

Missy snapped, “That is enough, sir!”

I flicked eyes to the suddenlypale twelve-year-old boy whom Sentient told me was called “Buzzie” and smiled, 

“WhatI am is an accident of birth, General. But you, sir, are ….”

Missy glared at me, and Ifinished “… a self-made man.”

Roosevelt boomed in delightedlaughter. 

“Bravo, Major. Bravo! You defended yourself while protecting aninnocent at the same time.”

Louise said, “Isn’t that whatheroes do, Mr. President?”

“I’m no hero, ma’am.”

The Scottish terrier came outfrom behind the desk and sniffed at my right hand.

The President frowned, “I gaveyou a Silver Star, young man, because I was told you had lost your hands inbattle.”

“Oh, I have hands like a bald manwith a toupee has hair.”

“But the fingers move?” murmuredMissy.

“I got these 413 years in a terriblefuture where the Nazis won because I wasn’t here to act as a needed catalyst.”

The Major-General growled, “I don’tbelieve you.”

I winked at Buzzie. “Me and deadowls don’t give a hoot.”

The boy and Roosevelt both laughedout loud.

I bent down and petted the dog andwhispered, “Fala, Murray the Outlaw of Falahill.”

My eyes welled with tears.

“I always wanted a dog, Mr.President. But St. Marok’s Orphanage didn’t allow orphans to own pets. And evenif Headmaster Sterns had allowed me to have a dog, it would have just been sohe could kill it in front of me to see the look on my face.”

Louise gasped, “What kind oforphanage was this?”

I smiled of salt. “The kind where….”

I looked to Buzzie. “Put yourfingers in your ears … and I will give you a gift that only one other boy has.”

“P-Promise?”

I nodded solemnly. “Promise.”

He quickly plugged his ears asthe President smiled sadly. “That bad, son?”

“Yes, sir. Headmaster Stearnssupported the orphanage and his … habits by selling the attractive girls and handsomeboys to the surrounding houses of … prostitution.”

Louise shook her head. “No!”

“New Orleans is the most corruptcity in Louisiana, maybe even the whole country.”

Buzzie couldn’t take it anylonger, and he took out his fingers from his ears. “Can I?”

I nodded “yes” as theMajor-General gruffed, “I don’t believe you.”

I winked at Buzzie. “Jimmy crack corn,and I don’t care.”

Buzzie laughed, but this timeRoosevelt did not.

The general huffed, “Soldier, youwere not invited here!”

“That’s exactly what the Germansscreamed at me and my Spartans when we charged upon Omaha Beach. Can youbelieve it? They actually shot at us.”

The President scowled, “So wehave secured that beach?”

“Not so you’d notice, Mr.President. Tomorrow afternoon, General Bradley would have recommended we calloff the invasion as Omaha was impossible to secure. It was pretty much a deathtrap.”

I took the glass from the President’slimp fingers and held it high.

“To the doomed second charge ofthe Light Brigade and the thousands of widows, orphans, and weeping mothers itcreated."

I took a sip and almost spit itout. “Oh, merde! You drink this for the taste?”

The President smiled this time. “Itis an acquired taste.”

“It would take me a decade toacquire the taste, sir!”

“I don’t recall it tasted that bad.”

He frowned, took a sip, and smiledwide. “Why, this tastes brilliant!”

The President actually downed therest of the martini in one gulp.

Missy exclaimed, “Do not!”

He smiled. “I promise not to makethis a habit … but, oh, my! The room is spinning.”

‘Oh, Sentient, what have you donenow?’