Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Saving Camelot Part Seven

Later that night, I found myself in a smoky back room of a place I would never in a million years think of frequenting had I actually been born in this era. But, it’s the only place we can actually meet discreetly without drawing too much attention to ourselves here in the city.
“This does not make any sense,” Jarrod the attorney had joined us and was currently pacing back and forth, puffing at a cigarette like a man trying to make sense of facts that quite frankly did not make sense to begin with.

“Kennedy will have to have the support of the Senate if any kind of treaty is to be ratified between the US and the Russians. With Johnson figuratively the leader of the senate, he could very easily stir up opposition to this movement if he and Hoover were so against it in the meeting”.
“Would that not run a high likelihood of Jack Kennedy giving Johnson the boot on the ’64 ticket if that were the case?” Tory comments dryly, her feet kicked up on a blue upholstered chair that has frankly looked like it has seen better days. She looks more than tired. There is something in her features that give a worn down, almost sad air to her. Since this whole mess has begun I had not really had the chance to have a private talk with her. I wanted to see how she was holding up working like a dog as housekeeper, what she thought of our mission, and most importantly, how was she holding up to the racist strongholds of the era. But, it was because of these strongholds that I almost could not meet with her without the risk of being caught. Even in Washington there were harsh laws enforced for crossing the lines of segregation. How anyone in America back in this time could be so hateful is beyond me.
“You know Kennedy needs Johnson if he has a fat chance in Texas in ’64,” Heath chimed in, munching on a basket of crispy (and surprisingly good) deep fried wedges.
“But what if he has another running mate up his sleeve, like, say, his brother?” I wonder aloud, taking another handful of golden brown wedges from the basket.
“Then how do you suppose the re-election to be really in the bank for the President with the country almost equally divided in proportion to those who both love and hate the Kennedy brothers?” Jarrod counters, sparing me a glance.
Heath still has yet to say a word about any of this, merely following the conversation while picking up another handful of fries.
“Sorry I am late,” the grey haired man who calls himself agent enters the room. The air of seeming significance he gives off around his person irritates the heck out of me. I have come to like both Jarrod and Heath (nosey middle brother of theirs aside) but I simply cannot stand this guy.
I can tell that Tory has been reading my mind with the look she sends me, almost reapproaching and warning me not to go off with my sarcastic mouth as I usually do. I just can’t help myself though. It is too much ingrained in my personality.
“Oh, nice to see you care so much about this break that you leave us waiting in a nicotine enhanced barroom”.
Tory glares. Jarrod raises an eyebrow. Heath Almost smirks.
Agent does not seem affected by my remark. I think he has gotten used to me to the point where he is willing to let my remarks slide. Kind of a wonder when you consider the gender stereotypes of this time.
“I wanted to check out the credibility of this offer form Krusev with informants I have inside the Soviet government”.
“And?” both Jarrod and Tory say at once, Jarrod stopping his pacing and Tory sitting up a little straighter as they both lean in to face Agent.

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