eil Obermann, the President's chief of staff, was a detail man. His hairstyle hadn't changed since high school. He visited a barber every Friday to maintain that medium-length, yuppy look. He wore starched, button-down shirts and kept an inventory of suits at the cleaners. Despite his tall, angular frame, he kept a computerized database of calories consumed.
Obermann was filled with terror at what he feared was going to happen at today's meeting. How in the hell could he stop Gorgon from destroying him? Oh God, what can I do? He had asked himself a million times the last week. But there was nothing he could do. There was no defense. If only he could destroy Gorgon before Gorgon destroyed him. But how could he do that? He'd searched every secret data base file he could find. Nothing. It was as if Gorgon had no past.
Obermann had forced himself to review every detail of tonight's meeting. The President's Re-election Strategy Council was convening in a relatively modest suite at the Willard Hotel. A sumptuous suite would make the fund-raisers unhappy. A shabby suite would erode the troops' morale. The hotel staff had arranged upholstered armchairs around a large oval table. At one end was the President's chair emblazoned with the presidential seal.
Obermann had confirmed that all nine members of the council were in Washington and would be present. The Secret Service people had swept the suite with their detection devices and their sniffing dogs. Obermann had tested the audio equipment himself, and everything worked. There would be no interruptions, no inadvertent leaks. If only he could get the Secret Service men to kill Gorgon when he entered the room!
God, how Obermann detested leaks! His mind drifted to the earlier election council meeting in which they had conceived the strategy that got Senator Philip Randolph elected to the presidency. Somehow word had gotten out that two billionaires were on the supposedly secret council. The billionaires graciously gave up their seats when their membership became public knowledge, but continued to contribute money--an ideal situation from Obermann's point of view.
The President had replaced the money men with two new council members, without even consulting Obermann. Why the President had picked Senator Ricco, Obermann had no clear idea. The Senator from New York played well on TV talk shows but about the only exciting thing ever said of him was that he was honest. And honesty, Obermann, reflected, doesn't play well in national politics.
As for Joan Kendall, she was only a piddling TV hostess, for Chrissake. But she was a friend of the President who had interviewed him during his first campaign, and had helped him create a positive image during a particularly difficult time. Now she was the President's media consultant and there was nothing Obermann could do about it.
The Re-election Strategy Council members were beginning to file in. The Secret Service boys were fading into the woodwork and the waiter rolled a wet bar into place behind the oval table. Obermann had told the President to remain in his adjoining suite until everyone was in place. Obermann was painstaking in making certain that the President's entry and exit from all meetings made the greatest impact. With some senators and congressmen, he had the President make them wait for half an hour or more. A political official on Obermann's shit list would be made to wait for an hour and then told that something had come up and he'd have to reschedule. Meanwhile the President might be working in the oval office on a new strategy for his campaign or getting a briefing on the latest international crisis.
The only person who hadn't arrived was Gorgon. Obermann felt himself trembling, like a trapped animal awaiting its destruction. There was something horrible about this Gorgon as far as Obermann was concerned. He was an arrogant son of a bitch. A vicious killer out to destroy him.
Obermann sat down in his chair, then quickly got up to check with Tom, head of the Secret Service detail, about Gorgon. Had he called to say he'd be late? Where the hell was the asshole? This whole meeting was Gorgon's idea. He had met with the President and Obermann ten days ago to talk about his being the President's re-election campaign manager. Ever since Gorgon had gotten Senator Rastor re-elected, the President had insisted that Gorgon be considered as a candidate for re-election campaign manager. Senator Rastor, a friend of President Randolph, was a southern gentleman who had been unjustly accused of sexual harassment--in his home state of Mississippi. A jury trial had proven that the woman making the accusations was an inveterate liar with a history of trying to sell stories to the National Inquirer. Even with all that against him, Gorgon had gotten Rastor re-elected.
Gorgon had first come to national prominence when he served as the campaign manager for a gay senatorial candidate in California. California was California, yes, but getting a gay elected as senator from a major state was still some kind of magic. Suddenly, Gorgon was front page news. His methods of voter profiling and behavior control had been the subject of TV shows and newspaper editorials for months. The man, the media agreed, was some kind of genius.
Now that he'd managed the impossible by getting a southern politician accused of sexual harassment re-elected, Gorgon was a very popular guy. That's why Phil Randolph wanted to consider him for his re-election campaign manager. He was adamant, wouldn't even listen to Obermann's objections.
At the meeting ten days earlier Gorgon had listened quietly to the President's explanation that the Re-election Strategy Council members must be included in the selection of the campaign manager. Gorgon had waited until the President had gone through his explanation, then he had made his strange proposal. He would meet with the Re-election Strategy Council at which time Gorgon would demonstrate to the council members his special talents. If they were impressed with his demonstration, they could then decide on his being the campaign manager or not. The President had thought that rather strange, and had looked at Obermann for his reaction.
For Chrissake, he'd looked at me, Obermann remembered. Only when he gets up against it does he even listen to me. He never asks for my advice as long as things go smoothly. But, for God's sake, when something like that happens, he f'ing turns to me and asks me what to do. I didn't know what to say. I think Gorgon is full of crap. But I know what Phil Randolph feels about selecting a campaign manager--that you give the best candidates a fair shake. For Chrissakes!
So the President had agreed to Gorgon's plan.
Gorgon had had the gall to end that meeting ten days earlier by saying he wanted to speak to the President in private. And the son of a bitching President had agreed. So Obermann had to leave. And the President had turned off the damn eavesdropping equipment and the hidden cameras. What the hell had that goddamned Gorgon been up to? That was before Obermann had learned what Gorgon was actually plotting. And now, what could he do? How could he stop Gorgon from destroying him?
*****
If it hadn't been for Teddy, Obermann didn't know what would have become of him. Teddy reminded him of his mother. Neil Obermann had always felt more at ease with people like his mother. She was protective of him. She knew what he needed and made sure he got it. Most women just don't give a damn for a man, Obermann felt. They just want to use you--and then discard you. Neil had had some disastrous near-relationships with women. But he had always seen through the bitches. They only wanted to take from him, without caring for him at all.
Women exploited men. His mother was the only exception. Somehow she had managed to become a loving person in spite of her gender. She had doted on young Neil. His weak, usually unemployed father, had been no support for Neil at all. He resented his wife's attentions to what he called her sissy kid. When his father finally split, both Neil and his mother had felt only relief.
It hadn't been easy for Neil, growing up. Trying to fit into the usual molds. He just didn't like women. He felt more at ease with guys. Guys who felt like he did. He'd had his first homosexual affair when he was fifteen, and remained fixed in the gay life-style ever since.
Obermann had never told his mother, but he somehow felt she knew--and approved. She had never given him anything but unquestioning approval. For years Obermann had felt guilty about what he called his inclinations. He confessed weekly to the priests. But then the atmosphere in America had changed. Now he could feel somewhat more normal. Though he still had to remain in the closet because of his high-profile job.
In college, he had learned for the first time that he had a knack for getting people elected to any office he chose. He'd become enamored of a tall, muscular football player who had the ability to electrify a crowd of people--not only through his athletic skills, but also through his gift as a public speaker. Neil had first heard Michael at a football rally. It made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Not only was the guy an Adonis, but he could work up a crowd in five minutes flat.
Obermann had tried to make friends with Michael, but his candor about his feelings had put the athlete off. So he cooled his emotions for Michael and one day just explained to him how he could make him class president. As it happened, Michael's girlfriend of the moment, who thought he had a great speaking voice, encouraged him to run for office. With Obermann's coaching, the athlete won the senior class presidency by a landslide. He autographed Obermann's copy of the school newspaper headlined "ACE JOCK MAKES PREZ."
When Michael went on to play a year in the NFL, he asked Neil to be his public relations agent. Hospitalized with a groin injury after a year in the NFL, Michael jumped at Neil's suggestion that he run for state office. Trading on his celebrity as a football star and doing and saying precisely what Neil designed, he won a seat in the California state legislature.
Michael made Neil his chief of staff when he went to Sacramento. Neil discovered that he liked being a chief of staff better than being a campaign manager. He had come to hate campaigning. Too many contingencies. Scheduling and arranging meetings while acting as a backstage mentor was more Neil's cup of tea.
After Michael, Neil had been chief of staff for a house member, a governor, and then, Senator Philip Randolph, now President Randolph. Obermann's mother had had her picture taken with the President and the President's wife. It was the happiest moment in Neil's life.
But the life of a closet gay in Washington was hell for Neil. The President's Chief of Staff had to be in the public eye, so it was necessary for him to be extremely careful about his life-style. He lived a furtive emotional life outside Washington. No one would ever recognize him in the hideous black wig and the horn-rimmed glasses and fake mustache he wore when he went to gay bars.
Then he'd met Teddy. It was like a miracle. Only a month before, he had seen this Michael look-alike at a restaurant on the Baltimore shorefront. Teddy was eating alone, as was Neil. He'd noticed Neil staring at him, and nodded his head and smiled. Neil could hardly contain himself. He hadn't even been thinking of cruising, so he was undisguised, but he was so turned on by the guy that he dared to go over and ask if they'd met before. And Teddy had responded beyond Neil's wildest expectations--he'd expressed an interest in Neil right there on the spot. In fact, they'd gone to Neil's place in Bethesda that night. Within a week Neil had asked Teddy to move in with him.
Their sexual life had been fantastic for Neil. Never had he been so free with another man. It was a week before Neil even thought to ask who Teddy was and what he did. It turned out that Teddy worked at the Department of Justice in the Special Prosecutor's Office. Teddy had been on the swim team and studied business at Wisconsin, and moved to Washington when he graduated.
After several weeks of Neil and Teddy living together, Teddy had come home from work disturbed. He'd had a run in with a former employer, a guy he'd worked for at the National Institutes of Health, a doctor named Gorgon. Teddy hated Gorgon. Gorgon had had him fired for being what Gorgon called "a faggot." And now Gorgon had seen Teddy working at the Department of Justice. The son of a bitch, Teddy said, would probably try to get him fired from that job too. He'd like to destroy that bastard Gorgon.
Neil didn't know if he should tell Teddy that he knew Gorgon. He decided it was better not to tell him. But Teddy became more and more upset over Gorgon. Gorgon was poking his nose in Teddy's department at work.
"He fucking will find out about us!" Teddy said to Neil one evening as they were talking after work.
It was the first time Neil had considered that possibility.
"And if he finds out about us, you can kiss your ass goodbye. He's a queer-killer. If he knew you and I were living together, he'd have you kicked out of the White House before you could sneeze."
Neil had begun to wonder if he should have Teddy move out. But the thought of not having a lover, of going back to his old life of disguise and sordid trips to small towns in Virginia and Maryland made him sick. No, Teddy must stay with him. But Gorgon must never find out!
Then the worst had happened. Teddy had come home one day, beside himself.
"He knows about us!" he cried. He was hysterical. The son of a bitch found out. I don't know how."
Neil finally calmed Teddy down so he could talk more rationally. "How do you know he found out about us?" he asked Teddy, feeling the terror rise in his throat. God, I'll be ruined, he thought.
Teddy explained that he had seen Gorgon go into his supervisor's office. It seemed that Gorgon and Teddy's supervisor were old buddies. Teddy had listened in to their conversation without their being aware. He had heard Gorgon tell Teddy's boss about Teddy and Neil.
"That bastard Gorgon told my boss, 'Listen, you don't have to fire the queer right now. I'll take care of that Neil Obermann creature myself. I've got a meeting with President Randolph and his re-election campaign strategy council next week. I'll expose the faggot at that meeting. I'll hand the President an envelope with proof of Obermann's homosexual life-style and the President can fire the faggot right on the spot. Those fairies deserve that kind of public humiliation!"
*****
Obermann's thoughts returned to the strategy council meeting as Gorgon swept into the room, shaking hands with everyone, generally making an ass of himself, Obermann thought. Even when he sat down, Gorgon continued to chat loudly with several of the council members, as though they were old friends.
Obermann quickly went to the President's suite to let him know it was time for his entrance. The President had had fifteen minutes to re-read the background file on Gorgon before the meeting. Randolph was speaking on the phone to his wife, but Obermann signaled that the committee was ready for him.
After the President had shaken hands with all the council members individually and told his latest joke to a couple of the members, he sat down at the front of the table. Obermann noticed that the President had only superficially shaken hands with Gorgon, not saying much to him at all. Strange.
The President had told Obermann that he, the President, would conduct the meeting. That really pissed Obermann off, because he didn't like the way Philip Randolph conducted meetings. He made sure the group stayed on target, following an agenda, and made sure everyone got a chance to contribute. It took time.
Characteristically, the President began the meeting with a crisp statement of the meeting's purpose. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Strategy Council, I've called this special meeting to have you meet Dr. Lyman S. Gorgon. As I've discussed with each of you individually, Dr. Gorgon's recent successes make him a viable candidate for the campaign manager position. He's certainly managed to get some people elected that none of us would have thought had a chance in hell." The President laughed and the council relaxed a notch.
President Randolph looked over at Gorgon. "I've asked Dr. Gorgon to meet all of you today, and give us some idea of how he might conduct a re-election campaign. He's agreed to speak with you today, perhaps demonstrate some of the techniques he would use, and allow you to make your appraisal of his qualifications."
Obermann fidgeted in his chair, thinking to himself. Gorgon has set all this up and the President's agreed that Gorgon can demonstrate his tactics. What bullshit! Well, if Phil Randolph wants to dig his own grave, I can't stop him.
The President concluded his introductory remarks. "So, without further ado, I'll turn the meeting over to Dr. Gorgon. You have the floor."
Gorgon remained in his seat for a few moments as the members of the council gazed at him inquisitively. The President had made it clear that Gorgon was one of several candidates that the council would interview.
Gorgon rose and walked over to the other end of the table opposite the President. The maneuver now focused all the council members' attention toward him and, not incidentally, away from the President.
"I'm pleased to be here this evening. I was gratified with President Randolph's kind request that I meet with you and discuss what I might do if I were to lead his re-election campaign." He smiled at the President.
"I fully concur with his idea that any person who is to lead the re-election campaign should have the full approval and support of this distinguished group. After all, each of you has been specially selected for your individual areas of expertise. Without such a brain trust as this behind the re-election campaign, it wouldn't have much chance of success.
What bullshit, Obermann thought to himself. He knows most of these people are on this council because they can either deliver the votes or the money to get the votes. The guy's almost taunting the council members and they don't even know it. Look at them smiling at him, like some kind of Greek demi-god. Maybe I can still convince the President that this guy's no good.
"Some of you know very little about me. You've heard the media stories--good and bad--" he smiled, "but who can believe what you see on TV or read in the papers?"
He laughed, the council members joining with him.
"Anyway," he became more serious, "I want to explain to you precisely how I operate and demonstrate how my techniques actually work. Then you can see for yourselves what I can do. Okay?"
The council members seemed to agree.
"My methodology has the technical name of personality behavior control through computer-based simulation. To boil all that jargon down to simple terms, we do a lot of research on a particular group of people--or even on an individual. From that data we build a computer model--a personality profile. With that computer model we can then predict how a personality--an individual or a group--will react to all kinds of stimuli. So we know just how to control that personality's behavior. It's as simple as that." He paused and looked around the table at the council members.
"For example, we build a computer profile of a particular voter group. What they feel about everything--from Athens to Zoology. We know if they think America should have a big military or a small military, whether they think a President should speak softly and carry a big stick or speak bombastically and carry a small olive branch. We know if they're pro-life or pro-choice, pro-environment or pro-rapid growth. In short, we profile this voter group down to what kind of syrup they like on their flapjacks and what kind of TV ads will get 'em out and ready to vote twice for our candidate.
"With that kind of detailed computer-based profile, we then know exactly how to build a campaign that will hit all their hot buttons, make them think that our candidate is the best thing since sliced bread, and ready to tell all their friends and neighbors to vote for our candidate. We build TV, print, and baby-kissing tactics based on that very detailed computer profile--and voila! Our candidate wins the election."
Some of the council members stirred in their seats. The "lecture" was self-serving and presumptuous.
"But a picture--or a demonstration--is worth a thousand words," Gorgon continued. "So, my friends, I've set up a little vignette to show you just how precisely these techniques work. In a private conversation with the President, I've asked him to carry out certain actions to exact specification. So now I am going to hand the President this envelope and I invite you council members to observe what transpires."
Gorgon took an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit coat and began slowly walking toward the President, the envelope extended in front of him.
I must stop this madman! Obermann's mind frantically cried out. I can't let my life be ruined by this devil!
Obermann suddenly jumped up, determined to snatch the envelope from Gorgon. He appeared to the committee member and the president like a madman, completely out of character. They could hardly believe their eyes. The rigidly controlled Obermann physically attacking Dr. Gorgon. Shouting something about his not wanting the President to get the envelope.
"You bastard!" Obermann shouted. Throwing himself at Gorgon, trying desperately to seize the envelope.
Knowing what would happen, Gorgon jumped to the side as Obermann rushed at him, tripping Obermann as he went by. Obermann collapsed on the floor. He pulled himself up and began to rush at Gorgon again.
The Secret Service men quickly surrounded the President; he was to be shielded at all times against the possibility of physical violence. Two of them grabbed Obermann and threw him to the ground, holding him down.
Obermann sat on the floor, the image of a beaten man. He appeared utterly dejected. Seeing the futility of his behavior, Obermann shouted at Gorgon, "To hell with you!" Obermann tried to take his seat again, but the Secret Service men stopped him. The President motioned to them with a wave of his hand to release Obermann.
Gorgon was hardly mussed from the encounter. He appeared unusually calm for a man who had just been attacked. Looking at Obermann, he walked around him slowly and handed the envelope to the President.
The President was visibly agitated by what had just occurred. The other members of the council were dumbfounded. The President cleared his voice, opened the envelope, took out a sheet of paper. He looked at the council members. "I had agreed with Dr. Gorgon that I would read whatever message was in the envelope." The President began to read it aloud very deliberately.
"Mr. President, as I am bringing this message to you, Neil Obermann will try everything in his power to see that you do not read it."
The President looked at the message again, gazed quizzically at Obermann, then glanced at Gorgon. Finally, he spoke, looking around the table at the council members. "I had no idea that this was what Dr. Gorgon had in mind. I apologize for this unfortunate incident. I will be in touch with each of you individually. Thank you for coming."
After making momentary eye contact with each of the council members, the President walked out of the room, not even glancing at Gorgon. It was evident that the President was terribly displeased at what had occurred. From what he had just witnessed--and from reading Gorgon's dossier--it was clear to the President that Gorgon was a vicious manipulator.
Obermann sprawled in his chair in utter dejection. What the hell had happened?
Obermann waited to confront Gorgon before leaving. The council members had left immediately after the President's remarks. It was clear to each of them that Gorgon was beyond consideration as a campaign manager. They all felt, like the President, that this man was a monster, even though they didn't understand how he had manipulated Obermann into such a humiliating display.
Gorgon waited until all the council members had left. He walked toward Obermann. "Do you understand what happened?"
"No, you ass, I don't. I just know you made a fool of me!"
Gorgon said forcefully, "Oh no, that's not what happened at all. I could have made a fool of you, but I didn't. No one knows anything more about you now than they did before."
Gorgon smiled knowingly at Obermann, "Except that you're capable of bouts of rather bizarre behavior." He then spoke more forcefully, "No one knows anything about your life style at all." Gorgon's smile was almost a leer. "So Neil," he said conspiratorially, "even though I won't be the campaign manager, I'm expecting your support in some upcoming events I have planned. And because of what I know about you I expect your total support. Your total support."
Gorgon quickly turned away from Obermann and strode out of the room.
*****
Ben's attorney was furious with him for writing the things he had about Gorgon on the Web page, especially without consulting him first. They met with Gorgon's attorney and a judge to discuss a restraining order to stop Ben from writing what Gorgon's attorney considered to be libelous material on the Web. Ben and his attorney had agreed that he'd take down the material about Gorgon if there were no other reprisals. Fortunately, with the judge's insistence, this proved to be enough.
Neil Obermann, the President's chief of staff, was a detail man. His hairstyle hadn't changed since high school. He visited a barber every Friday to maintain that medium-length, yuppy look. He wore starched, button-down shirts and kept an inventory of suits at the cleaners. Despite his tall, angular frame, he kept a computerized database of calories consumed.
