Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life (19 page)

“Might watch some television? Not that I care, but if you do, let me know whether Clinton got himself in any trouble today.”

“Dick, why don’t you take the dog out and see if anyone is looking for it?”

“Brownie, here? Well, they might go looking, but unless they’re invited to come in and sit by the fire and have a brandy—I’m only kidding—well, they could come in, and, if there’s hot water, they could have a cup of tea, too, and we could be like those people in England, having a cuppa. Harmless. Or is it?”

Mrs. Nixon held the railing, walking upstairs. He wanted her to watch the news, but she was tired. The next day, she’d make some inquiries about who might own the dog. At least it had cheered him up a little.

She used Elizabeth Arden cosmetics, but washed her face with Ivory soap. It didn’t lather too much—just the right amount. With
some of the new soaps, she felt like one of the witches in
Macbeth,
urging the fire to burn and the cauldron to bubble. She realized that was a strange thing to leap to mind, when she was only going to wash her face. She did sometimes think of
Macbeth
and meant to reread it. She used no moisturizer. She brushed her teeth before going to bed, and again upon awakening. Her hair was always limp in cold weather and didn’t have any bounce. She didn’t know what to do about it, except put on a scarf.

The loneliness was like sea glass. It was attractive, sometimes. But it could also retain sharp edges. She had sometimes looked for sea glass on the beach in San Clemente, and Fina had cautioned her about picking it up because the edges could cut, even when the rest had been worn smooth.

Who knew that later the glass gathering would be good exercise, lifting little things out of the sand so her bad hand became accustomed to opening and closing normally. Bird feathers held no interest, shells rarely caught her attention . . . sometimes she still drew something in the sand with her toe, or sometimes she used a stick and made a quick drawing the water would wash away. That was back in California, of course. Their Elba. After they’d settled in, Fina and Manolo Sanchez went away. The loneliness was very much like sea glass, if sea glass could be a state of mind. Loneliness was always smooth. Activity had been worn down to smooth loneliness. Like sea glass, loneliness had a sheen. She could almost feel it, close her fingers around it, but she was exhausted, and there was no beach outside, so she only rested her hands on top of the covers. It weighed on you and exhausted you. The strokes contributed, but really the problem was loneliness.

Maybe they should keep the dog.

“S
he’s like writing about this wife of the President? She was famous for sitting in on some TV program about their dog that was some scandal or something? And I’m like, Oh. I am
so
not looking forward to seeing my dad this weekend, but I am chuffed to be in at This is br ing up. Oh, some book she’s ing, she goes, ‘I’m writing a boo about Mrs. Nix .’ Like she isn’t always ing so retarded.”

M
amie called yesterday, and I think it might be a nice idea if we invited her to come over for your fitting, Dolly. It’s fun for girls of whatever age to be included in these things. Oh, I already knew you’d say yes, but I wanted to make sure before phoning her. Mamie sounded a little down, so this should be a pick-me-up. She’s always adored you girls. And also, there was a call to double-check the embroidery. It’s to say: “Gown by Priscilla of Boston for the White House Wedding of Tricia Nixon to Edward Finch Cox (dash) June 12, 1971 (dash).” Is that right? Such a good idea, Priscilla had.

“Someday my own daughter might wear that dress, and it will mean so much more to both of us.”

It will be your secret and hers that there’s commemorative stitching inside the hem. I know you haven’t decided on your shoes yet, but please do think about heel height and not go too high. Once you decide, you can wear shoes to the fitting that are the same height as the ones you’ll wear at your wedding. I’m sure you and Priscilla will talk about shoes, but do be a little practical there, because you want to feel comfortable as well as pretty on your special day.

This afternoon while we’re gone, someone from the staff wants to replace one of the crystals that dropped from the chandelier in your bedroom. I think they want to give it a good cleaning, too, but I told them that now wouldn’t be the time. Many things can wait until after the Big Day. I’ve put the crystal in my desk drawer for safekeeping; they were so distressed to see it there, with the vacuum almost running over it, and who
does
know why a crystal would just suddenly drop? Now they want to inspect everything. I said, “Let me have it for safekeeping, and as soon as the wedding is over, you can bring in the ladder!”

I’m choosing “afternoon length” for my dress. It’s spunky and fun, as well as being flattering. Priscilla will use white crepe and overlay it with organdy, covered by lace blossoms. Some will be pale blue, and here and there will be some yellow flowers. It will all be very subtle and fancy and feminine, which she has such a talent for creating. There are a few pink flowers, too, in among the blue and yellow. It sounds a little too bright, but it’s really just beautiful—I’ve seen the fabric. I’m wearing my white T-strap heels.

“That will be pretty.”

Quite a different wedding from the one your father and I had in California. We rented the Presidential Suite, though, so I guess we had some intuition! Priscilla is carrying the dress in a suitcase on the plane, so no one can see. She’s so thoughtful and careful about whatever she does. The staff signs a confidentiality agreement so no word will leak out, and I do think that’s a good precaution. I think I’ll write her a little note, even though I thanked her on the phone. A note is something you can look at again. A thank-you on the phone is just like a cloud passing by. Conversations fly away!

The wedding presents are coming in all the time. You’d never get to your own wedding if you had to attend that many showers!
But wasn’t Mamie cute, laughing out loud at you in your white feather boa?

“You’re always saying that nothing’s wrong with having a little fun.”

And there
isn’t
. She had such a good time that day. That is not the sort of thing a military wife would actually have, but I guess, if I had it to do over again, I could wear a boa like that twirled around my neck with my Republican cloth coat . . . though maybe that’s all best forgotten. Every now and then I think about a few funny things I could do, and one of these days I’m going to surprise everyone and just act up a bit! I was so amused by seeing you in your yellow apron imprinted with the information: “Julia Child Eats TV Dinners.” Well, she’s a busy gal, so what if she does? I’m still recovering from Martha Mitchell’s gift, but when you think about it, it does let you know Martha has some perspective on herself. A gold telephone! Her husband wouldn’t have found it one bit funny. If he has any sense of humor, it’s lost on me. If you have patience with Martha, you know, when she settles down she has interesting things to say. I’m fond of her, though sometimes she goes too far.

“You’re a good friend to Mrs. Mitchell.”

One of the staff had a cart he was using yesterday. Pushing the presents down the corridor with a shopping cart, and someone coming behind him with a handheld present that was apparently very delicate. That’s the White House version of going to the market, I guess—though I never had anyone bringing up the rear when I went shopping. We’d be lucky to have something like that, wouldn’t we? Back and forth all day with gifts, and more to come, they must be thinking. You are going to have many lovely things to begin your life with Eddie in New York.

“Yes, but I don’t ever want to iron. You iron beautifully, but I’ve never learned to do it right.”

Tomorrow morning Priscilla will be in the Diplomatic Reception Room, and what do you say Mamie and I have a cup of tea and let you talk to her alone for a few moments? She might have some questions she’d like to ask privately. I don’t know
what,
just that she might. The designer and the bride might want to talk over some things that don’t involve two older ladies. Well, I appreciate that. She’ll be flying into National Airport, just the way she did for Luci Johnson. She’s a real goodwill ambassador of beautiful bridal dresses, isn’t she?

“She designs the most beautiful wedding dresses.”

Last night your father asked many times if things are coming along all right, and I know he’s very proud of you and excited about this important moment at the White House. He’s worried he won’t be good enough on the dance floor, so we’ve been practicing just a bit, but I don’t want to scare him, so I pretend he’ll simply sail on his feet.

“Eddie is a good dancer.”

Well, your father will be glad to have his dance with his daughter, and hand you off to Eddie! How lucky both of us are that we have such wonderful daughters. It’s no surprise that they’ve found wonderful men. Did I tell you that Clare Luce sent me a note, and she’s planning a wonderful surprise for you.

“She told you what it is? What is it?”

It’s something you might have a suspicion about, but I won’t say more. Let’s just say that it wouldn’t require a whole shopping cart to bring it into the White House. Let me ask you, darling: don’t you think long sleeves are best for my dress? I think they’re always better, and with the dress length, I think long sleeves will be appropriate. New white gloves. I’ll wear pearls. Have you decided on jewelry? Your sapphire and diamond engagement ring really is a dream come true. I guess it also takes care of that “something
blue.” I do agree with you that your hair pulled back will be elegant, and Priscilla can offer such good advice about a veil. I like things to be clear, including your sweet face on your wedding day.

“Julie and I wore white gloves to the Inaugural Ball, remember, Mommy?”

Oh, that picture where Julie is yawning? She would be the one yawning, being the youngest! I wore a sleeveless dress that night that I still have, but for a wedding, even a June wedding, I do think long sleeves will be best.

Your father is worried the roses won’t be blooming in profusion, so he’s spoken to one of the gardeners about bringing in extra rosebushes, if necessary! If I told him there was a magic dance he could do to ward off rain,
that
would be a way to get him to practice dancing! Shall we tell him that, just to have a bit of fun? Yes, let’s pretend there’s a special dance the President is supposed to do to ensure blue skies.

T
wo hundred thousand demonstrators are in Washington, May 3, 1971—I will never forget this day. They think they’ve thought things through, but they haven’t. They don’t understand the threat of Communism, and they don’t understand that some of the finest minds in our country have thought things through and arrived at a very different conclusion than theirs. I know this much: Jerry Wilson is a patriot, and he’s going to clear the streets and deal with these demonstrators who might find strength in numbers, though they’ll never prevail because, individually, they are cowards. I’m going to do my part, too. I’m going to stay inside—not because I’m a coward, but because life goes on. Today the wives of the Ninety-second Congress will be having lunch here, and the noise of the buses might have to be drowned out by Beethoven. I only wish Dick could take time out of his busy schedule to be the person sitting at the piano.

W
ell, I’ve taken some flak for what I did, but no matter what I do, I’m the President of the United States, so I’m going to catch it every time. I started thinking about it and I thought, Why not give the Secret Service a runaround and call on Manolo—he’s on my side, I know that—and the two of us could set off for one of the historic sites. Daytime, nighttime, it’s a moving experience to visit the great monuments of Washington, D.C.

Manolo drove—I let him do that part—and when we got to the Lincoln Memorial, I felt the power of it all over again, and there were kids—sure there were; they were getting in some sightseeing before their big day of protesting—there were some kids on the steps, and one of ’em called out, “Hey! It’s the President!” Well, how likely was that? But it wasn’t so dark that they didn’t stop what they were doing and see that it was the President, all right, but they still musta been surprised when I had a few things to say to them, because how often do you have an informal chat with the President? I’d told Haldeman to bring some of ’em to the White House, but then I thought, Why not go out there and
show them I’m not afraid? Why not talk to ’em, show ’em that the President cares? I want this war over more than anybody, you can be sure of that.

Well, we did pretty well. I tried to tell them that it was a big world, and that travel was important. I tried to stop them from being so scared because, you understand, they weren’t prepared to meet the President.

Manolo was very moved. He stood there staring up at Lincoln. I said to them that, sure, I could have avoided them, I could have been a coward, but I’m not a coward. How could they think I was, when I stood right there on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial? What they had to understand, though, was that I was making an effort, it wasn’t something I had to do, it was never something I had to get into. The problem was bigger than the war, I told ’em. I said the blacks and the whites were separated, and it was a shame. That there had to be a way to communicate. And the Indians—what did they think about our treatment of them, or did they think about nothing but the Vietnamese people? Our treatment of the Indians was very shabby. Some of the Chicanos are worse off than the blacks, too, by the way.

It was dark, but I gestured. I told them, there are problems that need to be fixed, and some of the problems have to do with having messed up the planet we’re living on. You know, it’s my intention to clean things up. And I let ’em know it was my intention to end the war, too, bring the boys home, the boys and the girls. They were pretty impressed, you can be sure of that. They feel their oats when they’re with their friends, but you get ’em alone, talk to them one-on-one, they understand that you care. That the President does. You know, that was a good idea I got from Nancy Dickerson to talk to the young people. Now, Pat, what’s that look for? You can’t be jealous of Nancy Dickerson! Anyway, if it makes you feel any
better, I spoke to Helen Thomas, too, she knew I was heading off for the memorial, even if it was you-know-who who’d told me that I should go to them, I shouldn’t just have Bob bring ’em to me. They were good kids. Kids that might grow up to be good Americans, once they’ve been set straight. Their president tried the other night. He got out there and talked to them. I told them, Go to Siberia, see what the folks were like there, see what they thought of living someplace like that. None of ’em probably has a dime to travel, but one day they might. We talked about a lot of things, and some of what I tried to say didn’t go over, I know that, but still, it was good advice: go to them, don’t have them come to you.