Free (1964) The Man by Irving Wallace Page B

six years ago) white and beautiful, white and lovely, which had pleased her mother, had worried him, had made Julian resentful, and had made Mindy herself haughty and impossible.
    He thought that he heard Crystal’s sharp voice through the wall. “Wake him up!” she was demanding.
    He knotted the belt of his robe, crossed to the door, went through the narrow hallway, and turned left into the living room.
    The sight that met him was not unexpected. Beneath the arch that led from the entry hall into the living room stood the shiny, bulging Crystal, shapeless in her tent of brown coat, still holding the morning newspapers in one hand and the inevitable huge straw basket (for leftovers for her sister’s hound) in her right hand. Blocking her way stood lanky, elderly Hugo Gaynor, Chief of the Secret Service, and the well-proportioned ex-California athlete whom Dilman recognized as Lou Agajanian, Chief of the White House Detail of the Secret Service.
    It was Crystal who saw Dilman first.
    She waved her fat hand and shrieked, “Senator! They won’t let me in—I gotta get up breakfast.”
    Gaynor spun around, and Agajanian did the same, and both were instantly respectful and apologetic. “Mr. President,” Gaynor said, “we have no idea who this lady is. We can’t let people without credentials in here simply because they say they work for you. Can you imagine what—”
    Dilman nodded. “She’s quite safe, Mr. Gaynor. Crystal has been my housekeeper for years. I should have advised you last night. . . . Hello, Mr. Agajanian, I think we’ve met once or twice. . . . Good morning, Crystal. It’s all right now. You can come in.”
    Obediently the agents parted, backed off, and the magic of it made Crystal’s eyes widen. Her unsubtle black face was almost comically transformed from indignation to triumph to pleasure to awe. She waddled toward Dilman, halted, eyes blinking. “I—I almost forgot to say, Senator—President—Mr. President—but I want to be the first to wish you well, and also for my sister and brother-in-law and the kids.”
    “Thank you, Crystal, thank you.”
    She began to go sideways, still awed, and then she stopped. “We stayed up late and it was all over the television. Everyone was sorry about the others, but we’re happy that, if it had to be, then mercy, we’re sure-enough happy it is you. I—I almost didn’t come here this morning. I was sort of sure you’d be in the White House, with a special fancy staff, and not needing me any more.”
    Dilman smiled. “I won’t be in the White House for a while, and you can be sure, Crystal, I’ll want you then as much as I want you now.”
    She seemed overwhelmed with relief. “Thank you, Sena—Mr.—Mr. President—” Suddenly her round face broke into a toothy smile, enamel and gold, and she said, “I’ll have to take lessons how to talk to you. What’ll it be this special morning, anything special?”
    “The same as always, Crystal. Give me fifteen minutes or so. I’ve got to shower and dress.”
    She was off to the dining room and kitchen, straw basket swinging, and Dilman smiled at the two Secret Service executives. “She’s here every day,” he said, “and weekends her niece comes in.”
    Gaynor said, “We’ll have to trouble you for a full list of your employees and friends.”
    “You’ll have it today.”
    “Mr. President, there are a number of calls that have come in—”
    “Anything important?”
    “I don’t believe anything urgent. The Secretary of State wants to speak to you when you’re up. Oh yes, one personal call—well, he phoned two or three times from New York—a young man who claims to be your son.”
    “Julian?”
    “That’s right, Mr. President. Gave the name Julian Dilman. Said he’d call back again at half past nine.”
    “All right. Better give me time to get myself cleaned up and into some clothes.” He started to go, then said over his shoulder, “You can ask Crystal to make something