19. Bill
NINETEEN
bill
By the time Bill and Jimmy are set to leave for Washington D.C. in mid-September, there is a distinctive pattern to their lives. At home, the kids have favorite playmates. Jo has her work at Stardust General, and she has her increasingly close group of friends in the neighborhood—especially Frankie. And Bill has sporadic updates from Desert Sage (Margaret has days and weeks of silent disassociation, followed by bouts of rage and confusion; treatments are having mixed results), and a predictable routine at work.
Jeanie Florence has become his favorite workmate to chat with over afternoon coffee, though he hasn’t quite dared to suggest that the small group of female engineers integrate themselves into the mens’ lunch hour or join them regularly at the Black Hole. Her combination of down-to-earth wit, scientific and astronomic knowledge, and youthful innocence have made Jeanie a bright spot in even the most tiring days at NASA.
“So you’re going to the White House, I hear,” Jeanie says one afternoon as Bill pours a packet of sugar into his black coffee, stirring it with a stick. “Sounds important.”
Bill tosses the flimsy stick into a trash can and sips his coffee in the empty cafeteria as Jeanie buys a coffee from the vending machine. “It’s mostly a chance to be with my son,” he says. “And of course it’s kind of a big deal to get invited to the Oval Office.”
“The president must love children,” Jeanie gushes. “I bet he loves seeing their little faces as they ask questions about our government. Twelve-year-old me is really jealous of those kids who get to go on this trip!”
“I’m pretty sure the whole thing is just about good optics,” Bill says. “I would bet that NASA actually arranged the whole thing. From the way it was presented to me, I think they wanted the children of astronauts on this trip—it feels very intentional.”
Jeanie looks disappointed at this less magical view of events. “Huh,” she says, pouring cream into her coffee and stirring it.
“I mean, Arvin North told me flat-out that we were getting a few days off to chaperone the trip, so now it’s me, Young, Trager, and Jameson taking our kids on a bus ride with a bunch of other sweaty sixth graders. It felt more like an assignment than an option, so obviously I got on board. Should be interesting.” He raises his cup in a mock toast and sips the coffee.
“Well, your son will never forget it,” Jeanie says. “Both meeting the president and going on this trip with his dad. I think it’s special.”
“Without question,” Bill agrees. “Hey, how are things going for you so far? You settled in here?”
Jeanie tips her head from one side to the other as she weighs the question. “For the most part. I’m sure it’s no shock to you that there are men here who are less than charitable about having women on staff. Not everyone is forward-thinking enough to realize that we have just as much education, just as much knowledge, and certainly, just as much right to be here as you all do.”
Bill blows out a long breath and rocks back on his heels. “That’s a mouthful,” he says, which is his way of agreeing. “But I think you’ll wear them down eventually. Just keep doing good work, and don’t let them boss you around too much.”
Jeanie cocks her head and looks at Bill inquisitively. “Question,” she says.
“Shoot.” Bill sips his coffee while anticipating what she might say.
“Who wears the pants at your house?”
Bill blinks a few times. “Uhhh,” he says, flustered.
“I just mean, when you tell me not to let them boss me around, do you think most women live lives outside the workplace where men don’t boss them around? Do you think your wife would say that she never feels as though she’s there to do your bidding?” Bill remains silent. “Hypothetically,” Jeanie adds quickly. “I’m asking you to consider it hypothetically. I’m twenty-six years old. That means until eight years ago, when I went to college, I lived under my father’s roof. I answered to male professors in college. I was hired to work at NASA by a panel made up entirely of men. And society tells me to obey a mostly male government, to stop my car when a male police officer pulls me over, to let a male doctor have full access to my body. And—if I choose to marry—I’m supposed to agree to ‘love, honor, and obey’ my husband.”
Jeanie stares at him pointedly for a moment that stretches on so long it actually makes Bill squirm. “So, I can assure you that while I do not like being bossed around by men, every fiber of my being has been raised and groomed to do just that.”
“Point taken,” Bill says, appropriately chagrined. He clears his throat. “Then how about this: if anyone gives you grief—any of the guys I work with closely in particular—you let me know. I’m not a perfect man, nor do I fully understand this whole women’s liberation movement that seems to be forming right under our noses, but I don’t subscribe to the notion that women are inferior to men. I just don’t. I’m on your team.”
Jeanie smiles at him politely—almost with pity—and wraps both hands around her paper coffee cup. “Thank you, Bill,” she says. Her reaction nearly makes Bill blush with shame; has he explained his feelings incorrectly? Why does she look like his words have offended her? Jeanie backs away, grabbing a napkin from a dispenser as she does. “Have a good time on the trip to D.C., okay? Bring back lots of stories!”
Bill watches her go, wondering whether he came across as patronizing and not supportive. He can’t change the world, and he can’t change the way that society functions, but he knows that he can use his rational mind and apply it to the way he treats his daughters, his wife, and his female coworkers. Bill tops off his coffee with a shake of his head, forgetting it all for the time being as he thinks about the bus ride to D.C. that he’s about to take. Thirty twelve-year-olds packed onto a bus without air-conditioning will be an adventure. Or torture—it could also be very much like torture.
Bill laughs to himself, remembering the places he’s been deployed to and the situations he’s been in that truly were torturous, and he realizes that a few days of hormonal pre-teens on a bus is actually going to be a walk in the park.
“Now, we are going to take this very special, very important tour of the White House,” Miss Black says to the class, holding her index finger to her lips to shush them as they stand in the long, windowed hallway with its polished brick floors.
Jimmy stands at attention next to Bill, hands behind his back like he’s being graded on his stance. Bill smiles at his son as a small knot of kids on his other side fuss and shuffle with impatience.
“I want to see the First Lady,” a girl named Susan says, poking Bill and looking up at him. “Can we see where they sleep?”
It’s Bill’s turn to put a finger to his lips, but he does it with a smile. “We’ll go wherever they take us,” he whispers back, turning his attention to Miss Black as an example of what he wants the kids to do.
“Our tour guide will be here shortly,” Miss Black says in a voice tinged with the sizzle of excitement. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and her tight bun has come loose on one side. She looks delirious with anticipation. “When we follow our guide, I expect you all to keep your hands to yourselves, your voices very, very quiet, and to raise your hand if you have a question.”
A boy puts his hand up in the crowd. “Miss Black?” he says.
“Yes, Sean?”
“Can we shake hands with President Kennedy?”
Miss Black looks nearly apoplectic at the mere mention of possibly meeting Kennedy. “We will do exactly what our tour guide tells us to,” Miss Black says, enunciating each word precisely. “It’s entirely possible that President Kennedy is in an important meeting, and that maybe we won’t get to meet him at all, but if we do, we will wait for instructions on what to do and what not to do. Am I being clear?” Her eyes skim the group of kids, landing on each one of them as she seeks confirmation. Heads nod all around.
Bill catches the eye of Trager, one of the astronauts whose son is also in the class. The four men are scattered amongst the group, each wearing their NASA-issued shirts tucked into dress pants. Bill is more aware than ever that this is a publicity opportunity for NASA, and that the kids are all benefiting from this event in ways they can’t possibly comprehend at the tender age of twelve. Sure, several of the kids took turns on the long bus ride asking Bill, Trager, Young, and Jameson what it would be like to go to space, whether they can eat in a rocket ship, and if they really, really want to go to the moon. But as adults, they’ll look back on this trip where they had astronauts as chaperones, to meet one of the most popular presidents in history, as a seminal event in their lives. There is no way they won’t realize the hugeness of this trip with the wisdom that the years will bring.
Their tour guide, a bespectacled young man named Philip Powers, greets them and gives a long list of easily digestible instructions—most of which are along the lines of what Miss Black has already told them: keep their hands to themselves; stay in a group; voices low; and save up their questions for a moment when they can stop in a quiet spot to talk.
“Ready?” Philip Powers asks, clutching his clipboard to his chest as he pushes his thick, black frames up his nose.
Bill brings up the rear as they wind their way through the West Wing. The children whisper to one another in hushed awe. Bill looks at the oil paintings that line the walls: portraits of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Andrew Jackson, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, and Benjamin Franklin. He feels appropriately reverent walking through these halls of greatness, and as the kids follow Philip Powers down a hallway, Bill lingers. He stands beneath a painting of Lincoln, looking up at the proud tilt of the former president’s chin.
“That one is my favorite,” a woman’s voice whispers from behind Bill. He turns, assuming that Miss Black has stayed behind with him. Only it isn’t Miss Black, and the look on the woman’s face is one of amusement.
It’s Jackie Kennedy. She winks at him. “Lincoln just had a way about him, didn’t he?”
Bill nods, pulling his jaw off the floor. “Yes, ma’am,” he agrees, because who would argue with the First Lady? “He most certainly did have a way.”
“It’s lovely of you to join the children,” she says, glancing down the hallway at the backs of the kids as they turn a corner, listening to Philip Powers droning on about the Executive Branch of the government and the checks and balances provided by having three branches. “I heard we were having special guests today.” She looks at his name, which is embroidered right over his heart, beneath the NASA insignia. “Mr. Booker,” she adds with a smile. “Or is it Cosmonaut Booker?” She frowns prettily as she laughs. “I’m sorry I don’t have that down—it’s unlike me not to know a detail like that.”
Bill stands up straighter. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant Colonel William Booker, United States Air Force, ma’am,” he says proudly. “And currently of NASA. I’m not assigned to a mission yet, so just Bill is fine.” His face cracks into a goofy smile as the realization that he’s standing in a hallway trading banter with the First Lady really hits him.
“Okay, Just Bill,” she says cheekily. “I should probably let you get back to the tour before they lose you entirely. It was lovely to meet you.” Jackie offers a hand for him to shake, and Bill takes it in his. He will surely forget the finer details of this entire moment once it’s over. It’s almost too much for the mind to process and retain. “Thank you for your service to our country,” Mrs. Kennedy says, “and also for your willingness to explore the universe.”
It seems so grand, so outrageous, that Jackie Kennedy has just thanked him for wanting to explore the universe, but Bill grins widely. His cheeks are already starting to hurt. “It was an honor to meet you, ma’am,” he says.
When Bill rejoins the group, he can’t stop smiling. Weirdly, being in the Oval Office seems almost anticlimactic after having a one-on-one with the First Lady. He stands to the side, hands clasped behind his back as he watches the kids trying not to burst at the seams with their own bottled-up excitement. Within minutes, an advisor ushers President Kennedy into the room, and the kids go dead silent. Their faces fall into the serious masks of young adults. Even Trager, Young, and Jameson are silent, standing at attention like the military men they all are. This is their Commander in Chief, and they treat this moment with all the respect that it deserves.
“Hello there,” President Kennedy says to the young girl standing closest to him. He holds out a hand for her, and she looks at it nervously before shaking it. “Who are you?”
“Emily,” she says in a near whisper.
“Would you like to sit in my chair, Emily? See what it’s like to be in charge of the country?”
As Bill watches, he sees a familiar look cross Emily’s face—it was the one that he remembers seeing on his own kids after waiting in line to meet Santa Claus as small children: unmitigated excitement mixed with sheer terror.
Miss Black steps in and walks Emily over to the desk, pointing at the chair. Once the seal is broken and Emily has had her turn sitting there, her hands folded on the desk blotter as a White House photographer snaps a photo of her smiling shyly, every other kid wants a turn. President Kennedy laughs and smiles, asking each child for their name, and adding something charming as they sit at his desk, from “What do you think about that fancy pen?” to “If you were sitting at that desk, would you invite the New York Yankees or the Beatles to visit you at the White House?”—a question which he aims at Jimmy Booker.
“I’d invite Joe DiMaggio,” Jimmy says definitively as he sits squarely in President Kennedy’s chair. The American flag hangs just so on a stand behind him, and he clasps his hands on the desk, looking right into the lens of the camera for his photo. The shutter snaps, and Jimmy turns back to the President. “I’d invite him to play catch out there on the lawn.”
President Kennedy throws his head back, laughing heartily at this and showing all of his square, white teeth. “Oh, that’s beautiful, son,” he says, reaching over and placing a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “We’re on eighteen acres here, so you’d find a spot to toss a ball around with Joe for sure.” He looks right at the photographer, holding up the hand that’s not resting on Jimmy’s shoulder and snapping his fingers lightly. “Mind getting a photo of me with this young guy?” he asks with a half-smile, putting his free hand into the pocket of his pants and posing with Jimmy.
The shutter snaps again, and Bill feels a thrill of pride: President Kennedy has singled out his son for a photo. Without moving, Kennedy looks over at Bill and motions to him. “Join us for a photo?” he asks Bill, who crosses the office without hesitation and stands behind Jimmy, putting his hand on his son’s other shoulder.
He can’t wait to call Jo that night from the hotel and tell her everything—every single detail. Even if this is all entirely orchestrated and planned out for maximum positive exposure for NASA, or for the White House, or both, Bill can’t think of another time he’s felt so happy and excited. So proud to be an American.
“Thank you, sir,” he says, turning to Kennedy.
Kennedy holds out a hand to him. “Thank you to you, Lieutenant Colonel Booker,” Kennedy says with a nod. He’s clearly been briefed on who everyone is, and Bill is flattered and surprised to hear his own name pass through the President’s lips.
Bill trails the group through the rest of the White House tour and then all around D.C., making sure everyone crosses the busy streets safely and gets their photo taken in front of the major landmarks. But there’s a soundtrack playing in his mind the entire time as they move through the city. As they gather around the Washington Monument, looking up at the tall, narrow obelisk, Bill hears “Save the Last Dance for Me” by The Drifters. When they visit The Smithsonian, all he can hear in his head is “Sleepwalk” by Santo & Johnny. And as the early fall sun dances on the Potomac and he leans against the side of the boat that’s bobbing along, allowing the kids to see the sights from the water, Bill hears “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis Presley. It’s not unpleasant to have his own personal jukebox in his head as they move around the city, and it allows Bill to smile and to watch his son enjoying the trip, while still letting him entertain his own thoughts.
It’s only as they board the buses late on the third day to turn around and head south again that Bill realizes how much of the movie that’s been playing in his head has been about his past life with Margaret and all of the “what ifs” that surround his truncated first marriage. Some of it is sad, and some is bittersweet, but it’s all there nonetheless. Of course he imagines telling Jo about everything and sharing the stories about the President and First Lady, but an amazing amount of his daydreaming on this trip has involved him sharing all the details with Jeanie Florence, or simply of sitting with her in the sunlit break room at Port Canaveral, sharing an afternoon cup of coffee. A few of his mental scenarios involve bumping into Jeanie at the Black Hole with “My Boyfriend’s Back” by The Angels spinning on the jukebox as they drink cold beer and trade stories, though this daydream leaves a stain of guilt behind every time it comes up.
The inappropriateness of this train of thought is not lost on Bill. He chooses a seat in the center of the bus, intentionally taking up the whole seat so that no one sits next to him, and then he spends part of the trip back to Florida trying to convince himself that imagining a coffee date with a coworker is possibly the tamest thing a man has ever daydreamed about. The rest of the trip is spent forcing himself to drag his mind back to that night on the roof of the house in Stardust Beach with Jo. He watches the highway whizzing past his window, the miles piling up behind them while he pushes Jeanie from his mind, instead picturing what it was like to kiss his wife under the stars.
And it isn’t that he didn’t love that night on the roof with Jo, but for some reason, he just can’t keep his brain there. For some reason, no matter how hard he tries, his mind keeps traveling back to Jeanie Florence and her long hair, her glasses, her freckles. He can’t get her face out of his head.
Bill does not like this.