Date: Sat, 30 Apr 2016 04:51:06 +0100
From: David Ashford <dashford566@gmail.com>
Subject: What are we going to tell the president ? By Nigel Dean

*WHAT ARE WE GOING TO TELL THE PRESIDENT ?  By Nigel Dean*

I hope you enjoy my latest story - feel free to drop me a line:
david@guyzonline.com


I composed in my mind what I would say then tapped the screen to make the
call. What happened next was not anything I could have remotely anticipated.

"You have reached the personal phone," the recorded voice said, "of the
Vice President of The United States of America.  To connect with the vice
president enter your six digit pin number now."

What the .............. ?  I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the
passenger seat.  I threw it as if I had just touched a contaminated
object.    What ever was he doing with the phone ? I would go inside the
service station, grab a sandwich then decide what to do next.  How weird.

I had seen him at the top of the slip road of the  motorway.  With a
rucksack by his side and holding a piece of cardboard on which he had
written *SOUTH WEST PLEASE* I took him to be a student, stopped and offered
him a lift. He was indeed a student.

"My name is Nigel," I said. "Throw your bag on to the back seat and jump
in."

"Thanks," he replied speaking in an American accent. "I'm Martin."

As we drove off he explained he was part of a group taking part in a
sponsored event. "There are twenty-five of us, we've been dropped off at
random all over the country and have to hitch hike to both John o'Groats
and Lands End.  I've been up to Scotland and am now on my way to Cornwall."

"I can take you as far as Bristol.  If I drop you where the M4 and M5 meet
you should be able to get another lift from there."

"That is so kind of you."

"Which charity are you collecting for ?"

"A children's hospice in Oxford."

"Helen House ?" I said.  "I've heard of it."

"I think it was once called that, it's Helen and Douglas House now.  It's
not far from my college."

"You are an Oxford man ?"

"Yes, Balliol."

"Forgive me but that does not sound like an Oxford accent to me."

"Tennessee,"  he smiled. "I'm doing a PhD in International Law. My father
thinks an Oxford Education will make me more of a gentleman."

"Well you can put me down for a donation."  It was a good cause and he was
a nice enough guy even if he was an American. "I'll give you some money
when we stop."

"I'm not allowed to take cash. I mean that is very kind and generous of
you, sorry I should have said that first.  If you can give me your details
I will enter you into the system and someone will contact you."

I liked the lad. Lad ?  He could not have been more than a few years
younger than myself. "What do you need to know ?  Put me down for fifty
pounds."

"Oh golly !"  His voice suddenly sounded like an Oxford undergraduate and
not American.

It was then he took out his phone to log in and register my donation. It
must have been at that point he dropped it into the passenger well of the
car. I did not notice it then.  I did not notice it when I dropped him off.
I only noticed it when I stopped at Magor Services.  I had no idea who he
was other than the fact he was an American called Martin doing a PhD at
Balliol College in Oxford. How would I get the phone back to him ?  Picking
it up I went to his contacts and scrolled down. DAD, I'd call him and
explain I had his son's phone.  I did not stop to think that Dad would be
in America. Between fine and eight hours behind England so it was the very
early hours of the morning. But that response !

*You have reached the personal phone of the Vice President of The United
States of America.  To connect with the vice president enter your six digit
pin number now.*

What was that all about ?

Inside the service station I went to the toilet, grabbed a coffee and a
sandwich.  I had plenty of time before my appointment. Back at the car I
needed to decide what to do with the phone. I'd wait until I was in Cardiff
then hand it over to the police as lost property and leave it to them to
return it to its owner.

That was not what happened.

Back in the car I sipped at the coffee and began to unwrap the sandwich.
Looking up I could see a policeman in front of the car. There was another
by the side of my driver's door, There were more, lots more. I was
surrounded. Both front doors of the car opened. A hand reached in and took
the phone while a policeman on my side ordered me out. "Come with us."

I was marched to a portacabin at the side of the car park which appeared to
be a police control office for the motorway.  The door was closed behind me
as we entered. "Sit down."

"What's going on ?" I asked.

Suddenly I was being cautioned, all that *what ever you say may be use in
evidence* stuff. I do not mind admitting I was scared witless.  What was
going on ?  What had I done ?  I had done nothing ? Must have but what ?

"You are in possession of a phone belonging to Mr Martin Bouvier."

"Is that his name ?  He just said he was Martin.  He dropped the phone in
my car."

"Martin Bouvier is the son of the Vice President of the United States of
America.  You used the phone to try to call the vice president. Why did you
do that ?"

"I was simply calling one of his contacts to try and return his phone to
him,"  I said feebly.

"And where is Mr Bouvier now ?"

"I don't know. He was hitch hiking, I dropped him off near Bristol."

"The son of the vice president hitch hiking, I don't think so."

"It was some sponsored charity event,"  I tried to explain.

"Where is Mr Bouvier now ?"

"I do not know.  On his way to Cornwall."

I was frightened. Very frightened. This was so surreal, it could not be
happening.

"We will wait for the embassy people to get here. You just sit there and
wait."

"I have a meeting in Cardiff," I explained.  "I need to call someone."

"You are not calling anyone until we know the vice president's son is safe."

"Of course he is safe,"  I tried to protest.  "I have a right to call
someone."

"Not until the embassy people arrive."

The police officer was still speaking when I could hear the sound, the loud
sound,  of a helicopter. Through the window I could see it land in the
field adjacent to us. This was crazy.  All I had done was to give a guy a
lift. He had dropped his phone in my car.  I tried to return it. Now I was
being held without any of my rights being observed. What did they think I
had done ?  Who did they think I was ?  What did they think I was ?  Oh
god, they thought I was a terrorist !

The door of the portacabin police office opened and two men came in. "Is
this him ?"  One asked.

"It's him."

"Mr Dean ?  Mr Nigel Dean ?"

"That's me."

"We need to apologise Sir. I am Special Agent Carter and this is Special
Agent Johnson. We are part of the diplomatic protection unit at the
American Embassy.  One of our colleagues has located Mr Bouvier and spoken
to him.  He confirms you did give him a lift and he did leave his cell
phone in your car. I can only apologise for this inconvenience Sir."

My heartbeat began to slow. It was not easy to believe all that had just
happened and now nt was hard to believe I was being told it was all a
mistake.

"We must also apologise," one of the British police officers said, "but
where the life of the son of the American vice president is concerned we
would not be doing our duty had we acted differently."

The American vice president ?  I had never heard who the American vice
president was. So what if the hitch hiker was his son, what was all the
fuss about ?

"Is there anything we can do for you Mr Dean ?" One of the special agents
asked.

How did he know my name ?  I had not even told it to the British police,
they never gave me the chance.

"You can tell these fools to let me go."

"You are free to go," the police officer said.

"Then GOOD BYE," I snapped indignantly, left and returned to my car.

The car was cordoned off with cones and police incident tape. "You can
clear this rubbish away," I yelled ripping the tape and throwing a cone in
the direction of the officer standing guard on the car. "Talk about a
totalitarian state, what the fuck do you think you were doing ?"

I was still seething with anger when I began my meeting, the others there
witnesses a formidable character with whom they had better not argue. I
left feeling happy, I had achieved far more that anticipated. "Don't tangle
with me,"  I said to myself.  Those police officers at Magor Services had
better not sleep well that night for tomorrow I would register a complaint
which would wreck their careers.

I did not make any complaint, I did not wreck any careers. The next morning
I received a telephone call from The Police and Crime Commissioner for
Gwent to personally apologise for what had happened. I accepted his apology
and decided to forget all about the unfortunate incident. The next day a
courier from DHL knocked on my door asking me to sign for a delivery. What
ever could that be ?

Opening the cardboard DHL outer package there was a cream envelope inside
on which someone had written my name.  It was handwritten using ink from an
old fashioned fountain pen. Inside as I opened the folded sheet of paper to
reveal a crest and address:

The Office of the Vice President of The United States of America

United States Naval Observatory

Washington DC

The letter was hand written by Richard James Bouvier who I now knew was the
vice president, apologising for my inconvenience and thanking me for
helping his son on his charity expedition.

That was nice. I would keep the letter and proudly show it off to anyone
and everyone in  years to come.

Most of my work is from home, save for when I have to travel to meetings
such as the one in Cardiff, so it was fortunate I was at home when the
courier came to deliver the letter. I was also at home when the door bell
rang again on the third day, the third day after the Magor Services fiasco.
Opening the door I was amazed to see Martin Bouvier standing in front of me.

"Hello," I said feebly.

"I know my father has written to you but I could not leave it there, I just
had to come round and apologise myself. Here." He pushed a bottle of wine
towards me. "It's Chappellet Signature Cabernet Sauvignon 2010 from Napa
Valley California."

That really did not mean a lot to me. "Come in," I said half turning and
indicating the way.

"I am so sorry," he continued walking into my lounge. "I really don't know
what our people were up to."

"It wasn't your people,"  I explained, "they were Ok, it was the leek
gobbling British, I mean Welsh, coppers who were the arrogant bastards."

"Well I am sorry, I really am.  It can't have been a nice experience."

I laughed.

"You see," he lifted the leg of his trouser, "I have to wear this all the
time, it tracks my position twenty-four seven.  I got a lift very quickly
after you dropped me and was miles away from my phone when you tried to use
it.  This showed up in the White House security office, I was not with the
phone and somebody had tried to use it to call the vice president. Some
secret service agent hit the panic button, they tracked my phone using GPS
and you know what happened.  I am SO sorry, I really, really am."

"You have to wear that thing twenty-for seven ?"

He nodded.

"Looks like a prison tag."

"Believe me it is at times."

"It just tracks you, nobody can hear what you are saying through it ?"

"God no !"

"Could be a bit embarrassing if you were chatting up a hot bit of stuff."

"Would be if it could hear me but chatting up a bit of hot stuff - not
likely. Nigel I am SO sorry."

"Forget it."

"You see in our system the vice president is a nobody, he is just a reserve
in case something were to happen to the president, most people don't even
know who he is but if the president were to die suddenly the vice president
would become the most important man.  He is protected to the same degree as
the president but thank goodness his family members are allowed a bit of
freedom. If I press this tag, I can do it with my other foot, it sends an
alarm and the local police where ever I am respond within minutes."

"I see."

"I didn't press it, honestly, it was just when the GPS showed my phone to
be in a different place to where I was. Not a big thing there but when you
tried to call my father everything went mad."

"It just said Dad in your contacts,"  I explained, "I was trying to call
him to say I had your phone and could he tell you.  I didn't know who he
was and it's a bit stupid of me not to have realised he was in America
where it was still night time."

"Look Nigel, please - can I take you out to lunch to apologise and say
thank you ?"

"But you have given me this."  I held up what I suspected was an expensive
bottle of wine.

"Please, I would like to."

As Martin spoke our eyes met and something passed between us. Not even a
full thought or an idea. How do you measure thoughts ?   How do you
distinguish their magnitude ?  How do you measure their importance ? What
ever the system the flash that occurred between our eyes was for less than
a single second yet the power and the force of what it contained was big
and I knew would have some form of lasting effect on both of our lives.

"Go on then. Do you want to go now ?"

"If that is convenient for you."

"Son of the vice president of the United States and you drive that ! Did
you come all the way from Oxford in it ?  I'm surprised the engine did not
explode."

"There's a spare one in the boot," he smiled. "It's very easy to park a
Smart Car in Oxford."

"It's hardly a presidential limousine is it ?  Come on we'll take mine."

"Where do you suggest we go ?" Martin asked then added, "Somewhere fitting
for the vice president's son and his new friend."

"McDonald's."

"Funny !"

"Well it is American after all and way upmarket for a man who drives a
Smart Car. Tell me when you go home do they allow you to park it at The
White House ?"

"We don't live at The White House and I don't go there. A Smart Car is
cool."

"If you say so but I think I would rather stuff wasps up my arse than drive
one myself."

We went to a traditional pub I know well, one which has a reputation for
its food. After both enjoying soup of the day, I ordered my usual dish of
gammon steak and pineapple while my friend chose the steak and ale pie.

"My father would like this place," Martin said raising his glass to me. "He
approves of anything and everything English."

"The ale in your pie," I explained in Guinness and that comes from Ireland."

"I have Irish connections in my family."

"Bouvier, that does not sound particularly Irish to me. What is it French ?"

"Actually I think it is Austrian but that's not the Irish connection."  He
laughed slightly. "You don't really know who I am do you ?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"It was my great aunt's husband who was descended from Ireland."

I see.

He began to spell it out slowly. "My great aunt was Jacqueline Bouvier, her
brother was my grandfather. She married John Fitzgerald....."

"Oh my god !" I exclaimed loudly, people in the dining area looked at me.
"You are saying," I continued softly, "that you are related to the
assassinated John F Kennedy ?"

"He would have been my great uncle had he lived, the Irish connection."

"No wonder the FBI almost declared world war  three when they thought I had
kidnapped you."

"That wasn't the FBI, it was the secret service but never mind. They tell
me I met my great aunt but Jackie Kennedy - Onnasis - Bouvier died when I
was very young."

I was stunned and fumbled my words. "So if your father becomes president
the Kennedy line would continue ?"

"My father will never become president, he couldn't stand the fame.  He's
happy and content so sit in the background just as a reserve in case
anything should happen to the main man. Which of course it will not."

We finished our main course, ordered a third bottle of wine then looked at
the desert menu.

"What's the Eton Mess ?  Is it anything to do with Eton School ?"

"It's a rich mixture of fruit cream and meringue. I believe it is
traditionally served when Eton and Harrow Schools play cricket."

"Let's have two of them.  My father would approve - typical English."

"Perhaps you father should give up his present job and come here as British
prime minister."

"Oh he would like that. Not sure Great Britain would want him though. He is
obsessed with the ways and traditions of England."  Martin moved closer to
me and spoke quietly, "Ninety-one percent of all American males are
circumcised, I am part of the other nine percent because my father thought
when I was a baby I should have the British foreskin."

"I've got one,"  I explained but nearly lost it. "It's very tight and will
not retract. I have a distant memory, I can have been no more than three,
of the doctor examining me and saying it was nothing to worry. I did not
need the operation."

How strange, two friends having a pub meal and discussing the merits of
their foreskins. We had drunk too much wine ! Too much wine meant I could
not drive us home so after coffee we called a taxi. Martin was not in any
state to drive back to Oxford so we sat in the garden trying to sober up.

"When my head clears I'll drive you to collect you car, if you can demean
yourself to ride in a Smart Car then I can head back to Oxford."

My own head was far from clear.  Was this guy sitting in my house with me
really the great nephew or the assassinated President Kennedy ?  Was his
father really the current vice president of the USA ?  Never mind if my
head cleared or not it was going to take some time before my alcohol level
fell below the legal limit. Oh god I could see the headlines - SON OF VICE
PRESIDENT BOUVIER ARRESTED ON A DRUNK DRIVING CHARGE !

"So what do you do for a living ?" Martin asked.

"I buy and sell antique gold and silver,"  I explained. "Mainly men's
stuff, things like cigarette cases, cuff links, snuff boxes and the like."

"You obviously do very well, you drive a Jaguar."

"It's OK but can be a bit lonely sitting at the laptop all day. I like it
when I get out and about to look at things and buy them.  That was where I
was heading, to Cardiff, when I picked you up for a lift."

"Did you buy anything in Cardiff ?"

"No it was far too expensive."

"But not an entirely wasted journey, we did get to meet up and become
friends. We are friends aren't we ?"

I nodded. "And you are going to be an international lawyer ?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders. "I don't really want to do that."

"But you are doing a PhD ?"

"I know and I expect that's where I'll end up but," he hesitated. "Oh I
don't know."

It was getting a bit chilly so I suggested we go inside.  "We could watch a
DVD,"  I suggested.

"Do you have Dances With Wolves ?"

"I do as it happens."

"Oh fantastic, I love that movie. I have watched it hundreds of times since
I was a child. That's the real America, the open space not the cities New
York, Los Angeles, Washington DC."

"So which is your home state ?"

"Tennessee. You know The Tennessee Waltz.  My father was a senator there.
I'd like to take you there some time."

I smiled.

"No I really would but first let's watch Dances With Wolves."

I put the DVD into the player, we sat down together and prepared to watch
the three hour classic. Just possibly we would be fit to drive when it was
finished.

It was the wine, or it could have been the length of the film or it could
have been the music but I fell asleep. Not a deep sleep but one of those
gentle slumbers which leave you semi-conscious and aware of things about
you. I could still hear the television although where in John Dunbar's
story we were I could not say. I knew when Martin placed an arm round my
shoulder. I moved to rest against his chest. As he began to stroke my hair
I sighed.

"Neither of us should drive yet," I said as I began to wake. "What time is
it ?"

"Coming up to six."

"Stay."

"I would like that," Martin said as I stood up. He did not release my hand
but kissed the back."

"Coffee ?"

"Yes please, black with no sugar but first can I use your bathroom ?"

"Of course."  I explained its location in the house.

"This is a big house," Martin said when he returned. "I almost got lost."

"Six bedrooms," I said. "I inherited it from my parents."

"Oh," Martin paused not quite knowing what he should say.

"It was a car accident," I explained. "Three years ago now. "I have thought
about selling the house, it's far too big for me but I am reluctant to part
with it."

"Do you have brothers and sisters ?"

"No, only me."

The truth is I was leading a lonely and solitary life. I did not mind. My
business kept me occupied if not busy but it would be nice to have had
friends. Dare I hope that Martin and I could become friends. Dare I look
forward to a little more than a fleeting acquaintance.

"What about you ? Is yours a big family ?"

"You could say that. Dad you know about. he has no ambitions to become
President but Mom would just love to be First Lady.  I have an older sister
and a younger brother. I'll never have children, of course, so continuing
the Bouvier line is down to him."

Our small talk continued as we slowly got to know more about one another's
backgrounds. On a personal level I was certain this was a friendship I
wanted to develop.  I dared to hope that Martin felt the same. When it came
to time for bed there really was not any question between us that we would
sleep together. As we lay side by side Martin took his phone and plugged in
a set or ear pieces.

"Here you take one and I'll take the other. Close your eyes and listen."

"What is that ? It's lovely."

"The Tennessee Waltz. Nigel, I would like to take you to Tennessee. Will
you come ?  Soon ?"

I turned to kiss my friend, the special friend Destiny had sent my way."

"Of course.  Play it again."

When I eventually fell asleep in my lover's arms the tune played softly in
my mind.

The early sunshine was just starting to break through the curtains when I
felt Martin stir. He kissed me and I was awake.

"Good morning lover, that was a wonderful night. Thank you."

"Thank you. Are you awake Nigel ?"

"We are talking to each other aren't we ?"

"I mean awake enough for me to explain an idea to you. I want you to come
to Tennessee with me."

"I've got some speakers somewhere. you can plug them in and play that
beautiful piece of music again."

"Let me tell you this first."

"Go on then."

"My doctorate thesis is finished, I have only now to submit it and jump a
few hurdles to become Doctor Martin Bouvier. But I do not want to spend my
life as a lawyer," he explained.

"Isn't it a bit late now to decide that ? After becoming a doctor of law ?"

"No, not at all. The PhD will just be the start. I am going to start a
foundation: not a business, not a charity, not a political party but  a
movement putting an idea into the minds of people the world over."

I did not know what he was talking about but said, "Go one, explain."

"I had been planning to become a human rights lawyer but this is more than
human rights."

I must have looked confused.  I was confused.

"I want to develop understanding, love and respect among human beings.
Among one another but also for animals, wildlife, nature and the planet
itself. I want people to stop, think and then make this a better world to
live in."

"Sounds great but not easy."

"But it is easy," he explained enthusiastically. "A project could be as
small as children cleaning up the litter in the street where they live or a
multi national fast food chain sending teams out to famine areas with its
products to feed the poor."

I produced the set of speakers from a draw in my bedside chest.

"Play that music again,"

As the melody filled the room I changed the subject. "What is life in
Tennessee like ?"

"For me it is home,"  Martin explained, "but it is not perfect. It's a
former slave state and understanding is still way behind what it should be.
It still has the death penalty and was reluctant to accept the national
decree that there is nothing wrong with same sex marriage."

What is the countryside like ?"

"Beautiful. Mountains, deserts."

"Not like Oxford then."

"Hardly. Dad would have me every inch an Oxford boy but I do love
Tennessee. You will love it too."

"If you love it then I am sure I will love it too.  Do the Bouviers
originate from Tennessee ?"

"Oh no, the family is  East Coast, Dad moved us there when I was a baby. He
was a teacher and taught high school before he found a taste for politics."

"What did your mother do ?"

"She was a doctor but gave up practising to support Dad. Oh she would love
to be First Lady and gives Dad a hard time trying to get him to run when
President North's second term comes to an end. But it is not going to
happen."

"Oh."

"How soon can you get away ? How soon before you can come to Tennessee ?"

"I don't have a lot on right now,"  I explained, "and even if I did I would
rearrange my diary for you."

"My thesis is finished, I have to present it to my tutor tomorrow then
there will be a meeting the day after so how about we fly out on Friday ?

"Are there direct flights," I asked. "Sorry about my ignorance."

"We'd have to change at Atlanta or Chicago but it's an easy journey."

"Friday it is then."

"We need to go and collect your car,"  Martin smiled, "if you can suffer
riding in my little vehicle then we have the rest of the day to ourselves.
What would you suggest we do ?"

"We'll think of something."

"Can I stay with you again tonight then I can drive to Oxford tomorrow
morning ?"

"You need to ask ?".

Back at the pub se sat down for a late breakfast. As we began to eat Martin
told me about The Bouvier Hoard.  "It's a lot of garbage really,"  he
began, "oops I mean rubbish, my British guard is slipping - not garbage -
junk !"

I smiled.

"All kinds of gifts my great aunt received when she was First Lady. There
are gifts dating from when she was Mrs Onassis. Expensive junk but junk
none the less."

"Very expensive I am guessing."

"When she died her daughter did not want any of it so my father has it all.
It's stored in boxes at home. If my father were to let me have it could you
sell it for me ?"

"How much is there ?"

"Nobody has ever made an inventory but there must be two, perhaps three
hundred items."

"Wow !"

"The money could be used to make grants to people and organisations
promoting the ideals of what ever I decide to call my foundation."

I tried to draw up some mental calculations but it was impossible, the
collection had to be worth millions.

"You take your commission of course."

"The only commission I want is to be your friend."

"Friend ?  I thought we were lovers."

I reached to lay my hand on top of his. I formed my lips to show a kiss
then said, "Lovers."

We spent a wonderful day together and an even more wonderful night. It was
so sad to to wave good bye to Martin but he would soon be back. One day and
one night apart then he would return and we could plan our visit to
Tennessee. There could be problems placing the Bouvier Hoard up for
international auction but given it had been boxed up and hidden from public
view for decades such objections could be easily overcome.

My friend's idea for a project to raise mankind's respect was all very well
but what he had shared with me was nebulous.  It occurred to me that
someone before him, Jesus Christ, had the same idea and failed.
Twenty-first century Christianity has little to do with Christ, if ever
such a person existed.  But my friend, my lover, did exist and I would give
him every support I could.  Support starting with the auction of the
Bouvier Hoard.

Surprisingly I slept well without Martin beside me, Just a few more hours
and we would be together again. I reached for the remote and turned on
BBC's rolling new station.

"If you are just joining us," the newsreader was saying, "the breaking news
is President North suffered a fatal heart attack three hours ago. He was
addressing a teachers' convention in Sacramento, California, when he
collapsed on stage. The presidential doctor was in the audience and
pronounced him dead at the scene."

"Oh my god !  Martin !  Oh Martin !"

"Vice President Bouvier," the newsreader continued, "is in his home state
of Tennessee. the late president's body has been take on board Air Force
One which is on its way to Memphis and Vice President Bouvier. He will be
sworn in as the next President of the United States of America and flown
back to Washington DC."

"Oh Martin," I screamed, "Martin."

I grabbed the phone and tried to call him.

"The cell phone you are calling is not currently accepting calls."

"Martin !  Martin ! I am coming, Hang on."

Martin was in Oxford but I had no idea where.  I knew which college he
attended.  I would go and find him.  I would go now. As I threw a few
things together I tried to call him again, still the same robotic message.
I began speaking to myself.

"Take some identification with me. Take that letter Martin's father wrote
to me. Call a taxi, don't drive myself."

I called a taxi firm, one I had used before, and they said they could have
someone with me in fifteen minutes.  "I need to be taken to Oxford, I
explained, "then for him to wait for me and bring me back home.!"

"Terrible news from America,"  my driver observed.  "He was only
fifty-nine, same age as me."

"Yes, terrible."

I tried calling Martin, this time it was an unobtainable number. It did not
make sense.

"Over to our reporter in Memphis," the radio said. "Hello, I am Sam Jeffrey
at Memphis Airport where Air Force One has now landed. The body of
President North is on-board.  It is believed that Vice President Bouvier is
also on-board and right now taking the oath to become the new President of
The United States of America. He will then fly to Washington DC to take up
the work of his office."

"I wonder what this new guy is like," the driver said. "I mean the American
president influences politicians all round the world."

"I understand he is very pro British,"  I said.

"That's good. How do you know ?"

"His son is a friend of mine."

"Never !"

"That's why we are going to Oxford, to see him.  I am very worried about
him."

"The new president's son is in Oxford, England ?"

"He has just finished a law degree."

"And he is a friend of yours ?"

"Yes a close friend and I am worried sick about him.  His phone isn't
working and I know he must be trying to contact me."

After standing my ground at Baliol College my persistence and letter from
the former vice-president brought the college bursar out to see me.

"I am afraid I can not tell you where Mr Bouvier is,"  the Bursar
explained. "He left several hours ago with two policemen. We were told to
put together his belongings and somebody would come later to collect them."

"Oh Martin," I screamed inside my head, "are you alright ?"

"Policemen ?  "Which policemen ?"  I demanded. "Where were they from ?"

"I have no idea sir. They were uniform officers."

"I need you to take me to a police station,"  I said to my driver.

"Which police station ?"

"I don't know. The main police station for Oxford."

"Thames valley Headquarters is in Kidlington."

"Take me there."

As we drove I tried three time to call Martin and each time the number was
unobtainable.

At the reception desk I demanded to speak to the chief constable. My
frantic demand was met with little more than a sympathetic smile. Producing
my letter from Martin's father did have a result,

"I'm Chief Inspector Simon Arnott," the uniformed officer explained. "I am
sure you can appreciate the difficult situation facing the United States
right now. You have no need to worry, your friend has been taken to the
safety of the American Embassy."

I was hysterical, my stomach was churning. Alarm bells were ringing in all
directions of my mind.  What was going on ?  There was more to things than
Martin's father suddenly and unexpectedly becoming president."

"Oh Martin," I cried silently for the one hundredth time.

"Can I pay you to drive me for the rest of the day ?"

"You can if you want to but before we go anywhere you need to sit down,
take some deep breaths and try to calm yourself."

"Take me to the American Embassy in London."

"Of course. Certainly. But not until you have taken those deep breaths.
Come on."

I did as I was told before asking as calmly as I could, "Can we go now ? To
the embassy please ?"

My driver, whose name he told me was Jimmy, did his best to settle me. "I
am sure your friend is fine, why wouldn't he be ?"  We did not have the
radio on in the car so Jimmy took our conversation through a range of
subjects every now and then touching briefly on Martin.

"I have been to New York," he said. "That is probably the last place on
earth I would want to be a taxi driver. I am a bit nervous about driving to
the embassy in London. I hope the sat nav does not let us down."

"Don't taxi drivers have to pass the Knowledge examination any more ?"

"That's for London Black Cab drivers, I am simply a private hire driver
from the sticks."

"Well I am grateful for your help, I am so worried about Martin."

"You are paying me," he smiled then said," He is a bit more than a friend
to you isn't he ?"

I think I blushed. "You can drop me as near as you can get to the embassy -
a couple of miles away will be fine, I can then go by underground."

"No way ! You are stuck with me. It isn't every day I get to drive the
friend of the son of the President of The United States. Besides you need
looking after."

"Thank you."

At the embassy they knew I was coming, they knew who I was. The police back
in Oxford must have told them.  These were not the same people but I was
shown into a room with two similarly dressed secret service agents, just
like those who had accosted me before. They told me their names but I paid
little attention. I wanted to see Martin.  More than anything else I wanted
to see Martin.

"Your friend is on his way to Washington,"  I was told. "You are not going
to be able to see him ever again."

"Is he safe ?"

"Of course he is safe.  The very tightest security is now surrounding the
President and his family. In view of what has happened to President North
the new First Family is in lockdown. You are not going to be able to have
any contact with Martin Bouvier again."

"What do you mean lockdown ?  Of course I can see my friend if I wan t to.
What do you mean - what happened to President North, he died of a heart
attack ?  Why is Martin being taken back to America ?  He would never have
gone without first telling me !"

One secret service agent looked to the other who nodded.

"This is all matter of national security. President North may have died of
a heart attack but that heart attack was brought on by a drug somehow
administered to his system. It is being considered to be a terrorist
attack."

"Oh god, how terrible. I did not know."

"Not many do, the news is only now being released. President Bouvier will
then address the nation tonight."

"But Martin........"

I was cut short. "You may be friends but you have only known each other for
the shortest space of time. You have had sex together."

"Now hold on !"  My turn to interrupt. "That is none of your business and
how do you know anyway ?  I want to speak to Martin."

"Where the protection of our Commander in Chief is concerned everything is
our business. It would be better for you and for the President's son if you
forgot all about one another."

"Now wait a minute !"  I stood up.

"Sit down please."

Instinctively I did as I was told.

"If anyone makes any contact with you regarding your former relationship
with Martin Bouvier you are to contact the British Police, dial 9-9-9 in
you have to. Is that clear ?"

"This is not making any sense."

"Your driver has been brought into the Embassy car park and is waiting for
you. You understand the situation Mr Dean don't you ?  Now go home and
forget you ever met Martin Bouvier."

I would never forget.

The taxi and my driver were indeed waiting in the embassy car park.
Another member of the US secret service was standing guard over them.

"Are you OK ?"  Jimmy asked with a note of concern in his voice. "A police
car pulled me over and escorted me here inside the embassy compound.  I've
had the radio on, they are saying President North was assassinated, he did
not die of a hear attack."

"Can you take me home now, my friend is not in England any more. Can we
have the radio on please ?"

"President North's heart attach was brought on by a drug cyclophosphamide
which was detected during the post-mortem," that news announcer was
explaining. "His death is being considered a terrorist attack. President
Bouvier will address the nation at six o'clock this evening Eastern
Standard Time, that is eleven o'clock London Time. We will cover his
address live here on Radio Four and on the BBC television news channel."

Jimmy tried to engage me in conversation but I said little. I had known
Martin Bouvier for such a brief time, Destiny had brought our loves
together but now Destiny had moved them apart.  It was probably true we
would never see one another again and I accepted the fact. I would return
to my on-line buying and selling, my bank balance would increase as my
lonely existence became yet more sad.

I did not watch Martin's father on television that night and avoided all
news coverage the next day. I did not try to telephone my former friend. I
did not have a lot of work to do but made what there was last. I looked for
some new buying opportunities and updated my website. I tried to call my
friend but the number was unobtainable.

The next day I awoke and it was as if Martin Bouvier had never been a part
of my life. I had forgotten all about him.  I took myself out for lunch but
never reached the restaurant. I burst into tears, uncontrollable tears. I
had to park up and wait until I was safe to drive home again.

"You are not going to be able to have any contact with Martin Bouvier
again," the secret service agent had said at the embassy. Sadly he was
right.

The day after I woke and turned the television on. Martin's father was
speaking. So that was what he looked like. "An hour ago agents of The
Federal Bureau of Investigation arrested six members of a cell who it is
believed was responsible for the murder of President North.  It is believed
there are no others were involved, all have been apprehended. The nation
can take relief that these terrorists can do no more harm."

He looked a nice enough man, in a different world perhaps I would have been
able to meet President Bouvier, Martin's father. In another world but not
this one. No not this one.

The next day after that, three days after I had been told I would never
have any contact again with Martin Bouvier I received a strange e-mail. It
sat there in my e-mail inbox, I did not recognise the sender - The Boy From
Tennessee, but could it be ?  Dare I hope ?  I can not tell you for how
long I hesitated before opening it. When I did I was met with some words:

I was dancing with my darling to the Tennessee Waltz
When an old friend I happened to see
I introduced him to my loved one
And while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes, I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz

I was dancing with my darling to the Tennessee Waltz
When an old friend I happened to see
I introduced him to my loved one
And while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me

I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes, I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz
I had read just the first two lines when music began to play.  The music
Martin had introduced me to. From my laptop speakers it filled the room.  I
shut my eyes and listened before going on to read the rest of the e-mail.

Go to Heathrow Terminal Three tomorrow morning, be there for 4.30am - can
you get up that early.  Go to the American Airlines ticket desk and quote
the password Tennessee Waltz to pick up a ticket.  You will have to change
at Chicago but I will be at Memphis to meet you.


"Oh Martin,"  I screamed at the top of my voice.

"You will never see him again - FUCK YOU Mr Secret Service Agent I will see
him tomorrow !"

Be there for 4.30am, I was there for 2am. The night duty clerk knew all
about the ticket even if he was not expecting me quite so soon. "The flight
isn't leaving until quarter to eight and the check in desks do not open
until five."

"That's alright," I smiled.

"Burger King is open all night but that's about all, I am afraid.  You can,
of course, use the American Airlines lounge your business class ticket
entitles you to unlimited coffee and a breakfast but food will not be
served until the check in desks open."

"That's fine, you know what I fancy a cheese burger."  I was deliriously
happy.

When the check in desks opened I was first in line.  The girl was friendly,
processed me quickly but appeared to have no idea who I was. I looked
nervously all round me to see if there was anyone who could remotely be
from the US Secret Service and who may try to stop me from taking the
flight.

Burger King was only serving breakfasts so I had skipped eating.  In the
airline lounge I ate a croissant and drank some coffee as I waited for the
time to board.

"I am coming Martin," I whispered. "I am coming."

The phone rang.

"Oh my Nigel, you will never know how much I have been missing you."

"Martin."

"I love you Nigel and can not wait to be with you. This has been a
terrible, terrible time."

"I am coming."

"Nigel when you get here,"  Martin said, "when you get here I have a
question to ask you ?"

"What question ?"

"I will ask you in person when you get here."

I knew what that question was.

"Have a safe journey.  I love you."

"I love you Martin."

You know, of course, of The Bouvier Foundation.  Martin is not the unknown
person he was when he was at Oxford. This story, as I am trying to tell it,
has not been shared before. Oh Martin ! I love you Martin, I hope these
words tell our story and help what you are trying so hard to achieve.

As soon as I was on board the aircraft, as soon as I was settled in my seat
I plugged the earpieces into my phone and played our special tune. as the
aircraft soared into the sky I played it over and over again. Martin I am
coming to you.

I have been on many long-haul flights, even in the comfort of business
class they go on for ever. This was not one long haul flight but two.
London to Chicago and Chicago to Memphis.  The hours just went on and on
and on.  I listened to our song and I wondered what the question was Martin
had to ask me. A variety of different questions presented themselves as
possibilities. There was one I hoped it was going to be. I do love you
Martin.

Finally, finally we began our approach into Memphis International Airport.
As the wheels of the giant aircraft bit into the tarmac of the runway my
heart beat faster in the knowledge my lover and I were now at lease in the
same country. That secret service agent back in London was wrong when he
said Martin and I had a sexual relationship. We had never had sex. We had
only ever made love.  Soon we would be making love again.

I was nervous as I entered the terminal building, nervous that after such a
long journey I would be denied seeing my lover.  My heart beat so fast and
my palms sweat as I passed through immigration. Everything was fine.  I
looked about me as I entered the baggage hall, no sign of anyone who could
possible be from the secret service. My bag came down the carousel among
the first, I grabbed it and made for the customs area. Again no sign of
anyone who would stop me.  I smiled at the customs officer and he smiled
back.  Above the exit there was a giant notice - WELCOME TO TENNESSEE THE
VOLUNTEER STATE.  What on earth was the volunteer state ? Volunteer for
what ?  I would ask Martin when I saw him.  As I walked into the arrivals
hall the speakers were playing our song. Coincidence or had the son of the
President been able to use his influence.

"Nigel. Over here !"

There he was. My friend and my lover. But oh no he was flanked by two
secret service agents, their stereotype suits giving their occupations
away. We raced to each other while the secret service guys kept a discrete
distance behind us. There in the terminal building with everyone looking on
I embraced the First Son and he embraced me. I wonder how many knew who we
were.

"Good flight ?"

I nodded then turned my eyes to the secret service agents.

"That's Kyle and Jason,"  Martin explained, "Don't worry about them, they
are good guys."

"Are they going to follow us everywhere ?"

Martin laughed. "We can trust them. Come on let's get to the cars. You'll
come with me while Kyle and Jason follow behind."

"You haven't brought your Smart Car with you have you ?"

Martin was driving a Buick, not that I would have know what it was had he
not explained. Kyle and Jason were in a 4 x 4 vehicle. In the car park both
spoke to me.

"We are so pleased to meet you," Jason said. "Martin has told us much about
his special friend."

"Not too much I hope."

Kyle laughed. "We know how to keep secrets, it's in our job descriptions !"

Once alone in Martin's car I asked if Kyle and Jason following behind us
could hear what we were saying. "No hidden microphones ?"

"No," Martin smiled.

"So what's the plan ?"  I asked. "With the Bouvier Hard I mean."

"The plan." Martin said softly. "That rather depends on the answer you give
to my question."

"Question ?"

"You can look at the hoard if you like but it can wait until another time."

"I thought that was why I am here."

"You know there is more than that. At least I hope you do."

I dare not say what I was hoping.

"Day after tomorrow," Martin continued we will drive to Washington, to The
White House, you can meet my parents and spend a day or two as their
guests. Then we can leave for our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon ? Whose honeymoon ?"

"Ours silly. I thought we could drive from Washington on the Atlantic Coast
to San Francisco on the Pacific."

I looked a little blank as my heart performed acrobats inside my chest. The
question was the one I had dared to hope it would be but Martin had not
asked it. Not yet.

"We have only known one another for two weeks but in that time I have come
to love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone. I want to spend
the rest of my life with you and you with me.  I have a registrar on stand
by for tomorrow, she will come to the house and certify a civil partnership
for us. Kyle and Jason will be our witnesses. Then when we go to Washington
it will not be for you to meet the President and First Lady but your new
parents in law."

I began to cry.

"Is that a yes ?"

I nodded.

You know the rest of the story but I have only just learned in the car
behind us another conversation was taking place.

"He's asked the question," Jason said excitedly.

"I am so pleased," Kyle smiled, "that Nigel appears a nice enough guy and
clearly Martin is madly in love with him."

"And we are to be witnesses, sign on the certificate."

"I am proud he asked us."

"Do not get me wrong, so am I but it leaves us with the biggest question of
our careers to answer."

"What is that ?" Kyle said.

"Just what are we going to tell the President," Jason smiled.