The Pinocchio Syndrome. David Zeman

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СКАЧАТЬ was invited to be a guest on The Oprah Winfrey Show. At Oprah Winfrey’s request Susan brought along the photo album that documented her early years with Michael.

      A small comedy of errors took place as Oprah’s camera was zooming in on the photo album.

      ‘Now, what does this show?’ Oprah was asking.

      ‘That’s Michael holding the flowers he brought me after our first fight,’ Susan said.

      ‘Fight?’ Oprah looked at the camera. ‘What were you fighting about?’

      ‘Sex.’ Susan blurted out the word before she could stop herself.

      ‘Sex?’ Oprah scented an opportunity.

      ‘Yes. He thought I was too straitlaced about it.’ Susan stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Uh-oh. I guess I shouldn’t have said that.’

      ‘Not at all,’ Oprah pursued. ‘Straitlaced in what way?’

      ‘Making out in public. Things like that,’ Susan said.

      ‘Oh, you mean you’re more reserved than he is?’ Oprah asked.

      ‘Yes. I’m rather shy,’ Susan said. ‘It comes from my New England background, I guess.’

      ‘And Michael isn’t?’ Oprah asked.

      Susan laughed. ‘No. Michael isn’t shy.’

      ‘What sort of venue are we talking about?’ Oprah asked.

      ‘You mean for making out?’

      ‘Making out. Yes.’ Oprah glanced at the audience.

      ‘On the beach in the moonlight,’ Susan said. ‘That sort of thing.’

      ‘So he likes to take risks,’ Oprah prodded.

      ‘Risks? Well, he’s very romantic in general, but, yes, I suppose you could say he likes to take risks.’

      ‘How far do you think he would go?’

      ‘You mean if he thought no one was watching?’ Susan asked.

      ‘Mmm – yes,’ Oprah agreed.

      ‘Oh, the fifty-yard line at the Astrodome, maybe,’ Susan said. Her hand went to her mouth instantly, but it was too late. The audience was in hysterics.

      ‘Oh, shit,’ Susan said, blushing.

      And that was the final note, her embarrassed use of profanity. The audience’s laughter was mingled with applause. Viewers had never seen a politician’s wife speak with such spontaneous candor before.

      The clip became famous. Not only did it show off Susan’s unpredictable personality and her charm, but it also referred to her sex life with one of America’s most desirable men, a man whose handsome body was known to women all over the world.

      At first Michael’s public relations men were horrified. The sight of Susan on the Oprah show with her profane comment bleeped out seemed a disaster of limitless proportions. But Michael’s tracking polls went up instead of down in the weeks after the broadcast. As for Susan, she was now famous in her own right. She had become a major positive overnight.

      At age thirty-two Susan found herself not only the wife of a US senator and the darling of the press, but also a member of a complex and difficult family. Judd Campbell, whose willfulness had done permanent damage to his relationships with Michael’s siblings, loved Susan and had co-opted her as a surrogate daughter. In more ways than one Susan felt exposed and off balance. But she had no choice. She had cast her lot with Michael, and she could not look back.

      

      Susan and Michael had both been busy in recent weeks, too busy to find time for lovemaking. Their first chance came the weekend after the onset of Dan Everhardt’s sudden illness.

      They met in the bedroom an hour after dinner. Both were eager. Their clothes came off quickly. Michael gasped when he felt his wife’s naked body against his own.

      ‘God, I want you,’ he said.

      In no time, it seemed, the preliminary caresses were over and he was inside her. His embrace was gentle, though the heat rising in his loins made him groan. Her hands were on his shoulders, her legs wrapped around him.

      Susan’s eyes were closed. Michael’s eyes were open. He was looking at her face, whose expression might have denoted pain as much as pleasure. She was very beautiful, he thought. Her breasts, still firm as those of a young girl, pressed against his chest. Her hips moved under him, her sex gripping him in its subtle feminine way, exciting him all the more.

      Her hair covered the pillow like a splash of golden liquid. He moved faster. She slipped her hands down his rib cage and held him around his back. Her fingers touched the scar that ran down his spine.

      He was very hard inside her, and very long. His strokes became slower, more deliberate. She felt him probing for the core of her, seeking to inflame her. The crisp, earthy smell of him grew more intense. Little moans sounded in her throat.

      He kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his hands pulled her harder onto the straining shaft. She arched her back.

      ‘Oh, Michael …’

      His last thought was for her closed eyes, her fresh young cheeks. She was so beautiful, so innocent …

      The paroxysm came so suddenly that he gasped. The flow was long and rhythmic. His loins trembled. His breath came haltingly. It was as though he were drowning.

      He stayed inside her for a long time. His pleasure ebbed slowly, and when at last he had returned to himself he kissed her cheeks and her forehead. The complicated eyes were looking at him now, and she was smiling.

      She drew him to her breast and held him there. He listened to the beating of her heart.

      After a while he ran a finger through her hair.

      ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.

      She just smiled.

      There was a silence. They lay looking at each other.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

      ‘You have nothing to be sorry for,’ he replied.

      Another silence.

      ‘I love you,’ he said.

      ‘I love you too.’

      Susan lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. ‘I’m not myself, Michael.’

      He nodded.

      ‘It’s this awful year,’ she said. ‘With Danny Everhardt sick, and all the things in the media … I’ve lost my balance.’

      ‘Sure. I understand.’ Michael remained on his side, looking at her. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

      ‘Thanks.’

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