Abuse of Power

All this thinking about sex only served to make Jake more frustrated than ever, and he decided that he had to take action. After a lot of thought he made up his mind to try to get an appointment with Catherine's doctor and ask her for help.

The next morning he called Dr. Liu's office and asked for an appointment. He was pleasantly surprised when the nurse came back on the line and told him the doctor could see him late that afternoon.

When he saw Doctor Liu, Jake wasted no time in laying out the situation with his wife as he saw it, describing a litany of issues and symptoms he'd witnessed. The doctor nodded as she listened, and when Jake had finished, she told him that Catherine's symptoms, while not unprecedented, were on the more extreme end of typical post-miscarriage reactions.

"It sounds to me like Catherine may be suffering from post-partum depression," she told Jake. When he looked confused, she explained, "You're used to hearing that term in conjunction with mothers who carry their baby to full term and then suffer depression after delivery. But it can also occur with women who miscarry, and the symptoms they experience can be just as severe. Under the circumstances, I'm going to prescribe Prozac for her. I like it because it seems to work more quickly for patients suffering from PPD than some of the newer antidepressants."

As she was writing out the prescription, Jake's long-suppressed sense of loss seemed to well up within him and he burst out, "I still don't understand how we could have lost the baby! We're both healthy, we ate the right foods, Catherine was careful to avoid alcohol and medications. What went wrong?"

Doctor Liu looked up at him compassionately. "It's so difficult to know in cases like these, Mr. Phillips. It could have been a chromosomal abnormality or an inappropriate immunological response, your wife's abortion could have been a factor, or some undetected . . ."

"Wait a minute!" Jake interrupted. "My wife's abortion? Catherine never had an abortion."

"Of course she did. Here it is," the doctor said, flipping through the file on her desk, "she had a suction aspiration in February two years ago."

"I never knew anything about an abortion! Let me see that!" Jake demanded, reaching across the doctor's desk.

Doctor Liu snatched the file out of his grasp and quickly closed it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips, but the privacy regulations of the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act absolutely prevent me from sharing Catherine's medical record with you or anyone else without her express written permission."

"But I'm her husband!" Jake roared. "It was my baby that was aborted!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips, but my hands are tied."

As Jake drove home from Baltimore, he was upset and disturbed. Every thought led to more and more questions. "How could Catherine have had an abortion without my knowing? Why would she do that when we were trying so hard to have a child? Why did she keep it from me? If she hadn't had one, would I be a father already?"

When he arrived at their bungalow, he found that he had beaten Catherine home. Always something of a workaholic, Catherine had been keeping longer and longer hours ever since her miscarriage, and now Jake wondered if she was purposely trying to avoid him.

By the time he heard her car pull in the driveway, it was almost 8:00 p.m. He'd been stewing all afternoon about what he'd learned at Dr. Liu's office, and by now he was quite upset. When Catherine came through the door, he confronted her immediately. "Why did you have an abortion two years ago?" he demanded.

Catherine's eyes widened and her face grew red. "What? I never had an abortion! Who told you that?" she yelled.

Jake was surprised but he refused to back down. "I went to see Dr. Liu today - she told me!"

"She's lying!" Catherine shouted. "It's not true!" Then she ran back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it.

When he followed her, Jake could hear her sobs through the door. He returned to the den and slumped to the couch, holding his head in his hand. "What in the world is going on?" he asked himself in dismay.

Catherine did not come out their room for the rest of the evening, and the door remained locked the next morning as well, so Jake had to go to work in the same clothes. Fortunately he kept a toothbrush and razor at his office so he managed to make himself look presentable. But his outward appearance belied his emotional state, and he got very little work accomplished.

At day's end he headed home warily, uncertain what he might find waiting for him in his once happy home. But to his surprise, Catherine was already there, and she greeted him civilly as though nothing had happened. They ate a light supper together, but Jake could feel the acid building up in his stomach.

Finally, when he felt he could stand it no longer, he cautiously ventured, "Honey, we have to talk . . ."

"There's nothing to talk about," Catherine interrupted him calmly. "I did not have an abortion, and that's all there is to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work I need to catch up on." With that she got up from the table, leaving Jake sitting there in stunned silence.

Over the next two days, Jake tried twice more to bring up the subject only to hear the exact same response: there was no abortion. Finally, he decided to try a different approach with his wife. "Honey," he ventured over dinner, "I know you've been terribly depressed about the miscarriage. When I saw Dr. Liu, she gave me a prescription that she said might help."

When he handed it to her, she took the slip and then looked at him blandly. "Thank you, Jacob, but it won't be necessary. I've completely recovered from my depression." With that she tore up the prescription, threw the pieces in the trash and then went off to the den to do some reading.

While Catherine slept beside him later that night, Jake lay there in a quandary. "What do I do now?" he kept asking himself, but he couldn't come up with any answers. He realized that he felt lower now than the day they'd lost the baby.

When Jake checked the mirror the next morning, dark circles under his eyes clearly testified to how little sleep he'd managed. Nevertheless he forced himself to get dressed and go into work, if for no other reason than there was nothing else he could think of to do with himself.

He ate a sandwich at his desk at noon, but afterwards couldn't remember what kind it was. Later, his self-pitying reverie was interrupted by his secretary, who informed him he had a visitor from the White House. Surprised, he bade her show the guest in, and then he arose and stood waiting behind his desk, wondering who had come to see him and why.

When his secretary returned, she was accompanied by an attractive woman who appeared to be Jake's age. She was of medium height with dark, close-cropped hair. She wore a stylish pants suit, and Jake couldn't help noting that she looked extremely fit.

The woman stepped forward and introduced herself. "My name is Helen Simmons," she said, extending her hand to Jake. "I'm with the U.S. Secret Service."

Jake motioned her to be seated and then asked politely but curiously, "What can I do for you, Ms. Simmons?"

"Mr. Phillips, I am assigned to the First Lady and I am here on her behalf. Mrs. Pressman would like to meet with you today, if possible."

Jake was so startled that he rudely blurted out, "Why would the First Lady want to see me?"

The agent smiled and replied, "That would be for the First Lady to say, Sir, not me."

Jake looked at her cautiously. "When would she like this meeting to take place?"

The agent smiled again and said, "Now, if at all possible, Sir, or as soon as you can make yourself available. I've been asked to wait for you and to drive you to the White House."

Jake was taken aback by this strange development, but he decided that he had nothing to gain by not cooperating so he indicated his willingness to accompany the Secret Service agent. After telling his secretary where he was going - and watching her eyes widen at the mention of the White House - Jake was escorted down to the sidewalk, where a black Escalade was parked. Agent Simmons climbed behind the wheel and beckoned Jake to take the shotgun seat.

As they made their way slowly through the D.C. traffic, the agent glanced over at Jake and said, "Please let me express my condolences on the loss of your child."

Surprised, Jake thanked her and then asked, "So you know about that?"

"Yes sir, I was on duty on Easter Monday. I was one of the agents who carried your wife to the helicopter."

"Oh, I didn't know," Jake said awkwardly. "I mean, I wasn't really paying attention to anything else. In any case, thank you for all you did to help us."

"That's alright, Sir," she said, "that's my job," she said in a professional voice. Then she glanced over at Jake and added, "Besides, I hope to be a mother someday too,"

"Got a husband?" Jake asked, then wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

But the agent smiled at him and shook her head. "No, still looking. I thought I'd found a good one once, but he turned out to be a player. But that's okay, I'll get lucky one day."

Just then they turned onto East Executive Avenue and, after Agent Simmons showed her credentials at the gate, were permitted to drive up to the entrance at the East Wing. Simmons led Jake upstairs to the second floor, where the First Lady had her suite of offices. When they reached the anteroom, Agent Simmons knocked lightly on the door and then ushered Jake in. There he found the First Lady writing at her desk. She arose and stepped around it to shake his hand. "Mrs. Pressman," he said, giving the slightest of bows.

She smiled graciously and led him over to the sofa and chairs on one side of the office area. "We can talk more comfortably over here," she told him. When they were seated, her expression became more solemn. "How is your wife, Mr. Phillips?" she asked gently. "Has she recovered from her loss?"

Jake hesitated, unsure of how to respond given everything that had transpired. Finally he took the easy way out and said, "She's doing as well as can be expected, Ma'am. Thank you for asking."

The First Lady nodded, then looked at Jake carefully. "And how about you, Jake, how are you doing?"

To his surprise, Jake felt his throat tightening, and he tried to disguise it with a little cough. "It hasn't been easy, Ma'am. I really wanted to be a daddy."

She reached over to pat his hand. "Men are always supposed to be strong and silent; it's easy to forget that they have feelings too."

Jake nodded gratefully, unsure of what to say.

She gestured at the coffee set on the table before them and asked Jake if he would join her in having a cup. He accepted, grateful to have something to do with his hands. After pouring for the two of them, Mrs. Pressman took a sip and then, looking over the rim of her cup, asked Jake, "So, what do you think of my husband?"

Jake froze with his cup half-way between the saucer and his mouth, desperately trying to think of how to answer. Finally he chose a cautious reply. "Well, you know that I was a volunteer in his initial run for the presidency," he said.

The First Lady stared at him fixedly. "Yes, and I you were not a volunteer in his re-election campaign. In any case, you haven't really answered my question."

Jake took a sip from his cup to give him more time to try to formulate an answer, but he still felt uncertain of what to say. Finally he decided on candor. "The worst she could do," he figured, "is to ask me to leave."

"The President has made some remarkable accomplishments, Mrs. Pressman," he said. "He broke through the budget deadlock in Congress when no one thought it was possible, and I thought he handled the crisis in Southeast Asia very well."

Mrs. Pressman listened attentively. "But?" she prompted.

Jake sighed to himself. "But, I'm concerned that everything these days seems to be about Cap Pressman, not the nation. It seems to me he's acting more like a king than a president, like he's promoting a cult of personality. There's even a move to repeal the 22nd Amendment so that he could serve another term, and the word is that the President is pushing it behind the scenes. All that makes me uneasy." He put his cup down and sat back to await his fate.

"Very interesting," his hostess replied. She took another sip of her coffee and then regarded him again. "What are your thoughts on marriage, Jake? Do you agree with the growing number of young people who seem to want to live together forever without benefit of matrimony? And for those who do marry, what about this trend of seeking relationships outside the marriage?"

Jake was startled by the abrupt change in topics, but this time he had no hesitation in responding. "Mrs. Pressman, I guess I'm old-fashioned in that regard. I think people who live together for years without getting married are afraid of making a commitment, and I think commitment is essential for a successful relationship, especially if a couple plans to have children. And as for all those "have-an-affair" services out there, I think they're pretty sleazy."

She sat her cup down and stared at him intently. "Have you ever been unfaithful to Catherine, Jake?"

He was clearly offended. "No, Ma'am, I have not and will not - ever."

"So you've never even been tempted?"

"I can't say that, Ma'am, but there's a big difference between being tempted and acting on temptation."

She looked at him for a long moment, then stood up suddenly. As he hastened to follow her lead, she extended her hand to him. "You're a good man, Jake Phillips. I've enjoyed getting to know you a little better. Unfortunately, I have another appointment, but I hope we'll have the chance to chat again."

As he shook her hand, Helen Simmons reappeared as if by magic. As she began escorting Jake to the door, Mrs. Pressman stopped them. "Jake, take care of yourself, will you?"

He smiled. "Yes Ma'am, I will. And thank you."

With that, Agent Simmons escorted Jake out of the White House to the waiting car. Jake kept silent until they were out on the street. Then he turned to the woman and asked, "Were you listening to that whole conversation?"

She smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Pressman likes me to keep an ear as well as an eye on her. She feels safer that way."

"Well, all I can say is that was the damndest conversation I've ever had. I don't have any idea why she wanted to see me," Jake said in frustration.

Helen glanced over at him. "In my experience, Mrs. Pressman is a pretty sharp judge of character, but she likes to form her opinions from her own observations. I have no idea why she wants to know more about you, but I'd say you passed the test, whatever it is."

Jake just shook his head in confusion. First the miscarriage, then Catherine's depression, the startling revelation from her doctor, and now a summons from the First Lady: he felt as though his life had suddenly jumped the tracks from the careful course he'd set, and now he seemed to have no control over where he was headed or what might happen next.

That evening he told Catherine about his visit to the White House, and he was gratified to see her take an interest in what had happened. She wanted to know what the First Lady had said and why she had wanted to see Jake, but he could provide no answers on the latter topic, and Catherine was just as bemused as he.

Seeing Catherine more animated than in recent times, Jake gently tried to broach the subject of what had happened two years ago. But the minute he raised the topic, she fell back into adamant denial that such a thing had ever happened, and her mood reverted to barely repressed hostility. Seeing that nothing further was to be gained, Jake went off to the den and tried to review some work that he'd brought home with him. But with all the questions swirling through his head, concentration was impossible. Finally he decided that he had to go back and confront Dr. Liu again. Even if she wouldn't show him Catherine's file, at least he thought he might get her professional opinion on Catherine's denials.

The next morning Jake headed off to the office at the usual hour, but after checking in with his secretary he got back in his car and headed over to Baltimore and Johns Hopkins. Traffic was especially heavy, and he decided that there must be a traffic accident up ahead when he spotted a police helicopter flying above the line of cars. Accordingly, he turned off the highway and took an alternate route using side streets.

When he got to Johns Hopkins, he went directly to Dr. Liu's office, but when he asked to see her, the receptionist looked at him in confusion. "Did you have an appointment with her, sir?" she asked.

"No, my wife is a patient of hers. I was hoping she could spare a little time to see me."

"But she's not here," the young woman protested.

"Well, when will she be back? If it's not too long, maybe I can just wait for her," Jake replied.

"Actually, we don't know when she'll be back," the receptionist said apologetically. "Dr. Liu has taken a sabbatical. I think she's gone to China, but I don't really know for sure. We've just been told to cancel any existing appointments and not to make any new ones until we hear further from her."

Jake thanked the young woman and reluctantly turned to leave. "What do I do now?" he asked himself in despair. He felt as though every possible avenue had been closed to him, and he was trapped in a limbo of ignorance and misery.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he gave no thought to his route and jumped on 295 as he would normally to get back to Washington. When he spotted another police helicopter overhead, he remembered the reason he'd made his earlier detour. But this time, even though the helicopter seemed to keep pace with him he encountered no signs of an accident. "He must be looking for someone," Jake thought as he pulled back into the garage at his office.

Later that afternoon, Jake was interrupted when his smartphone signaled him that he had an incoming text message. To his surprise, it was from the First Lady:

Urgent that we meet privately tonight. Come to Good Hope Road and 16th Street at 8:00 p.m. If I'm late, wait for me. SHP

"What in the world is that all about?" Jake asked himself. "Why would Mrs. Pressman want to see me again, and why all the secrecy? What's going on?"

Nevertheless, he sent back a confirming reply. Then he tried to phone Catherine to let her know he'd be late, but he only got her voice mail so he left a message omitting any details. Then he tried to keep his mind occupied by dealing with the work that had piled up during his absence, drinking several cups of coffee at his desk to help stave off hunger.

When it was time to head to his mysterious appointment, Jake went down to the garage and programmed the location he'd been given into the GPS unit of his BMW. As he drove, his mind filled with speculation about why the First Lady might want to see him under such mysterious circumstances. The more he thought about it the less he was able to conceive of any good reason.

Abruptly he looked around and took stock of his location. The GPS unit was taking him into the heart of Anacostia, one of the most dubious neighborhoods in the District. "Why in the hell would Mrs. Pressman pick a spot like this for a meeting?" he asked, but he dutifully continued till he came to the intersection.

The intersection of Sixteenth Avenue and Good Hope Road is offset, and Jake wasn't sure on which corner he was supposed to wait. He settled for parking on Good Hope in front of several darkened buildings. By that hour it was dark, and the few working streetlights gave only limited illumination. Jake felt extremely vulnerable sitting in a parked car in that neighborhood, so he left the engine running and kept the doors locked.