Oberon's Gift - a Political Fantasy by Richard D. Hardaway - HTML preview

At the end of that summer, the major networks fought like cats and dogs to get Potter. NBC won again with the largest single TV contract every drafted. George went on with the same format--singing and talking to the people.

He continued to analyze and suggest. His ideas rang true in the hearts of the great majority. He was becoming the nations conscience and its morale officer. In some quarters of government, they feared the benevolent power of persuasion he had over his audience.

The people listened to George Potter; quoted him, and some even acted on what he said. Amazing as it may seem, a few of his rather radical ideas were put to use. Sometimes people pressured the government to carry out his suggestions, or often some politician, hoping to curry favor with his constituents, would put a bill before Congress, based on one of Potters suggestions. A few of them even became law.

Although he may have seemed young to the older generation. there was no credibility gap.
He appeared to be the only clear thinker they had.

EIGHTEEN

George stood holding his guitar and bowing to the enthusiastic crowd. Most of the White House audience, led by the President, appreciated George Potters talent. There were a few who disagreed with the philosophy of his songs, but applauded the young man who beamed at them from the platform.

“Lets give George a break, folks” announced the President, over the fading applause. „One more request and we may wear out our welcome. Perhaps hell sing a few more songs later.” These words brought on another wave of approval.

The East Room was packed the the warm bodies exuded the mixed fragrances of expensive perfume and after-shave. George wiped his brow and leaned his guitar next to his banjo. Then he stepped off the platform to his waiting fans. Many came to shake his hand. He was growing used to the adulation, but from the nations leaders, it seemed almost as overpowering as his first concert. He could see Lydia talking to the Presidents wife, Mrs. Duffy. They both looked his way and smiled. The First Lady nodded her appreciation and Lydia blew him a kiss. George felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the President smiling at him,

“Just great as always, George!”, beamed Warner Duff y Theyd met for the first time just before dinner, but like most everyone else in the country, the President felt he knew George Potter on a first name basis. “George, could I speak to your privately for a few moments?”

asked the President.
“Of course,Mr. President.” answered the singer.
The President led the way out of the crowded room, through a throng of doting fans

who called out to George as they passed. The Chief Executive took his guest down the long hall to the Oval Office. The President opened the door, switched on the lights and stood back to let George enter first. George Potter saw the legendary room for the first time.

Warner Duffy motioned George to a couch and went to a bar hidden near his desk. He poured himself a drink and turned to George.
“Coke?” he asked, knowing George seldom drank.
“Perfect returned to the young man on the couch and handed him a glass. The President continued to stand as he sipped his own drink. He looked down at George for a few moments before he spoke.
“George,” he said finally. “Youre a student of the political scene.” He hesitated , then looked the singer straight in the eye and asked. “Tell me George. How am I doin...as President, that is? The truth now.”
George looked up at the President before he spoke. He had made a study of Warner Duffy. Here was a man who looked ever inch a president. Tall, graying at the temples, sometimes stern, but with a twinkle of humor in his eyes. Duffy was a good man, with all the best intentions in the world. He honestly wanted to bring about the changes the nation so sorely needed. But, he had one tragic disability. Warner Duffy was a liberal martyr, who had been thrown to a conservative Congress. They sat on every bill he initiated and his hands were tied. The President stood waiting for Georges answer, The smile faded from his eyes and the shoulders that stood so square and confident two years ago, drooped a little. George smiled to himself. Even presidents have dandruff.
Finally, George spoke, weighing his words carefully. “Mr. President, Id say, with the congress youve been saddled with, youre doing about the finest job any human being could be expected to do. Its an impossible chore at best and you are getting no support from Capitol Hill.”
“Oh, then you noticed,” answered the President, with a sad smile.
Then he sat down next to the singer and looked into the glass he was holding. Maybe Warner Duff y lacks the elusive X factor or charismatic leadership, George thought. Only a few in recent history had it. Churchill, FDR, Hitler--Kennedy maybe As with most presidents, the office had taken its toll and the man next to him already looked tired and old. His ego trip to the the White House had turned to bitter vetch, a bite that was now difficult to swallow. History would remember hed been one of the presidents of the United States, and not much more.
The President leaned toward George. “I know I can confide in you George. Its damned lonely up here on top and I invited you tonight, not only to commend you on the wonderful morale building job youre doing for the nation, but to confess something. Its damned discouraging, this job of mine. Fact it. I think Congress passes more of your bills than they do of mine. How do you do it? The people seem to listen to you when they wont pay any attention to me.”
George tried to smile at the saddened man next to him. “Maybe you should take up the guitar, Mr. President,” joked George. Then he spoke seriously. “I think they listen to me because Icant do them any harm. The government confuses them and their suspicious. But, I do think most of them can see youre trying to help them. Perhaps theyre just a little disappointed your unable to do more.”
The two men sat silently for a moment. the the President smiled. “Well, only two more years to go. I guess I can mark time „til then. Ill just keep plugging away at those bastards on the Hill.” The president stood up as he continued. “Meanwhile, I might as well enjoy some of the fringe benefits. Who else in the world could have George Potter come into their home and sing for them?”
George stood up next the President and as the Chief Executive looked into Georges face, the singer could read the Presidents gratitude in his eyes.
“George, how about one more song for my guests?” he asked as he led the way from the Oval Office.
“Delighted, Mr. President,” came Georges ready reply. He was glad the responsibility of soothing the Presidents crushed hopes was over.
They reentered the East Room together and the crowd turned toward them as the President announced:
“George has kindly consented to sing again. I think youll all agree Cross Country would be appropriate.”
There was a wave of consenting replies as George returned to the platform and picked up
his guitar. “Lets make it a sing-along then,” he laughed.
The enthusiastic crowd agreed. Cross Country had become such a patriotic classic that one Senator had initiated a bill to have it replace the Star Spangled Banner as the national anthem. His argument had been. “Its a lot easier to relate to today...and one hell of a lot easier to sing!” The bill didnt pass, but it did get a lot of votes.
George began to sing. It was a simple song that told of a great country that was in trouble, but to paraphrase Voltaire, it was still: The best of all possible worlds!
“If you doubt what makes it great...then take a trip...Cross Country!”
The crowd joined in and as they sang, they stood up--even the President and First Lady. The black tie crowed sang and as always the song brought a glimpse of better days to come.
When the song ended, the evening ended, but on an upbeat note of Hope!

NINETEEN

The couple in the bed were bathed in a soft, warm light. The young man was half sitting, half reclining. They were apparently naked. The lower half of the young mans body was covered only by a sheet,. The lovely auburn-haired girl lay on her back, her ample bosom just hidden by the covering. George Potter lowered himself to one elbow and gazed rapturously into the girls eyes. Their faces were very close. With one finger, he gently brushed a tendril of dark red hair from her forehead as he whispered, tenderly:

“Love is the most wonderful gift one person can give or receive from another.” “Then this is our bargain?” she breathed.
“Yes-a beautiful bargain,” he replied as she touched his lips with her finger tips and

then moved them to the dimple in his cheek.
“Will you please seal that bargain with a kiss?” She begged softly.
Her arms went up and around his muscular shoulders and into the mass of his dark

hair as he gathered her in his arms, and slowly very slowly lowered his head until their lips touched. They seemed to respond to the stimulus of their kiss and the passion of their embrace increased--until from somewhere--suddenly...

“Cut! and Print! Great job kids!”

George and the girl in the bed slowly disentangled themselves from one anothers arms and George sat up. He looked sleepily toward the director, crew and guests who where gathered around and behind the big Mitchell Panavision camera. The onlookers, those lucky enough to be present on the closed set, gazed back at the couple on the bed with mixed reactions. Some were vicariously excited by the realism of the performance. Others admired the beauty of the characters. And some were impressed with the acting ability and compatibility of the couple before them. Lydia was there too, smiling a strange smile. Paul Connor stood near by with an odd look on his face as he stared at the two on the bed.

The tableau was disrupted again and the director got up and stretched. “Just terrific, Stephanie and George,” he enthused. That was the last shot, folks. The shooting is finished. Now its in the able hands of the editor. Ive got the feeling its gonna be a good one. Id say we can all look forward to award time.
“Whoopee,” yelled someone from the lighting grid and everyone from the script girl to the head grip gave the stars and director their heartfelt applause.
After giving the girl a playful little peck on the cheek, George slid out of the bed. She looked like she would have preferred more, but smiled at him as he got up. He was wearing a bathing suit. He stood on the far side of the bed and blushed slightly as he thanked everyone for their help.
“And now I believe the generous Paul Connor has prepared a small feast of celebration,” he concluded, pointing to a white covered table to one side of the studio where caterers were laying out elegant canapés, hors doeuvres, shrimp, lobster, steaks and other gourmet goodies. Champagne corks began to pop as everyone moved toward the food and drink.
A wardrobe lady hurried forward with a silk robe as the girl rose from the bed. She seemed oblivious to the fact she was exposing her wares.
“Here, Miss Doros. Put this on before you catch your death,” she said while he helped the actress cover herself.
Stephanie Doros hardly noticed or acknowledged the womans assistance as she followed George Potter with her eyes. She made a wicked little grin when George reached his wife. She watch Lydia place a warm robe around him and show him to his slippers nearby. Lydia commented on his performance with a wry smile.
“You certainly put a lot of feeling into that scene, George. Im sure everyone noticed that your swimsuit look a little lumpy too, sweetie,” she commented with a mild wifely growl.
George blushed once more and gave her a kiss and a squeeze. “Well, you know what the critics have been saying about your ol dad? „George Potter shows great promise as an actor.”
They both laughed and followed the others to the table.
One by one the crew came up to George and Lydia and commended him on his performance, even the most hardened, old lighting grip. The ones who had seen many great performances through the years had to tell George how impressed they were with his work, and how much they enjoyed being a part of this new picture. He thanked them all. He and Lydia smiled at each other. She was so proud of him that she gave him a squeeze every now and then, just to make sure he wasnt a dream. She wanted to make sure this amazing George Potter was really her man.
The party went on for some time. Everyone was talking about the business they all loved. The champagne had loosened them up and the party was a real success. A few toasts were raised to the stars of the movie and George acknowledged them modestly while Stephanie Doros seemed to accept them as her due.
Stephanie was just short of being bombed. But something was troubling her. Every once in a while, her agent would whisper in her ear and they would look toward George and Lydia. Stephanies robe had fallen open more than was necessary, and once again she advertised the products of a healthy childhood on an Iowa farm.
Suddenly, she jumped up on the buffet table, just missed putting one foot in the caviar tray. She swayed slightly and her speech was slurred as she addressed the party.
“Lishen up and lishen up good,” she said and then tossed off the rest of her champagne. Everyone turned to look at her. Her beautiful, long, auburn hair fell half over her face and the robe was open, leaving nothing to the imagination.
“I got thish „nouncement to make.” she continued, apparently forgetting everything she had learned about proper diction. “In about eight months were gonna have another big premiere.”
The members of the crew turned to look at one another. What was she talking about? Was she going to have a baby? Whose? they asked themselves. Stephanie wasnt married--at the moment.
“Thashright. Im gonna have a baby. HIS baby!” she screamed out the last as she pointed a wavering finger in the direction of George Potter. “George Potters baby!”
With that she started to laugh hysterically and lost her balance. Her agent hurried up and grabbed her as she fell, laughing into his fat arms.
The crowd gasped and looked toward the singing idol. His jaw was at half-mast as he stood gaping at the departing actress who was being carried out in hysterics by her agent.
“George...George?” shouted Lydia, trying to get his attention. Paul Connor came over and looked into Georges face.
“George, what is all this?”
Lydia could take it no longer. Everyone was staring at them. Was it true? Her George? She suspected, but couldnt believe. George was her whole life. She was struck by conflicting emotions. Finally she could stand it no longer and grabbed her purse, turned on her heel and ran from the sound stage. George ran after her, his robe billowing out behind him. She was in her car and away before he could reach her, and he had to go back to his dressing room to get his keys before he could follow.
It was a long race up to their rented, pink palazzo in the heights of Beverly Hills. George had some difficulty getting into the house. The doors were barred from the inside. Finally he found a French window that Lydia had missed. He pushed it open and rushed up the stairs, past the maid who merely shrugged as he hurried past her.
He found the door to their bedroom locked and gave it a swift kick. The house was fairly new and the door gave easily. He found Lydia sobbing on their bed.
“Lydia, Lydia...Im innocent. I love only you. You should know that!” he pleaded , sitting on the edge of the bed as he put a hand on her shoulder.
She shook it off.
“Bull shit!” she exploded. I know that half the world thinks youre some sort of god, but immaculate conception is out of vogue! You either did it or you didnt!”
George sat there for a few long moments, looking down at the distraught form on the bed.
“I am disappointed,” he said finally. There was a tone of infinite sadness in his voice.
“Disappointed?!” shouted Lydia turning over to look at him. “What do you mean disappointed?”
“Disappointed that you have so little faith in my love for you,” he replied, his words choked with emotion. she could see tears welling up in his eyes.
She lay on her back, looking up at him as he continued. “Ya know, its funny,” he said smiling through his tears. “The other day, Paul said something about me being a universal sex symbol.” He shrugged and wiped away his tea rs with the back of his hand. “Some sex symbol.
Youre the only one I want to have sex with. You satisfy everything I need. Everything I want. I love you with all my being and you are as much as I can, and or want to handle. I dont think I do such a bad job in the lovemaking department, do I?” He waited for an answer and could see her expression change as he spoke to her.
“Well, thats about as often as I can get it up. It may not look like it, but I work pretty damned hard for this meager living we have and I dont have much energy left to go romping in the sack with every Stephanie Doros who comes along, and there are plenty of them as you well know. Your are the only one I will allow to have the doubtful pleasure of my puny bod and you should have more faith in me.” He finished the speech and she could see his eyes were misting up again.
“Oh, my poor darling,” she said, moving to him and putting her arms around him. “Of course I believe you . Its just that I do get a bit jealous of ol those broads pawing you all the time. When that bitch made her little announcement, it was just too much. Please forgive me. I love you so. I couldnt bear for you to be angry with me.”
He laughed and pulled her to him to kiss her.
“Weeee!” squealed a little voice nearby. Lydia and George looked to see George Two, who was now three, crawling toward them. They parted as he crawled to a spot between them. Then he turned over and looked up at them with a cherubic, dimpled grin.
“Hello mommy, Hello Daddy,“ he giggled
Lydia and George both roared with laughter as they gathered the little boy to them and showered him with kisses. They looked at one another and knew that if ever such a crisis struck again, there would never be any doubt about their love for one another.

****

 

The next morning, the newspapers were full of the new scandal. Headlines screamed:

GEORGE POTTER PATERNITY SUIT!!, GEORGIE DID IT!! was the summation of the statement released by that little darling, Stephanie Doros, at her press conference following the scene at the studio.

Paul Connor arrived with a pile of papers from all over the world, all screaming similar headlines and stories in twenty languages. He took a long look at his client.
“Georgie, Georgie, Georgie,” he clucked.
“Oh come on, Paul. You never let me out of your sight,” chided the star. “And when Im not with you, Im under the protection of this little vixen here,” he added giving Lydia a squeeze. “You think maybe I did it during one the love scenes on camera? I mean, Im not that good.”
Paul put his hands on his hips and laughed at the picture conjured up by Georges comment.
“Okay, you win. Oh me of little faith. Thank god for the South American tour. You leave day after tomorrow and stay away until we find out what this Doros bitch is up to. The latins are broad minded and if our advance reports are correct, they love you dearly. Im not sure what your American public is thinking. I expect most will take your side on this.” He moved over and sat on the pile of newspapers. “You need a vacation anyway. Thats what this tour is supposed to be. A minimum of shows...only three a week, and a maximum of rest... or...uh...” he looked at them with a sly smirk...”whatever you two have in mind. Im sending Liza and George Two along to chaperone.”
“Ohhhh,” groaned the two on the couch, and all three laughed.
“I just about have everything packed,” chimed in Lydia
“Rio, here we come! Olay!” shouted George, jumping up to do a tango step!

****

The departure was covered by every newspaper in the country plus many from other lands. Reporters and cameramen descended on them, en masse, along with thousands of fans. All screaming at once. They didnt seem to care whether he was guilty of adultery or not. They still adored him. There was so much screaming he couldnt have answered the reporters even if he could hear their questions. So he just smiled, waved with one hand, holding one of Lydias with the other as she looked adoringly up at him. A police cordon gently moved people aside to give them access to their chartered 707.

At last in the quiet of the luxurious cabin, they looked out and both of them together, smiling through single port made such a picture of wedded bliss that everyone began to wonder just what Stephanie Doros was really up to.

The Potters waved happily as the big plane taxied away down the runway. Off to south America, and their first real honeymoon. They left the whole mess in the hands of Georges able attorneys.

****

 

Except for a few in Georges vast following who were envious of the Doros girls close proximity to their idol, men said or thought. “Good for you, George!”

The women blamed the girl for entrapment. Many wished it was she who was carrying the Kings child. For weeks the news carried the sensational story. the publicity was staggering as the public kept tabs on the scandals progress.

Finally, Georges attorneys forced the reluctant girl to have an examination by a doctor of their choosing, and found though Stephanie Doros was certainly no virgin, she was also certainly not pregnant. It was all a hoax. A well-planned publicity stunt which had almost worked. Unfortunately for Miss Doros, George Potter returned to the United States, the chaste Lancelot and hero his fans had always thought him to be.

The courts were not amused by the devious strategy. Stephanie, her doctor, her attorneys and agent were locked away for a few months on perjury charges and when the girl got out of the clink, she was bundled off to Italy to do spaghetti westerns as her penance.

Georges movie with Stephanie Doros was not only a huge financial success, but a critical one as well. It was his third film and he and Connor had produced it themselves. This time it wasnt a musical, though of course they did have to include a few token songs. The public demanded it.

It had an excellent story with an outstanding script which allowed George to show the full range of his acting ability. The critics were unanimous in their praise and he was nominated for an Oscar.

The Potter clan was on tour at Academy Awards time. Lydia watched the program with Paul Connor while George rehearsed with the orchestra.
They were disappointed, and reports also indicated the disappointment of the rest of the nation when an aging western star won instead of their beloved George. Most rationalized the older man was a sentimental favorite who won more on longevity and endurance than acting ability.

TWENTY

The new house is nice, but not really my style, thought Paul Connor. Hed preferred the tinsel, baubles and bangles of the Potters San Francisco penthouse. He had to admit, however, the new split level ranch house was just like George and Lydia-friendly, comfortable and big hearted. It wasnt so huge one could get lost in it, but there was plenty of room to afford the occupants and their guests elbow room and privacy. The sturdy mansion was constructed of wood and field stone to blend beautifully with the wooded grounds. There were little hidden corners all over the estate where each could be alone to meditate and unwind from their taxing schedules. There were stables with a handful of fine horses and George had a small building to himself, that housed his gymnasium and music room. Basically the place was designed for fun and relaxation, something they all needed.

At the moment, George, Lydia and Connor were gathered in the book lined study. Paul now spent more time in the Potters Marin Country home and at the San Francisco recording complex than he did in his own Hollywood or New York apartments. Georges career had become nearly a full time job, but Connor still had other prominent stars under contract. They also made demands on his time and he did a lot of jetting about in the Potter Corporation Leer.

Connor loved the Potters. They were the only family he had. Lydia was like a sister to him. He loved George Two like a son, and of course, he loved ol George. But then, so did much of the world .

Connor pa ced back and forth as he listed the stops hed be making on Georges second world tour. Lydia, wearing enormous horn-rims, acted as recording secretary and took notes. the King lounged next to her as he paid close attention to what Paul was saying.

“We make our first stop in London, as we did on the first tour. Then on to Paris,

Madrid, Rome, Athens, Casablanca, Dakar, Luanda, Johannesburg....” “Hold it...hold it!” George broke in with a look of concern. “I know I always give you
carte-blanche to take us where and when you think best, but I was sure after last year,
we agreed to avoid South Africa like the plague. That whole episode was damned
embarrassing and one of our greatest mistakes.”
Paul tried to mollify his friend. “Come on George, it wasnt your fault. How were to
know those damned white Johannesburgers would refuse ticket sales to the blacks in
order to have enough seats for themselves? Damned intolerant of them!” “If you recall,” George added. “We took a lot of of flack from the State D epartment,
United Nations and the White House. I really dont mind criticism of my musicianship...” “Now who could find fault with that, Georgie?” chided Lydia playfully. George gave her a pat on the knee and went on. “Its when my belief in human
nature is shaken-that hurts. I just dont want a repeat performance.
“Then youre going to love what Ive done,” paul replied. Were not appearing in
Johannesburg proper. Ive arranged for an appearance in an open air amphitheater
north of the city. Only the Bantu's and other blacks and those of mixed blood are
invited. I dont think the whites will dare show up there. Antiapartheid feeling is still
running high and they wouldnt dare cross the color barrier.”
George Jumped up and hugged his agent. “Damned fine planning, Paul,” he
laughed. “Well snub those white bigots and give „em some of their own medicine. The
irony is perfect!”
Still chuckling at the huge practical joke they were going to pull on the South African
whites, George sat down and Connor continued to list their itinerary until he would up
the trip with a last stop in Sydney, Australia and the long hop home.
“...and thats about it. The advance publicity and sales team have just submitted
their report. The path is clear. Our BTD is Friday at fourteen hundred hours. That put
us in London at one P.M. on Friday.
Lydia stretched, yawned and stood up. She hugged her two men and said. “Lets
get crackin! Its time to start packin!”

TWENTY-ONE

The 707 taxied slowly toward the terminal, almost as if it hesitated to stop there. On the sides a red, white and blue stripe ran from the nose to the towering tail which was emblazoned with the initials G.P. There was a face peering out every port on the terminal side. Apprehension was written each as it took in the scene.

The Potter party had grown used to mammoth demonstrations at each stop on the world tours, but this one was certainly different, and each felt mixed emotions at the pandemonium taking place beyond the police cordon that held back the thousands of screaming Johannesburgers.

Actually, there were two demonstrations. Each sharply contrasted the other in color, purpose and tone. To the right banners waved and bounced as they announced: YANKEE GO HOME! BUZZ OFF GEORGE!, PISS ON POTTER!, and epithets of similar ilk. The banners were borne by screaming whites who shouted obscenities. As the plane rolled slowly toward them, they began to throw vegetables of questionable freshness along with eggs and missiles that were unrecognizable and suspicious. The missiles fell short of the plane, but gave the passengers the impression that this group, at least, wasnt too happy with ol George.

On the left, an even larger crowed waved and screamed. Their banners read differently:
WE LOVE YOU GEORGE!, WELCOME POTTERS!, COLOREDS WANT GEORGIE! Their cries echoed the love and adulation of their banners. And those who yelled and hollered and stomped in anticipation of seeing their idol were black in contrast to the whites who so resoundingly denounced the pop star.
The plane stopped some distance from the crowd. Both factions pushed forward, but were held back by the determined police force. The mobs waited impatiently, yet there was no apparent action from the plane; no move was made by the passengers to disembark.
Inside the plane a quick strategy conference was being held between George Potter, Paul Connor, Lydia and the band members.
“Maybe if we just ran down the steps and rushed to the colored group, wed be safe,” suggested one of the players.
“We could slide down the escape chutes,” offered anothe