DAVID AND BETSY Dirma Pardo De Carugati

 

 

"… But what David had done was displeasing in the sight of the Lord."

2 Samuel, 11, 27

 

The election campaign was in full swing. The great machinery was in motion: a pompous display of conventions, tours of different states, press conferences, gargantuan banquets and a multimillion-dollar squandering of money, to convince marginalized minorities that they were being fought.

In reality, capturing sympathy, gaining followers and winning over the electorate is much more feasible when the party is already in power. And the president and candidate for re-election, in truth, had more than enough merits of his own and no lack of personal appeal. From his earliest days, when he was a young senator starting out in public life, he had gained political and social prestige. Above all, according to the polls, 80% of women's favours were for David Simpson.

But a trivial and innocent motive, if an illustrated magazine can be called innocent, would change the fortunes of the president and twist the history of the country.

It all started on the night of the television debate between the candidates of the two major parties.

The Majestic Hotel was the center of operations. For a month a whole army of collaborators had been in the city preparing contacts, interviews and negotiations, not always clear-cut, in which influences were moved and perks were promised.

The candidate had arrived that afternoon, handing out smiles, receiving flowers, shaking hands, and waving with raised arms to a crowd, not entirely spontaneous, of course.

David Simpson, however, was somewhat tense; Opponents harshly criticized his domestic policy and foreign alliances. The New Post had launched a smear campaign, rummaging through old contracts and old tenders, threatening to uncover a monopoly of structures quite compromising for the government.

In his suite, David was trying to relax by exchanging opinions with his advisors, when Robert Joabson opened his briefcase. Among the white papers stood a colorful copy of Joy Boy, which the president picked up and began to leaf through, as if absentmindedly. Suddenly, his expression changed and he let out a whistle of admiration. Everyone fell silent. They were well aware of David's fondness for beautiful women.

Robert Joabson walked over and saw the photograph that enraptured the president.

"The Bath of Venus," read the caption under a truly artistic snapshot: a woman emerged from the water with all the splendor of her natural beauty. Her velvet-like youthful skin, wet like dew-moistened fruit, had a mesmerizing glow. From her blond hair, totally soaked, iridescent drops fell and slid down her morbid breasts.

"I'm thirsty," David said, without looking up.

Solicitously, Stewart James handed him a glass of whiskey and with a knowing wink murmured:

It's Betsy Blair, an aspiring actress. She made a name for herself with a shampoo ad and then tried a dramatic role, without any success, in Norman Mailer's "The Naked and the Dead."

"I want to meet her," David said simply, inwardly congratulating himself on having such knowledgeable advisers.

 

***

 

The TV showdown was a battle won, according to party members. While the results of the poll were awaited, the triumph was already being celebrated in the convention halls of the Majestic. Telegrams and flowers arrived; Several phones rang incessantly and more and more people arrived, greeting each other with effusive hugs and patting each other on the back.

On an aside, as privately as you can be in the middle of a crowd, David and Betsy Blair were talking. She was intimately frightened, but radiated happiness. A reverent fear inhibited her as she spoke to the man before her, but she realized what the situation was.

David, on the other hand, looked at her rapturously, trying to recognize that beautiful body he had seen in the magazine, under the insinuating sweater suit she was wearing now, which veiled but did not hide its shapes.

By the time the results confirmed the triumph of the debate, Robert Joabson had already been ordered not to disturb the President, who had retired to his chambers.

 

***

 

In the New Post newsroom, Uri Stone was angrily typing on the typewriter. He couldn't forget that Betsy, his wife, had left him. It hurt him that she had been so light, at the same time he was angry at the possibility that she had only been a victim of circumstance. Again and again the words of the scribbled obituary she left him on the night of her departure tapped on his temples: "I have been invited to the President's party. An honor I cannot refuse. Kisses. I love you, Betsy." He remembered finding the paper just before sunrise when he returned to the apartment after handing in his chronicles. He immediately understood everything, but a faint hope kept him expectant. When he became convinced that it was useless, that she would not come, he took the essentials and decided not to return to what had been the marital home until then. Once again he read Betsy's message before leaving. He squeezed it and flushed it down the toilet. "That's where you need to

to be," he said angrily, making the water run.

Now, he regretted that he had destroyed that document. Was it a document or a relic? His conflicting feelings did not allow him to think clearly. A desire for revenge stirred within him, and he felt pity for Betsy. It would have been enough for him if she had called him and apologized. But now, his wounded pride hurt as much as his broken heart.

Uri Stone made a decision at that moment: he would ask Lloyd Andersen, the editor-in-chief, to bring him into the team working on the government's investigation.

 

***

 

By then, Betsy's dazzle had turned into total infatuation. I still couldn't believe it; It was she, indeed, herself who found herself in the bedroom of the most admired man in the country, with whom she would surely be the longest-serving ruler of one of the world's greatest powers. Who would believe it if I told it? And could I tell you about it? David was married and so was she. "Oh my God! URI! What would Uri say?"

But Uri at that moment was so insignificant and distant that he avoided incipient remorse and eluded the trouble of concocting an explanation. To appease his conscience, he thought that later he would ask David to help him, too, in his career.

 

II

On that cold January morning, David Simpson, along with his elegant wife, was sworn in as president.

Betsy Blair, wrapped up in her satin sheets, followed the events on television. Her state of risky pregnancy had made this rest necessary. Moreover, David's brothers, his allies in this occult adventure, had advised him to be cautious in his public appearances. This, as a result of the gossip of the tabloid press. The covert defamation was shattering the president's image, and that could be dangerous. It was necessary to win back the people, the common man, who is, after all, the one who demands from his leaders the virtues that he himself is not capable of having.

To debunk "infamous rumors" and strengthen the myth of the typical family, Uri Stone, the new member of the presidential press team, had prepared free of charge brochures, with biographies, anecdotes and profuse graphic material. The photographs showed the President and First Lady, smiling, sharing games with their children and attending, hand in hand, religious services.

But what was the truth? David wanted and kept Betsy. Did he love her? While the passion of the early days had faded, he loved her tenderly. He had promised to marry her, the same day that Uri divorced Betsy on the grounds of "character incompatibility."

But politicians' promises are not always kept. A slave to his duties, David could not get a divorce at this time. The wedding was always an undated issue, which had been postponed for one reason or another.

David was beset by trouble. First there was the scandal of the discovery of espionage within the party itself. A piece of recorded material, very compromising to David, had inexplicably found its way into the hands of the editors of the New Post.

Then, there was the tragic crash of the presidential helicopter, in which Uri Stone lost his life while on a special mission.

And to top it all off, the death of David and Betsy's little boy.

The president was going through a serious crisis. Lately he had become easily impatient, had become very susceptible, and had grown old.

Betsy was afraid of losing him; He knew that deep down, David thought that this relationship was the cause of his moral ruin and turned everything that was happening into divine punishment. That's what they both thought, even if they didn't admit it, when their first child died.

When the second son was born, beautiful and healthy, David resumed his old promises. He already had the inner certainty that he would not complete his second term.

He enrolled the boy in a small town with his own surname, in an attempt to commit him to a political destiny, the same one he had received from his elders.

But Betsy was tired. She, too, was losing enthusiasm for her surroundings. She felt weary of this useless pageantry, of her empty life and her postponed future. He began to fall into depressive states that not even alcohol, his frequent consolation of late, could mitigate.

One night, while watching a press conference by the President on television, he put more pills than usual in his last drink. He drank it in one gulp, while David Simpson's face, from the screen, tried to demonstrate the optimism of before.

Betsy turned off the image, wanted to write a letter, but millions of ants began to climb up her fingers.

An irresistible force drew her to the next room. There, he turned on the taps of the large marble bathtub. She freed herself from her silk dressing gown and let it fall, as if she were leaving her own skin with it, and went to meet the water. He leaned back in the bowl, waiting for the purifying caress.

A small cataract poured from the mouth of a burnished bronze serpent. At first, the warm water caressed the contours of her beautiful body, then began to cover it.

Betsy was happy. Confused thoughts fluttered in his mind; the image of Uri mingled in his visions. Everything seemed beautiful to him; A hitherto unexperienced placidity began to fill her. She felt young, almost a child. And he understood that life was wonderful.

With great effort he climbed out of the bathtub. He wanted to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids looked like lead.

Walking with difficulty, he reached the telephone next to the bed. "My God," he murmured, "I have to make that call!"

But Betsy had already crossed the point of return.

The receiver fell to the ground.

 

The end