Brazen Virtue

up to you.”
    “He’s a bright boy.” Hayden relented a bit as he checked his jacket for creases. “No need for him to make himself sick.”
    “It’s just a headache,” she murmured. Tonight’s dinner was important. They all were, with the election coming up. Whatever worries she had about their son, she didn’t want to bring them up tonight. Her husband was a good man, an honest man, but he had a low tolerance for weaknesses. “Don’t push him just now, Charlton. I think he’s going through some kind of phase.”
    “You’re thinking about those scratches on his face.” Satisfied with his jacket, Hayden checked the shine on his shoes. Image. Image was so important. “Do you believe he ran his bike into some rosebushes?”
    “Why shouldn’t I?” She fumbled over the clasp of her necklace. It was ridiculous, but her fingers were damp. “Jerald doesn’t lie.”
    “Never known him to be awkward either. Claire, to tell you the truth, he hasn’t been himself since we got back from up north. He seems nervous, edgy.”
    “He’s concerned over the election, that’s all. He wants you to win, Charlton. To Jerald, you already are the president. Do this for me, darling. I’m all thumbs tonight.”
    Obliging, Hayden crossed over to hook the chain. “Nervous?”
    “I can’t deny I’ll be glad when the election’s over. I know how much pressure you’re under, all of us are under. Charlton …” She reached over her shoulder to take his hand. It had to be said. Perhaps it would be best to say it now and gauge her husband’s reaction. “Do you think, well, have you ever considered, that Jerald might be—experimenting?”
    “With what?”
    “Drugs?”

    It wasn’t often he was thrown a curve that rocked him. For ten seconds, Hayden could only stare. “That’s absurd. Why, Jerald was one of the first to join the antidrug campaign at his school. He even wrote a paper on the dangers and the long-term effects.”
    “I know, I know. I’m being ridiculous.” But she couldn’t quite let it go. “It’s just that he’s seemed so erratic lately, particularly in the last few weeks. He’s either closed up in his room or spending the evening at the library. Charlton, the boy doesn’t have any friends. No one ever calls here for him. He never has anyone come over. Just last week he snapped at Janet for putting his laundry away.”
    “You know how he feels about his privacy. We’ve always respected that.”
    “I wonder if we’ve respected it too much.”
    “Would you like me to talk to him?”
    “No.” Shutting her eyes, she shook her head. “I’m being silly. It’s the pressure, that’s all. You know how closed up Jerald becomes when you lecture.”
    “For Christ’s sake, Claire, I’m not a monster.”
    “No.” She took his hands then and squeezed. “Just the opposite, dear. Sometimes it’s hard for the rest of us to be as strong, or as good as you. Let’s leave him be for a while. Things will be better when he graduates.”
    J ERALD WAITED UNTIL HE heard them leave. He’d been half-afraid his father would come in and insist that he join them for the evening. Some stupid rubber-chicken-and-asparagus dinner. Everyone would talk politics and tout their favored causes while watching out of the corners of their eyes for which coattail to grab on to.

    Most would be grasping on to his father’s. People were brownnosing him already. It made Jerald sick. Most of them were just out for what they could get. Like the reporters Jerald had spotted outside the house. Looking to dig up dirt on Charlton P. Hayden. They wouldn’t find any because his father was perfect. His father was the best. And when he was elected in November, the shit would hit the fan. His father didn’t need anyone. He’d kick out all those pussies in their soft jobs and run the government the correct way. And Jerald would be right there beside him, soaking up the power. Laughing. Busting his gut laughing at all the idiots.
    The women would come begging, pleading for the son of the president of the United States to pay attention to them. Mary Beth would be sorry, so sorry she’d rejected him. Almost lovingly, he ran his fingers over the scratches on his face. She’d fall on her knees and beg him to forgive her. But he wouldn’t forgive. True power didn’t forgive. It punished. He’d punish Mary Beth and all the other sluts who’d made promises they didn’t intend to keep.
    And no one could touch him because