Paper Planes & Unveiling
If Dante was surprised to see Seth sitting in his chair when he came to answer the door an hour later, he did not show it; then again, that might have had something to do with the fact that he was in a hurry to get home and get ready for his evening with the Rosenfelds. As Wes stepped in, he was quieter than usual, but headed without being bidden in the direction of the living area, where he sat on the small sofa. He looked thoughtful as he regarded the tray on the coffee table, on which there was a jug of fresh lemonade, and a plate of cookies, which by their regular shape he knew had to be shop bought. He allowed Seth to pour him a glass of lemonade, and took two of the offered cookies, before he spoke.
"Uncle Seth, why are you in a chair today? Is it because your legs are very tired?"
"It is, yes," replied Seth. "They are very tired and sore, and I was worried that I might fall over and hurt myself, and scare you."
"It would have been scary if you had done that," said Wes quietly, then took a bite of cookie, before carrying on. "I know that you are really sick, and well, your chair is like Uncle Artie's chair, isn't it? It must be fun to be on wheels… Sad too, but I bet you are able to move really fast."
"Well, I am still learning, so I am fairly slow so far. It can be fun, but I do wish that I didn't need it."
Wes nodded, and finished his first cookie, then looking thoughtful again, he said, "My dad told me you are really sick, and that you won't get better, which is very sad. The thing is, then you can be an angel instead, and you will have wings, like Uncle Wes and the others. I will be sad when you become an angel, because I will miss having you here, but at least I will still be able to see you sometimes."
"I will miss seeing you too, but I hope that it is going to be a long time before I become an angel," said Seth sadly.
"Can you help me with something, Uncle Seth?" said Wes, changing the subject quickly as he did not want to make him cry. "We were talking about paper planes today at kindergarten, and I realised that I don't know how to make one, and the other boys all did. Do you know how to make them?"
Seth smiled then, his mind going back to all the paper planes he had made in his youth. His hands were not so able to fold the paper these days, but he was sure that he could still show the young boy in front of him all that he knew. "It so happens that I do know, and I used to be able to make really good ones. If you get me some paper from the packet next to the printer, I can tell you where you need to fold it to make the best planes that fly for a long time."
Wes jumped up to fetch the paper, then ignoring his lemonade and the cookies, he sat next to Seth at the coffee table. "I thought that you would know, Uncle Seth, and that you would be the best person to ask. I know that papa is the best person at art, and daddy is the best person at baking, but everyone says that you are the best person at making and building things…
The next few hours were spent in crafting paper aeroplanes, Seth teaching Wes with patience just how to make every single fold, and just the right amount of pressure to apply to them as he did. He desperately wished that he could show him by making one himself, but the pain in his fingers was strong that day, and he did not wish to risk frightening the boy with a spasm as he delicately crimped at the paper. For his part, young Wes was a boy with a lot of patience himself; he also understood better than most children of his age would that he needed to be careful and not put a lot of stress or pressure on his fathers' friend. It was good of him anyway to agree to teach him in this way as it was. So he listened carefully, then made the folds slowly, so that he could stop if he was told he had made a mistake without too many issues.
The first one had taken a little time to complete as a consequence, but when it was, Wes held it up for Seth to examine it carefully. Having passed his inspection, the moment of truth then came; carefully climbing up on a sturdy chair, Wes launched the plane he had just crafted into the air. It soared across the room, but soon hit a wall and plummeted to the floor. Seth knew the solution, and at his direction, Wes moved the chair to a different part of the room, then climbed up again with his plane in his hand. This time he launched it down the full length of the hallway that connected the front living space to the bedroom at the back. To the delight of them both, the plane flew the length of the house without problem, and had it not reached the end of the room, it might well have gone further still…
With one now successfully made, Wes settled down to make half a dozen more, the last two of which he did without the direct supervision of Seth. Each one was then carefully tested to see that it would soar like the previous one. With enough now made for the others in his small class, Wes turned towards Seth, then stepped forward and hugged him, with the words, "Thank you so much, Uncle Seth!"
"It was no problem; I enjoyed teaching you," Seth replied, delighted that he had been able to pass something on to the boy. "Of course, there are lots of other things that you can make from paper just by folding it. It is an art form called origami, and I used to be quite good at it…"
"Before your hands got so sore," finished Wes. Seth nodded, and Wes carried on, "Maybe you could teach me how to make some other things too sometime. Would that be possible?"
"I would think so, as long as your dad and papa say that it is okay," replied Seth. He glanced at the clock, and saw that Nick was due back in about an hour. "I tell you what, why don't I show you how to make a box just now, one that stays up and can hold things, without using any glue or staples…"
Nick ended up arriving back in the West Village later than he had anticipated that evening. The meeting had overrun slightly, and then he had arrived at Grand Central Terminal to discover that there were delays on the subway; as a result, he had been forced to abandon his preferred route across to Times Square then down the west side of the city and head down to Union Square on the 4/5 line instead. He arrived there to discover that the 'L' train wasn't running. He had headed up to the street and headed along 14th Street on foot. He decided on the spur of the moment that he would grab a pizza for dinner, although he was appalled at himself for having takeout two nights running. It would save time, and he decided to buy enough that he could leave some for Seth to have as well.
He was 30 minutes later than he had said he would be by the time he turned into the ramp to Seth's home, but was more than cheered to hear the sound of laughter from within. He knocked, but was a little surprised that it was his son that came to answer the door. "It's daddy! Come in, so that I can show you what I have been making." Nick followed his son in, and was soon being shown a squadron of paper planes and two neatly made paper boxes. "Uncle Seth told me where to fold the paper and how, and my planes can fly the whole length of the hallway. I am going to take them to kindergarten tomorrow and share them with my class."
"That was very good of him to do that with you," replied Nick, addressing his comments to the man that was now sitting in his armchair. "I am very grateful to you for looking after Wes at short notice, and as a small token of my appreciation, I brought you some pizza. I seem to recall that you like pepperoni?"
"I do, but there was really no need; I have had an enjoyable afternoon, and he was no trouble at all. I would happily take care of him again any time you need me to. Look, I can see two pizza boxes, so you must be having the same for supper, so why don't you stay here and we can eat together, the three of us? You can tell me all about your day, and I will actually listen…" Nick laughed, knowing full well that Jeff never did, and nodded. He went to fetch plates from the cupboard, after setting down his case and hanging up his coat.
As he busied himself, he did not see that behind him, his son and Seth shared a conspiratorial wink. On hearing Nick coming through the gate, Seth had quickly slid out of his chair and into the comfort of the armchair instead. He was still not ready to let his old friends from school see him in it, and he was afraid that if Nick did, he might not let him take care of Wes again. As had been arranged, Wes promptly wheeled the chair into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him just as his father knocked. He had agreed to do so as he wanted to be taught more by Seth, and he knew that his dad might not let him stay with him again if he knew about the chair. As they ate dinner together, Seth relaxed, and also realised that his legs were no longer as painful, and he would be able to walk later on. However, if the worst did come to the worst later that night, he would be able to crawl the short distance to his bed…
As pizza was being eaten in New York, in Washington DC a nervous Jeff was waiting in an ante-room at the White House for his appointment with the President. His train journey had been largely uneventful, as once he was in his seat, nobody really took any further notice of him or the package stowed away behind his seat. He had relaxed back in his seat, and had started to read a new novel by a favourite author; his mind however kept slipping to what he could expect later that day, and he gave up in the end as he had to keep rereading passages. His anxiety returned even more strongly as the train began to approach Union Station in DC, and in the end he was the final person to leave the train, which did make it easier to manoeuvre his parcel…
He found Trent waiting for him on the concourse, as around them people milled about as they waited for their train to be announced, or hurried past to catch a bus at the nearby terminal. Trent had been wondering if Jeff had missed the train as he took so long to appear, and the moment he saw him, he hurried forward to greet him warmly. "It is good to see you… and trust me, I don't think you will have any reason to be so nervous."
"I am not…" began Jeff, but stopped as Trent stepped back with his arms folded across his chest, and an eyebrow raised. "Okay, okay, of course I am nervous! I am presenting a portrait to on of the most powerful men in the world, and I have no idea what I will do if he says that he hates it! This could be the make or break moment for my career. People have been waiting for me to fail, for my run of good reviews to cease. I think it is good, and so does Nicky, but what does all that matter if he hates it?"
"I do not for a moment think that the President will hate it if it is at all like any of your other drawings. Also, do not forget that this is just a private viewing for him, no-one else. His wife has not been invited, and none of the staff, even me, will be there. If there are any little things that he doesn't like then he can say, and I am sure that you will be able to change it - not that I imagine that will be necessary for a moment." Jeff nodded at Trent's words, but if he was honest, they did little to calm his nerves. It was not as easy to change things as his friend imagined after all…
Once they reached the White House, things became all the more of a blur for Jeff. Trent had been called away just after they arrived, and it had been left to one of the general staff to show him to the room where he was now sitting to set up his drawing. An easel was already set up for him to place the drawing on, obviously Trent's doing, and there was also a silk cloth with which he could cover it later. He unwrapped the parcel carefully, taking care to be delicate with his movements, as he was using a blade to cut open the wrapping and one slip could cause irreparable damage to the canvas. He moved the easel slightly, then set the drawing up to catch the light in the room best; this done, he draped the cloth over it, and sat down to wait.
After a while, there was a knock at the door, and when he opened it, the staffer was back with a tray which held a pot of coffee, and a selection of cakes and cookies. He managed to force some of the cookies down, even though he wasn't feeling all that hungry due to his nerves. Then the time for the President came, and went; the staffer returned to apologise, telling him that the President was running a little behind schedule, but would be with him shortly. That did nothing to help Jeff's nerves, and he began to wonder if there was some crisis going on, and he could not even contact his husband or son if there was, as his cellphone could not get a signal thanks to all the blocking devices in the building…
"Okay, you need to relax; there is no global crisis, and there is nothing untoward happening in New York," came a familiar voice, and Jeff jumped, as there had not been the usual draught from Wes' wings. "Now, I wasn't going to come, mainly because there are so many cameras here, and people watching them constantly, so don't start looking for me, or talk unless you look down at your feet, because you are being watched right now. So, I have seen your drawing; I came yesterday afternoon when you were taking the note you had written for Nick down to the kitchen, and studied it. For what it is worth, you have no need to be nervous or concerned. It is as wonderful as all of your works, and it is equal to, if not better than, The Happy Couple. So you need to calm down, and breathe… and I need to go, because the man you are waiting for is heading along the corridor right now."
Wes' had barely finished speaking when the door to the room opened, and to Jeff's surprise, Trent stepped in with the President immediately behind him. Jeff jumped to his feet, and stood to attention in silence. "My apologies, Mr Sterling-Duval; just as I was about to step out of the Oval Office, the Canadian Prime Minister phoned and he wished to discuss an issue concerning our joint approach to the problem of climate change. We rarely have time to co-ordinate our response on these issues, so I had to take his call."
"It is no problem at all; you are a very busy man, and ensuring a safe, secure future for our planet and its inhabitants takes precedence every time over a portrait," responded Jeff.
"I would not say that; I know just how much time and effort you will have expended on this. I decided on a whim to ask Mr Nixon to join us, if that is not an issue. At times like this it is often a good thing to have some moral support, so to speak; if I was in your position, a moment like this would be quite daunting."
"That is no problem at all," replied Jeff, who knew that it was all quiet probably Trent's own doing, having hinted to his boss that his friend was suffering from nerves.
"Oh, it wasn't his idea," the President said, as if he had just read Jeff's mind. "It was the fact that when the staffer removed the tray when she told you I was running late, you had left the cake untouched. From what I have been told, you never refuse cake, so you had to be nervous…"
Jeff laughed, and Trent smiled, shaking his head. Then Jeff stepped towards the easel, and took the corner of the cloth in his hand. "So, are you ready to see my work?" he asked. The President nodded, and with great care, he removed the cloth… Once it was lifted, he closed his eyes, and waited for someone to speak. Instead all that he got was silence, and the intensity of it was so much that Jeff would later state that had someone dropped a sewing pin, then the noise of it hitting the floor would have been like someone dropping an entire dinner service of crockery. He wished that there was a clock in the room, anything to punctuate the silence with a reassuring tick…
"Well," came the voice of the President after what seemed like an eternity, "they were not wrong. I was told by several of my predecessors that have left the role of President with the honours they deserved, that the first time you see your official portrait you are immediately filled with all kinds of emotions. For me, those emotions are joy and satisfaction. I look at this canvas, and it is like I am looking in a mirror. I almost expect to see the eyes move, or it to blink, it is so lifelike. You have captured me at a moment in time, and I also have to say that a certain cat looks pretty splendid too. Even the photograph of my related predecessor is vivid and clear. Seeing this every day is going to be so satisfying, and I can imagine I will be the envy of many people in having had you produce my portrait. By the way, you can open your eyes now, Mr Sterling-Duval…" Jeff opened his eyes at once, barely aware that they had still been shut, and was acutely aware that Trent was stifling a laugh, and well, he could not blame him for that. "Now, would you object to me bringing my wife in to join us? She has been just as keen to see the finished result as I have been."
"No problem, Sir," replied Jeff. "After all, it is your portrait." The President nodded, then headed out to fetch the First Lady.
"Just in case you were wondering, I came with him for two reasons. Firstly, I knew that you were nervous, and I wanted to support you; secondly, I wanted to be there to witness his initial reaction, as I knew you would have your eyes screwed tightly shut. So, just in case you were wondering, his whole face lit up the moment he saw it. He actually had to blink back tears in fact, but he and I will deny that fact forever. It is at moments like this I am so proud to be able to claim you as one of my best friends; you are just so talented," said Trent.
"As are you; the speeches that you write for him are inspirational, every single time, and I don't think that the nation would hold him in such high regard if he did not have you on his team. One day there will be a portrait of you, just like this one, that much I do know," replied Jeff.
"There might be, but it won't be here," Trent answered sagely, but with a hint of sadness. "The previous President Kennedy was just as loved as this one. I don't think many people would say that about the previous President Nixon…"
Jeff chuckled at that, but realised that his friend had a valid point. So much was read into someone because of their name; had he still be Jeff Clarington, then so much might have been different for him because of that association. He had no time to dwell on the idea or speculate, because at that moment the door opened again, and the room began to fill. The First Lady was there with her husband, but so was Vice President Obama. The two of them were as delighted with his work as the man himself, and both wanted to engage Jeff in conversation…
This turned into an invitation to join them for dinner, and he was obliged to accept, even though Trent was heading home to Rory and his children. It was thus nearly 11pm by the time that Jeff clambered into the car that would take him to Georgetown. He had called ahead to apologise for being so late, and had spoken to Rory, Trent already having headed to bed as he had an early start in the morning. He had to make the finishing touches to a landmark speech that the President would deliver at a dinner the next day, in which he would set out his far-reaching plans for healthcare reforms.
As he sat in the car, Jeff realised he should probably call Nick, although he wondered if given the time, he would end up waking up his husband too. Fortunately Nick answered after two rings, so he knew he had still been awake. "I am so sorry not to have called sooner, Nicky, and for the late hour, but what was meant to be a brief private unveiling turned into a gathering of half of the Oval Office, and then a dinner."
"It's okay, I know. Trent called me as he was heading home and told me what was going on. So I am guessing that the President liked it, and all that worry was for nothing?"
"He did, as did everyone else. I have a sneaking suspicion that the First Lady and the Obamas might want me to draw them now, which is not a bad thing, but it might entail me making more trips away for the sittings."
"Well if it does, Jeffie, it does. You put up with my occasional trips away too, which might end up increasing in frequency soon enough. There have been a few rumours of a retiral at the top, and other people being promoted as a consequence, but we can discuss all of that and what it might mean for us when you are back home. By the way, Seth and Wes had a wonderful afternoon together; he showed him how to make paper aeroplanes, so we might need to find books of simple origami for our boy."
Jeff smiled, recalling the perfection that had been Seth's paper planes, and said, "Well, paper folding is a relatively cheap hobby, and the only health risk is paper cuts. I will pop into Barnes and Noble on the way home tomorrow and see what they have; failing them, The Strand is just a few blocks away. Right, so I think I am nearly at Trent's; I shall go and let you get to bed. I will miss you…"
"Likewise, my one true love. Sweet dreams…"
"Goodnight Nicky."
"Goodnight Jeffie."
As the call ended, Jeff couldn't help but sigh as he thought of the lonely bed that waited for him that night, but then he smiled. After all, he knew that in the West Village, his husband would be sighing for exactly the same reason.
Jeff would return home to New York the next morning, glad that the President had decided that there should not be any great fanfare or ceremony during which his new portrait was unveiled to the American public, as it was too much like something his immediate predecessor would have done. Instead Jeff's latest artwork would just join those already on display in the briefing room that afternoon, and the gathered media would have it pointed it out to them. It would thus make the news, but the artist himself would not find himself subjected to the press conference that was still too often de rigueur with these kind of things. Admittedly, Jeff had first worried that the absence of ceremonial was actually a snub of some sort, and that the President did not actually like his work at all. Alone at the breakfast table with Rory, he had expressed those feelings, and it had fallen to his host to set his mind at ease.
"Trent was telling me just the other day that the President had a big ceremony in mind, with all the usual bells and whistles; however, he talked him out of the idea. You see, he knows just how much you detest all that kind of attention, and how much you try and avoid it. He then pointed out to the President that he was about to make a massive policy announcement today, and that he could just announce that the portrait had been completed then, to a far larger media pack than normal; he could also state that the absence of a ceremony was part of the current drive in the administration to cut back on unnecessary extravagance and focus spending on those in our society who really need it. As for the art critics, they have been invited this afternoon after the press conference for a private viewing. It is a win, win situation. The President looks good, because he is saving money and not placing focus on himself, and you get to head home now and avoid the awful face to face grilling. I would just ignore your phone later, and be careful about who you open the door to when your home tonight, in case one of the less scrupulous media decides to doorstep you; if they do, let us know, and the President will be in touch with them."
Jeff had to admit that Trent had been spot on, and he was grateful that he did not need to deal with the glare of the spotlight that day. In fact, travelling without his bulky parcel, no-one even noticed him as he took the train back home. He was able to read his book this time as his mind was in a much better place. He headed home as promised via Barnes and Noble, where he found the perfect beginners book of origami for his son. He realised that the ancient art of paper folding would be something that could occupy them both that evening as they ignored anyone unexpected at the front door…