The First Lady
Scandal is by no means a stranger to those who have taken up residence in the White House. America's Chief Executives have been linked with political shenanigans and criminal conspiracies such as the Teapot Dome Scandal, the Whiskey Ring, the Credit Mobilier Scandal, Watergate, the Iran-Contra Affair and Whitewater. Perhaps even more damning are the sexual aspersions cast on the residents at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue that date back to Founding Father Thomas Jefferson and have included presidents Grover Cleveland, Warren G. Harding, James Buchanan, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy and, most recently, Bill Clinton, whose hijinks with White House intern Monica Lewinsky led to his impeachment on charges of perjury and obstruction of justice.
Given society's long-held double standard, men—even those who hold the highest public offices—are usually forgiven their sins, but what of the first ladies of the land? Why have they always been expected to be devoted wives, political helpmates and loyal supporters of their unfaithful husbands? While JFK was in Hollywood wooing Marilyn Monroe, why did Jackie remain in Washington redecorating the White House? Why was Hillary Clinton commended for standing by her man in the face of public humiliation? Perhaps it is no accident that the title reserved for the hostess of the White House is the first "lady" and not first "woman" or first "wife," for the president's spouse is often required to swallow her pride and always behave like a lady.
During the course of our country's history, the scandals associated with the wives of our chief executives—from Mary Todd Lincoln's spendthrift ways and suspected Southern sympathies to Betty Ford's drinking problems—have been of a less amatory nature. That is until Bradford Fontaine was elected president and brought his wife Madeleine to Washington with him.
* * *
I joined the White House social staff during the final days of the first Bush administration and had the pleasure of working closely with Barbara, Hillary, Laura and Michelle. Nothing in my many years of experience, however, prepared me for what was to happen with the future changing of the guard. Madeleine Fontaine had all the prerequisites to be the quintessential First Lady: style, taste, sophistication, intelligence, culture and natural beauty that many a movie star envied.
Throughout his political career, Bradford Fontaine had often been compared to President John F. Kennedy. Both men were born into wealthy New England families, both were educated at Harvard, both served as senators from Massachusetts, both were in their early forties when elected to the presidency and both were considered exceptionally handsome and personable. Likewise, Madeleine was likened to Jackie, and Fontaine's idealistic administration, which came to be known as Shangri-La, was similar in its objectives to Kennedy's New Frontier, which was later dubbed Camelot after his assassination.
During his first term in office, President Fontaine was able to cement his wholesome, family-man image in the minds of his fellow Americans. There was no Marilyn Monroe singing "Happy Birthday" to him or Monica Lewinski lurking in the closet with a soiled dress to besmirch his squeaky-clean reputation. The popularly held opinion was that not only did President Fontaine refuse to risk damaging his career over a meaningless affair, but he was also very much in love with his wife and would never want to hurt her or betray her trust.
In the course of my White House duties, I had many opportunities to observe the private lives of the First Family. The president and his wife seemed to indeed have a warm, loving relationship as well as a close, supportive friendship. They were devoted to each other and to their children. I must admit I often envied the storybook romance they seemed to share. Their marriage—their entire life, actually—was the embodiment of the American dream.
Although Madeleine Fontaine had a warm and generous nature, she seemed to put up a barrier between herself and the world at large, one that few people could breach. Those who had were few in number: her husband and her children (obviously), her sister-in-law (a former sorority sister of the First Lady) and Harrison Graham, the president's chief financial advisor, who had grown up with Bradford Fontaine and was a frequent guest at the White House, Camp David and the family's private summer retreat on Nantucket.
"Mr. Graham," the First Lady once explained to me, "is a very old and dear friend of ours. Brad and I have known him for years. He's practically one of the family."
* * *
Not long after the president's second inauguration, he and the First Lady decided to take a short vacation. They had both spent many long, grueling months carrying out their official duties while at the same time campaigning for reelection. It had been quite a strain on them both. Thus, on a cold, snowy Friday morning in February, President and Mrs. Fontaine boarded Air Force One and headed for the warmth and sunshine of the Florida Keys.
I have often heard conspiracy theorists speculate that what happened next had been a deliberate attempt to ruin the first family, to bring an end to Shangri-La just as surely as an assassin's bullet had destroyed Camelot that tragic day in Dallas. I can only surmise that the facts—along with the truth about the unknown gunman on the grassy knoll—will forever remain a mystery. It does raise the question, however, of how the press just happened to be outside the mansion that night.
At about 2:30 a.m. on Saturday night—or, if you prefer, on Sunday morning—shouts were heard inside the Fontaines' vacation house. Shortly thereafter, a reporter from The Washington Post saw someone running across the back lawn. In the darkness, the journalist could barely make out any details of the mysterious figure. Then a spotlight was suddenly turned on, clearly revealing a partially dressed man. Several video cameras came to life, catching the stranger's desperate dash to the safety of the neighbor's dense shrubbery. The cameramen did their best to pursue him, but it wasn't easy to run and film a fleeing man at the same time.
"Who do you suppose that was?" one reporter asked.
"A burglar, I guess," his colleague replied, immediately texting his editor back at The New York Times with the story, "or maybe a terrorist sent to assassinate the president."
A nearby cameraman, working for The Boston Globe, laughed.
"That man was trying to pull up his boxers as he ran," he said. "I've never heard of either a burglar or a terrorist stripping down to his socks. No, my friends, our scantily clad runner was up to good, old-fashioned monkey business."
"But with whom?" the first reporter asked. "Who's in the house?"
"Other than the Secret Service, just Fontaine and his wife."
"I don't suppose any of the Secret Service agents are female?"
"No," the cameraman replied. "The ones I saw on duty were all male. You know, the buzz-cut, ex-marine type."
"Holy shit!" the Times reporter exclaimed. "You don't think the First Lady ...?"
The amused cameraman raised his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a distinctly unpleasant smile.
"I don't know, but it would make one hell of a story, wouldn't it?"
That was the beginning of one of the greatest scandals in the history of the United States presidency. In the weeks that followed, photographs of the half-dressed man appeared in newspapers not only across the country but also around the world. Headlines demanded to know who the unidentified person was and why he was leaving the Fontaine home at that hour in his peculiar state of undress. At first, there was no comment from the White House, but the president's press secretary could not keep the reporters at bay for long.
"You'll have to tell them something," Harrison Graham urged the president. "Can't you claim he was some harmless lunatic or a drunk that wandered onto the property by mistake?"
"You're my financial advisor, Harry," Fontaine replied. "Isn't this a little out of your line of expertise?"
Graham ignored his old friend's sarcasm.
"Several of the papers are hinting that Madeleine might have been entertaining the man without your knowledge."
"Those vultures would accuse their own mothers of sexual misconduct if they thought it would sell newspapers."
Three days later the president held a special press conference in the White House Press Room at which he swore that he had no knowledge of the man's identity.
"Can you at least explain, sir, why he was seen running from your house?" came a voice from the press corps.
"Neither the First Lady nor I have the slightest idea what that man was doing on our property. When he is eventually identified and located, I'm sure the police will want to examine his mental state."
"Will your wife appear at a press conference to answer our questions?" a reporter from a well-known conservative newspaper asked.
"I don't believe that will be necessary. Look, I know there have been some ugly rumors circulating, and I'm here to put them straight. My wife never met the man in those photographs. We have been happily married for almost twenty years, and I have complete faith in her."
The president's steadfast belief in his wife's virtue, whether it was genuine or politically motivated, won him the sympathy of millions of Americans. Oddly enough, the more that people respected the president for his behavior amidst such scandal, the more they condemned and vilified the First Lady. Moral leaders accused her of undermining the fabric of American family values. Fundamentalist religious groups compared her to the Whore of Babylon. In fact, the only positive press that Madeleine received was from feminist newspapers and magazines that insisted women ought to have equal rights with men, including the right to commit adultery.
Finally, Madeleine approached her husband.
"I don't think I can take any more of this," she cried. "It's as though the whole world—except for you, Harrison and the girls—has turned against me. I read in the paper yesterday that the White House has been receiving death threats against me, although someone has been kind enough to screen my mail before they send it over to me."
"We've had to deal with crackpots before, Maddy."
"This time it's different."
"The scandal will blow over eventually. We'll just have to ride it out."
"No. I can't. Look, Brad, it's me they hate, not you. Ironically, your approval rating is higher than it has ever been."
"And your point is?" he asked.
"I think it would be better if I just bowed out graciously."
"You can't bow out. I've just been reelected. You're the First Lady of the United States, and you will be for the next four years."
"If presidents and vice presidents can resign, why can't a First Lady?"
"Because there is no one in the line of succession. Who would take your place as hostess at White House functions?"
"There's no law that says that the First Lady must be the president's wife. Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, Martin Van Buren and Chester A. Arthur were all widowers while in office. Jefferson and Jackson had their daughters perform the duties of the First Lady while Van Buren chose his daughter-in-law and Arthur his two sisters. Then there was James Buchanan, our only bachelor president. He had his orphaned niece take on the role of White House hostess."
"You've certainly done your homework. You do realize your college days at Smith are long gone, don't you?"
"I think your sister would fill the role quite admirably," Madeleine declared, ignoring her husband's sarcasm.
Fontaine considered the matter.
"Yes, yes," he sighed. "Dear Regina does have the necessary qualifications. But are you sure this is what you really want?"
"Yes. I wish to escape from the eye of public scrutiny."
Dressed in a stunning yet conservative Prada suit, Madeleine Fontaine calmly and coolly appeared at a televised press conference later that week and resigned her duties as First Lady "in the interest of national harmony." At the same time, she also announced the appointment of Mrs. Regina Fontaine Holbrook as the new White House hostess.
Following the First Lady's unexpected resignation, the press and public alike anxiously awaited and watched the news coming out of the White House, assuming that the president would file for divorce, but he never did. In fact, after his second term in office came to an end with the swearing-in of another chief executive, Bradford Fontaine joined his wife in semi-seclusion at their Nantucket estate.
For seven years, the American public all but forgot about the Fontaines and the scandal that had occurred shortly after the president's second inauguration. There was a new man in office, after all, and all eyes were on him. Then Harrison Graham—no longer a presidential advisor but still a close friend of the family—informed the press that former President Bradford Fontaine was dead.
There was little fanfare exhibited to send this particular former chief executive to his final rest, just a quiet, private funeral followed by a speedy yet dignified burial. It was never even made clear just what the cause of death had been. Most newspapers simply referred to the president as having died comfortably in his home after suffering from a serious illness.
One year after Bradford Fontaine was laid to rest, his widowed former First Lady married Harrison Graham, her late husband's advisor and close family friend.
* * *
Six months after I retired from my position at the White House, I decided to take the long-awaited trip to Great Britain I had postponed so many times in the past. Since I no longer had to adhere to a two-week vacation schedule, I chose to travel by ship rather than airplane. Looking forward to a relaxing crossing, I boarded the QEII in New York with a current bestseller in my bag.
On my first night at sea, I was surprised to encounter an old friend in line for the dinner buffet. I hadn't seen Cecile Fitzhugh since Madeleine Fontaine left Washington in disgrace and returned with her children to Massachusetts.
"Cecile!" I exclaimed.
She turned and smiled, as delighted as I was at this unexpected meeting.
Since we were both traveling alone, it was only natural that we dined together.
"So you're retired?" she asked. "Me, too."
This news took me by surprise. Cecile was young to be retired—not even fifty yet.
"It's not your health, I hope."
"Oh, no," she laughed. "It's just that now that the Fontaine girls are on their own, Madeleine has no need of a governess anymore."
"Surely, you can find another position. I'll bet your references are impeccable."
"That's true. But the Fontaines were very generous to me, and I don't need the money. So I've decided to enjoy my life and do some traveling."
Since Cecile brought up the subject of her former employers, I thought she might be willing to answer a few questions concerning them, thus satisfying my curiosity on certain matters.
"I was astonished to see that Madeleine married Harrison Graham," I said, hoping to lead my dinner companion deeper into a conversation about the former first family.
"It's not surprising at all," she said without thinking.
Then Cecile's face suddenly clouded over, as though she had carelessly revealed some trusted confidence. After several moments of silence, she continued.
"I guess I can speak frankly to you. After all, you worked at the White House and had security clearance. I doubt you'll repeat what I tell you to those horrid tabloid reporters."
"Certainly not!" I declared emphatically.
"And it's not as though the private lives of the Fontaines are a state secret."
"Heavens, no!" I laughed, anticipating hearing some innocent yet juicy gossip about the notorious former First Lady.
"I wasn't surprised in the least when Madeleine married Harrison Graham," Cecile continued. "After all, she's been in love with him for years."
"She has?"
I thought Cecile's statement was an unexpected revelation, but what she said next literally made my jaw drop.
"Oh, yes. Didn't you ever wonder why the Fontaine children bore no resemblance to the late president?"
"I never gave it much thought. They looked so much like their mother."
"Except for the eyes," Cecile pointed out. "They've got Harrison's eyes."
"You don't mean ...?"
"Graham was their father."
I made a mental image of the president's daughters and compared it to that of Harrison Graham. It was true; the girls did look as much like him as they did their mother.
"But if what you say is true, then surely the president must have suspected something."
"Suspected? He knew all along. It was never kept a secret from him."
"That poor man!" I said. "How could a wife have behaved so brazenly?"
"I don't think you quite understand."
"Oh, I understand. She took advantage of the fact that he couldn't divorce her without jeopardizing his political career."
Cecile shook her head.
"I know you admired the man very much, but there's a lot you don't know about him. Unlike Clinton's sex life, President Fontaine's was kept under close wraps."
"So they were both unfaithful, huh? I suppose they deserved each other, then."
"I don't agree. I think Madeleine deserved a lot better. I, for one, am glad that she and Harrison have each other."
"How can you say that? I'm no prude, mind you, but that woman obviously has no morals at all. To bear two children by her husband's closest friend, and then to pass them off to the world as her husband's! There are names for women like her!"
"How could you have lived and worked in Washington for so many years and not have been aware of the many sacrifices and compromises made in the name of political careers?" Cecile asked rhetorically.
"I think President Fontaine deserves a medal for going above and beyond the call of duty."
"You are so wrong. It's Madeleine, not her husband, who is to be commended. She was only an innocent college student at Smith, hoping to earn a degree in literature, when a wealthy and handsome young lawyer entered her life and swept her off her feet. She married for love, but Fontaine had his own agenda. He had high political ambitions. His family had the money and the necessary social connections, but there was a skeleton in the young lawyer's closet. He needed a wife and children to give the impression that he was straight."
"Straight? You don't mean ...?"
Cecile nodded gravely.
"The naked man seen running from the Fontaines' vacation home that dreadful night in Florida was not Madeleine's lover but the president's."
"I can't believe it!"
"It's true, I'm afraid. You see, I was more than a governess to the family. I was Madeleine's close friend and roommate at Smith. As such, I was in her confidence. I know that Brad never confessed his sexual orientation to her before they were married. Afterward—well, I guess she stayed with him out of duty. Who knows?"
"And what about Harrison Graham?"
"With an attractive young wife to quell any possible rumors of homosexuality, Brad decided to run for the Senate. He called an old friend of the family, a brilliant mind in the field of economics."
"Harrison."
"I don't know when the two fell in love. Although Madeleine did confide many things to me, we never discussed the paternity of her daughters. I imagine—and this is only a guess, mind you—that Brad felt his chances for the presidency would be greater if he had children. Harrison, who was well aware of his friend's precarious situation, would have been the perfect choice to secretly father the children."
"Maybe he and Madeleine were already in love at the time," I suggested.
"Perhaps. I know she still loved her husband very much, too. She always did. But as much as Brad admired and respected her, it just wasn't in him to love her in the way she needed."
"That poor woman!" I said, completely reversing the sentiments I had previously expressed about the former First Lady. "To have taken the scandal and disgrace upon herself when all along it was ...."
"She knew that Brad's affair would never have been forgiven as Bill Clinton's had. As harsh as the public was to an unfaithful First Lady, they would have crucified a gay president."
"So she took the blame and bore the shame for her husband's indiscretions?"
"Yes."
"I can understand why they stayed together during Fontaine's political climb to the presidency, but why afterward? There was no longer any need to pretend."
"No, but if they divorced it would have given rise to even uglier rumors. And there were the girls to consider. They had always believed Brad was their father."
"Do they know the truth now?"
Cecile shrugged and replied, "I don't know. I'm sure they suspected something when they learned of Brad's illness."
"Cancer, wasn't it?"
"That's what the family and the doctors let the press believe. They couldn't very well come out and say that former president Bradford Fontaine was dying from AIDS."
"Oh, no! I had no idea."
"That may have been another reason why Madeleine didn't ask for a divorce. She stayed by Brad's side to the very end. In fact, she and Harrison were both with him when he died."
Cecile and I drank our after-dinner coffees in silence. She was busy enjoying a thick slice of rich cheesecake, and I was trying to digest the wealth of information she had given me.
"It's funny," I mused, as we were leaving the dining room. "They say first impressions are all too often misleading. My first impression of Madeleine Fontaine was that she had all the prerequisites to be the quintessential First Lady. I guess I was right after all. And in her case, I do believe the title first lady was definitely appropriate."
Sorry, Salem, but it's not my fault that cats aren't allowed to run for president. You have to blame the Constitution!
