A Hideous Beauty Read Free Page A

Pulitzer Prize.”
    His grin widened. “More than you know,” he replied.
    â€œSorry, old boy, but that dog won’t hunt. You can sit behind your desk and cast all the aspersions you want . . .”
    â€œHowever, we’re not finished with you,” he said, talking over me. “We need you to write one final chapter.”
    â€œ. . . and maybe you can convince some of your less intelligent students that you’re the man behind the author, but we both know . . .”
    â€œWe need you to write the chapter of R. Lloyd Douglas’s assassination.”
    â€œ. . . that you had nothing to do with . . . what did you say?”
    Reclining in his chair, Shepherd did the steeple thing with his fingers. “Your task will be to secure R. Lloyd Douglas’s legacy alongside that of Lincoln and Kennedy.”
    â€œMyles . . . if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
    â€œHave you read William Manchester’s Death of a President ? Of course you have. We want something similar.”
    With difficulty I climbed out of my chair. “Look, Myles,” I said. “Joke or not, I have to report this conversation. You know that, don’t you?”
    Shepherd stared at me long and hard and I could have sworn that at that moment the lights dimmed. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try,” he said.
    â€œWhatever game you’re playing, Myles, this time you’ve overplayed your hand. All I have to do is pick up the phone and—”
    â€œHe won’t take your call. Ingraham, that is. That’s who you were going to call, isn’t it? Chief of Staff Ingraham? He won’t take your call.”
    His comment knocked me off balance. How did he know I was thinking of Chief of Staff Ingraham?
    â€œI’m . . . I’m sure you won’t mind if I don’t take your word for it,” I stammered.
    â€œAnd that cell phone number the president gave you at Camp David? Disconnected.”
    â€œHow . . . how . . . do you know about that? No one knows about that, not even Ingraham.”
    â€œThe president knows.”
    Pushing back his chair, Shepherd rose to full height. He looked every inch the self-satisfied prig I’d loathed for years.
    â€œAnd that cute little number,” he continued, “what’s her name? Chrissy? No, Christina. Ingraham’s aide. Despite your little dalliance, she won’t take your calls either. You’re cut off, Grant.”
    Shepherd’s matter-of-factness unnerved me. At this point I had but a single thought—get away from him. Alarms were going off inside of me, warning me to get out now. I took a step toward the door.
    â€œBesides,” Shepherd said, easing around his desk, “informing the president about an attempt on his life would be a waste of time.”
    I took another step back.
    â€œDo you want to know why?” He smiled his gladiator smile. “Because he already knows about it. In fact, he’s the one who’s planning it. Ingenious, no? A president who plots his own assassination.”
    A cold chill poured over me like ice water. His little bombshell was one of those statements that are so outrageous, so unbelievable, so farfetched that you wanted to dismiss them as frivolous, but in your gut you knew they were true.
    Shepherd rubbed his hands together in a that-settles-that manner. “Now, let’s talk about the literary style of the assassination chapter. You’ll want to avoid the pedantic tone you used in the first five chapters of the biography.”
    My knees went weak. Only with effort did I take another step back.
    â€œDon’t go, Grant. We’re not finished.”
    My feet stopped moving. I didn’t stop them.
    â€œPoor Grant,” Shepherd said. “You’ve been in over your head from the beginning.”
    I tried to move my feet.