Fic: October 22, 1962 (1/1)
Title: October 22, 1962 (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Kenny O'Donnell
Fandom: Thirteen Days (2000)
Genres: Angst, Drama, Historical
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For Thirteen Days (2000)
Summary: JFK is going to address the nation about the Cuban Missile Crisis tonight. Kenny O'Donnell needs to get out of the pressure cooker White House for awhile.
Date Of Completion: June 18, 2022
Date Of Posting: August 29, 2022
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, New Line Cinema does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1248
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
He looked down into the abyss
And asked, "What's this?"
A voice from down below said,
"You're all dead,
Unless you drink,
From Wisdom's Pool,
So that you may become
Nobody's fool.
Be quick!
Be quick!
Jack jump over the candlestick!"
Bret Lowenstein
"Poems For The Nuclear Age"
1961 C.E.
Kenny O'Donnell felt like he'd had a low-grade headache for a week. Actually, it had been a week. Today was Monday, October 22, 1962, if he wanted to get fancy about it. It was almost a week since Mac Bundy and the boys from C.I.A. had come into his office and asked to see the President right away. Ever since then it was one nightmare after another.
He lifted up his head and found himself staring out the window. He stood up. "I'm going for a walk to clear my head."
His secretaries nodded. They were smart girls and could handle whatever came up. He put his coat on and left the White House.
Washington wasn't the best weather city (too much of a sleepy Southern town), but not even this city couldn't screw up a gorgeous October day. Even some of the trees in Lafayette Park around the White House were putting on a show.
Kenny walked down Pennsylvania Avenue and found himself at a newsstand. The papers were selling like the proverbial hotcakes. Kenny bought one and read the screaming headline: PRESIDENT TO SPEAK TO NATION TONIGHT ON MATTER OF NATIONAL URGENCY. The story told the reader about JFK's address on all three TV networks.
Kenny took the paper and sat down on a bench close to the newsstand. As he perused the story, he overhead some of the conversations as people hung around the newsstand.
"Man, wonder what this is all about?" said a red-haired man with a blue tie askew.
"It's about Cuba. Whaddaya think?" asked his friend, a brown-eyed Italian with short brown hair and a tan raincoat.
"What are you talkin' about?"
"The Soviets are up to something."
"Yeah? Like what? They gonna invade Miami?"
The Italian laughed. "Yeah, them and the flamingos?"
Red laughed.
Two elderly women were looking at a paper. The woman with a blue hat pointed to the picture of the President. "I hope whatever it is, he's up to it. He's so young! He's younger than my son."
Her companion laughed, the fake flowers on her hat bobbing. "Sadie, everyone's younger than your son!"
Sadie clucked her tongue. "Now, Edna, I don't look a day over sixty."
Curious, Kenny looked up and located the two ladies. Sure enough, Sadie did not look old enough to have a son older than Jack. He allowed himself a chuckle.
"I still say the Soviets are mucking about, probably with missiles," the Italian said.
"God, I hope not, Sal, Cuba's only 90 miles away!"
Sal pointed to Red. "Listen, Red (hey, he was right!), ten bucks says it's missiles."
"You're on."
The men shook on it and moved down the street.
Kenny watched as anxious people hurried up to the newsstand to get the latest news. People's speculations ran the gamut, from missiles to an invasion to Castro dead.
"Let's hope it's not another Bay of Pigs," groused one man.
"Kennedy will see this through," said another.
"I don't like the U.S. invading a little country like Cuba," a college co-ed complained.
"I wouldn't mind getting rid of Castro," her boyfriend said with a shrug.
"Yeah, but at what price?"
"Castro is more trouble than he's worth."
"But..."
"Fu.. "
"Hey, language." The girl glanced around to see if anyone was listening. Kenny ducked his head down to read the paper.
He waited a few minutes, then stood up and began walking. The paper he held flapped in the breeze and he folded it, sticking it under his arm.
Jack's back caused him daily pain, sometimes severe. His back must be screaming at him this week. How would he ever get release from this pressure?
He knew how his old friend got release, but he had learned a long time ago to leave that subject alone. Not even Bobby could persuade his brother to stop being so reckless in his personal life.
He was glad Helen sexually satisfied him. Didn't they have five kids together? Though after this last baby's birth, he and Helen had quietly explored birth control options.
"Listen, O'Donnell, five is enough. I'm not going to become ony of those Irish Catholic wives who pop out a dozen kids."
"You don't want to be Ethel Kennedy?"
She snorted. "She can afford nannies. Besides, I don't want to burn out before I'm 40."
Kenny hadn't objected. Four o'clock feedings got old real fast. It also could be a struggle to afford five kids. A dozen? Screw that!
He could sense an electricity in the air. Despite the fear, it was exciting, too. A Presidential address to the nation? Pretty big stuff.
Kenny breathed in the fresh air. This speech was so fucking important.
How the hell did we keep this quiet for so long? This town leaks like a dripping faucet.
Kenny wandered around, remembering how close it had been. Scotty Reston had the story and The New York Times had planned to run it Sunday.
If Adlai hadn't told me Saturday night at the party, we'd have been toast. Ted leaned on Reston and Jack called the publisher and got the story killed.
Kenny tried to relax, at least for the duration of this walk. He watched a flock of birds winging their way across a brilliant blue sky. They were in V-formation, probably heading south for the winter.
Birds have the life. Flying around, no worries about money or Communists or nuclear war.
He sighed. All the animals would be as cooked as humans if the bombs went off. It was bad all around.
Kenny walked back to the White House. Protesters would be out here by tomorrow, but for now, just a handful of people were standing at the black iron fence, staring at the White House. One man had curled his fingers around one of the spikes.
Kenny stared at the simple but beautiful house. The fountain was bubbling merrily in front, a natural sculpture that was more intriguing than any man-made artwork.
No one spoke. The faint sound of the fountain carried to the silent watchers. He touched a spike, it's iron unyielding.
Tonight, the world would know what a pickle it was in.
Tonight, a pretty sour pickle.
Kenny sighed. It was all coming together, and tonight his old friend would be the one responsible for telling the world about that pickle. No leavening of mustard or ketchup was going to help the situation.
He could really use a burger right now, grilled by his own hand and heaped with his favorite condiments: the pickles, mustard, ketchup, onions and bacon. He'd eat it at his backyard picnic table with Helen and the kids laughing and eating, enjoying their own hamburgers, French fries and a salad with bottles of Coke. All very normal; all very American.
No thoughts about nuclear war, of what we face after the bombs fall, as the radiation turns everything to ash, like charcoal in the grill after you finish cooking.
His heart pounded at the dismal thoughts. He felt cold inside. He took his hand away from the fence.
Guess I'd better get back inside that goldfish bowl.
He nodded to the guard at the front entrance guardhouse and walked up the curving driveway.
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