DINNER WITHNIX was through-and-through an unpleasant affair, but dessert wasthe worst. Nix called for his "Bojangles butter." In came themidnight-blackest of the entire White House staff, apparently reservedfor just this purpose as he took part in neither the serving of the mealnor in any other of the cordialities and proprieties that preceded andfollowed. So black he could have been Jolson, but without the telltalerings around the eyes or the abrupt cut that occurred near the collar andat the hairline. Bojangles showed a wide swath of gleaming teeth,brighter than the bleached gloves he now tugged taut over his invisibleblack wrists with a haughty, elegant snap! . . . . He kneeled beside thechief's seat in synch with Nix's undaunted gesture of standing anddropping his pants, earlier undone for increased capacity during themeal. In once expert motion--like Sally Rand with her famousfeathers--the president molted dingey boxer shorts (grey, imprinted withthe seal either of Whittier or the John Birch Society . . . couldn'ttell, so distracted was I by the resemblance between Nix's bare, bushylegs and the scrawny misshapenness of my own assistant's hairy hooves)and planted his ass with blemishless trust--the trust that comes up onlyin the most intimate ritual moments between master and servant--smackover Bojangles gloved, glowing index finger, bony and braced forinsertion.
"Gung!" was the noise Nix let escape as he sat. The president, hands on Lincoln's leather arms, would shift slightlybefore Bo, out of sight now behind the edge of the great oak table, setto work at his digital enema. Then Nix could start in about "that damn war" again and in all the nonchalance Ialmost forgot anything funny was going on beneath the chocolate moussebut for the moment Nix finally stood, pulling up boxers and pants in oneswift clip. Bojangle carried away his loot in a bejewelled box,discretely sparkling and resembling a container for tobacco or myrrh. Whether it went the way of Checkers's pieces or if it was preserved inback room of the National Archives dedicated to presidential enemas--welleven the devil is damned if he knows!