Page 8 of Across the Universe

A knowing grin spreads across Mackey’s face as he looks back and forth between Bill and North. “I have a vested interest in the space program,” he says patiently.

“Why?” Bill challenges him.

Mackey shrugs. “My father does. And, to put it simply, I want to take over my father’s constituents. I need their votes to be locked in. If they believe in what he does, then I need them to believe that I’ll uphold those same values. And if getting to the moon is the thing that lights their fire, then it has to light mine as well.”

This enrages Bill. If the space program is just some ploy to get voters, then he hates Mackey even more than he already did. For everyone involved in NASA, getting to space and reaching the moon are very real and important goals, not just chess pieces they can move around in order to reach a bigger goal. And suddenly, Bill understands what that bigger aim is.

“You’re making a run for the White House, aren’t you?”

Mackey smiles and narrows his eyes at the same time. The result is the most insincere look that Bill has ever seen. “Absolutely. Mackey for President in ’72,” he says. “And I want Lt. Colonel Bill Booker to stump for me after he’s set foot on the moon.”

“Come on,” Bill says, incredulous. “You have to be joking. Don’t you think there are bigger things to worry about if you’re looking at a bid for the Oval Office? How about Vietnam? Or civil rights?”

Mackey shrugs. “Listen,” he says. “I don’t give two hoots about the moon myself. Frankly, there are more attractive women here on our own planet for me to conquer, but if the people care about it, then I care about it.” He lifts two palms skyward in faux apology. “It’s the way the political machine works, Bill.”

The mention of women infuriates Bill all over again and he drops his fists to his sides, clenching them. “Say one more thing about what you want to do to women and I’ll punch you so hard that your dentist won’t know where to start,” he says in a low voice.

At this, Mackey looks to North in disbelief. “Is this guy for real?”

Arvin North, who has been quiet thus far, puts a warning hand on Bill’s arm. “Booker,” he says quietly. “Let’s just bring it down a notch.”

“Did you put your hands on Jeanie Florence?” Bill nearly shouts, his body straining towards Mackey and itching for a fight. “Did you touch her inappropriately on the dance floor?”

At this, Mackey laughs and runs a hand through his floppy, prep-school hair. He sneers. “Who? I danced with a hundred women tonight, Booker. Cool your jets. Or did you see me put a hand on your wife’s ass?”

“Cool it,” North says to Mackey, sounding as serious as Bill has ever heard him sound. “I’ll ask you to show some respect for another man’s wife.”

Bill turns to Arvin North. “How about you demand he show the same respect for one of your valued employees?”

“Did I offend one of your men?” Mackey asks, confused.

“Jeanie Florence—she’s one of our men,” Bill says sternly. “Jeanie is an engineer at NASA and not some floozy you can just manhandle however you please.”

Mackey laughs again. “Right. The brunette who said she was an engineer. I thought she was yanking my chain; I assumed she was a self-important secretary in the engineering department just trying to get me to bed her so she’d have a story to tell at the office next week.”

This is it for Bill—the final straw. In hindsight, he’ll look back and wish that he’d been able to exercise more self-control than he has at that moment, but unfortunately that isn’t the case.

“Bill,” Arvin North says, but any attempt to stop what’s about to happen is really just wasted energy. The train of Bill’s anger has long ago left the station.

Bill reaches out with both hands and puts them around Ted Mackey’s throat. Shocked, Mackey flails both arms, but Bill is too fast. He knocks Mackey off his feet and sends him flying into a polished silver rack that reaches from floor to ceiling. The rack is laden with pots, pans, containers full of silverware, and stacks of folded linens. Ted Mackey’s back makes contact with the rack in a way that is clearly painful, and he gives a loud grunt, his head rearing back and knocking into the shelf as the wire cuts into the soft skin on the back of his neck.

Bill doesn’t wait for Mackey to gather his wits, and instead reaches out with both hands, grabbing him by the lapels of his tux. He yanks Mackey to his feet and pushes him backward, this time towards the cement wall. By now, Arvin North has joined the fray and is trying to pull Bill off of Mackey, but to no avail. The loud clatters and bangs and the general ruckus of the skirmish have already caused the kitchen staff to halt their work and come to the doorway, where they’re all standing and watching as three dignified men in tuxedos scuffle in a kitchen pantry.

The doors to the kitchen swing open and the sound of the lead singer of the band talking into the microphone comes in at full blast: “Well, my friends, here we are. We’ve arrived.” His voice goes quieter as the doors swing closed again. Bill pins Mackey to the wall and the sound of the two men breathing heavily fills the small room. The kitchen doors swing open once more and Denny Hitzman’s voice comes back at full blast. “We’re ready for our countdown to midnight. So grab your champagne and find somebody to kiss, because here we go!”

The doors close again and the countdown is muffled but still audible over the sound system: “Ten, nine, eight…”

Bill takes a swing at Mackey that connects squarely with his jaw.

“Bill! God dammit!” North barks. “Knock it off!”

“Seven, six…”

Mackey finally gets his feet under him and he uses his full body weight to shove Bill away, giving him the space he needs to come barreling at Bill with his shoulder pointed at Bill’s sternum.

“Five, four, three…”

Bill dodges Mackey and Mackey loses his balance, stumbling towards the rack once again.

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