Coolidge sat in his chair and read, the firelight illuminating the pages of his book. The rain was coming down awfully hard, he thought idly. Suddenly, there came a desperate banging from the door, and Calvin thought he heard a faint sob. He opened the door and found Harding, soaking wet and shivering, on his doorstep.
“Warren, my dear fellow, come in and dry yourself off! My god, man, you’ll catch your death out there! What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”
Harding mumbled something incoherent. Calvin shrugged. “In any case, you must come in and dry yourself off!”
Several minutes later, Calvin returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea, one of which Warren accepted graciously. “I had to escape. All those scandals are taking a toll on me, and I didn’t know who to turn to…” He turned his gaze to Calvin, and his deep soulful eyes begged for comfort. Calvin held his gaze for a moment, then gave him a wry smile. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
Harding was true to his name, his commander-in-chief standing at attention. Calvin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, the smile remaining on his face. He began to undress himself, never taking his eyes off of Harding’s executive branch. Warren, though, was worried. “This will cause another scandal if it gets out. I don’t think my presidency can take one more…”
Coolidge pressed a finger to Harding’s lips, easing him onto the bed. “They don’t call me Silent Cal for nothing.”