The Means Page 16

  “Girlfriends?”

  “Nothing very serious.”

  “Gay?”

  “Are you vetting or propositioning?”

  Walter smiles an impatient smile rather than ask again.

  “No, and never dabbled either. Look, aren’t you guys going to investigate all this?”

  “We have already, a little. We’re just talking now, but we’ll spend a lot of money looking into you. I hope you don’t mind.” Walter smiles. “It’s just the process. It’s better this way. If we find it now, it doesn’t go anywhere and you don’t run. If they find it later, you’re screwed.”

  “Fine. Hey, what the hell.”

  They’re both silent for a moment and a drink.

  “What’s the upside, Walter?”

  “You’re a national name. You get paid fifty to a hundred grand to make a speech. You’ll wind up getting tapped for something plum with a nice salary. That’s if you lose. You’re a hell of a candidate, Tom. You could pull this off.”

  “Why are better candidates sitting this out?”

  Walter stands and puts his scotch on the desk. He turns to Tom and points a finger, not at Tom but up, like a lecturer. “I don’t think there is a better candidate, Tom. For a candidate to come from out of the pack to win an election, he needs two crises. Carter had the Vietnam War and Watergate. The DNC had a total meltdown coming out of the Vietnam War and Carter fell into the primary win. Watergate gave him the White House. Obama had the Iraq War and the 2008 financial crisis. Hillary Clinton had voted to authorize the use of force in Iraq and in the Democratic primary Obama used that to club her like a harp seal. In the general, just as McCain is tightening with Obama, the economy collapses under Bush and any Republican is toast.”

  Walter turns back to the desk, takes a sip of scotch and puts it back down. He turns to Tom and now he points right at him. “You already have one crisis. Cumberland County is going to win you the primary. Then you’re one crisis away. Just a flap of a butterfly’s wings from around the world that shows up here a couple years later.”

  Tom is silent, replaying the words in his head. He knows Walter is here to sell him, but despite the skepticism that comes with that awareness, he feels himself being sold. “I have no organization.”

  “Bullshit. You have the governor’s staff of a good-sized state. You’re fresh out of an election so you’re tuned up. You’d have the unofficial support of me and most every large GOP donor, and things would start developing behind the scenes in very official-looking ways.”

  Tom finishes his drink. “I need to talk to my wife.”

  33

  After promising to wait twenty-four hours before answering her husband, Alison says she wants Tom to run. She says we get one chance to live this life and this is too big to sit out. They discussed the risks that Walter raised with Tom, but they do so only halfheartedly. Alison’s instinct was to say yes from the start.

  Tom calls Benson Hill and says he’s willing to take the next steps with Walter and that they should continue what Tom calls a mutual feeling-­out process.

  Benson is happy with the call. He tells Tom it’s the right move for the party and for the country and Tom can count on Benson’s full support and lots of money.

  Within two weeks Tom starts to get phone calls from people he knows but has never met. Republican governors from three states call and tell him how important it is that he run, that he’s the man for the job, and that he can count on their support. Senate Majority Leader Jason Warren calls to say that he’s a long way from endorsing anyone but thinks it’s the right thing for Tom to get in the primary and that, at the moment, he thinks Tom is the most promising candidate. He goes on to advise with a laugh that while he loved the NEA speech, when Tom gets to the national stage he should tone down the talk of losers and idiots, but then he adds that maybe he’s just gotten too old and careful.

  Two weeks after that, Walter calls again. He wants to set a dinner with Tom, the Koch brothers, Kenneth Langone, Stanley Druckenmiller, and Foster Freiss. They want to take the measure of the man, in person. If the dinner goes well, Tom can count on a decent amount of early money to get an organization built. As the field narrows and if Tom is still standing, he can count on much more money.

  Tom starts spending an increased amount of time meeting with potential donors, watching the polls on the president’s approval rating, and watching cable news. None of these activities is specific to North Carolina, and word of Tom’s possible candidacy for the GOP ticket is already in the media and his lieutenant governor is already picking up additional responsibility.

  Six months later, Tom publicly announces his intention to run and starts holding fund-raisers.

  34

  The Lincoln Town Car takes Montgomery Avenue past the Merion Cricket Club to Bryn Mawr. Peter Brand turns pages on a clipboard while Tom looks out the window. Peter’s goal is to keep Tom rested, happy, and informed going into these events.

  “There’ll be two quick intro speeches, then you give the twenty-­minute version of your talk, then Natalie Richards is going to do four songs. Then drinks for thirty minutes followed by a sit-down dinner, ninety minutes for that. Should be out of here by nine thirty.”

  “How’d you get Natalie Richards for this?”

  “She’s Republican and she’s decided you’re her man. She went to high school here and she was visiting home for the holidays, so it worked out.”

  “A country music star from the Main Line?”

  “They don’t have to grow up in Nashville, they just have to move there.”

  “Hmm.”

  “We actually had to clear it with her as well as this production company she’s in the middle of a messy breakup with. J. K. Livin. Run by Matthew McConaughey.”

  “Jay Kay Livin’?”

  “J. K. stands for ‘just keep.’”

  “Just Keep Livin.”

  “Right. I know. He sounds like a dork out of Fast Times.”

  “Jesus. That’s a sign of a person who surrounds himself with people who do nothing but kiss his ass. Don’t ever let me do something that absurd.”

  Peter reviews the names of people Tom needs to remember as the car pulls up to the stoplight before the Baldwin School. They’re an hour early to the event which gives Tom the opportunity to meet with Senator Carol Chance before any guests arrive.

  The Town Car turns off Montgomery Avenue through the iron and stone gates that date back to the 1800s when the private girls’ school was a private home and hotel. They drive a winding approach through the willow trees in winter, which look translucent and ghost-like. The historic schoolhouse is a mix of red brick and gray stone with a half dozen chimneys and looks like a French château for a prince. They drive past the schoolhouse to the new athletic center that was built in 2008.

  “I think we’re in the right place to raise some money,” says Brand.

  They pull their wool trench coats over their suits and step out of the car. Tom doesn’t wear a hat because it will be an evening of photographs and he needs his hair to stay in place. The twenty-degree weather makes his ears sting and turn red.

  The event is staffed by volunteers from the Pennsylvania Republican Party, and a twenty-five-year-old handler greets them and brings them in the building. He’s wearing a suit that hasn’t been dry-cleaned in many wears and the creases are all flat.

  The handler takes them into the high school gymnasium, which is in the last stages of transformation. The basketball nets have been raised so that the backboards are parallel to the ceiling. Streamers and banners with Pauley for President line the walls and bleachers. Red Chinese lanterns hang from the ceiling.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Dorothy Pierre who has organized the event preparations.” The handler walks in front taking short, fast steps and keeps looking back at his guests and forward again in a jerky motion as if h
e expects them to disappear at any moment. Tom and Peter follow with long, even strides. The handler never introduces himself and seems to think his name is too inconsequential to mention.

  They approach a tall woman in her fifties whose body is all sharp angles. She has a black evening gown with a pearl necklace and pearl earrings. Her hair is dyed blond and she wears it up. Tom notices she’s had some facial work done. He imagines she had a nice eye lift in her thirties that was too soon, and now in her fifties when she needs it, the second one can’t look natural.

  She doesn’t see them coming and is hollering at a vendor and pointing at ostrich feathers that are part of the centerpiece of each of the round, ten-person banquet tables.

  “These won’t do. They’re too short.”

  The vendor is speechless. The handler leans into her line of sight. “Ms. Pierre?”

  She turns. “Governor Pauley! How wonderful to meet you!” she says in a practiced way. “One moment.” She turns back to the vendor before Tom can respond. “I said these are too short. We’ll need longer feathers.”

  “Ma’am, they’re ostrich feathers.”

  “I know that. We need longer ones.”

  The man answers like a subordinate who knows he’s on the firmer ground. “They come in one size. That’s how God made them.”

  She smiles. “Honey, we can always improve on what God did.”

  Tom looks at her face and thinks, Not in the long run.

  “What should I do?” asks the man.

  “Find a black stick that’s a foot long and the same width as the feather stem and attach it. Give it some lift out of the vase. Break into the arts and crafts classroom if you have to.” She turns back to Tom. “Governor, Governor.”

  She opens the space between her body and right elbow the way a lady can be taken by a gentleman, then with her off hand she takes Tom’s arm and threads it through so they can do a lap of the gym floor arm in arm. Tom thanks her for all the hard work and has the opportunity to say almost nothing else before he is shown to a table with Natalie Richards.

  She has tan skin under faded denim. Her body is incredible and she presents it in the way that female athletes do. Physique isn’t the goal, it’s just what happens. She works out for the job, not to be pretty. She’s part tomboy, part sexy, and even her blond hair is simple and straight to the shoulder and couldn’t look better. Tom guesses she’s thirty.

  “Governor Pauley, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Call me Tom and thank you for coming. Your star power is out of proportion with our little event here.”

  “I’m happy to do it. I’m a big supporter of yours, ever since I saw your speech to the NEA. Anything I can do to help you is helping our country.” She’s picked up some of the Southern accent, especially with the word country.

  “I understand you went to high school at Baldwin.”

  “I played point guard on this hardwood under your feet.”

  “I bet you were good.”

  “I still am!” She slaps the table like a girl who takes charge of her flirting. “Don’t eat too much tonight. I know where they still keep the basketballs around here. After dinner we’ll lower the nets and I’ll take you in one on one.”

  “I don’t like my chances.”

  Peter Brand walks to the table and leans over Tom’s shoulder. “The senator is running late. She’ll be here in time for the introductions and we can have a private meeting with her after the event. She sends apologies.”

  “Fine,” says Tom. Peter walks away to direct staffers and Tom turns back to Natalie. “I had no idea you’re political.”

  “Then you must not follow me on Twitter.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Most people who like country music don’t live near either coast. And most of those people like smaller government and a strong military.” She’s drinking beer from a glass and takes a sip. She smiles and says, “No bourbon before the show.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You, on the other hand, need a drink.”

  A waiter has been standing a respectful ten feet from the table with his hands in the fig leaf position. Natalie waves and he comes forward with a bow.

  “Gin and tonic,” says Tom.

  “Right away, sir. For you, ma’am?”

  “Maker’s on the rocks.” She looks at Tom. “What the hell. How often does a girl get to play for the next president?”

  Tom laughs. “As often as you like.” He says this just in time for it still to be a joking response to her joke, rather than an awkward and seriously considered answer.

  The waiter walks to the bar set up on a long folding table in the corner of the gym and is back with the drinks.

  “You like music, Governor?”

  “Most boys from North Carolina grow up with Southern rock.”

  “Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Do you play guitar?” she asks.

  “Terribly.”

  “I’ll be the judge. Follow me, Guv.” She smiles. The smile is not a reflex to happiness. It’s deliberate and very appealing. A person knows when he’s flirting and being flirted with. The level of attentiveness increased above what’s required for normal conversation, which is why Bill Clinton was so effective. He flirted with everyone, even the ones he wasn’t trying to sleep with.

  “Lead on.”

  “Bring your gin.” She stands and starts ahead of him. Her jeans are thin with no back pockets and made from a stretchy material that grabs her ass. Tom can see the muscles quiver up her leg with her footfalls. He stands and catches up with her and he knows he would have been better off if he hadn’t seen that.

  They both walk and understand that it’s better not to look to see if anyone is watching. They walk with purpose, projecting innocence. An elevated stage is set up in the corner of the gym opposite the bar. The stage is about three feet high and eight feet square. Natalie will be playing solo and acoustic so there is only one chair. There are two guitars set in stands on the stage.

  She leaps up on the stage in front of Tom. From knees to navel she’s very much on display to him.

  “You’re in great shape,” he says. He’s keeping track internally and knows this is a line crossed and he disapproves of himself.

  “All part of the show.”

  Tom steps up onstage using his hands for support. Still neither of them has dared to check what sort of interest they are creating in the gym. Tom knows this is self-defeating behavior but people who have been on the road have pent-up demand for human connection. There is a physical craving for a spark and a rise in heart rate.

  “I’m going to see what you can do on my Gibson.” She hands him the guitar with “Natalie Richards” written up the neck in mother-of-pearl. “Have a seat.”

  Tom sits and strums chords. “There’ll be no singing.”

  “Fair enough.”

  After the warm-up, Tom starts to play “I Won’t Back Down” by Tom Petty, and Natalie recognizes it. “Pretty good,” she says.

  A few cameras flash and Tom keeps playing. “Thank you.”

  “Your G could be a little tighter,” she says and walks behind his chair. She wraps herself over his shoulders and reaches her left hand down to the neck of the guitar and pushes his left hand aside. “Try positioning your hand like this.”

  Tom can feel her breasts against his back and the skin of her arm on the back of his hand and he prays for no more camera flashes.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  She straightens up. It’s a moment that leads to sex for people who don’t respect the lives they’re in.

  “How about a duet tonight?”

  “I don’t think that would help the campaign.”

  She laughs. “Then how about another drink?”

  They step back
to ground level and find Peter Brand nearby. Tom thanks Natalie then tells Peter he needs to make a quick call and he finds a quiet place.

  “Alison.”

  “Hi, babe.”

  “I want you to start traveling with me. To all these events.”

  “Why?”

  “I just need you. I think it’ll make me a lot happier. It’ll help.”

  “What about the kids?”

  “We can hire someone. Or have some family come down and stay with them. It’s just while I’m in the race.”

  35

  “Samantha, if you’re going to be in here at this hour, you’re going to have to learn how to deal with it.” Gail Erickson depresses the top on the can of spray tan and waves it around her legs. The aerosol fumes fill the twelve-by-eight-foot office that Gail and Samantha share.

  Samantha keeps reading her computer screen. She hadn’t complained and still doesn’t. It’s Gail trying to establish dominance.

  Gail says, “It would be easier on both of us if you were somewhere else between seven and nine a.m. You know I have to get ready and I’m going to be prancing around here in my thong.”

  Samantha doesn’t look up and the more Gail talks to herself, the weaker Gail feels. Gail is a correspondent with a regular segment on the nine a.m. broadcast of UBS-24. No one can know Gail for thirty minutes and not learn from her that she was Miss Nevada eleven years ago.

  Gail is all aggression and weakness. Only anchors have their own office and even some anchors share. Office space is generally negotiated in contract terms. Samantha enjoys sharing but not with Gail and her two racks of wardrobe and duffel bag of cosmetics. It would be easier to share with a guy.

  The office door starts to open, then there’s a knock as a face comes through sideways looking for Gail.

  “Jesus, Stacy, I could be naked in here,” says Gail louder than for just Stacy.

  Stacy is the producer of the nine a.m. show and knows Gail well enough to ignore her. She puts a folder with thirty pages of printed computer paper on Gail’s desk. It’s eight thirty. “Here’s your packet for the segment.”