mcteer: Joe! Just don’t have the vote if you don’t have to have the vote!
clark: I’ve staked everything on this budget, and all my credibility rests on getting it passed. Right now.
mcteer: No, I get it, it means a lot, but—
clark: Maureen. Maureen. It means everything. If I can’t do it now, I can’t do it. It can’t be done. There are terms on which I can do the job, and if they get tossed out, I don’t want the job.
mcteer: I see. Okay.
A pause.
So that’s it. I can’t convince you to do the sensible thing?
clark: Not at the expense of the right thing, no.
mcteer: And I’m on the record as trying to talk you out of this incredibly dumb thing you’re bent on doing? I’ve tried, right, to keep you from throwing away your government, your job, everything?
clark: So noted, yes.
mcteer: Joe Clark. I just fucking—
clark: Sweetie?
mcteer: I love you so hard, Joe Clark. I love you so much.
clark: I love you too.
mcteer: I’m so happy!
clark: You are?
mcteer: You have no idea! Because I’ve made sure you have no idea! Oh, Joe! I hate this fucking place so much!
clark: You—
mcteer: And now maybe it’s over! Oh God! I loathe all of this so! The dimwittedness, the naked but pointless power mongering! The people! Oh God! And the relentless, crushing sexism of the place! If I have one more hand on my ass at a motherfucking cocktail party—do you know when the queen mother came to town a couple of months ago I was introduced to her as Mrs. Clark over and over again!
Projection:
McTeer kept her surname after they married; people considered this evidence of Clark’s weakness.
clark: Who did?
mcteer: They all did! They all do it when you’re out of earshot! Everyone calls me Mrs. Clark! Especially the wives. And they did it that day, those women, to humiliate me. I walked the queen mother to her car at the end of the lunch and she looked me right in the eye and called me Ms. McTeer. She pointed out that her daughter had kept her name, and if it was good enough for the queen of England, then it was probably good enough for me. I could have kissed her. But think about it, Joe: the people around here aren’t as progressive as the British fucking monarchy!
clark: That’s some BS right there.
mcteer: This place is small-minded and hateful and if you’re willing to give it all up on principle, Joe Clark, then I’m so happy I could fuck you right in half.
clark: Hee hee hee.
mcteer: C’mere!
clark: No, I, no, darling? Darling. As much as I’d like you to . . . do that thing you said, I’m not giving up. I’m going to lose the vote, then have the election, come back with a majority, and then pass exactly the budget bill I want, with the full consent and mandate of the people.
mcteer: You’re willing to take that chance?
clark: What chance? They just elected us. Literally nothing has changed since they did that. And if we’re smart about allocating resources in the campaign, I’m sure we can pick up the few seats we need for a majority.
mcteer: Is that what your polling is telling you?
A beat.
clark: Uhhh.
mcteer: What.
clark: Well, we’ve been busy, and, uhh . . .
mcteer: When was your last poll?
clark: Well. We’ve been really busy, and—
mcteer: Joe! No polling? What!
clark: Yeah, it’s . . .
mcteer: So, basically, Joe Clark, you’re freeballing this whole thing?
clark: Uhh, uh huh.
mcteer: That’s it. I can’t stand it anymore. Take those things off.
mcteer advances on clark’s pants. Flora macdonald appears at the door.
Projection:
Flora MacDonald.
macdonald: Joe— Oh, hi, Maureen.
mcteer: Hi, Flora.
macdonald: You still writing the bar exams?
mcteer: I had real estate this morning.
macdonald: Everybody says bar exams are staggeringly dull. How are you finding them?
mcteer: I’m finding them almost comically aphrodisic.
macdonald: Super. Well, I don’t want to interrupt, just wanted to say, Joe, the diplomatic pouch we’ve been waiting for has arrived.
clark: Great. Good.
mcteer: I’d better go. Keep me posted?
clark: You bet.
She kisses him.
mcteer: See you soon, Flora. Merry Christmas if we don’t.
macdonald: Merry Christmas, Maureen.
mcteer goes.
Do you want to see the CIA’s handiwork before we send the fake passports to Iran?
clark: God, no. Yes. I’d better take a look.
macdonald: I’ll send over the pouch.
clark: Thanks.
macdonald: We still on for later?
clark: Sorry?
macdonald: The vote. We still having a budget vote later?
clark: Far as I know, yes.
macdonald: You know, I’ve been at this a while.
Projection:
Flora MacDonald started as John Diefenbaker’s secretary. His secretary.
clark: Sure.
macdonald: I’ve seen some things.
clark: I bet.
macdonald: Never seen anything like you.
clark: I’m not special.
macdonald: Not out there you’re not. But here? Around here, you’re like a unicorn.
clark: In that I mostly don’t exist.
macdonald: What an odd thing to say.
clark: I have a theory that people cling to power, focus on it to the point of hysteria, because it’s a proxy for life itself. People who have had a taste of power, it feels like life, like being alive. And they become desperate to keep it because losing it is too much like death.
macdonald: Huh.
clark: But I’ve never been afraid of death. I don’t know why. Too dumb I guess. I’m more afraid of living a wasted life.
macdonald: Joe Clark, philosophic unicorn death-baiter.
clark: You can put that under my official prime ministerial portrait.
Projection:
It was 2008 before Clark’s portrait was put up in Parliament.
macdonald: See you around.
clark: See you later.
She turns to go. Brian mulroney is at the door. Projection:
Brian Mulroney.
macdonald: Oh! Hello, Brian. Where did you come from?
mulroney: I was just . . . around.
macdonald: Creepy.
She goes.
mulroney: She’s great. Hey!
clark: Brian. How are you?
mulroney: Nothing. I was just in the neighbourhood.
clark: O . . . kay.
mulroney: Thought I’d say hi.
clark: How’re things at IOC?
mulroney: You know, if you ever find yourself running a steel company, I recommend doing it while commodity prices are booming.
Projection:
After he lost the PC leadership to Clark in 1976, Mulroney became a vice president at Iron Ore Company of Canada. By 1979 he was President.
clark: Uh uh uh!
mulroney: You’ll look like a genius.
clark: You look hale, at any rate.
A beat.
Healthy, I mean.
mulroney: I quit drinking.
clark: Really! You!
mulroney: Had to do it.
clark: Doctor’s orders?
mulroney: Mila’s. Anyhoo, just stopping by. Just saying hi.
> clark: Okay.
A pause.
So . . .
mulroney: Look. Whatever happens. I want you to know the party’s behind you. Whatever happens. I’ve been authorized to tell you that.
clark: Well, thanks, Brian. I appreciate that.
mulroney: whatever happens.
clark: Okay. Thanks.
mulroney: Including, and this I know might seem far-fetched: including the possibility you’ll lose tonight’s vote.
clark: Great. I appreciate it.
mulroney: How’s it looking, by the way?
clark: It’s, well, it’s gonna be tight.
mulroney: Yeah . . .
clark: Yeah.
mulroney: That’s the word around town, yeah.
clark: Yeah.
A pause.
mulroney: So, um, anyway. Have you given any thought to any . . . Actions you might take in the next little while?
clark: You mean, as regards the vote?
mulroney: No. I mean, I guess I mean, um. Well: you know the party brass has been a little confused by your approach to patronage appointments over the last few months.
clark: They have?
mulroney: Oh, yeah. This is news to you?
clark: No. I guess not.
mulroney: Joe. You haven’t appointed anybody. To anything.
clark: I’ve been busy.
mulroney: I get it; but, Joe, you did not win that election alone. There are a lot of people who helped you, right?
clark: Sure.
mulroney: Well, some of them expect something for their help.
clark: As they should. I know how things work, and I’m happy to see that positions are filled with people that deserve them.
mulroney: Are you? Are you, Joe, because—
clark: Look. I’ve been busy. It’s a minority government, and, well, you’ve got eyes, I’ve had a rough few months.
mulroney: Sure. The budget alone . . .
clark: It’s eating up a lot of time. So while I appreciate—
mulroney: Joe, I’m gonna stop you there. The fact is you haven’t made any appointments, true?
clark: True. But—
mulroney: We think you should.
clark: Okay. In the new year I’ll put a committee together to look at making some appoint—
mulroney: No. Now.
clark: Now?
mulroney: In case, you know . . .
clark: In case what?
mulroney: (looking around) In case the otevay doesn’t ogay your ayway.
A beat while clark deciphers this.
clark: You want me to appoint some people right now, in case I lose the budget vote?
mulroney: Yeah.
clark: And just how many appointments would you like me to make in the few minutes remaining before the vote?
mulroney: Ah! Hang on.
mulroney digs in a pocket. He comes up with two typewritten pages, stapled together. He consults the second page.
A hundred and three. No, wait, that doesn’t sound right.
He digs around in the same pocket. Comes up with another page.
This one came off. Uhhh . . . ah! A hundred and eighty-three.
clark: You’re kidding.
mulroney: Our understanding is, get this into the clerk of the Privy Council’s hands right now, and they happen. Even if the vote later doesn’t, you know, happen for you.
clark: I can’t do it.
mulroney: Sorry?
clark: I won’t do it.
mulroney: Uh, Joe, this needs to happen.
clark: This is a minority government. I can’t start slinging pork when we have such a tenuous hold on power.
mulroney: My understanding is, Joe, that’s precisely when you have to do it. Here.
clark: No. I won’t take your list.
mulroney: Here!
clark: No! Brian! No!
mulroney: Take it!
clark: No!
mulroney: Take it!
They’re struggling awkwardly. mulroney gives up.
Listen. You—if you lose this fucking thing, and you run in an election, there are a lot of people who aren’t going to pick up the phone when you call around looking for help.
clark: If I run in an election, I can’t do it looking like some slimy opportunist who made a hundred and eighty-three appointments just before losing office.
mulroney: You stupid . . . I mean, you’re just dumb. I can’t believe I—
clark: What. You can’t believe you what?
mulroney: Nothing.
clark: You can’t believe you lost to me?
mulroney: I mean, who are you? You’re nobody! I lost to a nobody who can barely speak French and has no standing in Quebec. You know why I lost to you? The only reason? I spent too much money! Can you believe it! I spent too much money, looked too professional, and the Robert Stanfield hicks in the party went: oh, Mulroney’s too slick, too smart; he looks too much like he should be the next prime minister; no, forget him, we’d better choose the doofus from out West who looks like he fell off a turnip truck! If turnips were made out of brown fuckin’ corduroy!
clark: Probably you should go, Brian.
mulroney: I mean, if I didn’t have such a sweet job now, I probably would have killed myself after losing to you.
Projection:
Mulroney entered a significant depression after losing the leadership to Clark. Recovering from it prompted him to quit drinking.
I’m doing something important now. I’m running a company that actually has an impact on people’s lives, and I’m making a difference to people. People need steel. Everyone does.
clark: That’s great, Brian; I’m happy you landed on your—
mulroney: And I’m making four times what you make. More! Like five times.
clark: Brian. Brian! I get it. And I’m glad for you. But I’ve got a thing in a little bit, and it’s kind of important, and I wonder if—
mulroney: I’ve done important things too!
clark: Yes, I know, I—
John crosbie is at the door. He doesn’t immediately see mulroney. Projection:
John Crosbie.
crosbie: Joe! Listen. The bathroom attendant in the parliamentary restaurant, his name is Claude, you know him, well, turns out he’s from Corner Brook. If we can get three or four Liberals or NDPs into the bathroom just before the vote, Claude can lock the door and they’ll be trapped—
clark: John. John!
crosbie stops. He sees mulroney. In crosbie’s current state, mulroney’s presence here is too much to process.
crosbie: What’s he doing here? what is he doing here?
mulroney: Hey, John Crosbie . . .
clark: He was just—
crosbie: What in the holy name of fuck is going on here?
clark: Nothing. John! John. Nothing’s going on. Brian was just leaving. Will you walk him out?
crosbie: Okay, but—
clark: Brian, thanks for stopping by. I’ll talk to you soon.
mulroney: Do the thing I said. The list.
clark: I’ll think about it.
mulroney: Do it, you pile of dirt!
clark: Oookay. See you soon. Okay, Brian? Okay, John? Talk to you later, okay?
crosbie and mulroney are leaving, practically hand in hand.
crosbie: So, how’s the private sector?
mulroney: I make a shit-ton of money. I wouldn’t come back to politics if you paid me . . .
They’re gone. But crosbie returns and sticks his head in the door.
Projection:
John Crosbie.
crosbie: (whisper-shouting) claaaaaauuuuude! froom coooorner brooooook!
cla
rk: Uh huh. You bet. Okay, John.
clark’s alone. He goes to the stereo, hits a button. It plays Diana Krall: “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” The music is soft.
Projection:
Oh God, more reading:
After Clark lost the 1980 election the PCs held a party conference. Part of the conference was a leadership review, standard procedure after an election loss.
Brian Mulroney paid Clark’s point man in Quebec, Rodrigue Pageau, to spy on Clark.
An anti-Clark faction in the PC leadership, angry over his lack of patronage appointments, bought party memberships for hundreds of people and flew them to the convention. These new delegates were paid in cash and instructed to vote against Clark. Clark’s support at the convention came in at 66.9%.
Although many thought this was a strong enough endorsement of his leadership, Clark chose to resign and run against Mulroney for the leadership of the party.
After 4 ballots, Mulroney defeated Clark and became leader of the party, despite the fact he had never been elected to public office in his life.
At least some of the cash that bought the convention delegates came from a lobbyist whose client later received an enormous contract from the Mulroney government.
clark sits. He puts his face in his hands.
A young man appears at the door. He’s holding a canvas pouch with the seal of the United States on it. clark finally notices him.
clark: Hi.
Nothing from the young man.
Is that . . . ?
Still nothing.
Son. Is that for me?
young man: Yes. Yes, sir. Sorry.
clark: Well, c’mere.
He brings the pouch to clark. clark unzips the bag. The young man is leaving.
Stay. I just want to have a look at this, then you can return it to Minister MacDonald.
young man: Okay. Sorry.
clark: No no.
The young man waits. The music continues. clark takes out a passport, flips through it.
He stops at a page. Examines something. Closes the passport. He’s about to return it to the pouch when he stops. He looks closely at a stamp in the passport.
What the . . .
He takes out another passport, checks a stamp in it. He shoves the passport in the pouch, and stares at the ceiling.
Aw, c’mon.
He shuts off the music.
young man: Sir?
clark: In Iran. The calendar they use is . . . ?
young man: Pretty sure they use the Persian calendar in Iran.
1979 Page 4