“Which is?”
“Which is that the people proposing these changes are hopelessly behind the times. Come on! Increased fertility? Reduced transitions? What kind of nonsense is that in this day and age?”
The idea had merit. It would be easy to associate the Bright Spots proposal with her assigned title, Breeders. She would fulfill her promise to let Kevin make his case in his own words, and she was confident she could also link the ideas to a religiously extreme mind-set.
“Don’t worry, Paul,” she said. “I promise you the editorial board will be pleased.”
“That’s good,” he replied. “Because all eyes are on this one, love.”
The call ended.
Julia thought of four million transition volunteers as her eyes fell on the words President Lincoln once spoke about previous national heroes.
FROM THESE HONORED DEAD WE TAKE INCREASED DEVOTION TO THAT CAUSE FOR WHICH THEY GAVE THE LAST FULL MEASURE OF DEVOTION—THAT WE HERE HIGHLY RESOLVE THAT THESE DEAD SHALL NOT HAVE DIED IN VAIN.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Julia entered Kevin’s office ten minutes before the two o’clock start of the austerity committee session. A small team of interns rushed about handling Troy’s final-detail commands.
“You replaced yesterday’s trend graph with the one I sent this morning?” he asked the back of a head that was facing a computer screen.
“Yes, sir.” The young man swiped his display. “Here it is.”
Troy moved closer, confirmed the change, and gave an affirming nod. “Thank you, Shaun.” He placed his hand on the intern’s shoulder. “I guess we’re ready to send it.”
“Good thing, seeing as how the meeting starts in eight minutes!” Shaun said as he moved his finger toward a SEND icon at the top right corner of the screen. He froze his extended hand. “Speak now or forever…”
“We’re out of time,” Troy said. “Do it.” A field commander reluctantly advancing his outnumbered troops.
The intern tapped the screen, placing the confidential document onto thirteen digital tablets soon to assemble in a nearby conference room.
Julia watched Troy for a moment, a man standing at the intersection of elation and unease. “Hello, Troy.”
He turned toward her voice and offered a welcoming grin. “Hello, Ms. Davidson.” He sounded like a man eager to escort a lovely debutante to the ball.
“Nerve-racking, isn’t it?” she asked.
“You could say that.”
“I get the same feeling every time I send a column. I just know it could be a little better if only I had a few more minutes to change a word here and there.”
He smiled. “It’s only the most important presentation Kevin may ever give. I should have an endless window for tweaks, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure it’s great.”
He took one last look around the room, apparently running through a mental checklist. The final item confirmed, Troy darted into his office to retrieve a suit jacket hanging over his chair. “Shall we go?” he asked while reaching back awkwardly for the second armhole.
“Aren’t we forgetting your boss?”
“He went over fifteen minutes ago. Wanted to confirm your attendance with Anderson.”
“Anderson?”
“Brent Anderson. He runs the austerity coalition for Franklin.”
“Is he the one they call Franklin’s Scalpel?”
“One and the same. But I like him. He’s managed to keep soapboxing and grandstanding to a minimum so the committee could move quickly.”
“He approved my attendance?” Julia asked.
“His office sent the OK last night in reply to Kevin’s message explaining your deal. You attend as our guest with the assurance everything you hear in the meeting will remain off the record until Congressman Tolbert approves going public.”
The description made Julia claustrophobic as the walls of journalistic freedom closed in. She tried to remain optimistic by telling herself the gamble would pay off.
“Right. Any concerns?”
“No. Kevin just wanted to confirm it with Anderson in person to avoid misunderstandings. He’s got good instincts about that sort of thing.” Troy moved in front of Julia to open the door. “After you.”
She walked through as Troy quickly thanked the team of exhausted well-wishers staying behind in the office.
A flight of stairs and a few hundred feet later they entered a room where twenty chairs surrounded a long conference table. Smaller seats lined the walls on either side. Julia immediately noticed Kevin Tolbert leaning into a man sitting at the head of the table, presumably Brent Anderson. She also recognized the woman seated in the middle who, seeing Julia enter the room, motioned toward her.
“Excuse me, Troy,” Julia said. “I need to say hello.”
Troy appeared concerned. “You know Trisha Sayers?”
“We’ve met once before,” she said casually. “I’ll be right back.”
Julia continued scanning the room while Trisha gushed flattery over her blouse and shoes. A few other faces seemed vaguely familiar, quick images flashed on the television whenever Congress sat listening to the president’s State of the Union address. Gradually the wheat began to distinguish itself from the chaff as other official coalition members joined Tolbert, Anderson, and Sayers sitting at the conference table. The other two dozen attendees found chairs against the wall. Like Troy, most of them placed an open tablet on their laps from which they could deliver on-cue talking points to a boss’s screen four feet away.
The room quieted from informal chatter toward a gradual hush as each member noticed the time. Trisha patted Julia’s hand, a new-best-friend gesture doubling as a condescending dismissal. She moved quietly to the open seat beside Troy, who held his head at a slight bow.
“Sorry. Everything good?” she asked.
“This is it,” he whispered anxiously.
In contrast to her host, Julia felt a sudden wave of confidence. The only journalist in the room, she had managed to gain exclusive access to a presentation likely to stir tremendous controversy. Over the next hour she would receive the intelligence needed to craft the most important feature story of her career, one that might very well put her back on top of the RAP journalistic empire. This was going to be a good day.
“Thank you all for arriving on schedule,” Brent Anderson began. “You all know it goes against every fiber of my being to say it, but I need to delay our start a few minutes.”
Troy raised his head and looked directly toward Kevin. Both seemed troubled by the departure from protocol.
The doors opened. Senator Franklin walked in with an entourage of five or six others.
“It appears that delay will be unnecessary,” Anderson said. “I guess even my boss fears arriving late to one of my meetings,” he added with a slight chuckle.
“My apologies, everyone,” Franklin said. “Please, carry on.”
“They didn’t tell us Franklin was coming,” Troy whispered to Julia.
All eyes watched Josh Franklin as he took a seat beside Trisha Sayers, to her obvious delight, while the other newcomers slid into remaining open spots along the wall.
“Before today’s presentation I’d like to wrap up one matter from our last meeting.” Anderson glanced at his tablet. “The coalition voted ten to three in favor of the neutral consent confirmation proposal presented by Representative McGurn. But in hopes of reaching unanimous consensus we asked the congressman to recommend alternative language that would accommodate concerns raised by the minority. I’ll let Mr. McGurn explain.”
“You’ll find the revised wording on your tablet now,” McGurn began. “Please open the document titled Neutral Consent Draft Two and follow along.”
He read the document aloud. Despite lawyer language, Julia caught the gist. The fiscal austerity coalition would recommend making it harder for transition volunteers to sidestep co-approval. Mere digital signatures would no longer suffice. Clinics would be required t
o obtain fingerprint confirmation by a neutral party. “I believe adding the fingerprint requirement will satisfy Dr. Richert’s concerns over potential abuses in the system.”
“Doctor?” Anderson asked.
No comment. The doctor gave a solitary nod, as if reluctantly coerced to accept minor edits to a useless proposal.
“All in favor of the amended language?” Anderson hurried on.
A dozen hands went in the air. Anderson’s followed, making the recommendation unanimous.
“Done.” He handed the meeting to Kevin. “Representative Tolbert.”
Julia glanced at the nameplate sitting on the conference table in front of the intense-looking gentleman who had prompted the fingerprinting proposal. She typed DR. BRYCE RICHERT into her search field to learn more about the mysterious yet obviously influential man. Details immediately populated her screen: head of obstetrics and gynecology for a network of regional hospitals who had five grown children and a dozen grandkids.
Julia jotted herself a note: Research Dr. Richert.
She turned back to see Kevin standing. He scanned the delegates like a rookie skier mentally preparing for his first downhill run.
“You should have received an executive summary of my presentation on your tablets just before this meeting began.”
He looked toward Troy, who winked confirmation of delivery.
“Please open the document labeled Bright Spots Proposal if you wish to follow along.”
Julia circled the table with her eyes, trying to pick up body language clues. Not surprisingly, Trisha’s posture evoked images of a stubborn child holding her breath to protest the dab of spinach on her plate. Senator Franklin, by contrast, appeared eager to learn more about the young congressman’s innovative idea.
It was then that she lost her ability to focus. Just over Franklin’s shoulder she noticed the smug face of one of the senator’s tardy guests. It was Monica Garcia, apparently pleased to finally catch Julia’s eye.
How on earth did she get in here? Julia fumed. She quickly reached the only available conclusion. Paul had thrown Julia the scraps by connecting her to Nicole Florea and Trisha Sayers. As usual, he had reserved the prime cut for Monica.
Anger quickly morphed into alarm. Inside access to a presidential hopeful would trump anything Julia might write from the perspective of a mere first-term congressman. She wondered whether Paul even intended to publish Julia’s story. Was the whole assignment a charade?
Don’t be ridiculous! she scolded herself. Why would he waste my time and his? Why bother badgering me for progress? Why suggest a story angle and title so perfectly suited to my reputation?
Julia willed herself past a budding paranoia by reminding herself of the facts. Monica might have had what it took to earn a senator’s favors, but she didn’t have the journalistic instincts necessary to craft a convincing exposé on an entire subculture like the breeders. Julia might have been forced to remain in the bullpen the past few seasons, she told herself, but she remained the most experienced, strongest pitcher on the RAP team. And Paul Daugherty knew it.
Shifting her eyes back toward Kevin as he began the most important presentation of his political life, Julia recognized the time had come to write the most compelling story of her fading career.
Part Three
Chapter Forty
Kevin paused at his own front door, watching the vapor of his breath dissipate in the chilly midnight air. He would have preferred walking through its threshold five hours earlier, the excited squeals of children greeting their daddy to put the icing on the cake of an already amazing day. He imagined his darling wife waiting up for him, eager to hear about the big presentation. He would have given her a long kiss in self-congratulation on a job well done mixed with gratitude for a better-than-expected outcome.
He knew, of course, that Angie and the kids would be sound asleep. So he stood beneath the dim glow of a single bulb, exhaling long streams of misty joy into its light, a contented boy rewarding himself with small marvels.
Thank you, he prayed in silence, smiling upward before reaching to unlock the door.
As expected, he entered a dark house. Placing his tablet on the entry table he moved toward the kitchen, hoping to find a snack worthy of the moment. He opened the refrigerator to find the usual assortment of condiments, dairy products, and fruit. Nothing exciting like leftover cake. Retrieving the half-empty carton of milk he opened the pantry to seek a perfect accomplice. A box of Tommy’s favorite sugar cereal sat seductively at eye level. It was normally off-limits to Dad, but Kevin decided tonight was different. This day deserved the simple reward of crispy flavor doused in fresh milk.
While relishing his third mouthful Kevin noticed the lovely form of his wife glowering in his direction. Her arms were crossed sternly like those of a cop catching a burglar in the act. A guilty smile forced a drop of milk from the side of his mouth. She laughed quietly and approached.
“What am I going to do with you?”
His eyes moved up and down to admire her thin nightgown. “I bet I can think of something.”
A tiny dimple showed beneath a slight blush. Angie slid behind Kevin and wrapped her arms around his back. “It went well today?” she asked.
“Very well.” He moved the bowl aside and turned around on his bar stool to face her, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her body close. “So well I wanted to celebrate. I figured you were asleep so I settled for this bowl of contraband. But you look much more appetizing!”
“Behave,” she pretended to protest. “First tell me what happened.”
He patted the stool beside him, inviting his wife to sit.
“I was given fifteen minutes to make my case and fifteen for questions,” he began. “But the questions and discussion stretched into two hours!”
“Is that good?”
“I didn’t think so at first. There were lots of objections that became arguments. By the time I reached my allotted time I figured the whole proposal was going down in flames. But rather than cut off the discussion to call for a vote, Anderson kept extending our time. He would look toward Franklin—”
“Senator Franklin was there?” Angie interrupted.
“He was.”
“Did that make you nervous?” She reached over to rub Kevin’s arm.
“At first. I wanted to work through any committee objections before he saw it. But then I noticed Anderson making eye contact with Franklin moments before each time extension. A slight nod cued Anderson to keep the conversation alive.”
“For two hours? I thought you said Anderson was a schedule stickler.”
“Exactly! I figured there was only one possible reason Anderson kept the conversation going. A quick vote would have killed my idea. Franklin must have wanted me to overcome each objection.”
“Did you?”
“Enough of them to win the day.” His voice had a mock braggadocio’s tone. “You’re looking at a boy who spent his day defeating giants!”
“Like Trisha Delisha?”
“She was the most vocal. No matter what I said she shot back a hostile, usually harebrained complaint.”
“I still don’t understand why that woman is in the coalition.”
“I’ll tell you why. She will become important when the time comes to go public with the austerity proposals. Franklin is no dummy. He knows the medicine will go down much easier if presented by a spoonful of sugar like Trisha Sayers.”
An icy glare told Kevin Angie didn’t appreciate the analogy.
“Anyway, we got nine votes. That’s two more than we needed to include the bright spots concept in the final bundle of proposals.”
“Bundle?”
“I expect Franklin will want to present three or four big ideas to address the crisis, each targeting a different economic segment. That’s how he’ll garner a broad base of support.”
Both sat quietly for a moment, Angie’s fingers squeezing Kevin’s in a show of pride in her husband’s ac
complishment.
“What about the transition idea?” she asked.
“They cut me off at the knees on that one weeks ago. Trying to reduce transitions was a bridge too far.”
“I thought the whole idea was to replicate what happens in bright spot regions.” Her words seemed pregnant with concern.
“Politics is about getting what you can,” he said. “I got half of what I wanted. Franklin will propose a package that includes tax credits for new parents. That’s a pretty big win that should make it easier to choose parenthood.”
A slight delay. “I’m sure it will. And you should be proud.”
“But?” he prodded.
“Well. I just wonder whether one bright spot trait will have much impact without the other. Are you sure increased fertility alone will help? I mean, it took both of us to make a baby. Neither of us could have created a child alone.”
Kevin looked into Angie’s eyes, trying to decipher whether she was seducing him or instructing him.
“Isn’t it the combination of the two trends that creates economic strength? One without the other seems, I don’t know, like a single spouse trying to create half a baby.”
The comment sobered Kevin’s celebration.
How could I have made such an obvious mistake?
It was a serious leap in logic to assume high fertility accounted for 50 percent of bright spots’ economic growth. It had never occurred to him or to Troy, who usually thought of such things, that both were crucial parts of a single whole. One without the other might be useless.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he confessed dolefully.
Angie patted Kevin’s shoulder. “Well, let’s not worry about that now. Just because you have another battle to fight tomorrow doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate today’s victory.”
She moved him sideways on the stool and climbed onto his lap to wrap her body tightly around his torso while touching the tips of their noses together.
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