by Ridge King
So far as his part in the House battle January third was concerned, he knew he would support Thurston. Crampton promised to tell him if he heard of any moves to influence Matt to vote for St. Clair, but they both now doubted there would be any. Both men thought Thurston would win. It would just be a matter of trying to win on the first ballot.
Liz left him alone in his office, going out to finish some letters, and he mused for some time about the future. He wondered just what his limits were. He thought that in three or four terms he could be the junior senator from Wyoming. Walt Lafitte, the current senior senator, was old and expected to retire at the end of his term—four more years. Maybe he could run then. After the Senate, it would be a matter of creating a national following that he knew he could develop when he settled on the proper issues to take up. Eventually he might become prominent enough to be offered the Vice Presidential nomination at the convention. Nobody could tell what the future held for him, and, being an optimistic man, Hawkins thought only of the wonderful possibilities.
While Liz was still in the outer office, he called Sue in Jackson. He got the cleaning woman who told him that Sue’s mother, who’d had a cold before he left, had come down with pneumonia (Sue’s parents lived in Cheyenne) and Sue had gone over to be with her. Her father was an invalid. He called Sue on her cell phone.
“Hello, honey, what happened?”
“Mother’s pretty bad off. The doctor says he thinks she’ll get better, but it’ll take a couple of weeks at least,” said Sue. “Oh, Matt, I wish I could be with you.”
He smiled to himself. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m fine. Nothing much is going on down here. Not with me, anyway. Stay there as long as you have to and give her my best. I wish I could come back, but Bill Crampton says I ought to hang around—you never know what might happen with all that’s going on in this town.”
“What about your birthday?” she asked.
Matt thought of Thanksgiving Day, also his birthday.
“Don’t worry about that. With your mother the way she is, you won’t get down before then. I’ll try to get back there but can’t promise. Tell you what, we’ll celebrate twice as long when you come down.”
“You’ll be thirty, Matt. What do you want for your birthday?”
“Just you,” he said, smiling again to himself, knowing that he really didn’t. Someday he knew it would end, but now was not the right time. His mind was too busy thinking of the future—his future—and trying to get acclimated to Washington. It wouldn’t help for him to come to Washington as a freshman and promptly divorce his wife. He imagined the reaction in Wyoming—how the plain, simple people of that rugged state would speculate on the evils in Washington that caused a man to lose his head and give up a “good woman” like Sue.
“Just take care of everything there. I’ll be all right here. Take care and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“I love you, Matt,” she said. He frowned.
“I love you, too.
“ ’Bye now.”
“ ’Bye.”
A few minutes later, as he sat thinking more about Sue, Liz came in.
“I forgot to remind you, Matt, but this invitation to the National Geographic Society ball is still waiting to be answered. Do you want to go?”
“Naw,” said Matt lazily, with his hands clasped behind his head, “Sue can’t be here, so no need for me to go.”
“You ought to go. You haven’t got anything else to do. Anyway, Mr. Crampton’s secretary just called and she said he wanted to know if you’d like to go with him because he won’t be taking anyone. He thought Sue might not be in town yet.”
“That’s a thought,” said Matt casually. “I don’t care. I suppose so,” he said aimlessly. He wasn’t in the mood for social functions.
“It’ll be a good opportunity to meet people,” poked Liz.
“Liz, you ought to be in this chair, not me,” he said, smiling boyishly up at her. She smiled back, tilting her head at an angle.
“Don’t sass me, Congressman. Now I’m going to call Mr. Crampton’s secretary and tell her you’ll be delighted to go with him, and tomorrow night you better look delighted.” She went to leave, but turned at the door. “Oh yes, you’re going up to the Hill, aren’t you?” She was referring to Crampton’s earlier suggestion that he come up to the Capitol to meet him after the Democratic Caucus that morning.
“Yeah, Liz, in a little while. He said they’d meet for at least an hour, mainly to see how people were going to declare. I’ll go up in a little while,” he said, looking out his window at the cold, barren landscape of the Tidal Basin.
People said spring was simply beautiful in Washington. He couldn’t wait.
* * *
On the Hill that afternoon, the halls and cloakrooms of Congress were zany with activity. Outside the House Chamber where the Democrats were still caucusing, reporters waiting for members to file out were talking in loud groups. Anyone who passed was asked to comment. Microphones were set up awaiting the remarks of the Democratic leadership. St. Clair and Thurston were not to be seen and were known to be in their hotels waiting for the caucuses to end when they would begin making their rounds again, talking endlessly to individual members about their votes. It was rumored among the press that St. Clair had convinced Deaver Moldow, Democrat from Wisconsin, to switch his vote, pulling the state into the Republican column, but another rumor followed it that reported that Deaver Moldow hated St. Clair and wouldn’t vote for him if Thurston dropped dead January second.
Slanetti and his team were based in the Vice President’s formal office in the Senate Wing where administration officials often met before delivering legislation to Congress or during a hot debate on the Senate floor. Slanetti was getting ready to return to the House side of the Capitol, planning to catch some Democrats coming out of the caucus before they could slip away. He wanted to get in some routine face time—he had to make it look like he was lobbying for St. Clair using normal methods.
Duncan Olcott and Republican Whip Frank Holtzman of Connecticut were in Olcott’s office. Howard Forbes came over from St. Clair’s hotel to confer with them on St. Clair’s recent ideas regarding certain members. Olcott was a little put out. He knew Forbes wanted to come down from New York after St. Clair was in to get a Cabinet assignment.
Lamar Perryman, Overton, Rifkin and the rest of the Democrats were ending their caucus, which Overton had effectively run.
Slanetti and several of his staff came into the marble hallway outside the Chamber as the security guards opened the doors and the first Democrats filtered out.
Matt Hawkins also entered, but from another door, looking for Crampton.
The newsmen began to hover around the door, waiting for someone of consequence to step up and make a statement.
One grabbed Bernard Asterwood of Illinois by the coat sleeve before the congressman’s withering stare forced him to remove his grip. But the reporter began his questions.
“How will the Illinois delegation vote, Congressman?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I still don’t know how I’m going to vote.”
“Are you saying that yours will be the crucial vote in the delegation, Congressman?”
“Every member’s vote is crucial,” Asterwood snarled at the reporter.
Republican congressmen were drifting in, ready to begin their caucus and mixing with the Democrats. Duncan Olcott appeared with Frank Holtzman close behind. Perryman and Overton finally came out of the Chamber side by side and approached the microphones, where Aaron Macklin of Utah was telling the world that he would not change his vote from Thurston to St. Clair no matter what. He saw Overton coming up behind him and quickly concluded his remarks.
Overton stepped aside to let the speaker be the first to say something. Perryman had a glint in his eye and knew how much that little gesture galled Overton.
“The Democratic Party in caucus overwhelmingly supports Senator Thurston in his bid to be President. Because of the even divisi
on in some state delegations, however, we cannot be sure at this time if he will be elected on the first ballot. We will do all we can to assure such a victory. You may want to ask Mr. Overton here about some of the details,” he finished, stepping aside and nodding to Overton.
“I echo the Speaker’s comments. Except for a few isolated cases, the party will support Senator Thurston in the House. We are aware of the division that this election has caused, of the division in the country caused by the Sino-Russian issue, and naturally we assumed that this division would be reflected in the House membership. However, most Democrats wisely support Senator Thurston’s views and his policies. We anticipate he will win the House contest, if not on the first ballot, then shortly thereafter, because everyone is concerned about this crucial matter and no one wants to prolong it. As you know, a President must be inaugurated on January twentieth. The leadership believes that the senator will be confirmed long before the twentieth, in fact, probably on the third, when the new House meets, because this will be the very first order of business once the Electoral College votes are unsealed, counted and certified.”
He paused only slightly but a dozen reporters asked questions. Overton had more to say but decided to forget about it and answer questions.
“How many states does Senator Thurston have right now, Congressman?”
“That’s hard to say, but we estimate the number to be twenty-one, five short of winning.”
“Which states do you think will swing over?” asked another reporter and Overton smiled.
“Again, I couldn’t be too specific about that because we’re not sure. As you know, negotiations are going on in certain delegations that have even numbers of representatives from both parties. Which way these states will vote, if they break their ties, can’t really be estimated with any degree of accuracy at this point.”
As the questions went on, Matt, standing on the fringe of the excitement, saw Crampton standing behind the microphones talking to several other members. He went over and Crampton introduced him to Leland Masingale of Tennessee, Neil Scott of Montana and Adam Foster of Oregon. They were all giving Crampton a friendly hard time because he supported St. Clair.
“I’m mighty glad to meet you, Hawkins,” said Masingale good-naturedly. “I hear you’ll be voting for Thurston and that’s surely good to hear, yes sir. When this old coot goes home we can set Wyomin’ straight again,” he added, laughing and poking Crampton in the arm. Matt thought Masingale was an asshole redneck.
“Well, sir, I know my mind and my mind tells me that Thurston doesn’t know how to handle the Chinese,” said Crampton. “I know I won’t be voting when the time comes, but I’m still in this Congress and until I’m out I’ll vote my mind, thank you, Congressman.”
Scott was standing next to Hawkins and leaned over to speak to him quietly.
“Matt, we’re glad you’ll be with us on this. It’s not as clean cut as it might be in the voting. Thurston’ll need every vote he can get.”
“I made up my mind a long time ago,” said Matt. “I see no reason to change it.” Foster overheard him.
“Sometimes I think Washington exists for the sole purpose of getting people to change their minds,” he said, catching Matt’s attention from Scott.
“One thing I’m curious about is Oklahoma. Is John Fulton going to stick?” asked Masingale of his colleagues.
“Well, we all know what he thinks. He doesn’t like St. Clair or Russia. I’d hate to have to be the man to bring him over. But it looks like he’s on our side,” said Foster.
“And here comes the man who looks like he might have to do the convincing,” said Crampton, looking over his shoulder as he saw Slanetti passing by them. Slanetti saw Crampton and looked at the group before moving towards them. Scott, Masingale, and Foster were all on his list.
“Hello, Phil,” said Scott genially.
“Hello, Neil. What’s going on here, anyway?” asked Slanetti, smiling at them all. “Looks like a Thurston fan club to me, except for the good Mr. Crampton.”
“I know you’ll miss me, Phil,” said Crampton. He turned to Matt standing next to and slightly behind him. “Here’s the man who’ll be replacing me. He ran a good race back in Wyoming but I like him, anyway.”
Slanetti looked closely at Matt Hawkins. He knew his name well, his photograph from the dossier in Keystone and had been wondering when he would meet him.
“You’ll be Matthew Hawkins,” said Slanetti, extending his hand.
“It’s Matt. And you’re—?” No one had actually introduced them.
“This is Phil Slanetti, Matt,” said Scott.
Matt nodded quickly. He knew the name.
“Oh, of course, head liaison man, right? Of course,” and they shook. Slanetti was friendly and affable, deceptively so.
“We Republicans don’t really care which Democrat represents Wyoming, if it has to be a Democrat, but we wouldn’t have minded you losing to Bill just this once. We could use his vote—no secret about that. Couldn’t you have waited two years?” Slanetti asked jokingly.
Matt laughed, “I’m sorry, Phil, but if I’d known all this would develop I might have stayed out of it for my health,” he said, still smiling.
“I don’t suppose, gentlemen,” said Slanetti, rubbing his chin in mock thought, “that anyone here would be interested in talking about his vote?”
They all laughed with him. Slanetti shrugged.
“Well, let me get on about my work. There must be some Democrats here who can be made to see the light. See you later,” he said, walking away and waving back to them, heading towards a small group of Republican congressmen, prominent among whom was John Fulton of Oklahoma. Matt looked at Foster, an older man with wavy gray hair, who was looking at Slanetti’s back.
“He’s got guts walking up to John Fulton, even though he is a Republican. And he’s wasting his time. John told me his mind was made up. Slanetti will have a lot on the ball if he can unmake it for him,” said Foster.
The group broke up and Crampton took Matt aside between two columns where they could talk. Crampton spoke lightly.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about your position. It looks pretty good for your man Thurston in there, but he hasn’t got it sewn up yet. No, not yet. But there seems to be plenty of votes for him at this stage, more than I thought there’d be.”
“How did they take it when you voted for St. Clair?” Matt asked, listening carefully to every word Crampton said. Crampton chuckled.
“Oh, they snarled at me and I got a few catcalls, but your vote replaces mine when you take over. They were glad about that, believe me. With only one man from Wyoming, it’s an easy state to count on if that man is on your side.”
“What does everybody think about the war in China?”
“We’re all glad it’s settled down. If the fighting was still going on and our forces were still on alert, things would be a lot tenser than they are. But everybody knows Russia and China are just as interested as we are to see who’ll be President before they go flying off the handle, so we expect them to hold off awhile before getting back into the fight.”
Crampton suddenly changed the subject.
“I asked my aide to call your office before I came up here to find out about dinner tomorrow night. Do you want to come with me? Your wife couldn’t be in town yet.”
“She isn’t. I talked to her. I’ll be glad to go with you. It ought to be a pretty swank affair from what I hear.”
“Oh, it is, all the ‘beautiful people,’ as they say, will be there. Somehow, everybody in Congress is included in that nebulous term. Power, political or otherwise, is considered very beautiful in Washington.”
“Let’s go have lunch somewhere,” suggested Matt.
“Fine, I know a little place—good Italian food—right up on C Street. We can walk.”
As they left, the Republican caucus was getting underway. They passed Phil Slanetti walking back to the Vice President’s office in the other wing. The
y all smiled and said goodbye to each other.
Back in the Vice President’s office, Slanetti was exultant, but since none of his emotions ever showed, it wasn’t noticeable to look at him. He may have looked extremely pleased with the results of the Democratic caucus, but he was in fact jubilant. He already had a good idea what would happen in the Republican caucus, barring any unexpected changes. He was ready to move ahead.
He learned that Overton would announce the party would caucus at regular intervals to discuss the upcoming issue because it was such a great decision that he wanted to give the fullest possible exposure to both sides in weekly caucuses. Slanetti knew that he meant he wanted more time to work on individual members and have those he did convince to publicly announce their changes so that others might join the bandwagon, if one ever developed. But Overton’s plans meshed with his, so he was satisfied on that score. Slanetti still wasn’t sure if he wanted the Republicans to caucus or not.
Slanetti glanced down his final list of members he would try to blackmail:
Ernest Rylsky, R-Ariz.
Adam Foster, D-Ore.
Deaver Moldow, D-Wis.
Victor Berman, D-N.M.
Rebecca Isdel, R-Ind.
Wade Trexler, D-R.I.
Leland Masingale, R-Tenn.
Albert Delamar, D-Tenn.
Matt Hawkins, D-Wyo.
Wilbur Pettigrew, R-Del.
John Fulton, R-Okla.
Larry Kellerman, R-Nev.
Corley Searles, R-Neb.
Aaron Macklin, R-Utah.
Harry McArdle, R-N.D.
Calvin Brown, D-Ill.
Samuel Carberry, D-Ill.
Bernard Asterwood, D-Ill.
Neil Scott, D-Mont.
There were eighteen men and one woman on the target list. Not all were essential votes. Of the three from Illinois, only one was needed since all eleven Republicans, Slanetti thought, would hold out under Olcott’s leadership.