Jim McGill 04 The Last Ballot Cast, Part 1

by Joseph Flynn

  He said he would give her a fifty percent bump over the previous offer WWN had made.

  “Carina,” he said, “you know how much I like you, but you also know I don’t make business decisions based on sentiment. You have a high TVQ.” Television’s likability quotient. “We get a bump every time you’re on camera. Please tell me you’ll at least read the proposed contract.”

  “I will, Sir Edbert — after my lawyer reviews it.”

  The old man laughed. “Of course. You know, nosy as I can be, I learned how you made the money to buy your boat. So I thought it only proper to provide you with a small token of my esteem, just for considering this contract offer.”

  She thanked Sir Edbert for being so thoughtful and clicked off.

  Money and gifts were all very nice, but she wanted to do something new.

  As she was weighing her thoughts a young man approached her boat, made sure he was speaking to Carina Linberg and handed her the keys and the title to a shiny new black Porsche Cayman. He pointed out the car in the marina lot.

  Compliments of Sir Edbert Bickford, he said.

  Carina said thank you, not knowing whether she’d keep the car or send it back. She’d had an idea of what she wanted to try next. Having published an autobiography, she thought it might be fun to try her hand at fiction.

  Not a novel, a TV pilot. About what she knew: women bomber pilots. She could reuse the title of her bio: Woman in Command. Working in make-believe this time, she could have the women come out on top. She’d start out with her heroine getting screwed in a divorce settlement. Have her commandeer a plane with a loaded bomb bay and go hunting for her ex. Knowing he and his new bimbo would be at a posh resort with others of their ilk.

  There’d be one good guy she’d meet as she schemed. Always had to be one good guy. After all, she’d had Lieutenant Welborn Yates.

  The sympathetic male would persuade her not to inflict mass casualties, but it would be a close thing. And, oops, she’d drop one bomb in the desert just outside the resort.To show her scumbag ex and his double scoop of silicone girlfriend what she could have done.

  Carina had gotten excited enough about the idea to see if she could find a creative writing class, preferably right there on the island. She heard about a lady writer who lived nearby on Fogarty Avenue, but while Susan Coates had been published and was willing to give lessons, she was a romance writer. Had a far different view of the male of the species.

  Susan wanted the man in her life to tear her clothes off.

  Not hit him with a thousand-pound bomb.

  Even so, Susan had given Carina a few good suggestions. Read widely in the genre in which she wanted to work and then study how the best writers working in that field told their stories, built their characters, used language in exposition and dialogue. Once Carina did that, she could see if there were any TV shows that appealed to the same sensibilities and write to the producers and ask if she might have a sample script so she could study the format the shows used.

  Carina had left Susan’s house with a bounce in her step. Now, she had a plan.

  On the way back to her boat, she’d stopped off at Mango Mary’s for a drink.

  And had teamed up with the laid back bartender to bounce the creep who came in.

  That had really put her in the mood to start writing her TV show, but first she had to do the homework Susan had outlined for her. That was okay. She knew how to study and she liked to work. She hit the nearest bookstore and bought a half-dozen paperback books and an e-reader.

  As for contacting the producers of TV shows, she was sure she could use her contacts at WorldWide News to help her out there.

  She started her assigned reading aboard her boat. A Daniel Silva novel. The clerk at the bookstore had told her vengeance was a major theme in Silva books. Just what she wanted.

  Sitting in the stern, she wore a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, sunglasses and zinc oxide on her nose. She made notes as she went along, analyzing how Silva took his story from one plot point to the next and copying down lines of dialogue she liked.

  She was getting into a real groove when she got two phone calls.

  One was from Sir Edbert Bickford. Not having heard from Carina in response to his previous offer, he was back with another. If she wanted to work a new beat, fine.

  Carina had left it to her agent to pass that tidbit along to Sir Edbert.

  He said she could do general interest news, politics, crime, whatever she wanted. She could work from Florida, file her stories from Miami, even make Key West her beat. Tell the rest of the country what it was like to live in one of America’s far corners.

  She’d need not do more than four stories per month. She could take up to three months to make up her mind. The money would be the same as the last offer, but as a favor to him she should keep the Porsche. He had no interest in becoming a used car dealer.

  Carina decided not only would the gig Sir Edbert had proposed give her the time she needed to pursue her writing plans, but with a media tycoon behind her, the chances of getting her TV show on the air were probably just a bit better. She could become a writer-producer. Get the created-by credit for her show.

  She told Sir Edbert to send the contract to her lawyer. As long as nobody tried to slip any funny clauses into the paperwork she’d accept his offer.

  The second phone call had a whole different tone.

  The general manager of the Waldorf resort called to report that he’d had an inquiry from a woman named Alice Tompkins who said she was the owner of a bar called Mango Mary’s. She said she had something very important to talk about with Ms. Linberg.

  Damn, Carina thought. She had mentioned her name to the bartender.

  Why’d she have to do that?

  What’d he tell her his name was … Jackie Richmond?

  Whatever. The manager at the Waldorf had said he couldn’t reveal who was or wasn’t a guest at the resort and had hung up, but he thought Ms. Linberg should know about the call. She thanked him and said goodbye.

  Considering the matter, Carina thought you never knew what a bartender might get up to, but she hadn’t gotten the impression the guy was a con man. Who knew about Alice Tompkins, though? Carina would have ignored the two of them except for a couple of concerns.

  What if they wanted to talk with her about the jerk she and Jackie had driven out of the bar? Maybe he was a vengeful creep. Maybe he had friends who were tougher than he was. If there was any chance she was in danger, she ought to know about it.

  Besides, as a wannabe writer, she thought she should always be on the lookout for good story material. There just might be some here. So she’d called Mango Mary’s and told Jackie and Alice they could meet her at her boat.

  In anticipation of receiving her guests, she stuck her LadySmith .38 in a pocket of her cargo shorts. And here they came now, eyeing the boats. Jackie did a double-take when he saw Carina’s new Porsche, like it meant something to him.

  As they walked the last stretch of jetty to where she sat, Carina saw it didn’t look like they’d come bearing glad tidings.

  White House Press Room

  Acting President Mather Wyman wore the same Henry Poole navy blue suit he’d worn often as vice president, but he felt it fit him better since he’d moved into the Oval Office. For one thing, he’d lost three pounds in recent weeks, something he’d attributed initially to stress. In response to the increased demands of his new job, though, he’d taken to eating more sensibly: less red meat more fruits and vegetables. He’d also begun a light but disciplined exercise routine: cardio and strength. He thought he stood straighter; his shoulders seemed broader, too.

  He also had his hair trimmed daily, got a barber’s shave each morning and had his skin moisturized. The total effect was nothing shocking, certainly not outlandish, but he’d still managed to look subtly younger and more … like a president.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said to the gathering of newspeople.

  As his eyes
scanned the room, he saw Kira and Welborn sitting along the wall to his right. It touched him that his niece had come to see him speak. She and Welborn made such a handsome couple. He’d never wanted to be anyone other than who he was, but he’d often envied the easy social acceptance straight couples had, especially the attractive ones.

  Wyman said, “In light of the recent tragic losses of two Supreme Court justices …”

  Aspen Lodge — Camp David

  The president and her henchman watched Mather Wyman on MSNBC.

  “…there has been a good deal of understandable speculation as to who will replace them. This guessing game had been made more intense because the High Court has never before lost two of its members at virtually the same moment, and because the president has temporarily and constitutionally delegated the powers of her office to me.

  “I hold as sacred both the trust Patricia Darden Grant has placed in me and the obligations I assumed when I became the acting president. Both of those considerations being equal, I nonetheless must take other factors into account as I go about my duties as acting president.

  “The first of these is I must do what I believe is right; that is the obligation of any man or woman who occupies the Oval Office. The next thing I must take into account is that much of what I do will set precedents for anyone else who finds himself or herself in my position. That being the case I want to be very thoughtful about what I do. The last matter I must reckon with is to keep a sense of proportion.

  “The length of time I will serve as acting president will be far shorter than the time I have been and will resume being the vice president. In matters such as the armed standoff in Richmond, Virginia, where lives were at stake and where it had to be made clear that our Union will not abide an armed rebellion, I will act swiftly.

  “That is not to say filling two vacancies on the Supreme Court is not a serious matter, but the Court is still able to operate and the odd number of remaining justices will be able to render decisions in which a clear majority will prevail. There has been some speculation in the media since the passing of Chief Justice Alberto Calendri and Associate Justice Titus Hawkins that I might nominate their replacements or at least suggest whom I think should be nominated.

  “I will, in fact, do neither of those things.”

  Patti and McGill shared a glance.

  White House Press Room

  “My respect for the president forbids me from doing either of those things. To speak even casually of the matter would be a betrayal of trust. My fervent prayer is that the president is regaining her full health and will be here to speak with you from this very spot in the near future.

  “Until that time, I will do my best to perform my job as she might do and has done these past three years. If there’s any speculation to be done, let the question be asked, ‘How would Patricia Darden Grant handle this matter?’ Then see how closely I come to that mark.”

  Welborn leaned close and whispered to Kira, “So it looks like no coup.”

  Indiana University — Bloomington, Indiana

  Sheryl Kimbrough and her fifteen students watched the television at the front of the classroom as Mather Wyman took questions from the assemblage of reporters at the White House. According to Sheryl’s book, there was no bull-puckey like that spread at Washington news conferences — and the double-talk came from both the politicians and the newsies.

  Objective reporting having withered to near extinction.

  Advocacy and equivalency coverage having choked it out faster than kudzu.

  Sheryl’s journalism class had been given its place in the university’s curriculum as a rear guard action in the hope that it might preserve islands of objectivity in a sea of partisan propaganda. Nobody was counting on one class and one teacher to reverse the tide. Not at first. The eventual goal, however, was the idea that all public figures would be made to respond clearly to fact-based reality.

  Sheryl’s students were expected to become the apostles spreading that gospel.

  Everyone in the classroom leaned forward as the reporter from the Cleveland Plain Dealer was called on to ask the first question. No one believed it was merely coincidence that a newsie from the acting president’s home state got to jump the queue ahead of the big names. Everyone was expecting a softball question that Wyman could knock out of the park.

  They were fooled completely. About the first part of the assumption.

  “Mr. Acting President, whatever your working relationship with the president, the oath you took on Inauguration Day was to the American people. Given that and the unique opportunity with which you’ve been presented, why shouldn’t you nominate whomever you think is best qualified to fill the vacant seats on the Supreme Court and not worry about whether you might offend anyone else, including the president?”

  His face deadpan, Mather Wyman said, “Alan, I can understand why you would ask that question, as you, like all your colleagues here, know that we politicians never miss an opportunity to offend as many people as we can.” Wyman cracked a grin to let everyone know it was okay to laugh, and they did. He added, “We’re also famous for taking risks and running about without covering our backsides.”

  That line played well in the Indiana classroom. Sheryl Kimbrough found herself warming to an old-time pol she’d always thought of as a bit of a stiff. She looked about and saw Wyman had engaged all of her students as well.

  Turning serious, Wyman said, “I was elected to serve the American people as their vice president. Nobody went to the polls three years ago thinking, ‘Let’s have old Mather make all the big decisions.’ Your question,” he told the reporter, “while technically correct, ignores the reality of governing. It is a job best done cooperatively. Commandments from on high should be left to the Almighty. Edicts from someone holding a job temporarily should be left unspoken altogether.”

  Reverting to the normal pecking order, the New York Times asked the next question. “Mr. Acting President, there’s little if any cooperation between the Republicans and the Democrats in Washington these days. The president has left the GOP while you have remained with your party. Don’t you owe it to those Americans who voted for you to at least let them know whom you think should become the next chief justice and associate justice?”

  Mather Wyman wanted to sigh, but offered no sign of displeasure.

  “What would happen if I did that, Roger? It would make a situation that’s difficult enough even worse. There would be those in my party who would say I should get at least one of my choices, and politicians, by their nature, would say that I should get my choice for chief justice. We’ll let the president have the other pick, as long as the person she wants is acceptable to us. I won’t play games with a court whose decisions can affect the lives of every person in our country. No one should.”

  The Los Angeles Times got the next crack at Wyman.

  “Mr. Acting President, your party, after the death of Speaker Geiger and with the rumored defection of Senator Hurlbert leaving to become a third party candidate for president, is in disarray. My question is, how much have you grown as a statesman from your time as acting president and do you feel that your unique experience would give you an advantage over anyone else the Republican Party might run for president?”

  Wyman allowed himself a chuckle. “Well, Lisa, I haven’t even lit a White House Christmas tree yet.” The press liked that one, too. “What I can tell you is that from the very first moment, this job is a real eye-opener. When you sit in the Oval Office behind the president’s desk, you realize that the well-being of the entire country depends on you doing the right thing, and it’s not a responsibility from which you can shrink.You have to rise up to meet it, and you’d better be quick about it. Having known a bit of that reality now, I would say I have some advantage.”

  The L.A. Times was quick to follow up.

  “Have you made a decision to run, sir?”

  Wyman said, “No, I haven’t.”

  Nobody believed him for a minute
. Not in the White House. Not in Camp David.

  Not in Indiana, where elector Sheryl Kimbrough thought: Good.

  I’d like to vote for this man and, lucky me, I get to vote twice.

  Aggie Wu called on the Chicago Tribune for the final question.

  “Sir, do you have any idea of when President Grant will return to office?”

  “Soon, Rick. But that’s just my feeling.”

  Camp David — Catoctin Mountains, Maryland

  McGill looked at Patti and said, “He fooled us. Didn’t give anyone except his own right wing anything to complain about.”

  “Most of them will be voting for Howard Hurlbert, so he didn’t lose much there.”

  “Nice allusion to Lincoln with that line about defending the Union.”

  The president nodded. “Didn’t even mention the great man by name but he got his point across. He didn’t let any of the questions throw him off stride. He addressed the reporters by name.”

  McGill said, “Had fair timing when he cracked his jokes, too … but nobody’s buying the idea he won’t run for the Republican nomination.”

  “Of course not, but he didn’t push it.”

  “This election looks like it will be tougher than last time,” McGill said.

  “Yes, it does.”

  Of course, Patti could have disqualified Mather Wyman simply by revealing that he was gay. But betraying his trust would be as dirty a political trick as the country had ever seen. She decided then and there she wouldn’t do that. It would haunt her the rest of her life and taint her second term. She would win or lose the election on her merits. She could live with that.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else might know Mather’s secret and leak it.

  The White House — Chief of Staff’s Office

  Galia Mindel looked to Stephen Norwood for his appraisal.

  “Biggest surprise since Susan Boyle sang on that English talent show.”