by Stuart Woods
Melfi sat, staring at her, speechless.
The chairman spoke up. “Mr. Melfi, do you have any further questions for this witness?”
“Ah, no, Mr. Chairman, not at this time.”
“Do you wish to recall your previous witness, Mr. Sheedy, for rebuttal testimony?”
“No, Mr. Chairman,” Melfi replied.
“Special Agent Bach,” the chairman said, “you are excused, with the committee’s gratitude.”
Shelly closed her briefcase, rose, and left the room, followed by the lens of every camera.
“We will continue with the questioning of Governor Stanton,” the chairman said.
22
Will, now up and dressed, switched off the TV in his suite, which had been tuned to C-SPAN. “That was very satisfying,” he said to Kitty. “Good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have you the seating chart for the dinner this evening?”
“Not yet, sir, they’re still working on it. All the guests have given at least one hundred thousand dollars to the Democratic National Committee, so they’re being very careful about the seating arrangements.”
“Did anyone besides Charlene Joiner give a million dollars?”
“Yes, sir. Helene Branley, the widow of William, former head of Branley Industries. She’s ninety years old.”
“Will she be at the dinner?”
“That’s in doubt, sir; she’s a bit frail.”
“I want her there, even if she’s in a wheelchair,” Will said, “or, if that doesn’t work for her, a gurney. And get me the chairwoman of the event on the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
***
Back in his borrowed office at the White House, Martin Stanton made a cell-phone call to Sacramento.
“Hello?”
“Did you watch this morning?”
“Every minute of it. You were superb.”
“It did go well, didn’t it. What’s-his-name looked like a complete ass.”
“What’s-his-name certainly did.”
“How are you?”
“Horny.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’d love to. When?”
“In a few months.”
“Oh. I made a formal application to the potential employer yesterday.”
“Good. I expect I’ll hear about it soon, but I’ll have to keep the whole business at arm’s length. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course. It’s better for both of us.”
“I’ll be in town for a day, you know that?”
“Of course.”
“We have to be very careful while I’m there; we can’t act on our feelings.”
She sighed. “I know. You can depend on me.”
His phone began ringing. “Hang on. I’ve got a call.” He picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“The president for you, Governor Stanton,” the White House operator said.
“Of course.” He whispered into the cell phone. “Gotta run.” He cut off the cell call.
“Marty?”
“Yes, Will.”
“I watched the second half of the hearing, and I thought it went brilliantly.”
“Yes, it did. I don’t know who that agent was, but she was perfect.”
“I’d never heard of her, either, but I suspect Bob Kinney sent her for a reason.”
“A very apparent reason. How’s it going in L.A.?”
“Ask me tomorrow. I’ve got to get through this fund-raiser tonight.”
“I know, all the heavy hitters.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a room with that much money,” Will said.
“I’m sure it won’t be the last room like that. How do you feel about running against Bill Spanner?” The Republicans had nominated the comparatively young senator from Ohio the evening before.
“I think he could turn out to be a handful,” Will said. “Since he doesn’t expect to be elected, he can say and do anything he wants, and, from what I know of him, he will. The disadvantage is, next to either of the other two, I’d look young, but next to Spanner, I look old.”
“Not old, wise.”
“By the way, Marty, I had a call from Joe Tracy at Justice, and he tells me that your chief of staff in Sacramento, Barbara Ortega, has made a bid for head of the Criminal Division.”
“Yes, she told me about it, but I’m staying at arm’s length from the process, and she knows that. I don’t want any appearance of any improper influence.”
“I guess that’s why she gave me as a reference instead of you,” Will said.
“Did she? Do you know her?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve met her a few times. It was clever of her to use my name; that got Joe’s attention.”
“She’s a very smart woman,” Stanton said.
“I take it she has your wholehearted support?”
“Off the record, yes, of course. And if Joe Tracy should walk in front of a bus, I think she’d eventually make a fine AG.”
“Well, on that recommendation, I’ll write Joe a note, just to formalize my support.”
“I’m sure Barbara would appreciate that.”
“Marty, I’m sure Tom Black’s people grilled you about any of your personal relationships that might jeopardize your candidacy.”
“Yes, of course. You need have no fears on that account. Oh, were you referring to Barbara?”
“Well, yes.”
“Our relationship has been very close but entirely professional. She has nothing to do with my divorce.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Again, my congratulations on the hearing. I hear they’re voting today, and your nomination will go to the full Senate tomorrow. I don’t anticipate much of a debate.”
“Anything I can do, anyone I can talk to, let me know, Will.”
“You’ve already done your footwork. Let’s have dinner in the quarters tomorrow night and celebrate.”
“I’d love to. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, Marty. Good-bye.”
Stanton hung up and heaved a sigh of relief. He had not been kidding when he had told Barbara how horny he was. He was having wild dreams about her, and when he was back in Sacramento it was going to be very difficult to keep his hands off her.
23
At seven-fifteen, Will left his suite with Kitty Conroy and four Secret Service men to walk to the meeting room where the dinner was being held. More agents would be stationed along his route through the gardens, he knew. The Secret Service didn’t like him walking through hotels or their gardens, even one as upscale as the Bel-Air.
Will had spent the last hour going through a three-ring binder filled with photographs and short bios of the dinner guests, who were the hundred biggest contributors in California. It was his habit at the smaller dinners to rule out name tags and impress everybody with his memory of names.
The guests had been drinking since six-thirty, so they would be well oiled by the time he began to move among them. This was the kind of event the Secret Service liked, where every guest was known to them and had been vetted for criminal records or threats against the president. This was a “soft” event, except for Charlene.
Kitty spoke as they walked. “The committee chairman has followed your instructions to the letter,” she said. “Mrs. Branley will be seated on your right, perhaps in a wheelchair, we’re not sure yet, then Ralph Braden, the new CEO of Branley Industries, then Charlene, and boy-girl after that. Rivera, the governor-to-be will be on your left, then his wife, then boy-girl.”
“Charlene will try to change the place cards,” Will said.
“I’m on that, and so is the Secret Service.”
“How am I going to avoid an embrace with Charlene?”
“Frankly, I don’t know,” Kitty replied, “but even with no press or photographers there, you’re going to have to avoid the appearance of pushing her away. She’s a very popular lady with this crowd, and she has probably slept with half of them.”
“Don’t worry, there’s only one, and he’s on my staff,” Kitty replied.
“See that no photos of me in the same frame as Charlene are released to the press.”
She opened the door to the meeting room for him. “Don’t worry.”
Will strode into the room and grabbed the first outstretched hand. “Hello, Mike,” he said. “How are Alice and the girls?”
The astonished man, whom he had never met before, managed to say, “Just fine, Mr. President,” before Will grabbed another hand. The photographer stayed at his elbow, getting at least one shot with every contributor. Then, out of a corner of his eye, Will could see Charlene Joiner elbowing her way through the crowd toward him. He tacked to his left, allowing the crowd to fill in between them, giving Charlene a cheerful wave.
A minute later, however, she appeared before him, wearing a dress that reminded him of the one Marilyn Monroe had worn when she sang “Happy Birthday” to Jack Kennedy, but lower-cut.
As she held out her arms to him, Will grabbed her hands and pulled them in front of her as he pecked her quickly on the cheek. He could feel the backs of his own hands pressing against her impressive breasts. “How are you, Charlene? Good to see you!”
“Will… ah, Mr. President, I need a moment of your time,” she was saying, but Will had already turned to another guest and his wife and was posing for a quick photo with them.
God only knew what cause Charlene wanted to buttonhole him about, he reflected. Larry Eugene Moody, her murderous ex-boyfriend, already had had his death sentence commuted. What the hell did she want now?
Will worked his way forward in the room, making progress, shaking hands, making eye contact, hugging and kissing wives, occasionally unable to block a hug from a male guest. Mentally, he counted, and when he was at ninety-two he had made the dais. Mrs. William Branley was being pushed in a wheelchair toward her seat next to his. Charlene was standing on the other side of her, and he managed to keep the wheelchair between them. Then, as he was about to take his seat, Charlene made her move and was deftly blocked by a large Secret Service agent who pretended to adjust Mrs. Branley’s chair, while another agent held Charlene’s chair. Reluctantly, she sat down next to the Branley Industries CEO, who immediately engaged her in conversation.
Will sipped lightly from a glass of champagne and conversed with Mrs. Branley until the first course arrived. Then he turned to Lieutenant Governor Rivera. “Mike, congratulations on ascending to the throne.”
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Rivera replied, smiling broadly, “but it may be more of a hot seat.”
Will laughed. “I expect you’ve got a pretty good handle on the job by now. After all, you’ve had a great role model in Marty.”
“That I have,” Rivera said, “though we disagree on a few issues.”
“I hope they’re local, not national,” Will said. “We can’t have any public squabbling between you two until after the election.”
Rivera seemed under no illusions about the seriousness of Will’s little joke. “You can rely on me, Mr. President.”
Will finished his first course, and when the filet mignon was served, he cut it in two and ate only half and a few vegetables. He avoided dessert and drank only a few more sips of his champagne. When coffee was being served he excused himself for a moment and used a backstage men’s room. “Don’t let anybody near here,” he said to an agent as he went inside. He had visions of Charlene barging in and holding his dick for him while he peed.
When he left the men’s room he stood in the wings and pretended to consult some notes while the little lectern was placed on top of the dinner table and the microphone rigged. The Secret Service used the opportunity to herd all the waiting and bussing staff out of the room and guard the doors against any premature return. Finally, when only guests and guards were left in the room, Miguel Rivera stood, welcomed the audience and, eventually, after what sounded like a campaign speech for his next term, introduced Will. As the crowd leaped to their feet, an aide exchanged the California seal for the presidential seal on the lectern, then Will stepped out.
He stood there waving and pointing at people until the applause slowly died, then began to speak. “As I was saying twenty-five million dollars ago…” The crowd roared and applauded again.
***
Will finished his speech, then turned to Mrs. Branley to receive her check for a million dollars. As he thanked her profusely, he saw Charlene remove an envelope from her purse and push her chair back; then Kitty Conroy appeared from nowhere, plucked the check from her hand, and surreptitiously used a hip to shove her chair back in.
Will took the check from Kitty and put both checks in his inside jacket pocket. “And I also want to thank the beautiful and talented Charlene Joiner for her continuing support of our party and her generous donation of a million dollars to the Democratic National Committee. I’ll bet no Academy Award winners are doing that for the Republicans!”
Charlene tried to get up, but Kitty was standing behind her chair, blocking her move.
Finally, with a wave, Will was escorted from the room by a rear entrance and was whisked back to his suite in a golf cart with Kitty. “Nice work,” he said to Kitty as he opened the two envelopes and gave the checks to her. Then he noticed a note in one of the envelopes.
“Remember how good it was between us?” Charlene had written. He did. “I’ll be at the back entrance to the Presidential Suite twenty minutes after you leave the dinner.”
Will tore the note into small pieces and handed them to Kitty for disposal. “Tell the Secret Service to double the guard on the back door,” he said to her, “and to be careful. I wouldn’t be surprised if Charlene knows jujitsu.”
24
The following morning Will walked with his Secret Service detail through the gardens of the hotel to the parking lot where his limousine was to be waiting. The Secret Service would have much preferred the car to come in the back way to his suite, but the driveway had been torn up by workmen repairing a water main.
He walked over the bridge that straddled the little pond with the swans and came to the end of the awning. The car was not there.
A Secret Service agent was on his radio immediately. “I’m sorry, Mr. President, there was an accident on Stone Canyon Road, and the car was held up for a couple of minutes. It will be right here.”
“It’s all right,” Will said. Then he heard the click of running high heels on the bridge behind him and a female voice, shouting.
“Mr. President!”
He turned to see Charlene Joiner running toward him. A Secret Service agent stepped in front of her, and she ran into him with a sound like a deer striking an oak.
“Will!”
Will sighed. “It’s all right,” he said to the agent. “Let her through.”
Charlene strode quickly toward him, and he held up a hand. She grabbed it and pressed it to her considerably exposed bosom. “Please, Will, I just need a moment.”
“What is it, Charlene?” he asked, attempting to disengage his hand from her left breast.
“It’s Larry,” she said. “I know it’s early to be talking about this, but once you’re reelected, you can pardon him.”
“Pardon him?” Will asked, incredulous.
“Yes, you can do it without political consequences, once you’re reelected.”
“Charlene, the man is a rapist and murderer, and I will never, ever loose him upon an unsuspecting citizenry.”
“Will, Larry has done nearly ten years,” she said, and a tear trickled from the corner of an eye and down her cheek. “Please do the humanitarian thing. I’m going to set him up in a little business, and he can live a quiet and respectable life.”
“Charlene,” he said, finally recovering his hand from her bosom, “I will not pardon Larry Moody, and if y
ou ever so much as mention him to me again I will not speak to you further, under any circumstances, and I don’t care how much money you give the party. I hope that’s perfectly clear.” The car rolled up, and an agent quickly had the door open. “Good-bye, Charlene,” Will said with a wave, and dove into the car. He looked back through the darkened glass as they drove away, and she was standing there, waving.
***
Air Force One took off half an hour later from Van Nuys Airport, and Will was very happy to be putting the entire country between himself and Charlene Joiner, though he was not sure it was enough. He had a long day’s travel ahead, with campaign stops in Denver, St. Louis, and Indianapolis on the way back to Washington, and there was work to deal with in his office between stops. It was dark when Marine One set down on the White House lawn.
“Where’s Kate?” he asked Kitty as they got off the copter.
“On the way in from McLean,” she said. “She should be here in twenty minutes.”
“Call her and tell her we’re having Martin Stanton to dinner in the quarters this evening,” he said. “Tell her she can take her shoes off.”
“Will do,” Kitty replied, flipping open her cell phone.
Will’s own cell vibrated on his belt, and he opened it. “Yes?”
“It’s Sam Meriwether, Mr. President,” his campaign manager said. “The Senate confirmed Martin Stanton as vice president a couple of minutes ago. We kept them here late to get it done.”
“That’s great news, Sam. Thank you for calling.”