Carolyn took his cue. “Coming to terms with my inability to have a child has been the greatest challenge of my life,” she admitted. “I’m comforted by two things. My husband’s compassion, and the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of women around the world who are just like me. I’ve tried very hard, with Warner’s support, to turn the negative into a positive. We’ve spent our lives focusing on the needs of the many children who fall through the cracks in our social services system. And we remain committed to all of the children of America.”
“Hasn’t this situation tested your marriage? How in the world have you survived this as a couple?”
Carolyn looked at Warner. “We’re a team,” she said. Then she gazed into the camera with unshed tears shining in her eyes. “We’re a team.”
The in-studio audience burst into applause.
Warner slipped his arm around Carolyn’s shoulders.
Barry Sears pressed on. “What about adoption?”
Carolyn smiled at her husband. “It’s a very definite possibility.”
***
The New Hampshire primary turned into a great victory, Carolyn reflected. Their television interview ignited the campaign. Warner received forty-seven percent of the vote, leaving a stunned Martin Gaston to wonder how he’d been defeated so soundly in his home state.
Her openness regarding her inability to have children fueled the flames of Carolyn’s popularity, making her more human and approachable. The public related to her anguish. Everyday she received thousands of letters from fans and supporters, and she personally answered as many as she could. Carolyn had touched the hearts of millions.
Nick’s strategy was flawless, the “Barry Sears Show” the perfect vehicle. In effect the sweatshop story had raised Warner’s national recognition, and people all over the country had tuned in to the interview.
Stan Braunson, their pollster, was wearing an immense grin when he came running to Carolyn. Across the country, Warner’s numbers had risen substantially, showing him as the clear front-runner. The newspapers featured Warner Lane, calling him ‘the man to watch.’ Gaston, Landon, Davis, and Taylor would be forgotten, Carolyn told herself as she drew lines though their names on a program in front of her.
Warner hammered Super Tuesday and rolled right into the Midwest. That’s when they were assigned Secret Service. Every time Carolyn saw an agent, a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. Their very presence a tangible sign that victory danced on the horizon. With the race for the nomination going their way, it was time to make her move.
Nervous about what she was about to propose, Carolyn composed herself in the hallway. She entered the Situation Room and glanced around. “Is everyone here? I have a proposition.”
Matt and Ernie leaned forward in their chairs. Nick lounged comfortably in his, as was his habit. Warner sat silently, his chair rocked onto the rear two legs and his feet up on the table.
“This is a highly sensitive discussion,” Carolyn began. “Not one word is to leave this room.” Her accomplishments to date empowered her. She knew she could institute great change in the country, and the approval and acceptance she was finally receiving fed her soul. “I’d like to run with Warner as his vice presidential running mate.”
Warner’s eyes widened. He swung his feet off the table, bringing them to the floor as his chair shifted forward onto the front legs with a thud. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“That’s right Warner; your running mate. My popularity numbers are higher than yours.”
Warner looked desperately around the table. No one else said a word.
Matt and Ernie looked poleaxed.
Nick remained expressionless.
Carolyn held her breath, her confidence wavering in the silence. Had she miscalculated? Fear tightened around her chest. Rejection reared its head.
She pushed on. “With that in mind, we need to send up some test balloons to measure the public’s reception of this concept. Nick and I have discussed this, and we believe it’s a good idea to have Warner introduce me at the next rally by saying that the country will get ‘two for the price of one.’ Stan will run some polls, and we’ll go from there. Are there any questions or suggestions?”
Matt recovered first, his drawl emphasized by his enthusiasm. “I think it’s worth checking out. I wish I’d thought of it myself. ‘Two for the price of one.’ I like it. Of course, we need to run some television spots that will promote the concept and test the waters, and we’ll have to educate the voters as to Carolyn’s qualifications. But so far, the polls have shown that Carolyn’s popularity has made an impressive impact on the campaign.”
Carolyn drew in a deep breath. She quickly lowered her gaze to hide her relief.
The room erupted into a buzz of activity. Matt and Ernie began brainstorming. Nick rapidly took notes.
Warner stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. Everyone fell silent. He glared at Carolyn, then stalked out of the room.
THIRTY-NINE
Warner felt as if the walls were closing in around him. He needed a breath of air to clear his head. He and the other members of the Council had not anticipated this. What had started out as Carolyn’s backstage act was turning into the headliner. Granted, he’d known that her confidence would grow with her belief that she controlled the campaign. While that strategy made for a great cover for the Council, he’d be damned if his dream was going to turn into her triumph.
He made his way up the steps of the basement and out onto the back lawn, shivering when the cold air hit him The chill felt good. He needed to think. Richard had obtained Governor Hick’s endorsement, and for that favor he expected to be the vice presidential candidate. This was a mess.
It would be so much easier if Edmund could be in the campaign meetings, Warner thought, but Carolyn despised the old man.
Of course, Edmund didn’t like the situation anymore than Warner did, but they didn’t have a choice. He needed Edmund’s brilliance when it came to maneuvering Carolyn and her ideas. Ideas, Warner believed, that could cost him the presidency.
Carolyn had no knowledge of the Council, and she never would as long as Edmund remained behind the scenes.
They needed Carolyn as a decoy, and even though her ego was growing immensely, their plans were jelling nicely.
But if Carolyn found out that Warner was even communicating with the old man, there’d be hell to pay. The kind of hell that left a man permanently burned.
FORTY
March, 2000 – Jefferson City, Missouri
Jack slammed the phone into the receiver. The son of a bitch didn’t have the balls to confront him face-to-face. He’d mailed the letter, then gone on vacation. Typical Pat Mead, Jack thought, deliver the news then hideout until things calmed down. He re-read the notice he’d received via FedEx from his office.
Mr. Rudly:
Your story on Senator Lane’s military history was substandard. You are hereby warned to verify your sources more carefully. You’ll be expected at the National Convention, until then your assignment is to report on the campaign, not investigate personal issues. Management expects you to write a personal apology to the Senator. This notice shall serve as a warning. When you’re back in town we can discuss this further.
Signed,
Pat Mead
Special Projects Editor
“Verify sources more carefully,” Jack mumbled. “Substandard?” What the fuck did that mean? Never before in his journalistic career had anyone ever questioned his reporting methods, let alone reprimanded him for inaccurate information.
Jack prided himself on being precise, and he knew his article was accurate. He’d verified all of his sources, and had authentic medical records as evidence. The facts obviously didn’t matter. Jack realized; he’d stepped on powerful toes. But he didn’t give a damn.
Jack crumpled the paper, and tossed it into the garbage can. Like hell, he’d write an apology.
He’d done nothing wrong.
March,
2000 – Cleveland, Ohio
Jack had been smarting for weeks from Mead’s chastisement as he stood with other members of the press in the back alley of a large red brick auditorium waiting for Candidate Lane to exit after a speech to the teacher’s union. He glanced over at a colleague. “Hey, Dan, how the hell are ya?”
“Fine, and you?”
Jack lit a cigarette, exhaling as he spoke. “I’d be better with some dinner and a beer right now.”
“I hear ya.” Dan was an old-timer in the business.
“What do you think about the candidates?”
“Same shit, different mouth.” Dan joked, “but personally I like what Lane has to say. What about you?”
Jack shrugged. “Keeping an open mind. There’re a lot of questions I’d like to see answered, but his campaign staff isn’t very forthcoming.”
“They’re just being cautious. Give him a break. He’s new to the national scene. Missouri’s small potatoes compared to the market he’s jumped into now. I mean, you have to admit, we’re a tough crowd.”
“Are we? I’m not so sure, anymore. I can’t believe how easy these guys have been on Lane.” Jack took a drag on his cigarette. He wasn’t prone to arguments, but damn, the lack of curiosity his colleagues were showing was frustrating.
“I don’t think anyone has been easy on him.”
“What about the sweatshop thing? That was dropped like a pregnant debutante.”
“Maybe the press is getting a conscience. It could be argued that journalists are trying to be more objective and not ruin people’s careers just to sell a few newspapers or boost ratings. Look at the Kennedy days. The press kept his personal business quiet and it was probably better for the country.”
“I don’t buy it. If that were true, we wouldn’t have jobs. What’s with the double standard? Suddenly the press has a conscience? Bullshit!”
“Come on, Jack, you’re ignoring the facts. Warner Lane didn’t own that company, his father did.”
“My take is different. Maybe the elite media only has a conscience when it comes to politicians with ideals they agree with.” Jack tossed his unfinished cigarette onto the pavement.
“I can’t believe you don’t like the guy. He’s one of us. He’s a product of the sixties, just like we are. He stands for the same things we do and his wife is a powerhouse. She’ll be more than a pretty figurehead. I believe she may actually make a dent in the drug problem. Shit, she already has.” Dan smacked his fist into his palm “Their concerns are right on target.”
Jack shook his head. “Listen to yourself. ‘He’s one of us.’ That’s exactly the type of group think that destroys the veracity of the media. No wonder the public feels they get the same perspective from every news organization.” This wasn’t about liking or disliking Warner Lane. It was about manipulating the system and biased reporting “You know, I keep getting the same response when it comes to my esteemed colleagues.”
“Maybe that means something,” Dan commented.
“Yeah, like a lot of crack reporters have gotten caught up in all the Lane hype and forgotten their jobs.”
“I call it listening to the man’s message.”
“I call it bullshit.” Jack watched Dan walk away.
He’d tried to maintain an open mind, but maybe his father’s theories of graft had prejudiced him. Jack had known of the Lane family for years, and rumors of trading political favors for profit had always circulated about Edmund and Warner. The implications in his father’s files were unsavory, yet none of them could be proven. Still, the documents haunted him. And he couldn’t ignore his own experience of being reprimanded for revealing Warner’s military career. Someone had applied pressure to shut him down.
Jack leaned against the cool brick of the auditorium. Was he being a hard ass? No, the facts were apparent. At the very least, Warner was being protected and Jack wanted to know by whom.
Time to go back to Missouri and pick up his father’s investigation, Jack thought. He was not into tabloid press, but there were a lot of loose facts that didn’t add up. Carolyn’s relationship with Mort Fields, for one, and why Mort would expose Carolyn to Bill Rudly. This made no sense. And the reference to Winston Cain, made to Bill Rudly from Adam Miles, alarmed Jack.
Winston Cain’s agency would stop at nothing to complete a job, and his father’s notes implied a relationship between Cain and Carolyn. Jack followed up on the hottest lead by visiting Cain’s office in Washington, D.C. Not surprisingly, he was thrown out.
Then, there were the strict orders from the news magazine to report only the standard campaign rhetoric. They wanted him off any real story and essentially threatened his job if he didn’t comply. Jack debated on how hard to tread on very thin ice.
He wasn’t used to having his hands tied by his employer. This job might be considered the big-time by industry standards, but compromising his journalistic integrity wasn’t worth any dollar amount. To Jack, journalism demanded honesty, anything less was a misuse of power and betrayed the readers.
He had expected support for Lane from some of the competition, like National news magazine. Andrea Walden was Lane’s media advisor, and her father was editor-in-chief of National. But he didn’t expect a complacent, even defensive, attitude from his own employer. Could the Lane machine have power sources that deep into the press? It had happened before, and he believed it was happening again.
Jack thought of his father. It must be a family character flaw, he mused, to find oneself pushing against the grain of popular opinion. He had to go back to Missouri. Back to the source of the questions.
He didn’t care if his editors didn’t approve. He’d chased lesser stories against greater odds. The fact was, he had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he’d let someone else tell him how to do it.
He wasn’t dropping his investigation of Warner Lane. He owed as much to his dad.
Jack pulled his tape recorder from his pocket and checked to make sure it was rewound and ready to record. The back door of the auditorium swung open and Warner Lane’s entourage made their exit to the waiting cars. First the Secret Service agents, then the handlers, and finally the candidate.
Jack found himself face to face with Warner Lane.
Immediately, one of Warner’s top aides stepped between them. The handlers held up their hands to say they were not allowing any questions.
A female reporter managed to sidestep next to Lane. “Senator, you’re promising a renewed war on drugs and a tax break for all Americans. But do you really think it’s possible to do all of that in one term?”
Warner Lane stopped. “I don’t intend to do it all alone.”
“Please explain.”
“With my wife by my side leading one attack while I lead the other, we’ll accomplish all of that and more.”
“So. Mrs. Lane is a large part of your campaign?”
“No. She’s a large part of my life.”
“Senator Lane, tell us about your affiliation with Mort Fields and Winston Cain?” Jack shouted.
Warner’s head snapped around, his gaze locking with Jack’s.
“Have you hired Winston Cain’s agency?” Jack saw Warner’s jaw clench.
“Who’s Winston Cain?” another reporter yelled.
Warner flashed a grin. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Rudly. I have no idea.”
Quickly. Matt Carson wrapped his arm over Warner’s shoulders and pulled him into the limousine.
Associated Press
March 28, 2000
Lane Nails Down Nomination
SACRAMENTO – Warner Hamilton Lane secured the party nomination yesterday by taking California’s 165 delegates. The win came as no surprise to campaign officials, who predicted the landslide after Lane swept the Great Lake states on March 21. Sources close to the candidate say that Senator Lane is now looking forward to the convention and to squaring off against President Washman.
FORTY-ONE
July, 2000 – Washington, DC.
“I don’t care what it takes. Warner, shut her down. We made a deal. I got you Governor Hick’s endorsement, and I expect you to hold up your end of our bargain.” Richard Young slammed the phone into its cradle and reached for the Tums. Damn. Carolyn’s escapades were destroying his digestive tract. And he had to keep Warner in line. Warner was the key to his success. He rubbed his stomach.
The aggravation was worth it, though, he thought with a smile. These little episodes served a purpose. They kept Warner off balance and caused further estrangement between him and Carolyn. They weren’t problems: they were opportunities. Young reminded himself. Opportunities to shift the balance of power to himself. Richard knew how to exploit the exercise. If he shut off his support of Warner, Warner’s campaign would deflate like a punctured balloon.
Richard gazed out the window of his senatorial office in Washington. D.C. Sitting back, he interlocked his fingers on his stomach. If only he’d known how quickly his son was going to recover, he’d never have dropped out of the primaries. The presidential nomination would have been his. Fucking doctors. They always painted the worst scenario to make themselves look like heroes.
He closed his eyes, visualizing the vice-presidency and beyond. He’d simply adjust his strategy. By the time the election came, Warner would be convinced he couldn’t function without him. Carefully he plotted to make himself indispensable to Warner and ingratiate himself with Carolyn. Considering the friction between them, the challenge lay in showing loyalty to one without revealing dedication to the other.
An interesting match, Richard reflected. A loveless marriage brought together by one man. Edmund Lane, and held together by one cause, the White House. He’d done his homework and realized that Warner and Carolyn’s estrangement was to his benefit. They were both damaged goods, yet possessed the skills to present themselves as the perfect couple.
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