by Laura Hayden
But these days, politics was much more a business than it had been in the good ol’ boy network days of yore. Whereas iconic power had once been enough to put a man in the White House, now it would take an entirely different set of strategies, strengths, image control, and finances to put anyone, much less a woman, in the Oval Office.
Unlike many of her opponents, Emily had found a comfortable balance between the old and the new as she assembled her campaign—taking full and unabashed advantage of being a Benton, with all the privileges therein, but conducting a campaign for the twenty-first century. Of course, one of the Benton family traditions was to do whatever it took to get what they wanted.
Sometimes, Kate thought, by hook or by crook.
By that measure, Emily was a Benton down to the core.
When Kate reached the small table in the corner of the hotel bar, Dozier was on his feet. He raised one finger and the cocktail waitress trotted over. “Yes, sir, Mr. Marsh?”
Dozier beamed in pride, a wide grin that almost shouted, “They still remember me.”
Kate hid her smile. More likely the young lady simply remembered the name of a heavy tipper.
He tapped his empty glass. “I’ll have another bourbon and branch and the lady will have . . . ?” He turned in deference to Kate.
“Diet Coke.”
Dozier made a face but refrained from voicing his usual disdain for her choice of a lightweight tipple. He waited for the waitress to leave before leaning forward and speaking in a low voice.
“Nick’s going to be a complication, isn’t he? A big complication.”
“No names, please.” Kate had learned long ago that private discussions shouldn’t be held in public places. Proper names needed to stay right out of all but the most private discussions. At least the bar was mostly empty and Dozier was making a concerted effort to tame his usually booming voice. And the man had a point about the problems of men and women meeting in private. She just wished Emily was as mindful of carefully practicing that campaign strategy.
She leaned forward, matching his pose. “He very well could be a problem.”
“Then what are you going to do about him?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You. Semantics.” He made the censuring grandfather face. “Or our friend, by way of you. What is our friend going to have you do about him?”
“We don’t have any plans other than to do some basic investigation.”
“Then find something on him. And fast. I don’t really care whether you use it or not. Our friend simply needs to know that she has leverage she can use to derail, discredit, or expose him. If she thinks she’s in a superior position, she won’t feel the need to make hasty and perhaps desperate decisions. I know the girl. I’ve known her since I dandled her on my knee at her daddy’s political rallies. It’s a matter of knowing she has the power rather than a matter of using it.” He shifted back in his seat and looked up, an obvious sign that they were in danger of being overheard.
The waitress placed the two drinks on the small table. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Marsh?”
“Just the tab. Thanks, honey.”
She deposited the check and slipped off.
Kate took a fortifying sip of her soda. She so didn’t want to have this discussion right now. She’d rather have had time to sort through all the pros and cons. But Dozier liked to be listened to, acknowledged. It was the price they paid to have access to his library of living history—a vast and very personal knowledge of presidential campaign strategies from the last thirty years.
She decided to speak her mind. “Do you honestly believe she will just sit back and wait for him to make the first move if she has the power at her disposal to stop him before he even begins?”
“No,” Dozier answered quickly, as if he’d anticipated Kate’s rebuttal. “She’s very much like her father that way. She’s used to being on the offense. Hank always made sure the first cut wasn’t just the deepest, but that it was fatal.”
Since they were playing dueling platitudes, Kate offered her own. “Knowledge is power. And she’s not going to not use the power if it’s just sitting there, an obvious and easy solution.”
“Then that’s quite a dilemma, isn’t it? Put a loaded gun in her hand and she’s apt to shoot first. Trouble is, she might be shooting herself in her own foot. There’s a chance that any first strike on her part could be interpreted as desperation. And that becomes a candidate’s image nightmare. Worse, in her case. She’ll have to combat ‘the woman scorned’ mantle. That sort of thing.”
His machinations weren’t lost on Kate. “You like playing the devil’s advocate, don’t you?”
His dentist apparently believed in art for art’s sake; Dozier’s wide smile exposed a set of too-perfect teeth. “There’s more to me than just my good looks.” He reached over, covered her hand with his, and lowered his voice till she could barely hear him. “You’re in a tenuous position, my dear, and I don’t envy you one whit. When it comes to Emily and Talbot himself, all bets are off. Anything you two find and use against him is fair game. As far as that goes, Emily will be far more circumspect and careful about constructing an anti-Talbot campaign. But I don’t trust her judgment when it comes to . . . our new complication.”
Kate stared into her glass, holding back the words I don’t either.
Dozier continued in a normal tone. “The only solution I see is for you to arm yourself but not necessarily her. She may have the power to order the nukes . . .” He squeezed Kate’s hand. “But you’re the one who will need to decide if you turn the keys to the launch system or not.”
“Gee, thanks,” she said. “I just love playing nuclear strategist in this little scenario. I think you sat in on one too many defense budget discussions.”
“Maybe so. I’m just concerned that this so-called ‘religious initiative’ concept you’re pushing is going to make you less . . . effective when it comes to what needs to be done.”
Kate felt herself stiffen in her seat. “How so?”
“Turning the other cheek doesn’t really work in politics. You should know that. You end up with handprints—no, footprints—on both cheeks.”
“My faith makes me who I am,” Kate said. “I try every day to live what I believe. I think that makes me a better politician and a better person. Our friend does, too. She has no problem with who I am.”
“I won’t either, as long as you continue to do what has to be done. There’s a reason that I support the separation of church and state. Politics is a messy business and not one for somebody who likes to keep their hands clean.”
“I do my job and I do it well.” Kate fought to keep her words quiet and her tone level.
“I know it. And you’re good for our friend. But the first time I see you backing away from the fray because of your faith, I’ll make sure she knows about it.”
“You do that,” Kate said.
“I will. Keep your eye on the prize. Isn’t that what they used to say in those old church rallies? Keep your eye on the prize—and don’t let anything stop you from grabbing it.”
Dozier polished off his drink and signaled for the cocktail waitress, who approached with a ready smile.
“You need another round, Mr. Marsh?”
“Thanks, darlin’, but no.” He patted his protruding stomach. “Got to keep my girlish figure.” He shot the waitress a wink, and for a brief moment, Kate feared she might have to launch herself across the table to intercept a less than appropriate gesture. Dozier and bourbon often made for a bad combination, resulting in feminist rebellion by his intended target, where he’d aim to swat a fanny, deliver an inappropriate comment, or worse. But tonight, despite his slam of Kate’s personal convictions, he seemed to be on his better behavior—that, or the hotel was watering down their drinks. The only thing he did with his hands was wave away Kate’s attempt to pay for her soda and then sign the bar tab to his room with a grand flourish. To end the evening on a high note, he tucked a twenty i
n the waitress’s hand, basking in her grateful smile.
“Any time I can retire to my bed warmed by the smiles of two beautiful women, I call that a great day.” He rose to his feet and held out his arm. “May I escort you to your room, Kate, dear?”
She remained seated and, instead of accepting his hand, thumbed away a bead of condensation from her glass. “I think I’ll sit here and finish my drink. But thank you, Dozier.”
He turned and graced the waitress with a smile that still held a great deal of charm. “Alone, again. Both of us. Pitiful, isn’t it?”
He waited for her to contradict him. Everything was fine until the woman reached over and patted his arm, which appeared to shatter his illusion that he was still the sort of man young women yearned to be with. Instead, he was the sort of man that reminded young women of their fathers.
Or grandfathers . . .
His smile dimmed slightly and he lost some of the spring in his step as he headed to the bank of elevators.
The waitress lingered at the table. “You need anything else, ma’am?”
“No, thanks.”
After a moment of awkward silence, the woman spoke in a low voice. “Uh, excuse me, but is he . . . like, famous or something?”
Kate toyed with the straw in her drink. “He used to be.”
“A movie star?”
“A politician. Former Speaker of the House.”
“Oh.” Disappointment filled her face. “I thought he was somebody important.”
As the woman walked away, Kate contemplated those words. Along with everything else Dozier had said to her, they hung in the air around her like a bad smell.
Emily always complained—mostly in private—that one of the main problems with the American public was their woeful ignorance of the American machinery of government. Then again, Emily had been born into that machinery and had been groomed to become a royal cog in the American political apparatus since birth.
Kate, on the other hand, had had a normal childhood, with her occasional exposure to donkeys and elephants occurring solely at the zoo. While eight-year-old Emily had dined on foie gras with dignitaries, Kate had wolfed down Happy Meals with her Brownie troop. Their lives, their worlds, couldn’t have been more different right up until the moment that they intersected. And yet, once that happened, they’d been best friends for years.
Why, she was never sure. They were very different, but opposites did tend to attract. Outside of a church, Emily never met a crowd she didn’t like. Kate couldn’t conceive of a life without a strong church home. Emily always knew what she wanted. Kate asked God for guidance at every stage of her life. Emily sought the presidency for the platform it would give her to change the world. Kate sought to give Emily her dream because she’d seen what an effective leader Emily could be. But she’d never want the job for herself—the thought of being in the public eye that way made her shudder. The two women liked different movies, read different books. But in the end, she trusted Emily to be a great leader, and Emily trusted Kate to be a great supporter. What they lacked in common ground, they made up for with a common trust in each other’s abilities. Their skills complemented each other. They knew they were different, and that was the basis of their well-forged friendship. Between the two of them, their interests weren’t simply all across the board; they filled the board. They were smart women who, between them, possessed an insanely complex understanding on a wide variety of topics, concepts, and areas of expertise. Emily appreciated and valued Kate for knowing what she didn’t and Kate did the same for Emily.
Emily wanted to rule the nation. Kate wanted to make that possible.
Together, they were Batman and Robin.
Kate leaned back in the chair.
And if Kate had any say in the matter, come feast or famine, her best friend was going to become the first woman president of the United States.
Kate sighed, polished off her soda, and left. She rode the elevator with a too-young couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It’d been like that with Emily and Nick, she remembered. It wasn’t that they were too young but that they’d been absolutely consumed with each other. Kate had assumed that their white-hot flare of attraction would eventually either cool down to something manageable or fade away completely and Emily would move on to the next guy, suitable or not.
But the flames continued to burn. As the old Southern phrase went, they “got married in a fever.” But five short years later, the flames of passion had turned into a destructive inferno, obliterating everything and everyone in its path.
That inferno was still burning entirely too hot. On both sides.
Kate glanced at the couple, who were ignoring her and going at it like a couple of minks. At least they were still fully clothed. Kate counted her blessings. Still she couldn’t help but wonder if the strength of their passion would turn on them someday too. . . .
She left the elevator before they got any more serious about their pairing, found her room, and ten minutes later tucked herself into the bed, fumbling to turn out the lights.
She’d planned to check her e-mail.
Hang it all, she thought.
E-mail could wait.
The next morning, Kate awoke to an earlier alarm than usual. Last night, making plans to get up early to catch up with e-mail had seemed a wise decision, but now all she wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep. Her personal scheduler in her Palm Treo showed that the limo wouldn’t pick them up until nine thirty for a ten thirty flight. Emily’s cousin Richard had placed one of his company’s corporate jets and its pilot at their complete disposal. If the campaign’s transportation scheduler couldn’t get a donor jet for any of their planned excursions, they always had Richard’s plane as a backup, which they’d needed for this particular trip. Election laws forced them to set the value of their corporate jet travel at the same price as a first-class ticket on a commercial carrier for both Emily and Kate. All other staffers rated the economy ticket rate. But the $3,000 or so price tag for a cross-country trip from Dallas back to D.C. was chump change when compared to the real price tag for a charter jet undertaking the same trip.
And it was funny how the money paid to Richard always seemed to turn up again in similar amounts as personal campaign donations from employees of his various companies. . . .
Despite what campaign laws said.
Before Kate could climb out of bed and turn on her laptop, her cell phone rang.
“Hotel gym is on the fourth floor. Meet in ten minutes.” It was a statement, not a question.
Kate yawned. “As long as we can stop for an Egg McMuffin on the way to the airport.”
“Fast food is going to kill you someday.”
“Yeah? Maybe I’ll get some rest then. Meanwhile it’s my reward for meeting you in the gym at this hideous hour.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kate nodded her greeting to Perkins and McNally, the two Secret Service agents who stood guard outside the hotel gym. As an active candidate, Emily had full-time Secret Service protection. She hadn’t, so far, needed it for more than the expected number of idle threats from the far-off lunatic fringe, something for which Kate was very thankful.
Kate headed into the fitness room. Emily was already on the treadmill, running full speed.
Kate said nothing as she stepped up on the next machine and started her exercise for the day. She and Emily had had an unwritten pact on gym trips since they were in college together. If the spirit was willing, no business in the gym until well after the flesh was weak.
They’d been running for twenty minutes before Emily finally spoke.
“You . . . going . . . home . . . for . . . Christmas?” Emily said the words on each beat-slap of her feet against the treadmill belt. She wasn’t winded, but the rhythm of her words revealed her level of concentration.
“If you can spare me. I know it’s brutal with the early primary schedule. I was hoping to see Mom and Dad. And Brian and Jill are expecting again.” Her brother and
his wife were currently stationed at Langley Air Force Base, which theoretically had the whole family living in the same state for the first time in years. That made holiday attendance at their parents’ house almost mandatory. Besides, Kate loved the holidays. Sure they were commercial, Christmas trivialized by pop culture with more Santa and Rudolph than Christ in the mix. But there was something about hitting the midnight Christmas Eve service with her family that made the holiday season complete for Kate and ended her year on a high note. It gave her a chance to evaluate her life and her relationship with her Savior, and she always resolved to try harder to live her life in his image as the next year dawned. Lately, she’d been thinking long and hard about that image.
“Kate . . . you’re going. And the fact that . . . I’m . . . letting you . . . no . . . making . . . you go . . . is a sign . . . of how very much . . . I love ya, babe. . . . How many . . . kids does that make for Brian now?” Emily asked. “Nineteen?”
Kate chuckled. “Three. And from what Jill says, this is their last.”
Emily’s arms pumped hard. “She always says that. It’s about time.”
“They seem happy. And the kids are great.”
“If you say so. Oh, don’t leave town without getting the presents I have for your folks. I found that crystal critter your mom’s been talking about. The one with the dragon sitting on the egg?”
“She’s been looking for that one for years.”
This was the Emily that Kate enjoyed the most. The one who never missed a birthday or holiday, who looked out for the people around her. The one who, in the middle of a hectic run for a national office, not only remembered her mother’s collection of crystal figurines but, more importantly, knew which ones she wanted and didn’t have.
Kate grinned. “At this rate, you’re going to beat me out for favored daughter status. All I found was a scarf with a drawing of a baby dragon.”
Emily had said more than once how envious she was of Kate’s ordinary life and her ordinary parents. Kate had invited Emily along on her trips home several times, and as a result, Emily had forged some pretty strong connections with Kate’s mom and dad, who had all but adopted Emily as their third child. Emily practically glowed in the warmth of that love. Kate had spent time with Emily’s family, too, long enough to know just how lucky she was in her own relations. Although the Benton clan embraced Kate as an official Friend of the Family, Emily’s mother remained distant, not only from Kate but seemingly from her own daughter, too. It gave Kate a window into the reason for Emily’s reserve with just about everybody but Kate and the reason for her friend’s unstoppable drive to succeed. It was as if Emily had to prove to her family every day that she was worthy.