America the Beautiful

by Laura Hayden

  Emily’s legacy was a complicated one.

  Emily and Kate worked with Marjorie Redding for three and a half weeks, taking copious notes, learning about hair and makeup and posture, going shopping, and cultivating a better speaking voice, etiquette with the masses, and of course etiquette with the media. . . .

  Including the members of the media who now stood outside the doors of the hotel gym in hopes of catching a disheveled Emily in her sweaty gym clothes.

  They were mildly disappointed when Emily emerged, having showered and changed into an identical set of workout clothes that lacked unsightly pit stains and aroma du athlete. Emily had taken to heart Marjorie’s commandment number twenty-seven: “Never let them see you sweat.” Marjorie had also suggested that Emily show off her athletic figure on occasion as an obvious way to remind America that Emily Benton had a strong, healthy body to go along with her strong, healthy mind.

  Not to mention a great pair of legs.

  Lights strobed and the media surged closer to her and Kate. The two Secret Service agents and three hotel security personnel closed around Emily to form a flying wedge to get her to the nearest elevator. Kate had to plow her way through the crowd in the slipstream behind the candidate and the Secret Service. Practice let her push through the crowd with only moderate jostling.

  One voice rose above the rest. “How’d the workout go?”

  “Not bad,” Emily answered, “although I’d rather have run outside. But I don’t think most of you could have kept up.” She gave them an encompassing look and an infectious grin. “Make that any of you.”

  “How long did you exercise?” This time, Kate could identify the speaker—a reporter holding an NBC-logoed microphone. His cameraman had obviously been chosen for his height, towering over all the other media types.

  “I try to get in six miles a day, but it’s hard when I’m on the campaign trail. So I hit the treadmill instead. But if any of you are runners, you know it’s not the same.”

  Another disembodied voice said, “If you’re elected, are you going to run every day at the White House?”

  A small contingency of reporters called out the correction, “When you’re elected . . .” and then all laughed. It had become a joke among the press corps. For the first two months of her campaign efforts, whenever anyone said, “If you’re elected,” Kate had corrected them with “You mean, when she’s elected. . . .”

  Now, no matter what city they visited, a Greek chorus formed within the media ranks to provide the correction automatically. It not only established a more easygoing rapport with the media, but it became a not-too-subtle reminder that key members of the press stood behind Emily’s bid for the Oval Office.

  “If elected, I will run. If not elected, I will . . . run.” The media crowd erupted in laughter.

  Emily paused rather than posed for a couple of shots, gave them a congenial sound bite or two, then begged off, citing the late time and their flight arrangements as the culprit.

  The Secret Service split the crowd to allow her clear passage to the elevator that hotel security had commandeered for their exclusive use. They proceeded nonstop to the thirtieth floor to let Kate off, and then Emily and the security contingency continued on to her suite on the thirty-third floor.

  It wasn’t until Kate got into her room and pulled off the towel she’d slung across her neck that she saw the piece of paper. Judging by the way it fluttered to the floor, it had been tucked in the folds of the material.

  It landed writing side up and she could read the note without even bending over or touching it.

  YOU WILL DIE.

  KATE WAS FAR MORE CONCERNED about how she received the message than what it actually said. At least that’s what she told herself. After all, Emily received threatening messages all the time—in e-mail, through the regular mail, and on the phone. They came with the territory, and she shrugged them off without a second thought.

  This time, though, the threat had come from inside Emily’s circle of safety. Somebody had been so close that Emily or Kate probably could have touched them. They had certainly touched Kate or come dangerously close.

  Contemplating that, Kate couldn’t help but have second, third, or even fourth thoughts about the note and their safety.

  The fact that Emily’s dad had been assassinated added real bite to Kate’s fear.

  Kate tried to tell herself that death threats tended to be annoying but weren’t necessarily a sign of certain doom—just a sign of someone’s certain stupidity. None of the people who’d threatened Emily in the past had ever tried to put their threats into action.

  But this threat writer had been close. Too close. Kate’s hands shook because she knew that the only opportunity anyone had to place the note in the towel was after their workout. The towel had come from Kate’s room, not the gym. She’d opened it up and slung it around her neck before heading down to meet Emily. No hidden note in there then. Nobody’d had access to it while they worked out; the Secret Service had prevented anyone from entering the gym while they were there.

  Rank had not only its privileges but its privacies, too.

  Therefore, a reporter—or at least someone posing as the media and running with the pack—had tucked the note in one of the folds of the towel as Kate had shouldered her way through the crowd with Emily and her Secret Service detail.

  Someone who wished Emily harm had been close enough to touch them. . . .

  Been within arm’s reach.

  Kate felt a chill spread across the back of her neck and cascade down her shoulders until her hands shook so badly she had to clench them into fists to stop the shivering.

  Maybe the note had been meant for her. Not Emily.

  Then again, probably not.

  For once, she wished she were more like Emily, who took these sorts of things in stride. After all, her friend had practically grown up as a public figure. But Kate hadn’t. She hadn’t grown up on a huge horse farm in Virginia. Hadn’t gone to private school. Hadn’t hung out with the rich and the famous. Hadn’t spent the better part of her life having her every whim catered to. . . .

  Hadn’t seen her dad’s blood coat her hands as she’d administered CPR while he was dying from a gunshot wound. . . .

  But Emily had. Her school might have been private, but almost every other aspect of her life had been spent in the unblinking eyes of the public. Yet she’d survived her exposure, determined to succeed. Fear wasn’t allowed to be part of her world.

  Never in Kate’s life, not even when she actively worked as a lawyer, had she ever incited the wrath of someone to the point where she received a death threat. Sure, she’d received some angry phone calls and a handful of letters threatening legal action, but no anonymous notes and certainly no death threats.

  So it stood to reason that this threat was aimed at Emily. That is, if anonymous note writers followed the laws of reason and logic.

  Somehow, that thought didn’t help at all.

  Her stomach slid sideways as she hit the speed dial on her phone. So far during this campaign, she’d called the security alert number exactly twice and always on Emily’s behalf, never her own. Neither time had turned out to be a real emergency, though she hadn’t known it when she’d called.

  She hardly knew what to say.

  But Agent McNally seemed to understand her rambling explanation and reached her door in less than a minute. Once there, he listened to her tale and appeared to come to the same general conclusion she had. Somebody was after Emily and had gotten within touching distance of the candidate. He repeated Kate’s story verbatim to a higher authority by radio, then listened intently to the response. While doing this, he pulled the room curtains closed, choking out the morning sun. Then he examined Kate’s bathroom for bogeymen. He also slipped the note into a plastic evidence Baggie.

  “Change in plans.” He pointed to his watch. “We’re leaving for the airport in fifteen minutes.” He glanced at her clothes, which she’d laid out on a chair before hea
ding to the gym, and then at her almost-packed suitcase sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been ordered to stay here while you change and pack. Another detail is with Ms. Benton. You okay with me staying in here while you get dressed? Or would you rather have me wait outside in the hallway?”

  Kate had no problems admitting to herself that, under the circumstances, she appreciated having an armed Secret Service agent standing guard only one door away from her rather than two. She pulled out the desk chair. “Sit. I’d feel more secure if I knew you were nearby while I change in the bathroom.” She glanced in the mirror, noted how pale she was. She needed to toughen up. “I’m sorry I’m such a wuss. Your job is to protect Emily, not me. Maybe you should go back to her.”

  “No, ma’am. She’s got full protection and she’d be the first to say your safety is important too. In fact, Ms. Benton said any threat toward you is a threat toward her.”

  Now thoroughly embarrassed, Kate backed up a few steps and pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the bathroom door. “I . . . I’m just going to take a quick shower, but I promise I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  He looked doubtful at her estimate but gave her a grim nod. “Ten minutes,” he repeated.

  Kate grabbed the clothes she’d laid out and took the world’s quickest shower. Afterward, she dressed at the speed of light in the bathroom, towel dried her hair, slapped on some makeup, and emerged to watch a wry smile flit briefly across Agent McNally’s usually stoic face.

  “You weren’t kidding, were you? Six minutes, fifteen seconds.”

  “I never kid about the important stuff.” Kate shoved her wet gym clothes in a waterproof bag, then tossed everything into her suitcase. After giving the room a brief check to look for any last-minute forgotten items, she closed and locked her suitcase and rolled it to the door. She knew that McNally wouldn’t offer to take her bag, not because he wasn’t a gentleman, but because he was required to have his hands free in case he needed his gun.

  That thought both soothed and frightened her.

  He joined her at the door and kept his voice low, as if relating details to her on the sly. “So far, all press IDs have checked out, but one guy is missing—a new face in the crowd that nobody from the local field office or any of the media reps recognized. The suspect left shortly after you did, using a different elevator. We reviewed the security footage and the elevator records and we tracked him to the lobby floor, where he exited and got into a car waiting at the curb.”

  “So, there’s no . . . imminent threat?”

  “No, ma’am, and we’re not convinced the note was actually serious. If its writer wanted to kill you or Emily, why send a threat first? Why not just strike? However, we still think it would be better to push up your departure from this city. Dallas has a bad rep when it comes to political assassinations.”

  Kate tried to smile at what she hoped was the agent’s little joke, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  McNally took pity on her. “In all honesty, Ms. Rosen, I really do think the note was meant for Ms. Benton. The guy probably knew he couldn’t get to her, so he slipped it to you instead. Or perhaps you two simply got your towels mixed up. It’s probably just some nut job trying to shake you both up. We’ve got the hotel’s surveillance tape plus all of the press footage. We’ll get this guy before he can eat lunch. He’s got to know it.”

  “It feels weird to say I hope you’re right, but . . . I do hope you’re right,” Kate said. She grasped the handle of her roller suitcase, wishing she could grab hold of some courage just as easily. “Ready when you are, Agent McNally.”

  This time, the Secret Service didn’t have her ride with Emily as was their usual custom. Normally, Emily and Kate rode together to the airport, and they’d spend their time reviewing the day, deconstructing the success or lack thereof of their campaigning efforts. Once on the plane, they looked forward rather than backward, planning the next whistle-stop, speech, or appearance.

  As she watched out the limo window, she realized that the Secret Service must not have completely discounted the idea that she might be the target of the threat. By putting her in a different car, the agents were keeping her out of Emily’s orbit until both women were safe on the jet.

  Minimizing collateral damage . . .

  Now, not only had Kate’s sense of security been disrupted by the threat but it had messed up her time with Emily. Kate’s stomach growled. And this complication also had made her miss the breakfast sandwich Emily had promised her. . . .

  And somehow, she didn’t think the Secret Service wanted to stop at a McDonald’s on the way to the airport. Especially after the threat she’d just found.

  Once they reached the private hangar, McNally opened the car door for Kate, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk, and handed the bag off to the copilot, who carried it up the stairs to stow inside the jet. After thanking McNally, Kate climbed the stairs as well.

  Time to face the music, she thought. I hope Emily isn’t taking this as hard as I am.

  She wasn’t.

  “Aha, here’s our troublemaker. Late as usual.” Emily leaned out of the galley in the rear of the plane and waved.

  “I’m tired of taking messages for you,” Kate quipped as she stowed her briefcase.

  “Who’s to say it was for me?”

  “Me. You’re a bigger target than I am. Ask anyone.”

  Emily grinned. “You’re so right. Better sit down and buckle up. They’re raring to go up front. Schedules to keep, you know.”

  Kate settled herself in one of the buttery-leather seats and fished out the seat belt.

  Chip, playing flight attendant, trotted over with a cup of coffee for Kate. “Two sugars, one cream, just the way you like it.” He was being unusually solicitous. Either he’d had a fabulous night’s sleep or he was playing the sympathy card to curry Emily’s favor.

  Or both.

  Or perhaps it was something else.

  Kate refused to think about it.

  At least he and Emily were both in glowing good moods.

  “Thanks, Chip.” Kate accepted the coffee and debated rifling through the small galley to see if there was anything to eat other than snack foods. She pivoted in the chair, about to ask Emily if there was anything to scavenge on the plane when a heavenly aroma hit her.

  “Even if I’m a bigger target than you are, I bet you’re hungrier.” Emily placed a familiar-looking bag in Kate’s lap, and before Kate even opened it, she knew what was inside.

  “You remembered!” She fished out a paper-wrapped object and opened it, revealing a still-warm Egg McMuffin.

  “It was that or listen to your stomach howl all the way home.” Emily dropped the flippant attitude as she settled into the chair next to Kate. “You okay, K?” she said in an uncharacteristically soft voice, adding a quick hug.

  Kate knew Emily had spent her childhood without ever being hugged except when the cameras were rolling. It said volumes to Kate about how much her friend cared when Emily reached over to reassure her.

  Kate inhaled deeply, finding comfort in the aroma of the food and her friend’s obvious sense of concern. “Yeah. The whole threatening-note thing just took me by surprise. That’s all. I’m actually fine. Thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure as I can eat this before the pilot finishes his preflight.” She demonstrated by taking a bite. “See?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Emily chided. She paused, then gave Kate a look of penetrating concern. “Just remember that a message like this isn’t an actual threat. It’s somebody’s lame attempt to throw us off our game. And no one manipulates us like that. Right?”

  Kate nodded.

  “If we allow this note to distract, discourage, or derail us, then that reprobate has won; he’ll have achieved maximum damage simply because of three lousy words.” She glanced at Kate, then at Dozier and Chip. “No way we’re letting him do that, right? Right?”

  Kate found an odd sense of solace i
n Emily’s fierce determination to let the matter drop. Her stirring words reminded Kate of one of the things she loved about Emily: her undying dedication to those she held nearest and dearest. Once, when Buster had gotten into a bag of chocolate candy and had to be rushed to the vet, Emily was the one who left a highly charged political dinner to sit in the waiting room with Kate, distracting her with idle gossip, doing anything she could to keep Kate from worrying about her pup. And another time, Kate’s mother got lost in downtown Richmond and couldn’t get Kate on the phone. Instead, her mother called Emily, who was in the midst of an important meeting with two other governors and who stopped to give Kate’s mom directions so that she could get to a sale at a local department store.

  Family came first and Kate’s family was Emily’s family. That’s why Emily had earned not only her support and her friendship but her vote as well. And her tireless determination to bring as many other voters as she could to support her candidate and her friend. Kate took another bite of the sandwich that Emily had gone out of her way to get and silently vowed to do everything she could to get things back to normal.

  After a brief moment, Kate realized the best way to regain confidence, reestablish control, and reclaim a sense of peace was to get back to business as usual. She reached for her briefcase. “Since we didn’t do the eval in the limo, let’s do it now.”

  Emily rewarded her with a broad smile and an “attagirl” wink. “Give me the breakdown.”

  An appearance evaluation consisted of an after-action report measuring the effectiveness and efficiency of delivering their campaign message and gauging the reaction of the target audience to that message. They also looked hard at how well they reached and utilized the media outlets at each location and how effective their print, television, Web, and radio ads had been.

  In the last twenty-four hours, Emily had been the guest of honor at a charity fund-raiser luncheon for the Junior League of Dallas and had done four major network news interviews, including one with Fox News on the infamous grassy knoll where the tale of the birth and death of political regimes was trotted out yet again. More importantly, she delivered a keynote address at a dinner sponsored by the largest Hispanic news organization in the U.S. There, Emily had made perfect use of her fluent Spanish to mention her immigration reform proposal. She’d outlined a worker visa program that would provide a fast track to citizenship for the more than twelve million Hispanics living illegally in the United States. The audience interrupted her more than a half-dozen times with standing ovations. As a result, she received the endorsement from the Hispanic Mayors Council, virtually ensuring that she would carry Texas in November. It could also put New Mexico, Arizona, and California in her pocket.