by Laura Hayden
The staffers all laughed.
Kate realized this was the sort of banter and camaraderie that fused talented individuals into a cohesive team, giving them a sense of unity and purpose. Political ideals and Emily’s charismatic personality were enough to draw the staff initially to the Benton camp, but it was the bonds of respect and friendship they formed that helped keep them focused and dedicated to the task of electing Emily as the next president. That was the part of politics Kate liked. The camaraderie in a common cause.
For a few of them, trashing the other candidates as the common “enemies” helped foster their closeness too.
That was the part of politics Kate wasn’t so fond of. But it worked. It forged them into a team, and as Emily’s team, they were succeeding on a national level.
In fact, at all the various headquarters for Emily’s campaign across the nation, it was getting hard to tell the paid staffers from the volunteers when it came to spirit and dedication.
The results of that solid fusion of talent and the drive of thousands of people united behind one cause were reflected in Emily’s poll numbers.
Kate usually thrived on the energy and synergy of such group dynamics. But thoughts of her hate-mail writers’ motives kept derailing her, interrupting her concentration. As a result, she knew she was overcompensating and trying to zero in too tightly on a single subject. Her preoccupation was limiting her effectiveness. To be truly effective as campaign manager, Kate needed to get back to her usual duty of juggling a dozen big, hairy tasks simultaneously.
But first . . .
She caught Caroline’s attention and winked. Caroline understood the silent message and walked over to the iPod that was hooked up to the office’s intercom and sound system. Normally the unit played a mixture of quiet jazz and Emily’s official campaign song, “Together We Rock.” Of course, after nine months of constant repetition, the tune had lost some of its sheen for the regular staffers, but they pretended to still love it, even after the 3,463rd time they heard it.
But Kate had a weapon hiding in the iPod, one that she activated on select occasions as much to bolster her own flagging energies or attention level as that of the staffers working in M Central. It was the best and most beloved team exercise they had, exercise being the operative word.
“Everybody!” Caroline bellowed, her voice surprisingly robust despite her gray-haired, grandmotherly looks. “Dance. Now.”
She hit the button and the opening vocals echoed her words. Then the music kicked in with a driving beat that few people, if any, could ignore. Those on the phone politely asked their callers if they could be placed on hold. Those carrying armloads of material dropped their burdens to the nearest flat surface. Everyone stood and began to dance. Some were fine dancers; some merely swayed to the music. Others used the tempo and the time to stretch and do a few simple exercises. Participation was never mandatory, but almost everyone seemed to enjoy joining in; those who didn’t tolerated it with good grace. One of a group of younger staffers would take center stage and do an energetic if not impressive mini dance routine, ending in a round of applause. Caroline had told Kate that despite the impromptu appearance of the dance, the competition was fierce for those sixty or so seconds in the limelight. Wannabe lead dancers had actually set up a secret schedule as to who would perform next as the featured “spotlight dancer.”
Of course, the real purpose of the short but enthusiastic dance break was to help clear mental cobwebs, to get the blood flowing, to continue building a sense of unity, and the most important goal, to give everyone a chance to not only smile but share a smile with each other.
As the applause ended for the day’s featured performer, everyone returned to their current tasks with lingering smiles, Kate included.
Maybe I should get on the list of performers.
She recalled one young man’s split at the end of his routine and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Or maybe not.
However, the dance break was just the kick in the pants she needed to get back into the swing of things in a better mood. After the scheduling meeting, she headed to her office, where Buster had just roused from his nap and was attacking a rawhide bone.
“You and me, kid,” she said, scratching his ears. “All the way to the top. Emily might not want you to poop in the Rose Garden, but we’ll find you a piece of the White House lawn you can call your own. Executive dogs pooping on the White House lawn have a long and glorious tradition. You’ll fit right in.”
She settled at her desk. She was trying to concentrate on a field report from the Florida office when, rather than using the intercom, Caroline thundered in unannounced and flipped on the television set. She then stood back, crossed her arms, and waited. Kate joined her, mimicking her stand.
“General Hospital?” Kate asked.
“Not quite. Even more important. Watch.”
A CNN newsreader filled the screen. “This just in. After reports of suspicious noises and signs of an illegal campfire, military police at Fort A.P. Hill have found and detained a man identified as Daniel Gilroy. Gilroy is wanted for questioning in connection to threatening mail sent to the staff of former Virginia governor and presidential hopeful Emily Benton.”
A picture of Gilroy flashed on the screen.
“He’s also listed as a person of interest in the attack on the Manchester, New Hampshire, office of presidential front-runner Charles Talbot. That shooting attack resulted in the death of staffer Terry Pinchot. Two other campaign staffers were injured as well. Law enforcement officials were observed moving boxes of evidence from the campsite.”
Kate sagged against her desk. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.
“They got him.” Caroline reached over and gave Kate a quick hug. “He’s in custody, so you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Kate’s mind filled with a sense of relief as well as a sudden exhaustion. It’d been hard to keep her spirits and her energy levels up when fear and concern sat firmly like an enormous boulder across her shoulders. She’d been starting to have real sympathy for Atlas and his whole world-juggling act.
Although she knew she ought to forget all this Gilroy business and get back to work, her curiosity kicked in. That’s why she was glad when, an hour or so later, Agent McNally of the Secret Service called her with an update. As she had guessed, even though the Talbot HQ shootings had occurred on New Hampshire soil, the federal government had claimed jurisdiction over the case since that situation involved a candidate under their protection and events occurred in multiple states.
It seemed that Daniel Gilroy had ended up in the hands of the FBI for questioning.
The lawyer in her wanted to be there in the room, watching and interrogating, when they questioned him. The potential victim in her wanted to observe from behind the safety of a bulletproof window. In either case, she wanted to see his eyes when the Feebs grilled him, judge his reactions for herself. It wasn’t as much morbid curiosity as that she wanted to know his motives. She wanted to know if he did it for sure, and she wanted to know why he did it. Plus, if she could beard the dragon in his den, so to speak, then she could feel completely in control of her life again.
But the Feebs politely asked her to butt out when she asked if she could watch them question Gilroy. They put up a solid stone wall around their suspect. The only information she received was from McNally, who assured her that the evidence against Gilroy was very strong. She pulled every string she had to talk to the accused but to no avail. The only solace she could find was in the fact that at least Gilroy was in federal custody and no longer a direct threat to her.
If nothing else, Kate could get back to work secure in the knowledge that even if the Feds couldn’t prove Gilroy sent the notes, he would have his parole revoked because he’d left the state without permission. No matter what additional charges he faced, he would go back behind bars.
The threat level surrounding her could finally drop to where it usual
ly was during a campaign and Kate could call off her dogs—of the security kind.
No more escorts. No more chase cars. No more tough men looking over her shoulder and gauging possible angles of attack.
Kate couldn’t help but grin.
Thank you, God, for freedom from that worry at last.
Her silent prayer winged its way to heaven.
After the Florida primary, Emily made her way out of the South on a private plane with a brief swing through the capitals of those Southern states participating in Tsunami Tuesday—Montgomery, Alabama; Atlanta, Georgia; Nashville, Tennessee; and Little Rock, Arkansas. Kate took a commercial flight and caught up with her candidate in Atlanta.
Together they toured the four heavyweight states of Tsunami Tuesday, beginning with Albany and Buffalo in one day, then spending a full twenty-four hours in New York City, with neither of them sleeping in the city that never sleeps.
New York was a double whammy because of the whopping number of delegates up for grabs and also by being the news media capital of the nation. Luckily Emily was popular with both groups.
Besides providing the usual sound bites to the local press, Emily appeared on both The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and Late Night with Conan O’Brien. The Letterman camp wasn’t pleased at all with her refusal to appear on the Late Show, but they didn’t protest as loudly as they might have. It all had to do with the bad blood between Emily and Dave. Kate had never heard the entire story of the incident that sparked it—ancient history, Emily always said—but she followed Emily’s orders to always turn down any and all of their offers, even refusing to accept the canned hams and baskets of muffins sent by Letterman’s booking staff.
The next day they spent in New Jersey, visiting Trenton and Atlantic City. Then after an overnight flight, Emily stumped in Springfield, Illinois, before heading to Chicago, where she attended two afternoon speaking engagements and ended the night at a women’s empowerment dinner sponsored by Oprah Winfrey.
From Chicago, they flew to California, stopping on the way in Denver and Salt Lake City.
After a day and a half of stumping in California, Emily was to spend the night before Tsunami Tuesday in Los Angeles, yukking things up with Jay Leno on The Tonight Show as his first guest. Leno’s staff had wanted to line up three well-known Hollywood bachelors to be part of a public matchmaking attempt in a parody of The Dating Game. But Kate had quashed that concept fast, believing that it weakened the message Emily needed to deliver. Leno good-naturedly agreed to let go of the comedy piece, saying that the American public didn’t need any assurances of Emily’s sense of humor and such fun and games could wait until after she was elected. The guest slot would be sedate in comparison to Leno’s original plans but just as effective.
Emily always made his day just by being on his set, he said.
Jay could afford to be nice since Emily had already made a considerable contribution to his ratings during the February sweeps the previous winter. When she’d declared her candidacy on The Tonight Show, they’d performed a good comedy bit about campaign slogans that really had people talking around the office watercoolers the next morning. The clip had reigned supreme on YouTube for at least a week.
After reading through some of the best fake slogans Emily could use, Jay had told a joke about how Emily’s campaign could save money by taking all the old “W” banners and bumper stickers created for George W. Bush and turning them upside down to read “M” for Emily. It was just a throwaway line, but that bit of silliness had inspired Kate.
She’d worked with Emily’s advertising firm, and together they came up with the text-messaging slogan V4M, which worked well not only on cell phones but on bumper stickers, lapel pins, billboards, Internet banner ads, and even in hand signals.
Kate had papered the country with it, thanks to Leno’s offhand bit of humor.
But Emily agreed—this Leno appearance wasn’t the right time for dating jokes or over-the-top comedy bits. She didn’t have the time to waste on silliness in her ambitious and detailed schedule, even if George Clooney was mentioned as one of the three possible dating-game bachelors. Both Emily and Kate had had a moment when they wavered in their sense of purpose after they’d heard that. But they’d stuck to their plans—and it was just Jay and Emily out there tonight in one of his more serious tête-à-têtes.
Kate was watching the show from the greenroom when her cell phone vibrated. She glanced at the readout. Unknown Caller. So far, her cell number had remained private, so she took a chance and answered. “Hello?”
“K? It’s Nick.”
“Hey. How are you doing?”
“The campaign’s going great. As for me personally, I heal fast. Still a little gun-shy though.” He managed a mild laugh.
“I can imagine.” She fumbled for the next thing to say. Somehow it didn’t seem right to inquire about his interpretation of the latest polls—the ones that showed Emily and Talbot heading for the election after the primaries.
“Awkward silence,” Nick said. “I can understand that. Let me get to the point. I have a friend who would like to meet you and me somewhere.”
“You and me . . . ,” Kate echoed.
“I know; I know. No cross-pollination of campaign staffs and all that. But what he has to say is important. We both need to hear it. Where are you?”
“Burbank.”
“Oh, that’s right. She’s taping The Tonight Show. I think I’ll watch Letterman tonight. When will you get back to Virginia?”
“Wednesday afternoon.”
“Can we meet Wednesday night?”
“The campaign numbers are getting tight.” Kate hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s really a good idea.”
“Trust me. It is. I’ll call you with the location.”
“Nick, really—”
“I’ll make sure it’s someplace safe, somewhere we can’t been seen or overheard. See ya tomorrow.”
Kate knew she’d be there.
But what would she hear?
TSUNAMI TUESDAY ENDED with Emily and Kate in Los Angeles. Emily had partied more than she probably should have, but the California primary had brought out a slew of high-profile supporters in the entertainment industry and beyond. Because they were spending time in elite, well-known company, the Benton campaign’s usual media coverage had tripled, meaning Emily worked it for all it was worth, and she and Kate didn’t “close shop” until the wee hours.
Even then they were too wired to sleep.
And Emily wasn’t on her best behavior.
She stalked around the hotel suite, ramped up on the caffeine she’d used to stay awake for almost twenty-four hours straight. Kate knew getting Emily to bed soon would be like trying to calm a six-year-old hopped up on Pixy Stix.
“Where’s my hairbrush?” Emily yelled. “Has anyone seen my stupid hairbrush? How hard is it for you people to lose it in a postage-stamp room like this?”
Their travel assistant, Loretta Keene, who handled Emily’s clothes, hair, and makeup, looked as frazzled as Kate felt as she scanned the spacious room for the missing brush. Kate watched the woman clamp her mouth shut rather than respond in kind to Emily’s ravings. To help alleviate the stress, Kate joined the search, getting on her hands and knees and checking under the furniture. Loretta and Kate both knew that once Emily released a little steam, she’d realize how unpleasant she’d been, apologize, and perhaps everybody could actually get some sleep.
But first they had to find the dratted hairbrush.
Kate spotted it on the bedside table partially hidden behind the clock radio. “Here it is.” Right where you left it, she added silently.
Kate picked up the brush and made momentary eye contact with Loretta while she spoke to Emily. “Why don’t you let me brush out the hair gel?”
Emily hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
Kate glanced at Loretta again and tilted her head toward the door. I’ll handle it from here. You run.
Loretta gave her a tight smile
in response. Message received. The woman slipped out of the room, trying not to appear too eager to escape.
Kate envied her a little. She began to slide the brush gently through Emily’s blonde bob, praying that a technique that had always worked so well in her own life would be equally as effective now. The ritual of brushing hair had been one of the ways Kate and her mom had often ended a long day. Sometimes it was easier to clear the air or share the day’s events when two people, no matter how close they were, weren’t facing each other.
After a few moments of silence, Emily finally spoke. “You know, my mom used to brush my hair like this.”
“Mine too.”
“It was a battlefield of sorts.”
Kate faltered for a moment, startled by Emily’s unexpected description.
“Battlefield?”
“She’d make me kneel in front of her chair, face the wall, and tell her everything I did that day. If she didn’t like what I had said or done—” Emily rubbed her temple—“I knew it. Boy, did I know it. I used to gauge the success or failure of a day by how much hair had been left in the brush.”
Kate remained quiet, and another silence stretched.
“I guess it wasn’t that way with your mom,” Emily said.
“Nah, it wasn’t. More like a bonding ritual. We used the time to share. Talk about the day, our plans. That sort of stuff. I always found it relaxing. And sometimes, even now when I go home to visit, we still do it. We end up sitting in the bedroom and talking with her brushing my hair, just like the old days.”
“I hated it when my mom made me do it. That’s why I cut my hair off when I turned sixteen.”
While growing up, Kate, like most Americans, had seen her fair share of photographs of the Bentons in the media, mostly formal shots released to magazines and newspapers. Their life as paparazzi fodder tended to go in cycles that matched the political climate.