by Don Brown
“Good. Then let me cut to the chase. I’ve been watching you on television during this court-martial you’ve just finished. I like the way you’ve handled yourself, not just winning the case, but with the media. I love the way you handled Reverend Barbour’s scurrilous charges that Marianne got some kind of special treatment because of me.”
“Thank you, Sen . . . Pinkie. I was just telling the truth.”
“Yes, well, I don’t have any daughters myself, and my two sons didn’t amount to much. So Marianne here is like my daughter.” He winked at Marianne. “She’s smart, beautiful, and she’s a Landrieu.”
“Oh, Uncle Pinkie.” Marianne let out a bashful giggle.
He focused on Zack again. “This business of politics, I’m pretty good at it.”
“I agree with you,” Zack said.
“Know what makes a fellow good at politics, Zack?”
Where is he going with this? “Can’t say I do.”
“Vision.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yes, vision. And I have this vision of a good-looking, smart, charismatic young Washington power couple.” He raised his glass for another toast. “To Zack Brewer and Marianne Landrieu.”
Marianne had the grace to look embarrassed.
Why do I feel like I’m being ambushed with a gallon of molasses? Zack smiled. “Pinkie, I think all those adjectives—good-looking, smart, charismatic—definitely apply to Marianne. But me? I’m just a country boy from North Carolina.”
“You two, stop it.” Marianne blushed. Zack wasn’t sure whether it was sincere or contrived.
“Here’s what I’m driving at,” the senator said. “There’s gonna be an opening in Louisiana’s Fifth Congressional District. That seat’s been held by a Republican for a number of years. Good man. Andy Mulligan. He’s retiring this year. Seat’s ripe for the pickin’ by the right kind of Democrat. I’d like you, with Marianne at your side, and with my full backing and support, to run for that seat.”
Zack met the smiling, adoring gazes of Marianne and Sally. So this is why the taxpayers probably spent $50,000 to give me a personal Navy jet for the weekend.
“Sen—Pinkie. I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, that’s easy.” Fowler chuckled. “Just have a sip of your iced tea there, and tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m stunned.” He gulped his tea. “I’m flattered. But I’m obligated to the Navy for a couple of more years, and—”
Fowler raised his hand, interrupting Zack. “Serving on the Armed Services Committee has some privileges. I can have you out of the Navy today and back in tomorrow. Say the word.”
Zack sucked in a deep breath, trying to comprehend Fowler’s offer. “Okay, but I don’t live in Louisiana. I’ve only been there once, when the Tar Heels won the national championship in the Superdome. And what about my party affiliation? Like you said, I’m a registered Republican.”
“What do you remember about Bobby Kennedy and Hillary Clinton before they ran for the Senate from New York?”
“Both moved into the state shortly before running.”
“You’re catching on, boy.” Fowler smiled, drained his second wine glass, popped a shrimp in his mouth, and poured more wine.
“My name is neither Kennedy nor Clinton.”
“No, but my niece’s name is Landrieu, and mine is Fowler. And in the Bayou, that’s a better combo than Kennedy and Clinton put together.”
U.S. Congressman Zachary Brewer. It had a nice ring.
“Yes. I’m aware of how the Landrieu name is well respected in Louisiana. But what about party affiliation?”
“Let me call a few names, and you tell me what comes to mind.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Sam Ervin.”
“Former North Carolina senator from the mountains. Considered a constitutional law expert. Chaired the Senate Watergate Committee that investigated the cover-up of the burglary at Democratic headquarters which led to the resignation of President Nixon.”
“Good.” Fowler smiled and took another swig. “Sam Nunn.”
“Former U.S. senator from Georgia. Chaired the Senate Armed Services Committee. Considered an expert on defense matters. Passed over by Clinton for secretary of defense, and then blocked Clinton’s attempts to integrate homosexuals into the military.”
“Very good.” Fowler leaned back and smiled. “Now what did Ervin and Nunn have in common?”
“Both Democrats. Both from the South. Both conservative.”
“Bingo.”
“Are you saying you want me to switch parties and run as a Democrat?”
Another J.R. Ewing grin from Fowler. “Let me put it this way. The Fifth Congressional District is heavily a Democratic district and has been for years. Mulligan won there the last four terms, by the skin of his teeth I might add, by spending millions in family money. The Republicans will run a couple of token candidates in the primary, but nobody with Mulligan’s stature or money. Meanwhile, the Democrat candidates are all liberal as the day is long, like me. Now you can bet your last dollar this seat will return to the Democratic Party in the next election. So I ask you this. If the seat is going to go Democrat anyway, wouldn’t you, as a conservative Republican, rather see the seat go to a conservative Democrat than a liberal?”
He’s serious about this. “I see your point. But what if I don’t win? I’d be forgoing a career in the Navy and who knows what else.”
“What if you don’t win?” Fowler took a swig and started cackling again. “Zack, I guarantee you’ll win. If you don’t, I’d resign my senate seat and have the governor appoint you to replace me.”
I know he’s lying.
“You’ll have my full backing and the support of my very wealthy contributors.” He shot a proud look to Marianne. “And my lovely niece will be campaigning at your side. You know what? We’ve quietly done some polling in Louisiana, and your chivalrous defense of Marianne in this court-martial has given you some very positive name recognition.”
“That’s flattering.”
“Flattering? It’s a fact. I can have my chief of staff fax down the poll numbers in the morning if you’d like.”
Zack put his hand on Fowler’s shoulder. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Mind? That’s why I’ve got you here. Ask away.”
“If the Democratic candidates in the field are liberal, and if your philosophy is liberal, then why do you want a candidate to run as a conservative Democrat?”
“Because this ain’t about liberal or conservative, boy. This is about family.”
“Family?”
“You and Marianne. And me.” Fowler leaned forward. “Look, there’s only room for one real liberal politician in Louisiana. I’ll shoot it straight. This is about money. There ain’t much of it in Louisiana. These guys are trying to siphon my fund-raising base. If one of them wins, next thing you know, they’ll challenge me in the primary. I wanna cut them off now. You know, family’s thicker than politics. Schwarzenegger, a Republican, married into the Kennedys. Jim Carville, the Louisiana political genius that got Clinton elected, married Mary Matalan, a Bush-lovin’ Republican. Here’s the point. I guarantee your election. And I won’t interfere with your votes. Wanna vote to abolish abortion? Go ahead. Vote against homosexual rights? Fine by me. Just run as a Democrat and stick by my niece. That’s all I ask.”
Zack sat back, stunned. For a moment he couldn’t speak.
“I need some fresh air.” Fowler stood. “And you need a few minutes to digest more than your succulent shrimp.” He smiled down at Sally and reached for her hand. “Come with me.” He put his arm around the young woman and escorted her out of the room.
When they were gone, Marianne met Zack’s gaze. “I knew he wanted you.” She shook her head slowly. “But I didn’t know he was going to make it a package deal. Please believe me.”
The flickering candles caught the light in her eyes. He studied her perfectly made-up face, searching
for the truth. It eluded him, just as it had done so many times during the trial. “I’ll take your word for it.” He reached for his iced tea. “So where does this leave us?”
She took another sip of merlot. “You should run for the seat. You’ll be a great congressman. I’ll support you and campaign with you. No strings attached—except maybe a job on your staff if nothing else materializes. Of course, if something does materialize between us, I might be persuaded to examine our options more carefully.” She gave her hair a toss and smiled into his eyes.
“You know, your uncle must be a mind reader. It was almost like he knew I’d wanted to run for Congress since I was thirteen.”
“Dreams can come true in mysterious ways.” There was a longing in her eyes that made him turn away.
“Well, now!” Fowler strode to the table, Sally on his arm. “Have you and my most valuable family asset decided on a strategy?”
Zack chuckled and stood as the two sat down. “Pinkie, I have to say, you’ve really thrown me for a loop tonight.” He took his seat again. “Though I must admit, this proposition is enticing.”
“Good. Then we can announce your candidacy this week?”
“I’d like to think about it. Maybe talk it over with Marianne some more.” He met the senator’s pleased gaze. “Seriously,” Zack said, leaning forward, “what’s our time frame?”
“We’ve got thirty days before we publicly announce. But I need an answer before you leave. Otherwise, I’ve got to recruit another candidate.”
“Fair enough.” Goose bumps crawled up Zack’s neck. This man was offering him his life’s ambition.
“Good,” Fowler said. “I’ll drink to that. Now let’s order something to eat.”
CHAPTER 47
Fowler compound
Palmetto Dunes Plantation
Hilton Head, South Carolina
The morning sun, masquerading as a large orange ball, slipped above the Atlantic, casting a glowing trail on the water from the horizon to the beach.
Zack lifted his head from the pillow and squinted out the window. A guest room with an ocean view certainly did not allow the guest the luxury of sleeping in. Not that he had slept much even while it was dark. He stared up at the ceiling fan’s slow-circling blades and rehashed the proposition that had kept him awake all night.
Roberson Fowler had offered what he had always wanted and aspired for.
A seat in Congress. His professional dream, once a farfetched fantasy, was so close he could taste it.
It was ironic. Roberson Fowler, a man whose public persona he detested, now suddenly wanted to become his political godfather. And surprisingly, he actually liked the man.
But running as a Democrat? Being associated with the party he vehemently disagreed with? Being linked with Roberson Fowler, a powerful ringleader in the Democrat Party?
Of course, not all Democrats followed the liberal party line. Bob Casey, the former Pennsylvania Governor, was a staunch right-to-lifer. There were Christians and non-Christians in both parties. Even his own grandparents, lifelong Democrats, were conservative. Maybe this was his chance to be salt and light, to become a strong political prophet leading the party back to its conservative moorings. Was this his calling?
What about the strings attached to this proposition?
Did Pinkie Fowler really expect him to marry his niece?
He could tick off on one hand the reasons that marrying her wasn’t right: She wasn’t a believer. He didn’t know if he trusted her. He didn’t love her.
But Pinkie didn’t actually say he expected Zack and Marianne to marry. Even Marianne said she would be content to see where things led. Maybe he could run, using the opportunity to witness to Marianne. Was this why all this was happening? Or was he kidding himself, looking for reasons to say yes?
Then there was Diane Colcernian. Her image floated into his mind, the graceful way she moved, the tilt of her chin when she smiled, the fiery snap of those green eyes when she was angry.
He almost laughed. Talk about a real pipe dream. Forget Congress. Diane had made it abundantly clear how she felt about him; he had a better chance of getting elected president than seeing those emerald eyes look at him with anything other than disdain.
He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table: 6:02.
What was Fowler’s real motivation in all this?
He got up and sat on the edge of his bed. He had put his Bible on the nightstand last night, but hadn’t read it before falling asleep. He picked it up now and thumbed through it, but his thoughts were on Roberson Fowler’s offer, and he couldn’t concentrate. With a deep sigh, he set it back on the table and stood to walk to the window.
The sun was higher now, and it was turning into a perfect morning, full of God’s creative glory. The gulls soared above the glistening water, and shorebirds skittered along the wet sand.
Maybe a jog would clear his mind. He pulled on a T-shirt and navy blue jogging shorts and headed out the back door. The beach was wide this morning, maybe a quarter mile from the dunes down to the surf. He stood, facing the ocean and enjoying the breeze on his face, and tried to pray.
“Zack!” Marianne called to him from somewhere near the compound.
He turned as she trotted closer.
“Going for a run?” She swept a strand of windblown blond hair off her forehead and tucked it behind one ear.
“You’re up early.” He pulled on his Oakleys.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You too?”
“Uncle Pinkie dumped a lot on me too, you know.”
“He loves you.” He gestured down the beach. “If you don’t mind a slow, easy pace this morning, let’s go.”
“Eight-minute mile okay?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
They turned right and jogged toward the Crown Plaza and Coligny Beach. The beach was deserted except for a few other early morning joggers and an occasional surf fisherman.
“So,” he puffed after a couple hundred yards, “how do you feel about becoming a Washington power couple?”
“Why do you think I’ve been awake all night?”
“Yeah, me too. But that doesn’t answer the question.”
“I think he dumped a lot on you. I agree with his instincts. But I feel bad this has come so suddenly.”
“Thanks. But you still didn’t answer my question about the power couple.”
Marianne pulled a sweatband over her forehead. “I’ll be honest. I do feel some chemistry. I’ve felt it since the first day I walked in your office to discuss my case. The night you took me to La Vue de la Mer in La Jolla? I’ve thought about that every day.”
It struck him as odd that she had been attracted to him in the middle of the terror and sorrow she should have been feeling after the assault. He stared at her, incredulous. But she didn’t notice.
She trotted alongside him, puffing as she talked. “But even if nothing develops on the personal level, I can still be an asset to you. With my background in media relations, like I said last night, I could be your press secretary, for example. The thing is, I want this to be your decision. But I know my uncle. If he says he can get you elected, he can.” She chuckled. “So let me ask you the same question. What do you think about the Washington power couple thing?”
“I love the Navy, but I could turn my back on it in order to pursue a lifelong dream. As for the other, I honestly can’t say. I don’t know you well enough to answer.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” They jogged by a row of catamarans beached in front of the Hilton. “What do you want to know about me?”
He pulled off his Oakleys and wiped them on his T-shirt. “Colcernian brought up the Willie Garrett thing so fast we never got to talk much about it.” He put his shades back on.
“What about it?”
“Did you date?”
“We hung out together in high school. He was a great athlete and at first was a gentleman. When I left for the Academy, he became a SEAL. We w
ent out for a while; then I cut off communication. I think it made him mad.”
“What about the other two?”
“They were his friends. Colcernian got it all wrong.” Her voice quavered. “I’d take a polygraph about Willie, but nobody offered.”
“Polygraphs aren’t admissible in a court-martial.”
They reached the Crown Plaza and turned back, still jogging, their footprints leaving circles from their turn on the wet sand.
“So, Lieutenant Brewer, any other questions you’d like to ask?”
“Are you as liberal as your uncle?”
This brought a chuckle through the huffs and puffs. “I’m a registered Democrat. I have to be for family reasons. But I’m also a naval officer. How many liberal naval officers do you know?”
“Never met one.”
“And you still haven’t.”
“Really?”
“I voted for President Williams in the last presidential election.”
“Does your uncle know?”
“No. And don’t tell him. He’d kick me out of the family.”
“Does he know you’re conservative?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “We’ve debated all the hot buttons.
Welfare, abortion, gays in the military, affirmative action. You name it.
We disagree on them all.”
“Unbelievable.”
“And you know what else I think?”
“What?”
“When my uncle says blood is thicker than politics, he means it.”
“Explain.”
“Remember all the stuff about wanting to avoid liberal competition in Louisiana?”
“Yeah,” Zack said. “Sounded fishy to me.”
“Fishy? Uncle Pinkie’s not afraid of losing to anybody. It was pure malarkey. You know what I think his real motives are?”
“Tell me.” They trotted by a row of catamarans in front of the Hilton Resort.
“I think he’s recruiting a conservative Democrat because he knows I’d never work for, or marry, a liberal one.”
Zack’s eyes widened. “Interesting theory.”
“More than a theory. His two sons have been arrested on multiple drunk-driving charges. They’re playboys who sap off the family fortune. I’m his legacy. He knows I’d never run for office, so he’s been waiting for someone like you to come along. He wants to perpetuate the family dynasty, Zack. That’s what I think this is about. Who knows? Maybe it could be a win-win situation for everybody.”