Advise and Consent

by Allen Drury

  ARE REDS ON MOON? MOSCOW HINTS IT

  WORLD-SHAKING ANNOUNCEMENT

  PLEDGED SOON

  “I say we have delayed this thing long enough,” he said soberly. “I don’t know whether the bastards are ahead of us again or not, but I do know we need a strong Secretary of State to deal with them if they are.” He turned suddenly on Hal Fry and Clarence Wannamaker, sitting quietly together at one end of the table. “How about you boys?” he demanded. “You’re at the UN. Aren’t we being hurt by this in the eyes of everybody all over the world?”

  Hal Fry shrugged.

  “If there’s anything I’m tired of,” he said calmly, “it’s being told how something looks in the eyes of the rest of the world. Nothing we do ever looks good in the eyes of the rest of the world; if the Russians don’t have the knife out for us, some one of our old pals like the British do. We can’t win no matter what we do. My feeling is this is our problem and we shouldn’t be stampeded in deciding it.”

  “Let’s just do what we feel is right,” Clarence Wannamaker remarked. “All the rag, tag, and bobtail in the world will come trailing along after us if we do that. Subconsciously that’s what they want, for us to make up our own minds, no matter how hard they try to talk us out of it.”

  “Well, what about this?” Arly demanded, hitting the newspaper. Hal Fry nodded.

  “That’s the talk up there,” he said.

  “All right, then,” Senator Richardson said. “I think we should forget this stupid youthful error—”

  “He was thirty-four,” Orrin said stubbornly.

  “—and judge this man on his merits now, as the man we need in the crisis that faces us. Or may face us,” he amended. “It doesn’t yet....Doesn’t anybody else think I have any point at all?”

  “I do,” George Hines said cheerfully. “I think you do, Arly boy.”

  “Thanks, George boy,” Senator Richardson said dryly. “Does anybody else?”

  “I think perhaps you do,” Stanley Danta said slowly, and the Senator from Illinois gave him a sharp look. “I’m sorry, Orrin,” he said quietly, “But I’ve been thinking it over and I’m not so sure you’re right.”

  “Call off the wedding,” Verne Cramer said brightly, but his seniors were not amused and his happy little chuckle trailed away into silence.

  “How can you defend him?” Orrin asked passionately. “How can you possibly defend him?”

  “I’m not trying to defend him,” Senator Danta said. “I’m just trying to understand him and judge him objectively without letting it get all cluttered up with Brig’s death.”

  “All cluttered up with Brig’s death!” Senator Knox echoed bitterly. “Do you have any realization of what Brig’s death means? There was a human life involved here, you know.”

  “That’s completely unfair,” Stanley Danta said quietly, “and you know it. I’ve been in your house for most of the past two days. I know what Brig’s death means, I will thank you to recognize.”

  “I apologize,” Senator Knox said more quietly. “I do apologize, Stanley, and you know I do. But I just don’t see how you can take Leffingwell’s side when—”

  “I’m not taking his side, exactly,” the Senator from Connecticut said. “It’s more objective than that. At least, I hope it is.”

  “Well, I’m not sorry I voted the way I did,” John DeWilton said abruptly, “and I’m prepared to vote that way again today. And the sooner the better.”

  “How about you, Bob?” Senator Richardson asked, and the ex-Majority Leader looked at him thoughtfully.

  “I told the President I would vote for him,” he said, “and so I will. That’s all I care to say about it. I don’t quite understand your excessive loyalty all of a sudden, though.”

  “Something of the same,” Arly Richardson said. “I told Leffingwell I’d vote for him if the record didn’t disclose anything damaging. It doesn’t, so I’m sticking by my promise.”

  “Who gives a damn what the record discloses?” Orrin Knox demanded angrily. “I’m telling you what the truth of the matter is, and that’s what’s going to be put before the Senate.”

  “Then it seems to me,” Senator Richardson said indifferently, “that if part of the truth is going to be put on public display, it should all be put on public display. That would only be fair.”

  “If you’re indecent enough to kick a corpse,” Senator Knox shot back furiously, “go ahead and be damned to you.”

  Arly Richardson flushed and half started from his chair. The Senator from Michigan spoke in a tone that took no back talk.

  “Now, Mr. Chairman,” he said, “I want Senators to sit down and keep their tempers and act like gentlemen and Senators of the United States. We’ve had enough of this childish bickering. God damn it, I want it to stop. I ask you to impose order on the committee, Mr. Chairman.”

  “The Majority Leader is entirely right,” Tom August said with an indignant show of firmness. “We will proceed in order here or I shall call in the official reporter and we’ll go back on the record. Does anyone else wish to express an opinion before we vote?”

  “I don’t want to express an opinion,” John Winthrop said quietly, “but I want to get a guarantee from Arly that he isn’t going to make a spectacle of himself and of the Senate by bringing to the floor matters that could only add to a burden of tragedy that God knows is heavy enough for all of us.”

  Senator Richardson made an impatient movement.

  “Oh,” he said, “I probably won’t. I probably won’t. But I get so damned sick and fed up with his domineering ways”—and he gestured angrily at Orrin—“that I just thought I’d make him stop and think for once in his life.”

  “That strikes me as no basis at all for what you’ve done,” Senator Winthrop said politely, “but of course you know what satisfies your own feelings better than we do.”

  “I want to serve notice right now,” Senator DeWilton said firmly, “that if no one else brings up James Morton on the floor, I will, because I agree with Orrin that this has a direct and fundamental bearing on the character of the man we are asked to entrust with our foreign policy. How about that, Arly?” And he looked belligerently at the Senator from Arkansas, who again gave an impatient nod.

  “All right,” he said. “All right. Of course it has a bearing, though I don’t think, myself, that it’s as vital as you make out. Of course we’ll debate it.”

  “And without mentioning Brig,” Ed Parrish of Nevada offered suddenly out of the brown study he had appeared to be in all afternoon.

  “Probably without mentioning Brig,” Senator Richardson said.

  “Is that the best you can do, ‘probably?’” Senator Parrish inquired.

  Arly shrugged.

  “That’s the best,” he said.

  “I think perhaps we had better vote,” Senator August suggested, “if we are ready.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” Orrin said quickly, “I move that the committee send the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to the Senate with an unfavorable recommendation.”

  Lafe Smith, who had been quietly studying his colleagues’ faces and putting together scraps of previous conversation with each of them, spoke up hastily.

  “Wait a minute, Mr. Chairman,” he said. “Wouldn’t it be better for someone who favors the nominee to make a positive motion that we do recommend him, and then we can vote it up or down?”

  “Why?” Orrin asked. “Isn’t my motion clear enough?”

  “It is perfectly clear,” Lafe said, carefully avoiding Bob Munson’s eye, though he knew from a sudden little motion that Bob understood exactly what he was driving at. “It just seems a more orderly way to do it, that’s all,” he added lamely.

  “Of course it is, Mr. Chairman,” Senator Munson said firmly. “Arly, why don’t you put the motion?”

  “I wouldn’t want to pre-empt Orrin’s right,” Senator Richardson said blandly, and it was obvious he got it, too.

  “I’m sure Orrin wouldn’t mind,” La
fe said rather nervously, and Senator Knox suddenly smiled.

  “Are you absolutely certain?” he asked. “Very well, I withdraw it. Go ahead, Arly.”

  “Okay,” Senator Richardson said indifferently. “I move that the Foreign Relations Committee report the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to the Senate with a recommendation that it do pass.”

  “I’ll call the official reporter,” Tom August said, “and we’ll poll the committee.”

  Ten minutes later as they began to come out into the corridor, the press and television reporters swarmed around them asking eager questions which were shunted aside with amiable wisecracks and the assurance that the chairman would fill them in. George Hines and Ed Parrish, walking out arm in arm, intrigued them considerably because George just grinned and said, “Oh, boy, oh, boy,” and Ed smiled a little and commented, “You’ll be surprised.”

  And this, they were frank to confess to one another, they were, for they had not expected the result to be quite what it was or to come in quite the way it did when Tom August, flanked by Arly and Orrin, took his place before the waiting circle of cameras and reporters.

  “The Foreign Relations Committee,” he said, looking pale and in a voice that trembled—“But, then,” the Philadelphia Inquirer reminded the Los Angeles Times, “he always looks pale and his voice always trembles”—“having had before it the question of the nomination of Robert A. Leffingwell to be Secretary of State, and whether to recommend to the Senate that it be confirmed or to recommend that it not be confirmed”—“For Christ’s sake,” AP whispered savagely, “get on with it!”—“has voted seven to seven on a motion by Senator Richardson to report the nomination favorably to the Senate. Under the rules of the Senate a motion receiving a tie vote fails of passage, and accordingly the nomination will be reported to the Senate unfavorably.”

  “You will note, however,” Senator Richardson said quickly, “that the failure of my motion was only on the basis of parliamentary custom. A majority of the committee did not vote against the nominee.”

  “Or for him, either,” Senator Knox remarked.

  “Can you tell us how the committee members did vote, Mr. Chairman?” someone asked. Tom August hesitated, looked at his two colleagues, who nodded, and made up his mind.

  “It isn’t the usual practice,” he said gently, “but in view of the great interest in the nomination, perhaps I can tell you. Voting for Senator Richardson’s motion, to report favorably, were its author, Senator Munson, Senator Danta, Senator Cramer, Senator Parrish, Senator Hines, and the chairman. Voting against the resolution, in other words to disapprove, were Senator Knox, Senator Smith, Senator Fry, Senator Strickland, Senator Winthrop, Senator DeWilton, and Senator Wannamaker.”

  “Any predictions on what the Senate will do?” the Detroit News asked Arly and Orrin, and they looked at one another and smiled grimly.

  “After you,” Arly said.

  “The nomination will be defeated,” Orrin said flatly.

  “And you, Senator Richardson?”

  “If it is,” Arly said, “it will be by a narrow margin.”

  “But you won’t say positively that it won’t be?” the press pinned him down quickly. The Senator from Arkansas looked unamused.

  “No,” he agreed. “I won’t say positively.”

  ***

  Chapter 5

  “Well,” his son said, looking up with a grin from his struggles with a dress shirt, “I didn’t know whether you’d be able to stop being a world statesman long enough to come to my wedding or not. How did the committee meeting go?”

  “So-so,” Orrin said. Hal paused a second and looked at him closely.

  “Did you get licked?” he asked. His father smiled.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “It was a seven-to-seven tie vote on Arly’s motion for a favorable recommendation, so the motion lost, and the recommendation will be unfavorable. But it’s only a parliamentary device, as Arly pointed out. The significant thing is that I couldn’t muster a majority against him. And I almost ruined it by trying to make my own motion for an unfavorable recommendation, which would have had just the opposite result.”

  “What stopped you?” Hal asked with a smile. “I didn’t know anything could.”

  “Well, yes,” Senator Knox said with an answering smile. “I’m not as bullheaded as all that. Lafe stopped me. He apparently checked the committee a little closer than I did and knew what might happen.”

  “I like Lafe,” Hal said. “He chases around too much, but his heart’s in the right place.”

  “He’s going to stop chasing,” the Senator said, and his son gave him a look of surprised interest.

  “Don’t tell me he’s going to get married too?” he said in some disbelief.

  “So he tells me.”

  “Well, well,” Hal said. “All of us old rakes are retiring from the competition. But I guess it’s time to leave the field to younger and fresher men. God damn it,” he said suddenly. “Will you fix this stud for me?”

  “Gladly,” Orrin said. “Where’s your mother? I was sure she’d be here, hovering around.”

  “She’s at the Cathedral checking on things,” Hal said. “She kissed me, and started to cry, and ran.” He smiled. “I like the old girl,” he said.

  “So do I,” Orrin said. “I only hope you’re as lucky as I am.”

  “Oh, I think so,” Hal said with a new note in his voice suddenly. “Yes, I think so.”

  “I think so, too,” his father said. “She’s a wonderful girl.”

  “She is that,” his son agreed softly. A little twinkle came into his eyes. “Isn’t there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.

  The Senator from Illinois tried to look surprised, and that failed, and tried to look dignified, and that failed. He wound up laughing rather self-consciously.

  “I do believe you’re blushing,” Hal said.

  “I’m not blushing,” Orrin said flatly. “I was just wondering what a man of my generation could possibly have to tell one of yours that you don’t know already, and that a long, long time ago.”

  “I remember you tried to tell me once,” his son remarked, with the same little twinkle.

  “Well, did you understand it?” the Senator asked.

  “I understood it,” Hal said, “but it hardly seemed logical.” He grinned. “Doesn’t yet, as far as that goes, only now it doesn’t matter whether it’s logical or not. That’s the least of the things that matter.”

  “I thought it was a clear and objective discussion,” Orrin observed. “Factual, straightforward, and to the point.”

  “It was,” Hal agreed. “It certainly was. It was a good basic presentation. I felt I was well-launched.”

  “When did you get your pilot’s license?” his father asked dryly, and was pleased to see that it was his son who was blushing.

  “That’s all right,” Hal said. “That’s all right, now. What time is it?”

  “It’s five thirty-one,” his father said.

  “How do I look?” Hal asked, and for a moment the Senator couldn’t see him at all, except he knew that somewhere through the haze there was a little boy and a tall young man, both of whom apparently belonged to him, fantastic though it suddenly seemed.

  “You look wonderful,” he said, not too steadily, and then his eye lighted on something that brought the world back to perspective. “Except that you’re wearing your bedroom slippers.”

  “Well, by God, so I am,” Hal said, and suddenly he started laughing in a way that was tense but happy.

  “Nobody can say I’m nervous!” he exclaimed. “Ohhhhhh, no!”

  I’ve done the best I could, Stanley Danta said in the private conversation he often carried on, and I’ve tried to do all the things I think you would have done if you hadn’t—if you had been here. I doubt if I’ve done everything, because I never did think of everything, and without you to remind me I’ve probably forgotten some things; but on balance I am well pleased and I think you
would be, too. She’s a nice girl and she’s marrying a nice boy and they’re getting a good start in life, and that’s about all one can hope, or guarantee, for anybody. I don’t think she’ll let him down or let us down. So having managed that, I guess it’s time for us to wish them well and retire gracefully from the premises, isn’t it? I just wish you could be here to see her....I just wish you could be here.

  It would be thirteen years in November since she had been, and never a day had passed without that same futile wish, which the passage of time, though easing its pain, could not erase from his heart or mind or being.

  “How are you coming?” his daughter called from her room, and he realized with a start that the hour was moving on and he had consumed precious minutes daydreaming. He tied his tie hastily and gave himself a critical look in the mirror.

  “Fine, thank you,” he called back. “How about you?”

  “There will be some tucking and tugging and buttoning and zippering for you to do here in a minute,” she said, “but I’m making progress. In a way—it sounds awful, but you know how I mean it—I’m kind of glad things worked out so the wedding would be small and quiet and I could be here with you alone these last few minutes without a lot of fussy females running around the place.”

  “I’m flattered,” he said.

  “Well, after all,” she said, “you’re the only daddy I ever expect to have, you know. Do you want to come in now?’

  “You look beautiful,” he said gravely, and so she did, young and earnest and flushed with excitement. “What do I tuck and tug and button and zipper?”

  “Look back there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. “There are various infernal devices you’ll see that I can’t reach very well.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I think—that—ought—to do it. Jump up and down and run around the room ten times and we’ll see if anything falls off.”

  She kissed him suddenly.