by Greg Sandora
“Jack, you’ve got to promise me one thing though.”
“What, Honey?”
“I don’t want you taking Sandy all over the country with you campaigning,” she said bluntly. “I mean, that ridiculous get up she was wearing tonight, right there on national television. It looked like Halloween with her dressed up as Marilyn. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. You had that Megan…”
“Her name’s Macy,” I realized immediately that I should not have corrected her.
Kathy raised her voice, “What did I say? Oh, whoever she was, teenage-looking reporter practically falling all over you with Marilyn at your side. What a farce, Jack. I was waiting for her to sing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President’ in a throaty, half drunken voice, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if she had.”
“I’m sorry, Honey. We brought her up there hoping she’d meet some rich guy and…”
She cut me off, “She’s in love with you, Jack. If you can’t see that, you’re an idiot.”
“Honey, you know there’s nothin’ goin’ on. She runs the entire office,” I tried to cajole.
Kathy continued, “Jack, do I have to spell it out for you? All my friends know you like Marilyn, a lot, maybe more than you should. Your secretary shows up, a dead ringer for her, on national television standing right next to you while your… I give up. We’re just retracing the lines here. Just promise me.”
“She will be at the office, I promise.” I tried to explain, “I need her there, anyway.”
“Jack, I know she does a good job. If she didn’t, she’d have been gone years ago. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Don’t be mad, Sweetheart. I’ll be home in a few hours. I can’t wait to see you.”
I didn’t say it, but few people realize—and I wouldn’t even have wanted Kathy to know—Senators, including me, do next to nothing. Members of Congress have teams of staffers, all bright, hardworking people who do all the heavy lifting. My senate colleagues golf, fund raise, and go on junkets spending money given to them by lobbyists while the smartest and the brightest do all the work.
The only pressure is getting re-elected, and senators only run part-time. Congressmen don’t have that luxury, having to run every two years. That’s why the guys born with silver spoons always choose the senate. The truth is, every member has someone like Sandy that leads the team, organizing and handling the actual job. Teams of young attorneys hoping to make their way with the powerful read the briefs and prepare the reports. There are speechwriters, researchers, and even hard-core career guys to take the preliminary meetings and hash out details. There is even a steady stream of interns dying to get close that does all the grunt work. The truth is, the life of a senator is pretty easy, and the longer you manage to stay, the easier it gets. Once deals are done by staffers, we basically just go in, smile, and shake hands for the cameras. It’s hard to believe the public isn’t on to all of this now that everything is on C-SPAN 24-hours a day. Either the ratings must be so low there’s nobody watching, or people just don’t see it. If it wasn’t real, it would be funny. A bunch of old geezers sitting in the front leather seats nodding off, flanked by teams of assistants sitting behind them in the cheap uncomfortable chairs, sometimes whispering in their ears, sometimes passing papers, all the while doing the real work. Only in America.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The following morning I awoke just before dawn to a hound's barely audible howl. The sound, which seemed to be coming from a half mile away, was mixed with the closer sounds of birds and the chimes I had hung on the front porch. The faint and cold breeze from a window left slightly opened was whispering its way into the bedroom, carrying the pair of curtains back and forth, barely brushing across the thick white molding of the windowsill. As the light grew less faint, I could just begin to make out the silhouettes of a painting Kathy had on the wall just past her side of the bed. The normally brightly painted ladies seemed just faintly colored in the minimal first light of morning.
I felt a little guilty everyone was back to work in Washington this morning, but pushed the feeling aside and rolled over resting my face back into the pillow. The last thing I felt just before I drifted off to sleep again were the dog’s paws pushing at my back. Sophie liked to snuggle and sleep between Kathy and me, always trying to fix herself equally between touching us both.
I was awakened by the buzz of my cell phone that I had thrown on the nightstand before falling into bed. Usually I did not bring the phone into the bedroom, but after the long day and the travel back to Kentucky, I had just dropped the contents of my pockets before peeling off my clothes and falling into bed. Being on all night at the fundraising event had been exhausting but well worth the donations which Bud had calculated at seventy-eight million. Hobbs and company were the heaviest of hitters, they knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to pay dearly to for it. We needed the money, but there were two things that concerned me about Gene Hobbs: one was his association with Juarez and Santoro that smelled of trouble, and two, his hands off status with the agency. We discovered a group led by Hobbs had offered to build Barker’s Presidential Library. Clinton’s cost in the neighborhood of one hundred sixty-five million, so the pledge was probably worth two hundred million with today’s construction cost. Tip told me a hands off order could only stick if it came from the very top.
I reached over for the cell and saw Kathy was just waking up. I smelled coffee brewing from the Coffee Maker we had preset.
Kathy stirred, “I just love sleeping in with you, Jack. When was the last time we got to just stay in bed?”
“It’s been a while, it feels like our honeymoon.”
I checked my text messages.
First from Tip: will need a lot of security for what Bud has in the works.
Second from Sandy: so excited woke up this morning to a brand new SLK 350. Love you, Jack, Call Me!!!
I moved the phone closer so Kathy wouldn’t see the message; it would be hard to explain and would ruin the day. I wanted to see my mother and have some family time before heading back to Alexandria this afternoon.
I pressed the delete button. Wow! Gene Hobbs works fast! He must have had one of his people on the car for Sandy immediately after we spoke of it. I was glad he got her something in the fifty thousand range; I was afraid he might try to prove a point and get the SLS Roadster around two hundred grand. That would be tough to explain. Money meant relatively little to the guy and I couldn’t be mad he did what I’d asked, just because it was quicker than I would have liked. Especially after he raised 78 million bucks for me the night before! Now I would have to explain to Sandy that the car was a gift from Gene, not from me, and hope she hadn’t told too many people at the office. Scratch that, if she told even one person, the cat would be out of the bag and it would be all over the office by now.
Third, from Bud: Jack, call me as soon as you can. Have great news about SC.
Fourth, from Lisa: Sandy gets a car. Really, Jack?
I was right, that tabby ain't goin’ back.
My first return text was to Lisa: Lisa, please don’t misunderstand, the car was a result of an offhand comment I made to Gene last night - probably had too much to drink. Please do not discuss with Sandy, I will talk to you when I get to the office tomorrow - sorry - don’t want you upset - Jack
I didn’t expect one little text to fix the problem. I know enough about the female mind to know Lisa would be hurt and feel betrayed. I was mad at myself for not seeing this coming. Just as a precaution, I hit delete on Lisa’s message and my response.
I got out of bed and walked over to a big, overstuffed, soft, brown and vanilla cloth chair Kathy had placed next to the window. One of her favorite things was to look out on the new morning from that spot. It was a bright, beautiful day. There was a light snow on the ground that didn’t look like it would last very long, but it made everything look so clean.
“You getting up, Jack?” Kathy asked.
“Ya, I gotta call Bud. He t
exted he had great news about South Carolina. I don’t think any news could top last night.” I said while dialing.
Bud answered, “Hey, Jack. How’s it going today?”
"Good, Bud. It was epic getting all those folks together for the fundraiser; I think you set a record. It’s like they couldn’t get the money out fast enough.”
“Jack, listen I’ve got some incredible news.” Bud sounded almost euphoric. I was really curious to hear what got Bud so excited. It wasn’t like him to get so worked up in a positive way.
“This doesn’t sound like the Bud I know, what is it?”
“Hobbs got us the University of South Carolina Football Stadium for Saturday night.” He continued, almost giddy, “It’s his Alma Mater, he’s a major donor to their expansion, he made a call and got it.”
Hobbs was a major supporter of the Gamecocks Football Program. He’d donated tens of millions to expand the stadium; the most recent in a long history of renovations put the capacity at 88,000 screaming football fans.”
“For this Saturday, Bud? How are we going to even put a dent in a place that size? It could end up backfiring on us if we end up with a few hundred people there. Can you imagine how stupid we’ll look? The media would love for us to fail like that. We’ll look like assholes down there; they’ll laugh us out of the place, such short notice. Tell them another time, Bud.”
“That’s the best part of the whole thing; Hobbs Conglomerate owns a major recording studio. He made a call and they promised us three A-list acts to bring the people. Jack, I gave the go ahead, I hope you aren’t pissed, but this was too good to pass on.”
“I’m okay with it, but I’ll tell you this: if I get there and the attendance is crap, then I’ll cancel. The people who show can listen to the music but without me.”
“Jack, I think this is a great way to reach people. I’m going to call the local media outlets in Columbia and blitz the advertising.”
“Bud, you know when I was nineteen I went to a festival in Canada where they had sort of a mini Woodstock. Thousands of kids showed up; they called it the Canadian Jam. Why don’t we call this the Energy Jam?”
“I like it, Jack. I’ll get the guys at My Basket to spread the word for us on the internet with an introduction to promote your energy ideas. They said they could print any message we want and distribute it to millions on the internet and text within a few minutes of my call.”
“Do it, and tell em to keep on hitting it hard. To get that many people to show up, don’t even think about charging for this. This can't be a fundraiser, Bud, it's gotta be for show.”
Kathy rolled out of bed and walked over to her closet. It was actually a large room outfitted like a small boutique leading into a private bathroom. I had surprised her with the renovation for her birthday last year.
“When did you come up with this, Bud?”
“That’s the thing, it was Hobbs idea. He called me early this morning and made the offer.”
“Bud, can you imagine a guy like Hobbs? He always has a winning hand either way. He has Barker already, and with everything he is doing for us we will owe him big time. Do you ever worry we will owe too many large debts? I hope Hobbs isn’t setting us up.”
“Jack, listen, he wouldn’t have done so well for us last night if that were the case.”
“You’re right, Bud, there really is no one else in the game like you, Singer, spend whatever it takes to get the people in there.”
“It will be like the circus is coming to town, Jack. We’ll pass out tickets at the University and all over town; trust me this will be great.”
“Bud, now Tip’s message makes sense about the security. We’ll need plenty of off duty cops there. Ask Hobbs' people to coordinate with Tip. I’m sure they have a small army of guys who regularly work those football games we can use.”
“As soon as we hang up I’ll be calling Gene to tell him you love the idea.”
“Bud, tell Hobbs we want him to play a small part in the administration; tease him with Ambassador to Great Britain.”
“Are you serious, Jack, would you really give him that?”
“Sure. Did you see his tribute to King Henry? His big ego will fit right in over there with the queen. He probably wishes he was part of the family. Manipulate the guy. Tell him we’re impressed with his ability to organize parties and events. Get him to spend this thing into the stratosphere. Believe me, the guy would love to be Ambassador, and it’s a bonus because he didn’t even hint about it. He’ll be disarmed, thrilled over it. He might even subconsciously sabotage his support of Barker for it.”
“Jack, I am humbled.”
“Most important, Bud, make him feel personally responsible for the success of this thing, make him own it. It’s his name on the party.”
Hobbs was like a big spoiled kid, and we were his latest toy. We would use his interest to our advantage before he tired of us and went on to the next thing. The ambassadorship would give this legs that would last. I was also playing Bud subtly, putting it on him by making him responsible to communicate my wishes to Hobbs. It would be interesting to see if the two of them could really pull something this big off in just three days.
Kathy emerged from her closet and walked over plopping into the chair with me. She put one arm under my back and one leg over my two.
“What’s Bud got cookin?” She asked.
“You’re not going to believe this. He’s got the Williams-Brice Stadium in Columbia booked for Saturday Night. Hobbs is setting up the event and staging three big acts to drag the people in, all for free.
“It’s nice of him, Jack, wonderful even, but do you ever worry the guy is doing too much and payback will be a bitch?”
Kathy always cut to the chase and didn’t pull any punches. I tended toward jumping in headfirst while she was more cautious. It made for a good match.
“I’ve thought about it but he’s already bought and paid for Barker, if we don’t take his money it will go to Griffin or somebody else. The kind of cash he’s throwing around buys media. We have to keep our eye on the prize; we can’t help anyone if we don’t win. You love to help people; at least we can feel good about our intentions.”
“You’re right about wanting to help people.”
“Honey, the rich will always be on top. Hobbs has influence no matter who is in the White House; it might as well be us.”
“You’re right, Jack. You know me, I’m always a little worried; please be careful.”
“Careful with Hobbs or the event in South Carolina?” I knew what she meant. Kathy worried even when I was in a group of ten people.
“Both, Jack.”
“Honey, you don’t have to worry about either. As president, I’ll have Bud handle Hobbs. I might end up spending five minutes with him at White House parties and maybe take a couple of calls a year.
“Really, Jack? A few minutes a year - in return for all this?”
“That’s it, Hon, and for the stadium event we are going to have wall to wall cops and I’ll be in and out. I’ll be there for the last act, do my thing, and leave.”
“Alright, Jack, it always sounds good when you say it. What are your plans for the next couple of hours?”
"Well, I thought we’d go see Mom and Dad and spend some time with them before all heading to the airport. I'd like to meet Karen’s husband, Joe, too.”
“That’s nice, your mom loves Karen, Jack, and I think she likes taking care of your mom. You’ll see a change in them both, your mom seems much better. Karen rinsed her hair medium brown and looks ten years younger. I want us all to fly back right after; maybe we could relax for a few minutes together.”
“Daddy, can I come?” We heard Martha’s excited almost frantic voice through the rapid knocking on our bedroom door. I got up to unlock the door joking to Kathy, “She can't be talking about Grammy’s.” I opened the door, Martha’s light little body jumped into my arms, hugging for all she was worth, “Daddy can I come, please, please, please?”
“Come where, Honey?”
“Mom, make him take me,” she begged, “I just got a text, Devon, Billie Rubin and Fantasy are gonna be with Daddy at the University of South Carolina on Saturday!” She was so out of breath she barely finished with “I have to go; I’ll just die if I don’t!”
Hugging Martha, taking advantage of the rare affection from my fifteen year old, I looked over at Kathy for some direction, saying, “The word’s out already?”
Martha exclaimed, “Dad, kids are downloading tickets right now-wah[AMR11] . It’s my dad, please take me, Mommy please make Daddy take me!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Just before seven Sunday night, Kathy and I, along with the girls, had planted ourselves down in front of the TV to watch the broadcast. Lexi had filmed both the concert and an interview with Martha and me on our trip back to Alexandria after the show.
Watching from our living room- “I hope she gets me with Fantasy backstage, Dad, I would just love it if the kids from school see that,” Martha was excited.
Secretly I hoped the opposite, preferring Kathy not to see the twenty minutes the Brit star spent hanging on me. I thought she must have been high on something the way she was carrying on Saturday night.
Lexi opened her Sunday night news show.
“It has been a long time since this reporter has witnessed something this exciting,” Lexi’s voice was heard dubbing over the video of the Concert the night before.
“Fantasy, the number one pop star on the planet, has just finished a ten minute remix of her hit song ‘Naughty Girls.’ Moments before, the backstage area was teaming with fifty beautiful girls wearing black dresses with a matching white stripe across the hips. The dancers were frantically moving about in, what seemed to this reporter, to be organized chaos. Somehow, it all worked as the performers made ready to strut out onto the stage to back up the Superstar. From our vantage point, stage left, we heard the loud crackle and felt the intense heat from flamethrowers reaching into the sky. It sounded like a hundred hot air balloons coming too close. The strong smell of burning propane and spent Pyrotechnics filled the air. The thick fog of rising smoke remained into the clear night lit from the glow of a seventy-five foot high mega screen playing provocative scenes of the British girl-singer. The performance was completely mesmerizing; at one point the star, flanked by her scantily clad backup dancers, matched the screen behind move for move.”
