The Means

by Douglas Brunt

  “Jesus,” says Tom.

  “Tom, you have nothing to lose. Let’s play out a few scenarios. In all scenarios, I raise a few million bucks for your candidacy, build an organization, and we run a strong campaign. Scenario one, you lose the race but your celebrity and profile in the state are much bigger and your law practice benefits. Plus, you’ve had a chance to articulate what you believe to be sound political positions for the state. Scenario two, you win and you’re the goddamn governor. Maybe you hate the job so you serve one term and you return to your practice, but now you’re an historical figure in the state. Scenario three, you win and you love the job.”

  “Benson, I have young kids, a law practice. And politics is so ugly. Call me vain, but I like people to like me. Right now, there’s nobody out there running around saying they hate me. That would all change.”

  “You sue people for millions of dollars all the time. You think those people don’t hate you?”

  “Insurance companies pay the settlements.”

  “They still hate you. And so do the insurance companies.”

  “It’s different. Politics is nasty. And personal.”

  “Tom, the party and I are offering you fame, market power. You’d have it, win or lose. You just have to say yes, and then you can leverage it any way you want. You could do some real good. That’s why you got into law in the first place.”

  Pauley is no dummy. He knows everything Benson Hill says is self-serving and he knows he’ll owe somewhere down the line. But it also makes some sense. “My wife would have to support this.”

  “Of course. She’d be important to the campaign.”

  “We need some time to think it over. Don’t give me any crap about twenty-four hours.”

  “How about a week?”

  Tom knows all he’s committing to is a conversation with his wife about a crazy idea, but it’s an idea he likes. He doesn’t yet know if he likes it enough to do it, but he likes it. “Alright.”

  “Tom, can we round back to the position questions? I need to take this back to the party.”

  “So, I’m not definitely your guy?”

  “We think you’re our guy. Just diligence.”

  Tom is too distracted to go through a punch list of questions and wants to talk with Alison. “Here’s the overview of the three legs of the stool. On economic policy, I’m for lower taxes, less regulation, and smaller government. Even though I’m a lawyer I support tort reform, and the British system of loser pays is the only thing that makes sense. The good lawyers will still make money. On foreign policy, I’m for a strong military to deter conflict and to handle small, regional conflicts abroad to keep us safe at home. On social issues, I’m center. I’m pro-gun and pro-life. I’m also pro gay marriage and anti death penalty and it doesn’t matter which of these positions is on the record because I won’t change them for a campaign.”

  Benson nods. “You sound like a candidate already.”

  “You should know that now, Benson. I won’t change them.” Tom feels this is a stand he needs to make now to set the tone if he’s really going to do this.

  Benson looks back at him. He knows he’s just flipped Tom’s world around. This guy can win, he thinks. He’s so freaking naïve, but that’s the beauty of it. “Of course, Tom. It’s your call. You’re the boss of the campaign.” Benson has seen uncompromising men before and that trait never lasts once they step inside politics. The first time they give away their principles is hard to watch, like seeing a homeless mother parting with her last morsel of food to feed her child. But soon they become real politicians who understand sacrifice and the larger picture. Tom Pauley can say whatever he wants today. Years from now he’ll look back at this moment and have a laugh at himself. Benson looks at him as though Tom is a child. “We do it your way,” he assures him again.

  Tom mistakes the look for admiration, a rare misinterpretation for him to make. “Good.”

  “You a Duke fan?” asks Benson.

  “Carolina.”

  “Damn. Well, nobody’s perfect. How the hell can you stand Roy Williams, though?”

  “I don’t like Roy much. He made his bones coaching at Kansas and he should have stayed there. Now that whole state hates him because he’s got no loyalty and I don’t like him for the same reason.”

  Benson nods. If this guy gets the job, he has a lot to learn. I think I can get him the job, though. “I hate him because he’s tough to beat.”

  “In North Carolina, you’re not supposed to talk politics or basketball in polite conversation. Look at us doing both.”

  Benson laughs. “Tom, this is not polite conversation. This is the start of your campaign.”

  4

  Tom pulls out of the Washington Duke lot and his cell phone rings. He answers and puts it on the car speaker. The Reverend Don says, “Well done, Counselor.”

  “I thought you’d still be dazzling the media.”

  “They’re saturated with dazzle so I stopped.”

  “I see,” says Tom.

  “I wanted to ask you about Harold Wallace.”

  Something’s wrong. The reverend’s tone of voice tells Tom he’s caught. It’s the tone used with the name Harold. “Okay.”

  “His testimony was very important.”

  “Eyewitness testimony is compelling,” says Tom.

  Harold Wallace was a witness for the defense. Six months earlier he had walked into Tom’s office and told Tom that he was not Harold Wallace but Harold’s older brother Bobby. Bobby has two prior felonies and is on parole, and when approached by the police as the witness to a homicide, Bobby panicked and told them he was Harold, his one-year-younger and similar-looking brother. Now Bobby wanted to know what to do.

  Cleaning up this confusion might replace a strong witness for the defense with a parolee who has two felonies and who has already once been dishonest about the case. And to what purpose? Tom had worked with his clients several months already and was convinced of their innocence.

  Tom had replied to this man in front of him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Harold, but when I go to trial, I want you, Harold, on that stand with a driver’s license in your pocket that says Harold Wallace, and nothing else you’ve said in here today makes any sense to me.”

  The Reverend Don says to Tom, “It sure is nice to have a credible eyewitness.”

  “Sure is.”

  “Not like his brother, Bobby. Same height, same weight, same home address, just felony convictions.”

  “I guess so. I don’t know much about Bobby,” says Tom.

  “Of course not, Counselor. I just called to say that you did great work and you got the right result. Justice was served today, any way you cut it.”

  Tom realizes that Don is the type to keep a file on everyone. The reverend makes a business of attacking what he finds to be unjust, so he always has a target, and a person on offense so much needs to think about defense too. “Nice knowing you, Don.”

  5

  Alison is better-looking as a woman than Tom is as a man. Smarter too, but she doesn’t have the fearlessness in life that he has. Like many people, she was drawn by something her subconscious realized she lacked.

  They knew of each other as undergrads at UNC, then met as first-year law students and dated off and on. She never wanted to be a litigator. She never wanted to be at a big firm at all, where sharper elbows are required to get ahead. From law school, she took a job at Duke Energy as inside counsel and started working her way up. Tom went to New York and they were out of touch for several years.

  When Tom moved back to North Carolina to open his practice they went on a date and were married a year later. Alison had their first baby a year after that and Duke Energy allowed her to work part-time from home as deputy general counsel. The company feels like a second family to her now. She loves to watch Tom try cases, but making th
e arguments is not for her.

  “I have something interesting to tell you about my meeting at the Washington Duke today.”

  Alison pours them each a glass of white wine. The kids are both asleep. “It’s a high bar for interesting around here these days.”

  “This clears it.” They clink their glasses in a silent toast and hold eye contact. Eye contact during the toast is something that they’ve decided as a couple matters, and it makes a moment of feeling connected when they do it. “I told you Benson Hill is with the state GOP?”

  “You did.”

  “He was doing diligence.”

  “On what?”

  “Me.”

  They hardly talk politics at all so there’s no context for her to make the leap so quickly. “Why?”

  “They’re vetting me. They want me to run for governor.”

  She’s stunned and processing. “You think that or he told you that?”

  “He said they think I’m their guy.”

  “Tom, that’s incredible!” Her emotion is pride that the man she loves has been tapped on the shoulder for something this big. She’s consumed by the honor of it and not what the honor could mean.

  Tom tries to bring her there. “I don’t know what to do. What do you think?”

  “Let’s save that for the second glass of wine. My little Tar Heel law student has just been asked to run for governor. I want to celebrate that for a minute first.” She comes around the table and behind his chair. She leans down so her chest is against the back of his shoulders and she hugs his neck. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, honey. Thank you.” He tops up both their glasses. He’s already had time to absorb the news and is on to whether or not it’s a good idea. He wants to give her some time as well but has never had a lot of patience. “Should I do it?” He reaches up to hold her forearms that are wrapped around his chest with her hair draped over them. She kisses his cheek. He says, “We’re happy now. We can go on being happy like this. This might make us unhappy.”

  Tom already decided he wants it. On the drive home with the music loud enough to vibrate the steering wheel and drown out his screaming voice from his own ears he decided fuck yes. But he wants to keep that out of this discussion. He wants to play devil’s advocate to see if Alison can independently want it also.

  “What’s the commitment?” she asks.

  “I guess a year for a campaign. If I win, four years on top of that.”

  “What would your firm do during that time?”

  “They’d adjust the caseload. They’d be fine, and when I come back I’m a bigger asset, win or lose.”

  “So no problem there. Just good things.” Alison’s tone is positive.

  “The problem is the unknown. I don’t know anything about a campaign or even politics, really. I could embarrass myself. I could hate it. It could be hard on our family.” Tom needs to say all these things even though he fears none of them.

  Alison straightens up her back and steps around to sit across his lap and hug him from the front this time. “We can do anything as long as it’s time-limited. This will be one year, or five years max if we don’t like it. How bad can it be?”

  This is what he needed to hear.

  6

  Tom is unopposed in the Republican primary. He imagines Benson Hill and some of his old sons of bitches had something to do with that. His eight-million-dollar war chest helped. North Carolina still has an element of the early-twentieth-century political boss machine, and the machine is either with you or against you. That’s not the way in national politics, but local politics is different.

  “Jesus, you could hang meat in here.” Tom has gotten irritable with the grind of the campaign. He’s on his plush campaign bus that is skimmed on the outside with “Pauley for Governor.”

  Tom is seated next to Peter Brand, who yells to the front of the bus, “Lighten up on the AC. We can’t move from ninety degrees outside to forty in here.”

  Over the last week, Brand has taken over as the chief of staff for Pauley. Brand was always involved but was splitting time, also trying to help win North Carolina support for the GOP presidential candidate, who is now hopelessly behind in the polls to the Democratic candidate, former New York governor Mitchell Mason.

  “How you doing, Tom?”

  “I’m fine.” They’re leaving a campaign event on the UNC campus at the Dean Dome and traveling Route 15-501 to the Duke campus for an event at Cameron Indoor Stadium. “Doing Duke and Carolina back to back, there’ll be plenty of fodder for jokes about being able to work across the aisle.”

  Brand is on his BlackBerry. “Just got new polls in.” His thumb sweeps over the face of the BlackBerry to scroll through the data. “Mason is killing Wilson. Real Clear Politics average has Mason up nine points in the national polls. The latest poll on North Carolina has Mason up ten.”

  “Damn.”

  “Mason is creating an obstacle for us. It could be a problem. It’s the blessing and the curse of the gubernatorial races that sync up with the presidential campaign. Many people just vote party down the line, so there’s a lot of drafting the state candidates can do behind the top of the ticket. If they have a winner. Mason’s going to be the winner, so it’s an uphill battle for us.”

  “I thought we’re up in the latest polls.”

  “That’s the amazing thing. You’re up five points.”

  “Good.” Tom nods and looks away from Brand and out the window. Brand is in the aisle seat and flags an aide for a couple bottles of water. There are eight members of the press on the bus which is twice what they had three weeks ago and they’re all in the back of the bus and out of earshot. “How do you explain that?”

  “It’s all guesswork but I’d say it’s a few things. Republicans are motivated now, so you have that locked up. The Whiskers endorsement and all the TV footage of you with him during the trial have added some independents and Democrats.”

  “I’m amazed he endorsed me.”

  “He likes friends in high places. Maybe he decided a Republican in a high place would give him some credibility. Or maybe he’s getting moderate in his old age.”

  “That wasn’t my experience.”

  “I guess not. I couldn’t believe the endorsement myself. Nobody could, so those headlines were effective.” Whiskers made the announcement three weeks ago, which was exactly when the number of press people on the bus doubled. Whiskers said Pauley was a champion of good causes. “That would have killed you in a primary but it’s great for a general.” Peter hands him a bottle of water. “The other reason is you’re putting in the hard work. You have to get out and see as many people as you can. Especially a person like you who has charisma. If a person shakes your hand and has a word with you, they’ll vote for you. It’s not that way with every candidate. It’s not that way with Derek Wilson.” The GOP candidate for president has a reputation for being stiff.

  Peter has been in DC the last few days meeting with the Wilson campaign. He’s now back with Tom full-time for the next six weeks until the November election.

  “Thanks. It started out as real fun, but it’s so damned exhausting. November can’t get here fast enough.”

  “Now’s the time to pour it on. The benefit of Wilson getting his ass kicked so badly is you can expect more help from national. If the poll numbers hold like this for another couple weeks, support for Wilson will start to fall away and move to the state elections where we have a shot. Like yours. You’ll get more money, more staff. Talented guys. Starting today you already have me for the duration.” He sips his water. “Sorry I missed the Maiden Creek event.” Tom had visited a retirement community in Charlotte two days earlier for a campaign event.

  “I started the speech saying I wouldn’t leave until I spoke with everyone who wanted to speak with me. They all did. Every single one.”

  “Did it
take long?”

  “In geological time? No.”

  The bus takes 751 to Cameron Boulevard to the campus. It’s a beautiful day and typically hot for late September in North Carolina. So far the bus has been a campaign prop. Tom meets the bus at various events around the state. He might stay in a hotel for a night here and there but usually gets a short flight home. From the end of September on, it’s not just a prop anymore. He’ll be on the goddamn bus and in crap hotels for weeks straight at a time. The bus takes Wannamaker to Towerview Road then pulls into the lot next to where the Duke students camp out for days and weeks to get into the basketball games. “My God,” says Tom.

  Brand is also a Carolina fan. “I know. Sickening. Try not to think about it.”

  Cheers go up as the bus pulls to a stop. About a thousand people have turned out for the event which was well publicized in advance and gave an opportunity for citizens to have a seat inside Cameron. Most have signs or campaign swag in support of Pauley and the crowd looks to be a mix of half students and half Durham residents.

  “Let’s do it,” says Tom.

  “Kick ass.” Peter stands and steps back to let Tom pass into the aisle and walk forward ahead of him. They can both walk at their full height in the bus. The junior staff has gotten off the bus already to clear a path for Tom. To the left of the bus are the Duke tennis courts and nobody’s on that side. To the right, the side the bus door is on, is the lot and the stadium behind it and the crowd which has synchronized in a rhythmic chant yelling “Pauley, Pauley, Pauley.”

  Before Tom is off the bus he turns over his shoulder to Peter. “Nice greeting though I thought these Duke kids were more creative than that.” When he turns back he sees a throng that is more Durham than Duke and at the center of it, making a determined push for the bus door, is an enormous transvestite. A fiftyish man turned woman with puffy, unhealthy-looking skin under heavy powder. The shoulders are broad though the belly is broader and the legs are thick. The wig isn’t exactly crooked, it’s just too small for the bloated head and the hair of it somehow has qualities that are both greasy and straw-like. In heels, she’s taller than Tom and is getting closer.