Washington, D.C.
2 November
“Wednesday’s headlines?” How are they going to read?” snapped the host in the first round of his weekly TV program. “I predict it’ll be Taylor disLodged. To you Victor Monihan—columnist for The Philadelphia Inquirer, your take?”
“Lodge has it wrapped. America loves him. He’s developing a formidable presence in the world as well. Quite honestly, it’s over. Those papers can go to press today.”
“So noted,” interrupted the host of the long running McLaughlin Group.
“Moderate through and through. Acceptable across party lines. And yet he’s a Democrat. I haven’t seen anyone quite like him. He can’t loose.”
“Morton Blowen, what will National Public Radio report on Wednesday’s ‘Morning Edition’?” the host said pivoting to the opposite side of his panel.
“Hail to the new chief. Teddy Lodge,” Blowen said peering at the revered moderator through his designer glasses. “It’s not that Taylor is bad. He isn’t. We could have lived with him another four years. But once Teddy took New York, he owned the nomination. And now he’s going to win the election.”
That’s the way the conversation went. Lodge watched at the Bel Age Hotel in Los Angeles. Taylor ignored it at his Presidential Suite in the Century Plaza Hotel.
Los Angeles, California
This was Ben Bowker’s first time directing a presidential debate. He had seven cameras to call, though he could have gotten away with five. The blocking went well earlier in the day with stand-ins. But of course, the run-through wasn’t with the opponents who would soon take the stage.
Bowker, a network television director for three decades, planned his shots with precision. His cameras would cover the debate like zones in a football game. The audience hoped for real excitement. It was, after all, the last debate, coming only two nights before the election.
In half an hour the President of the United States and the Democratic Party candidate would face one another. Reality TV didn’t get any more exciting than this.
The drama, however, was beginning to unfold out of view of Bowker’s cameras.
President Morgan Taylor knocked on Teddy Lodge’s door. This was highly irregular. The Secret Service agents assigned to both men were bumping into each other.
“Who is it?” Lodge asked.
“Teddy, it’s Morgan. Just a quick word with you.”
Inside Newman flashed a surprised look at the congressman. “What the fuck does he want? You can’t see him.”
“Teddy…” the President said again.
“I’ll handle it,” Lodge said to Newman under the knocks on the door.
From the other side they heard the president again, even more insistent. “It’ll only take a moment. We’re both made up. With time on our hands.”
“Don’t,” Newman warned. But Lodge ignored him.
“Coming, coming.” He turned the handle. “Hello, Mr. President,” he said offering his hand.
“Hello,” the president warmly responded. “You know Geoff?”
“Yes,” Taylor said acknowledging the congressman’s number two. “And would you excuse us for a few minutes. I’d just like to have a little chat with your boss.”
Newman was shocked. He uncharacteristically looked to Lodge for instructions.
“It’s okay, Geoff. He won’t bite.”
“Quite correct,” the president said with a laugh. “Now if you’ll close the door behind you. We won’t be terribly long.”
The campaign manager left. The two candidates were finally alone.
“Sit down, Congressman.”
Lodge wavered.
“Sit down,” the president said with authority.
Lodge obliged, aghast at the command that Morgan Taylor exhibited. The congressman relied on his own well-honed charisma. But what he just experienced was sheer presidential power. He knew he should have remained standing, but he had lost the moment and the advantage.
“Teddy, you’ve done pretty well for yourself over the past few months. I should congratulate you.” Taylor picked up the photograph of Jennifer Lodge that sat framed on his dressing table. “Nice touch. Did you bring it yourself or is it something Newman took care of?” He paused, but only for a fraction of a second. “…Like everything else.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lodge finally managed. He got up and grabbed the photograph. “Look, if you’re trying to rattle me tonight it’s not going to work. Not in here and not out there!”
“You misunderstand me. I really came in to wish you the best.” Now the president sat down in a chair, his mood lightened. “Come on, you don’t look comfortable. Relax.”
Lodge hated that Taylor controlled a room that wasn’t his. “No, I think I’ll stand for awhile.” He got out of his seat and now towered over his opponent. My advantage, Lodge thought.
Taylor helped himself to a bottle of Evian from the spread prepared by the caterer. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” the Democrat said. “But I think I’d like a little quiet before we go on the air.” He nodded to the door.
“Not quite yet.”
“I can ask the Secret Service to have you removed.”
“Oh Teddy. You have to remember. They still work for me. Let’s just talk like old Capitol Hill chums. An old-fashioned boiler room chat.”
What was on the old man’s mind?
“Please,” the president said calmly. “Have a seat.”
Lodge returned to the couch.
“You really have come a long way. And God knows what’s going to happen in the next few months. I just want to get a sense of where you want to take the country. That’s all. Hell, everyone’s saying the election is yours to lose. You’re leading by a yard.”
Lodge corrected him. “More like a mile. But you’ve put up a good fight.”
The old flier didn’t hesitate. “That’s what I’m trained to do.” His eyes took on a fierceness that Lodge had never seen before. He was facing at a man who could fire a missile without hesitating; a man who knew how to play the game.
“But we’re getting much too serious, Teddy,” the president said unexpectedly. His face warmed up again.
“Do tell me, though. And not the bullshit we’ll both be spewing in a couple of minutes. What do you have in mind?”
“With what?”
“Everything,” Taylor continued. “The world. What will it look like when you’re through with it? There are so many delicate relationships to consider. Pakistan and India. The factions in North Africa. North and South Korea. Israel and its Arab neighbors.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Come now Teddy. You have a great challenge ahead of you. Those of us who have been in the hot seat know it.”
“It’s not a happy world, Mr. President. We’ve been living some lies for a long time.”
“Not all of us, Congressman.” The president grew deadly serious again.
“What’s your point, Taylor,” Lodge said sharpening his reply.
“Nothing. Everything.”
“Well, under my leadership we’ll reassess our relationships. I’m sure you’ve had to do the same.”
The president laughed. “Oh most definitely. I’ve learned to publicly eat some pretty disgusting humble pie. Then on the other hand, I’ve taken care of a few things very quietly.”
The congressman thought he saw an opening. “Anything the Judiciary Committe should hear about?”
“Oh, heaven’s no. That would spoil all the fun.”
Even Lodge laughed now. “I understand, Mr. President. I see there’s a lot I can learn from you.”
“Yes. I guess that’s why I wanted to come by. To give you a hint of what I already know.” And I know a lot. Taylor took a prolonged sip of the water, never taking his eyes off Lodge. He was beginning to tickle that tiger.
“Teddy, you’re probably going to be elected next week. I’ll be out of a job. Former presidents have a hard time. We’re like th
e country’s ex-wife. Nobody knows what to say to us, whether to invite us to the party. Well, I’m not ready to disappear.”
“Am I to take this as an early concession speech?”
The president laughed and stood up. “Oh heavens no. We have a few days to play out our drama. Then who knows.”
Lodge also got to his feet. “Then let’s make it a good one.”
“My sentiments exactly. The honorable thing.” Taylor smiled as if to consider the comment. He put his hand on the door knob; ready to turn it, then casually glanced back.
“That reminds me,” the president asked in the tone of a passing thought.
“Yes?”
“You were a Boy Scout…”
“What?” Lodge asked.
“A Boy Scout. An Eagle Scout if your biography serves you right.”
Lodge stared ahead.
“Well, considering you may be taking the most important oath in your life,” the president said sharply. “How’s that one go? You learned it when you were a kid?”
“How’s what go?” Lodge asked with complete annoyance.
“You know. The Boy Scout Oath. An Eagle Scout never forgets it.”
Lodge froze. He utterly froze. His mouth dropped open in a gasp but he was completely speechless.
“‘Teddy, Teddy, Teddy. Come now. ‘On my honor I will do my best, to do my duty, to God and my country…’ Well, it goes on. Perhaps it’ll come to you.” His eyes never left Lodge’s. He had made himself perfectly clear. “Goodbye, Mr. Lodge. See you on TV.”
Geoff Newman barged passed the president with a disingenuous smile.
“Fucking asshole. I’ll be glad when he’s out of the way,” Newman said when he re-entered Lodge’s dressing room. He slammed the door and didn’t care who heard it. Then he saw Lodge on the couch, ashen and nervously rubbing his hands. “Now what the hell is the matter with you?”
“Standby, in five…four…three…” Bowker called out. The last two seconds went unspoken on the floor, but counted down by everyone in the TV control room. “Roll music, graphics, up on one with key, cue announce.”
“From the Campus of the University of California Los Angeles, welcome to the third and final Presidential Debate between President Morgan Taylor and Congressman Theodore Wilson Lodge.”
The stage was stark. The host, the latest in a long line of NBC News anchors, stood behind a clear glass podium at stage left. Opposite him, the two candidates. They each stood at dark solid oak podiums that provided them stability and a place to hold their notes.
For Teddy Lodge, this was important. He gripped the surface with both hands to steady himself and to hide a nervous twitch in his right leg.
The president, noting his opponent’s discomfort and the placement of the cameras, moved to the side of his podium and appeared relaxed and in total control. His twin lapel microphones would cover him wherever he walked. Columnists immediately noted the difference and Ben Bowker called to his cross shot on camera three to adjust for the President’s respositioning.
There were four journalists to the host’s right. Two from television, two from print.
Following the announcer’s introduction, the NBC anchorman offered his welcome.
“Good evening. Tonight the world sees what America is all about. Freedom of speech. It exists for us, members of the press, the candidates who will soon engage in debate, and for you the voters. With your own free will, you will decide which of these two men will be sworn in as President of the United States. Traveling the world, I’ve learned to value how awesome this fundamental constitutional right truly is. Tonight we see it in practice; a model of freedom; a measure of the goodness and greatness of America.”
Geoff Newman hung close to the wings, off camera, to the left of Lodge. Alone. Newman allowed no others, with the exception of Lodge’s Secret Service detail.
On the other side, was the president’s wife Lucy, John Bernstein, the leadership of the party and his retinue of guards. Roarke, who ordinarily would have stayed with the President’s camp, slipped closer to Newman. He was authorized to go anywhere.
The host introduced the panel and then invited the candidates to begin.
“This evening, it’s been agreed that we’ll start with the challenger, Congressman Lodge, then go to President Taylor. Final summations will be in the reverse order.” The cameras picked up pictures of both men as they were identified. “Each candidate will be permitted two-minutes now. Then our format calls for questions from our panel to be directed in an alternating fashion to Mr. Taylor and then to Mr. Lodge. The candidate who originally takes the question will have up to two-and-a-half minutes for his answer. Then we move onto a ninety-second rebuttal. Gentlemen, that’s the way we will proceed until the final summations. First, Congressman Lodge.”
Teddy Lodge was wearing a blue double-breasted sports coat, gray slacks and a blue print tie that complemented his light blue shirt. He looked strikingly handsome, but totally outside the traditional debate uniform.
“Good evening,” he began. The words came out, but they weren’t delivered in the dynamic, convincing manner the country had come to expect in recent months.
In the wings, Roarke leaned into Newman’s ear. The president had cued him up a bit on his private conversation.
“Seems like the Congressman’s off his game a bit.” Newman swiveled around. Who even dared to talk to him now? Newman recoiled when he saw that it was a mere Secret Service grunt acting completely out of line.
“Excuse me. I’m trying to listen.” He faced the stage again.
“Oh, no problem,” Roarke said softly. “But you have to admit he’s looking a little shaky out there.” Roarke was picking at a scab. He’d never met Newman before and he instantly loathed the man. He’d push him all the more.
“The public likes a man who can be in control.”
Newman half turned. “Look I don’t know who you are. But get the hell away from me right now.”
The president could see that Roarke had saddled up to Newman offstage. He smiled to himself. Just a little more agitating. We’ll see where it goes. Then he re-focused on Congressman Lodge. He was wrapping up his opening remarks.
“And so, as we all heard a moment ago, we’re here exercising one of the most important freedoms of all. The process of freely deciding who should be president. I hope I’ll be your choice.”
Lodge finished by nodding to the camera, then to the crowd, not to President Taylor. There was polite applause. Not the resounding cheers he was used to.
“President Taylor. We’re ready for your opening remarks,” the moderator said.
The president wore his favorite black, pinstriped three-piece suit with a solid red tie gleaming out from his white shirt. An American flag pin was affixed to his lapel. He smiled and again stepped from behind the podium, in contrast to the stiff way Lodge presented himself.
“Thank you, and thank you Congressman Lodge. And now to the esteemed journalists comprising our panel, the students and faculty of UCLA and my fellow Americans watching at home—of course, you’re all looking for answers from us, for the means to distinguish our points of view, and for clear understanding of our position on the important issues. I promise there will be no automatic, stock responses from me. I encourage you to require the same from my opponent. So in the interest of time, I’ll forgo any real opening statement. Let’s get to business and make this time count.”
Morgan Taylor was in control. He was concise, establishing the tone and the pace. The rest of his comments throughout the ninety-minute debate flowed the same way.
Ibrahim Haddad screamed unrelenting obscenities at his 50-inch plasma television screen in his Fisher Island home. What happened? He can ruin everything.
Haddad was ready to turn the set off altogether, but he stayed with it. Hopefully, Lodge would recover, or at the very least not suffer any more self-inflicted harm. He had a substantial lead, so Haddad reasoned that Lodge could probably afford one bad night and a few
percentage points. Still he gave a quick prayer in thanks that the election was only two days away.
The same speech was carried in Tripoli, downlinked to a television set in Fadi Kharrazi’s TV station. However, Fadi lacked the sophistication to recognize that Lodge was faltering in front of the world. It wouldn’t matter to the Libyans anyway. He would help manipulate the news as needed. For all the younger Kharrazi son knew Lodge was proving himself a strong, articulate leader.
Michael O’Connell watched the debate and raced his fingers across his keys. He wrote an article explaining how the rigors of the campaign and the emotional turmoil of the past six months took its toll on Congressman Lodge. He explained that the usually self-assured congressman faltered from the start. In contrast, the President exuded uncharacteristic conviction. It would mean votes on Tuesday.
Taking a cue from the president’s first words, the reporters fired off their questions expecting straight forward responses. They covered the uneasy peace between Pakistan and India, the downward spiral of public education, urban violence and airline bailouts. Taylor had specific solutions involving corporate sponsorships. Lodge called for more government spending. Only when it came to the Middle East did the congressman speak with any authority, but the president had already scored his points.
Morgan Taylor never took his eyes off Teddy Lodge during his rival’s answers. This served to further unnerve him. Lodge, in turn, drank too much water to quench his parched lips, which he soon regretted.
Why aren’t there any fucking commercials, Geoff Newman wondered? He’d go out there and talk to Lodge. But there were none tonight.
Twenty minutes into the debate Newman finally got his candidate’s attention while Taylor took the rebuttal to a question. He motioned for Lodge to puff out his chest, straighten his body and shake off the negativity. Lodge got the message; aware of the dubious image he had been projecting. Newman pointed to his eyes and then to the audience and mouthed the words, “To them. To them.” Lodge understood.
Roarke leaned closer to Newman again to comment. “Coaching from the sidelines?” he said barely over a whisper. “I bet you can’t wait to get into the White House where you won’t have to be so quiet.”
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