by Ed Gorman
I thought of how moved my family was by Tom’s words the morning of my father’s funeral. I thought of how he and my dad used to laugh after work in the conference room with a six-pack of cold beer on the table between them. ‘Two days max and I’m out.’ I thought of how he’d saved my father’s life.
‘I’d do this myself, Dev, but when I offered he got really pissed. In fact, I have to warn you. He might even give you a little shit. Just tell him to buzz off. He resents any kind of outside help. He’s got this little group around him and that’s all he wants. I’m going to call him now and tell him you’re coming. I’m also going to remind him that I brought him his biggest contributor. That’ll shut him up for a while.’
After we hung up I thought through everything I’d heard about Jeff Ward. Bright, arrogant, combative, and rumored to have slept with a good share of Washington’s finest available ladies – some married, some not. Somehow I’d never heard a word about a divorce. Maybe he had his wife bound and gagged in the basement.
I’m in no position to make moral judgments but I am in a position to avoid vortexes. You start to work for a client who has numerous sexual secrets, straight or gay doesn’t matter, and you find yourself spending as much time suppressing the secrets as working on the election. Bill Clinton had a small army dealing with his past transgressions. That’s work for other consulting firms, not mine.
I spent an hour on my Mac laptop reading up on Jeff Ward’s political history and the people around him. He was working with a company out of San Diego that most consultants had given up on a few years back. I wanted my own opposition people.
I called the Silberman-Penski agency in Chicago and asked for Matt Boyle. The agency was a five-star international investigative firm that had wisely created an Internet department eight years ago, long before most of its competitors realized how to use the new development. They not only had the right equipment, they had the right young men and women. My firm used them exclusively. If you farted in church in 1971, they would present you with witness testimony in less than ten hours.
‘Hey, Mr Conrad.’
‘I think we’re up to ninety bucks by now.’
‘Oh, right. I forgot. Hey, Dev, how’s it going?’
Matt and his wife Amy had both graduated at the top of their class at MIT. They were both deep-sea divers and mountain climbers. They loved adventure. And that included the adventure of being online detectives. If that involved hacking, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.
When I called and gave them a name, they knew what I was after. The kind of detail that can make a man think twice about staying in the race.
‘The name is Rusty Burkhart. I checked. There’s a fairly long story about him on Wikipedia. Can you start right away?’
‘If I can’t, Amy can.’
‘Great. You’ve got my cell number.’
‘You got it, Dev. Let’s hope he’s a serial killer.’
Jeff Ward was campaigning in the western section of his voting district when I’d flown into town last night so I’d yet to see him. His headquarters was one of those big, empty buildings that had housed a giant audio store before the economy committed suicide. Now it was the realm of phones, faxes, computers, stacks of campaign literature and posters of a handsome Irish man of thirty-six who liked to be depicted as a runner, a scrub basketball player, a swimmer and a man right at home in his district’s only slum. The young black kids didn’t look quite as taken with him as he might have hoped.
The private offices were on the second floor. Lucy found me a tiny room that had a phone and a small table for my laptop. I spent most of the first hour after seeing Burkhart checking with my people in Madison then with the people in Chicago. This cycle we had four clients up for re-election, including Ward.
I did more work on my Mac. I could see why Tom was convinced there was a spy in Ward’s campaign. Ward and his four most important staffers would have a meeting to decide which theme to push in their next TV and radio campaign. Before they could get their advertising agency to get on the air with it, Burkhart would trump them with his own spot about the same theme. His own angle on it, of course. This always made it appear as if the Ward spots were responses to the Burkhart commercials. In other words, Ward always looked to be on the defensive. Once could be a coincidence. Even twice. But this had happened four times in a month. One of the staffers was on the Burkhart payroll.
I read the backgrounds Tom had sent me on the staffers. Nothing jumped out at me. These days we’re a nation of narrow specialists and the political industry is no different. Each staffer had gone to a good state school; each had graduated with a BA in political science with minors in communications or sociology. Two had gone on to get graduate degrees. Each had started young with our party, spending high school time ringing doorbells and handing out literature and working as volunteers during their college years. They loved politics. It can be heartbreaking but it can also be exhilarating. And it’s a job that matters. Congress is filled with people who shouldn’t be there and I include a good number on our side. Vigilance is the key.
The meeting room was down the hall from me. Lucy said they tried to meet every day at four o’clock. I wandered down there.
The table was old and cigarette-scarred and chipped. Same for the chairs. On a far wall was a giant plasma TV screen. A gallery of Jeff Ward posters covered all the other available wall space. These were more somber than the ones downstairs. Here he was with his gorgeous wife and their two very beautiful little girls. Here he was in front of a cathedral with hard hats of different ethnicities standing around him. Two for one – God and the labor force. And here he was ladling out soup in a soup kitchen. He looked comfortable in the long white apron.
Lucy sat across the table from a young man in an inexpensive brown suit that was about the same color as his thinning hair. When he heard me come in he looked up and frowned.
‘Jim Waters, say hello to Dev Conrad.’
He muttered something that might or might not have been hello.
‘I think you can do a little better than that.’
He said, ‘You’re not here to fire me, are you?’
He was older than I’d thought at first, headed toward thirty. The eyes had the sadness and desperation of the outsider; not the rebellious outsider who taunted but the outsider who suffered. I had a cousin I’d been close to growing up much like that. He was and is a good man whom God or genes cast out in the darkness a long time ago and he hasn’t been let back in since.
‘Not at all, Jim, if I may call you that. I’m just here to check on a couple of things. Nothing about employment at all.’
He had a young, round face. His displeasure made him look petulant. ‘I just don’t like people coming in and telling me what I’ve been doing wrong. I’ve been writing speeches for seven years. I’m not exactly a beginner.’
If he was a dog he’d piss on the floor to mark his territory. That is always the danger of coming into a functioning campaign. They don’t like you, heed you, or trust you. I’d feel the same way. Nobody wants to be second-guessed.
I leaned across the table and offered my hand. He stared at it as if he wasn’t quite sure what it was, then he pouted a bit and finally shoved his hand into mine.
‘Good to meet you, Jim. Let’s get one thing straight, all right? The reason I’m here has absolutely nothing to do with anybody’s job performance or anything like that. I’m just here to check out a couple of things with the congressman. I’m sure you don’t believe that but it’s the truth.’
He didn’t look happy but at least he wasn’t scowling any longer. ‘I was sort of an asshole there. I apologize.’
‘Thank you, Jim,’ Lucy said. ‘I just want him to meet the staff. Me included. If he was some kind of hired gun or something like that, my job would be on the line, too. And it isn’t. And nobody else’s is, either. We’re hoping that Dev might have an idea or two for going up against Burkhart in the debate. That’s one of Dev’s specialties
. Debates. He’s handled several big ones.’
Waters was on his feet and headed for an automatic coffeemaker on a stand a few feet from the TV screen. ‘You like yours black, Dev?’ I had to get used to the quick change of tone. He sounded friendly now.
‘That’d be great, Jim. I appreciate it.’
There was a woman’s sweet laughter in the hall and two other people now appeared. This would be, according to Tom’s backgrounder, Kathy Tomlin and David Nolan. Tomlin was the media coordinator and Nolan was Ward’s chief of staff. Tomlin wore a green fitted dress and had a freckled face that was more pretty than beautiful. Nolan was tall, thin, wore wide red suspenders and, with his graying hair and rimless glasses, reminded me of many of my professors in college. He was the opposite of his lifelong friend the congressman. Jeff Ward was a taker with an almost piratical swagger. His number one staffer – and some said the authentic thinker of the duo – was a giver. Though they were the same age, Nolan looked fifteen years older than Ward.
He also looked distracted. He sat down now, glanced around, then opened the laptop he’d set on the table. He immediately began staring at some presumably compelling image the rest of us couldn’t see. He’d either been crying recently or was miserably hung-over. His gaze belonged on a homeless man.
Kathy Tomlin said, ‘I don’t really have much today. I’m sorry. The only news – and so far it’s only scuttlebutt – is that some far-right organization is going to give Burkhart a million dollars’ worth of commercials they’re putting together. These are the creeps who brought down Helen Agee two years ago. The good old lesbian smear. It was ridiculous but they made it work. But fortunately David’s got some ideas to help us.’
She finished, sounding expectant. Nolan would pick up her cue and take it from there. But he didn’t. He was still staring off into the distance. Apparently he could no longer endure staring at the screen.
‘David,’ Kathy repeated softly.
‘Oh.’ He looked neither flustered nor embarrassed. He just seemed confused. ‘Oh, right.’ He sat up straight in his chair. Lucy and Waters studied him. I wasn’t the only one puzzled by his behavior. ‘Right.’ He tried a smile that was more a grimace. Then he turned in my direction. ‘You must be Dev Conrad.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Jeff’s father has a lot of faith in you. I hope you can help us.’ His eyes weren’t quite focused. And then he stopped talking. I wondered if he was physically sick. His face gleamed with sweat. ‘What was I saying, Kathy?’
‘The right-wing contributions for Burkhart.’
‘Oh, yes, right.’ His attempt at a smile was embarrassing. Around the table the eyes studied him with silent alarm. He settled back in his chair, as if he was relaxed now. In control of himself again. But when he began to speak it was obvious he’d either forgotten or chose not to talk about the right-wing group Kathy had talked about.
I wondered if he’d had a stroke. His behavior certainly suggested that. I wasn’t alone. The three staffers looked at each other anxiously.
He reached for a silver pitcher of water to fill the glass in front of him. His hand was trembling so badly he dropped the pitcher almost as soon as he started to raise it. It landed hard. Though it was in no danger of spilling, the staffers automatically started to rise in their chairs to grab it.
‘Oh, God,’ Lucy half whispered. ‘David, are you—?’
‘What was I saying?’ Nolan said as if he was unaware of his strange behavior. ‘Oh – right. Well, I contacted this group of investors who frankly think it’s time to do a little business with our side. They know everything’s up for grabs in this election but they still think it’s time to have a sit-down with somebody we know in the administration. They’re willing to spend thirty million dollars on making and airing some generic commercials that favor us. They won’t spend it all on our district; they want to make it as national as possible.’ He stopped talking. An engine that had run down.
‘What makes this so interesting,’ Kathy said quickly, ‘aside from the money is that three of the products they want some federal funding for – they need further research – are very eco-friendly. That means the other party doesn’t want anything to do with them. Unfortunately, a lot of our senators and reps are on the same payroll and will vote against us. But I think we’ve still got enough votes. And David thinks so, too, don’t you?’
The smile that was a grimace again. Was he in pain? ‘Right.’ His eyes brightened. There was strength in his voice now. ‘I’m hoping we get at least four million. We can put a lot of that into radio and some extra TV.’
Lucy and Waters did the power fist.
‘I’ll bet Jeff was happy when he heard about it,’ Lucy said.
Nolan’s jaw clenched. He said nothing.
‘We haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. But he’ll be happy as hell. You can bet on it.’ Kathy touched Nolan’s arm and said, ‘Good work, David.’ She was a nurse talking to a very sick patient.
‘Excellent work,’ Lucy said in the same way.
The accolades didn’t free him from whatever mental prison he was in. The smile was a little less pensive at their words but something troubled him so much that he was barely present.
‘Well,’ he said, pushing back from the table. ‘Guess I should get back to work.’
Which made no sense. Wasn’t this, what he was doing at the moment, work?
He next did a sight gag, getting his foot tangled in the legs of the chair as he stood up and tried to walk. He almost fell down, righting himself then muttering more to himself than us, ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ Then he glanced at me. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Dev. We need you to help with the debate. It’s make or break for us.’
‘Is he all right?’ Lucy asked Kathy when he was gone.
‘I think so.’ She didn’t sound sure. ‘I think maybe the hours he puts in are finally catching up with him. I think he should take two days off and do nothing but rest and go for walks. He loves to walk.’
‘He’s usually the one who keeps all of us up and excited,’ Lucy said to me. ‘Maybe he really is just tired out.’
But she knew better than that and so did I.
Kathy glanced at me and frowned. ‘This wasn’t a very good introduction to our team here, Mr Conrad. I hope the rest of the day goes a lot smoother than this.’
‘No sense hiding it, Kathy,’ Waters said. ‘We’ve had a lot of ups and downs lately. That’s just the way it is.’
The two women looked uncomfortable but they said nothing.
I wondered if one of these three was the spy feeding information to Burkhart.
THREE
‘He just looks so presidential,’ one older woman said to another standing under the poster of Congressman Jeff Ward leaning back to throw a football à la John Kennedy.
They seemed to be in their Sunday best, right down to small white gloves. They were the kind of women you always saw at weekday Mass. Decent people who’d worked hard for very little all their lives and whose grandparents and parents had indoctrinated them to vote for our party. There was something endearing about them, their old-fashioned coats and dresses and makeup and sweet perfume. They were out of their time and I liked that without quite knowing why. These are the kind of supporters who will bake cookies for fund drives and make arrangements for voters who need rides to the polls. They’re invaluable.
Since high school had ended at least an hour ago, the headquarters was also packed with teenagers receiving instructions about getting out posters, signs, pamphlets, and door-to-door reminders about the elections coming up. For all of TV’s vaunted powers – and those powers are primary – you still need a ground attack, and that means volunteers who want to win as badly as the candidate does. And if you’re sixteen or seventeen and male it means working on a campaign can get you in close proximity to girls – and I suspect it just might work the other way for girls – you might not otherwise meet. Romance was always in the air during campaigns.
; The people working the ground floor were as efficient and functional as the people on the second floor seemed not to be. Middle-aged women and men of both blue collar and white sending the kids off to war with repeated orders and smiles.
I drifted back to where three coffeepots burbled. A white-haired woman in a small flowery apron was just setting out a tray of homemade cookies decorated with the word ‘Ward’ in red. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thank you. I think I will.’
‘That is, if you’re planning to vote for Congressman Ward.’
‘I would if he was in my district but I vote in Chicago.’
‘Well, I guess that entitles you to a cookie, anyway. My name’s Joan Rosenberg. I run the kitchen back there.’
‘You’re obviously doing a great job.’
‘They’ll be gone in less than twenty minutes. And that’ll make me very happy.’ A wry smile. ‘On one campaign I worked on a long time ago back in the sixties, the only people who’d eat my cookies were the ones who smoked marijuana. I think the older people were thinking I put some pot in my cookies. My husband’s a rabbi. He sure didn’t want people to think his wife was making illegal cookies.’ She laughed. ‘I’d be on America’s Most Wanted.’
It was nice to bask in her goodwill and intelligence. Not to mention her lack of cunning. A gentle, sweet woman of the kind who always turns out for campaigns. They have ideals and support them with hard work. And none of the cynicism of the professionals rubs off on them.
I followed her eyes to the door that led to the back. Jim Waters was making his way toward us.
‘Hi, Jim. They’re just out of the oven.’ She pointed to the cookies.
By now I’d had my first bite. I held it up as if I was in a commercial. ‘This is terrific.’
I noticed that she put her hand on Waters’ shoulder as he bent to whisk a cookie from the plate. I also noticed that the merriment in her brown eyes changed to concern. She looked maternal watching him, patting him a few times as he straightened up.
