Cut and Thrust

by Stuart Woods

  “Has Kate told you whether she’s pregnant, yet?”

  Ann clasped her belly. “Oh, God, every time I hear that word my stomach does a backflip. Soon, I’ll be having morning sickness myself.”

  “You’re not . . .”

  “Of course not. I have been a religious observer of the pill-a-day routine.” She looked at him slyly. “What would you do if I were pregnant?”

  “What could I do? I’d be helpless.”

  She laughed.

  “Are you worried about your biological clock?”

  “I never consult it,” she replied. “I gave up the thought of having a family when Kate got the nomination. By the time she’s out of office I’ll be withered and sere.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. I was born without the mother gene. I’m a working girl, through and through.”

  “Dino’s appointing a woman chief of detectives.”

  “Good for Dino! Who is she?”

  “Her name is Stephanie Walters, she’s captain at Dino’s and my old precinct, the Nineteenth. A ravishing redhead, divorced, mother of two, both in law school, one at Harvard, twenty-two years on the force.”

  “That’s a pretty good résumé,” Ann said. “Does she have a law degree?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Maybe I’ll suggest her for head of the FBI, or something.”

  “I think she’s worth keeping track of.”

  “Don’t worry, her name is already etched on my frontal lobe.”

  Stone turned off the TV. “Listen, as long as we’re both naked . . .”

  “You, too? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He snuggled up to her. “Notice that?”

  “Hard to miss,” she said, turning over and embracing him.

  —

  HALF AN HOUR later, she said, “Did I tell you Ed is a go on 60 Minutes Sunday night?”

  “I had assumed he was.”

  “Morley Safer loved Ed. I have that from the horse’s mouth.”

  “And it doesn’t hurt that he’s married to Susannah Wilde?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “You know what Dino said to me at dinner?”

  “What?”

  “He said, out of the blue, ‘What would happen if Kate got pregnant?’”

  “Oh, God, does he know something?”

  “Nothing—he just said it. I had to shut him up before a waiter overheard him and passed it to some gossip columnist across the dining room.”

  “You think Dino has a sixth sense about things?”

  “Only about who committed a homicide.”

  “Pretty soon I’ve got to ask her,” Ann said. “I can’t stand it much longer.”

  Saturday afternoon Ann was in her office at the New York campaign headquarters. Henry Carson had made his acceptance speech as presidential nominee of the Republican Party, and had chosen the Texan, Max Post, as his running mate.

  Outside, it was a blustery New York day that had a touch of autumn in it. Kate Lee was out making campaign appearances in New Jersey and, later, Long Island. Will Lee was holed up at the Carlyle apartment doing, apparently, not much of anything.

  The phone rang, and Ann picked it up. “Ann Keaton.”

  “Hi there, it’s Kate,” a cheerful voice said.

  “Good morning. How’s it going in New Jersey?”

  “Everyone has been just wonderful out here,” Kate replied. “I’ve only got a second. I want you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. I want it in a small theater, like the one at the Museum of Modern Art—no more than five hundred seats, smaller if possible. Bill it as a major press conference, okay? And tell Jim I want that cell phone blocker thing.”

  “Okay. What’s the subject?”

  But Kate had already hung up. Ann made some calls: the MoMA auditorium wasn’t available, but she came up with an ideal venue on East Sixtieth Street. She typed up the release and took it to the press secretary, who sat next door to her.

  He looked at the release. “What’s this about?” he asked. “Nobody consulted me.”

  “I don’t know. She just called and instructed me to do that. And she wants the cell phone blocker.”

  “I’m going to call her and find out what’s going on. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

  “Jim,” she said, “you’re aware that I know Kate a lot better than you do, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Then trust me when I tell you that she’s not going to like it if her cell starts ringing for what she considers no reason. Put out the release. And if anybody asks you what it’s about, tell them you’re not going to tell them. That will ensure added interest. Everybody will be there because they’ll be afraid they’ll miss something important if they aren’t.”

  “Whatever you say, Ann.” He started typing the e-mail.

  Ann went back to her desk feeling a little queasy. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning was a strange time to call a press conference. The P word raised its ugly head. Ann knew Kate well enough that she wouldn’t call a press conference to announce something like that. What she would call a press conference for was to announce that she was pregnant and leaving the race. Ann knew she wouldn’t be seeing Kate tonight, so she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk her out of it.

  She thought about it for a while and decided there was one other person who might know what was going on. She made the call to Governor Richard Collins’s cell phone.

  “Dick Collins.”

  “Dick, it’s Ann Keaton. How are you?”

  “I’m just great, getting ready to make a speech in Vermont to a convention of the Benevolent Order of the Moose. I’m not staying for the luncheon because I’m afraid of what they might be serving.”

  “I can’t blame you. Listen, tell me what the press conference tomorrow morning is about.”

  “I have a press conference on a Sunday morning?”

  “Not you, Kate. Surely she’s talked with you about it.”

  “Not a word,” Collins replied. “That’s funny, she sends us a daily schedule, and there’s nothing on it for tomorrow morning. What time?”

  “Nine A.M.”

  “At a church?”

  “No, she asked for a small auditorium in New York. She’s in New Jersey and Long Island today.”

  “That is odd,” he said. “Should I call her and ask about it?”

  “I have a feeling that if she hasn’t told you about it, she doesn’t want you to know. The only reason she told me is that somebody had to find an auditorium and put out a release.”

  Collins was silent for a long moment. “Ann,” he said, “if Kate had decided to drop out of the race for some reason, she would have given me a heads-up, wouldn’t she?”

  “Sure she would, Dick,” Ann half lied. “And listen, don’t tell anybody about this—only you, me, and Jim Marks, our press secretary, know about it. Something’s up, I’ll grant you, but Kate clearly doesn’t want anyone to know what.”

  “I understand.”

  “So please don’t start trying to line up support for the nomination, just in case. If she doesn’t drop out, you’d look like an ass.”

  “I get the picture, Ann. Let me know if there are further developments, will you?”

  “I will let you know if there are further developments.” Ann hung up.

  There were no further developments.

  Stone was very hungry by the time Ann got home. She came into the study and kissed him, then flopped on the sofa next to him.

  “I thought we’d order a pizza,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  “The usual?”

  “Fine.”

 
Stone made the call.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Something is clearly wrong. I’ve never seen you so clenched before.”

  “That doesn’t mean something’s wrong,” she said.

  “Then what does it mean?”

  “It means that if something is wrong, I don’t know what it is.”

  “I thought you knew everything. Why don’t you know?”

  “Because she won’t tell me.”

  “Who won’t tell you?”

  “Kate.”

  “Kate thinks there’s something wrong, but she won’t tell you?”

  “Exactly. I think so anyway.”

  “Ann, are you developing a paranoid streak?”

  “I’ve always had a paranoid streak,” she said. “I just won’t admit it.”

  “But you just did.”

  “Then take that as a compliment. You are now the only one who knows. Besides my father and mother, of course. And a few college friends. And Kate.”

  “But besides all of them, I’m the only one who knows?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Is there any way I can help you figure this out?”

  “No. You know even less than I do about what’s wrong.”

  “When did you first get the feeling that something was wrong?”

  “When Kate called me and asked me to call a press conference for tomorrow morning at nine.”

  “On a Sunday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  “I knew it!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “You’ve just confirmed it!”

  “But I don’t know anything.”

  “Welcome to the club! You see how it feels?”

  “I’m beginning to,” he admitted. “I’m beginning to think that paranoia is contagious.”

  “Maybe so. I’m starving. When is the pizza coming?”

  “It won’t be long, they’re right around the corner.” The doorbell rang; Stone ran to the front door and came back with a pizza. He got a bottle of wine from the cooler in the bar, opened it, and came back with two glasses and some napkins.

  Ann had already dug into the pizza and was halfway through her first slice. She made a grateful noise when he handed her a glass of wine, then took a huge gulp. “Better,” she said.

  —

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone and Ann had an early breakfast. She kept looking at her watch.

  “What time do you want to be there?” he asked.

  “Eight-thirty,” Ann said. “There’s nothing for me to do until then. The press secretary is dealing with the lighting and sound system.”

  “I want to come with you,” Stone said.

  “Okay.”

  “You think she’s pregnant?” he asked.

  “No, but I don’t know anything anymore. If she is pregnant, then she’ll be leaving the race.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really, that’s just my best guess.”

  “Have you ever noticed that when the president or somebody important has a press conference, everybody in the media already knows what it’s about before it starts? I mean, they’re telling you on TV what it’s going to be about and what questions are going to be asked and what the answers will be.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Ann said. “It’s because people like me leak it to a few people to guarantee good coverage and, if it’s bad news, to soften the blow.”

  “It’s a strange business,” Stone said.

  “What’s strange is what’s happening today,” Ann said. “Nobody knows anything except Kate—and Will. Maybe.”

  —

  THEY WERE IN the steeply raked little auditorium and in their seats at precisely eight-thirty. Members of the press, festooned with ID badges, were filing into the rows, and a gang of photographers sat on the floor between the first row of seats and the podium, keeping low enough not to be seen on TV.

  “This is exciting,” Stone said.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Ann asked. “It’s terrifying!”

  “I’ll bet you’re one of those people who reads the last couple of pages in a mystery novel before you start the book.”

  “How did you know that?” she demanded.

  “It’s clear you have no tolerance for suspense.”

  “But you’re enjoying it?”

  “I’m enjoying not knowing,” Stone said. “You should try it sometime, it’s fun.”

  “This is not a mystery novel,” she said. “This is the future of the country and the planet.”

  “Oh, come on. Dick Collins will make a fine president if Kate decides not to run.”

  “Don’t say those last words,” Ann said. “Hearing them is like having my throat cut.”

  “Look on the bright side—if she doesn’t run, you can come to Paris with me. We’ll have a wonderful time—then when we come back, you can accept a job at Woodman and Weld, and we’ll have a nice life.”

  “A nice life is the worst possible thing that could happen to me right now,” she said. “I want a crazy, unpredictable, demanding, untamable life for the next eight years.”

  “I watched a documentary the other day about White House chiefs of staffs. I didn’t want to tell you this, but do you know what the average tenure of the last forty chiefs of staff was?”

  “I don’t know, a couple or three years?”

  “Less than a year and a half,” Stone said.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I kid you not. They burn out fast—the stress is too much.”

  “I want the stress!” Ann said. “I want it all. I want it for eight years!”

  “Not going to happen,” Stone said. “What makes you think you could take it any better than any of the last forty in that job?”

  “I’m smarter and tougher than they are,” Ann said.

  “I believe you, but when you burn the candle at both ends, the light doesn’t last long.”

  Suddenly the lights in the room went off, and there was a sudden hush. Then the stage lights came up and Kate Lee strode to the podium.

  She looked wonderful, Stone thought. She was wearing a beautiful silk dress that flowed when she walked and, yes, she was glowing.

  “Good morning, everybody,” Kate said as if she had invited them all to a garden party. “I have some wonderful news, but before I tell you I want you to know that the doors are locked, and your cell phones won’t work in here, and I’m going to take only three questions when I’m done. Then, when I’ve made my escape, the doors will be unlocked.”

  That created a buzz.

  Kate took a deep breath. “I am delighted to tell you that my husband and I are going to have a baby, and it’s due next May.”

  There was a noise from the crowd that Stone had never heard before: equal parts of shock, outrage, and delight.

  “First question,” Kate said, pointing at a woman in the first row.

  “Are you dropping out of the race?” she asked.

  “Certainly not,” Kate replied. “There are tens of thousands of working women all across this country who are having babies, then mixing motherhood and work, and some of them are top executives in large companies. If I quit, it would be an insult to every working mother.” She pointed to a man in the middle of the group. “Second question.”

  “How are you going to take care of a baby and run the country at the same time?” he asked.

  “I will have a secret weapon,” Kate said, turning to her right and pointing. Will Lee had just appeared at stage right. “It’s called a house husband. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Mr. Mom!”

  There was a roar of laughter and applause, and Will was smiling.

  “That ma
n has never even seen a diaper,” Kate said, “but God bless him, he has signed on for the duration.” She pointed to a woman in the back row. “Third and final question.”

  “Who knows about this?” the woman asked.

  “Not a soul in the world,” Kate said, “except the people in this room. And when I walked in here, only one of those knew.” Will walked over, kissed her, took her hand, and they walked off the stage.

  The crowd of reporters rushed up the aisles, and a moment later, a hammering could be heard as they banged on the doors. Many people stood around, trying to get their cell phones to work. Then, the doors opened, and they flooded out of the room, up the stairs, and out the doors.

  Ann had not stood up until now. “Wow!” she said, her hand on her chest. “I have never felt this good in my whole life!”

  —

  THEY WENT HOME and turned on the TV to the morning political shows. Every one of them showed the full tape of Kate’s news conference, and every one of them had a table full of commentators talking about it. Toward the end of each show, Henry Carson was interviewed.

  “Now I see why Kate did it on Sunday morning,” Ann said. “Carson was the headliner on every show, and she blew him right out of the water. Nobody will ever remember what he said! And tomorrow morning, Kate will have the headline in every newspaper, and Carson will be buried inside!”

  On Sunday evening, Stone and Ann settled in to watch 60 Minutes. “I didn’t see any promos for this,” Stone said.

  “That’s because it’s a secret,” Ann replied. “They didn’t want Barbara Grosvenor to know about it, because she would probably have tried for a court injunction to block it.”

  The front-end teaser on the show was simple. Morley Safer looked into the camera and said, “Tonight, we have something different for you. Everybody knows someone who went through the divorce from hell, but this one adds something extra—repeated attempted murder. Stay tuned for the fireworks.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen this show open without excerpts from the interviews.”

  “Great hook, wasn’t it?”

  —

  IN LOS ANGELES, Billy and Betsy Burnett watched the show. “Uh-oh,” Billy said, “I think I know who this is.”