The Running Mate (A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller)

by Andrew Delaplaine

  “Well, he’s getting all the exposure he wants right now—the media is eating him up.”

  “Hey, we’ve got to rip him apart, period. That’s all there is to it.”

  “No question about it.”

  St. Clair finally injected himself into the dialogue again.

  “Maybe if he’s ripped apart in nice, little pieces, the media will find him easier to digest.”

  There were laughs all around the room, but they had a shallow, hollow, lifeless ring to them, if St. Clair could judge by his own ears.

  “We’ve got to come out strong—something’s got to happen,” said one aide.

  “It will, it will.”

  St. Clair had heard enough. He had other things on his agenda.

  “All right, everybody. That’s enough for one day. We’re meeting again tomorrow to hash out some ‘fresh’ ideas. You all know my son Jack. I am prevailing upon him to come up from Miami to spend time helping us with the campaign.”

  “I’m still not sure,” said Jack with a laugh.

  “I’ll have to keep working on him.”

  The President nodded to Lizniak.

  “I’ll see you and Jack alone. We have something to talk about, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Jack wondered if after they finished with Lizniak, when they might be alone for a few minutes—if that would be a good time to bring up the business abut Dumaine and his Body Man.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 24

  A few days later, the Mowbray-Dumaine campaign was in Chicago. Or, the Dumaine part of the campaign was there.

  Bianca hauled herself out of bed as Sally Johnson, her personal assistant, or Body Girl, woke her up.

  “Seems like I only had two hours’ sleep, Sally.”

  “You had four, Mrs. Dumaine,” not the slightest hint of sympathy in her voice.

  Well, that’s Sally, thought Bianca. The little bitch is as direct as ever.

  She actually liked Sally, who started out as an intern when the Dumaine campaign was young. Drawn to Dumaine because of his “ideals,” like so many others, Bianca recalled. They’d gotten along so well that when the time came for the campaign to shift into high gear and Bianca knew she’d be needing someone to fulfill the same functions as Tim provided her husband (well, not all the functions, she thought ruefully), she asked Sally if she’d take the job. Sally had jumped at the chance. Sally’s hours were usually a lot longer and tougher and more exhausting than hers, so Bianca told herself to shut up and not complain.

  Sally went out into the sitting room to get coffee. Bianca could already smell its refreshing aroma waft into her bedroom. This perked her up.

  “You want cream this morning?” Sally called out from the sitting room.

  “You know I’m watching my weight. Every single calorie counts when you’re on the trail like this.”

  “But you always said you liked the cream they have here at the Drake.”

  That’s right, she thought, they do have the best cream, almost like the English have in their hotels. That bitch Sally remembers everything. Everything.

  “You’re right,” she yelled out, pulling on her robe and walking out into the sitting room. “Just a dash, though, okay?”

  In a few seconds, Sally brought the coffee to her. She took the cup of steaming coffee (with two packets of Equal) and walked over to the window overlooking the Oak Street Beach across Lake Shore Drive.

  She was only on the fifth floor, so she could see the early morning joggers wending their way from the street down to the beach.

  Her eye instantly focused on a group of joggers, about ten of them, and she knew right away that it was Bill, Tim and their Secret Service detail.

  She licked her lips and shook her head sadly.

  “Ready to go over today’s schedule? The press secretary will be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Sure. Why not?” she said, turning back to face Sally, savoring a mouthful of the excellent Drake Hotel coffee.

  They really did have best the cream in Chicago.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 25

  After his morning run, Tim was walking down a hallway in the Drake. He was wearing a pair of brief Nike running shorts, and sweating like a stevedore shoveling coal in an old freighter.

  He turned a corner and ran into Cornelia Strate, a staffer whose new responsibility was to act as liaison between Bill’s chief of staff and Bianca’s chief of staff to coordinate their schedules. So she sort of had a foot in both camps. Cornelia was carrying a stack of file folders, and the foggy frown she wore transformed into a cloudless sky of sunshine the minute she saw Tim.

  Oh, fuck! Tim thought. Here we go again!

  “Tim! she called out, even though they were heading directly toward each other down a narrow hotel corridor.

  She was really quite sexy, in a preppy kind of way. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with her, he thought.

  “Tim!”

  As if he didn’t see her walking toward him, only ten feet away.

  “Yeah, Cornelia, hey, how’s it goin’? You look great today.”

  He could tell she was obviously nervous around him.

  “You look great every day, stud.”

  She fumbled with her file folders stacked uncomfortably in her arms, and Tim knew she was giving him the once-over as he stood there sweating in his jogging outfit.

  “Aww,” he mumbled.

  “Back from your morning jog with the candidate, I see.”

  “Gotta keep the man happy,” he winked. If only she knew.

  “I’d like the same opportunity.”

  “With the candidate?”

  A flinty-eyed resolve took over her face.

  “With you.”

  But all that was gone when she abruptly dropped all the files she carried. They both stooped to gather them up again. She looked up into his eyes. She was very pretty: shiny blonde hair pulled back over her ears, bright blue eyes, a few freckles on her perfectly shaped nose. Any guy would love to go to bed with her. Well...

  “When are we going to have that drink you promised me in Washington—?”

  “Well—”

  “Two months ago. Two months you’ve been promising to take me out—at least for a drink.” She almost pleaded. It was embarrassing.

  “Maybe later today!” he threw her a bone.

  Her expression immediately brightened as they rose to their feet, him steadying the files in her arms.

  “Oh, that would be great!” she said.

  He knew there was an unscheduled interview at 4 P.M. she didn’t know about and he’d have to be with the candidate.

  “Unless something comes up,” he said, “let’s meet in the lobby bar for a drink—” here he winked—“and we’ll take it from there.”

  She was putty in his hands.

  “I’ll be there at five,” she said.

  “Great,” he said, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  She was thrilled.

  “I gotta run and get showered,” he said, moving past her.

  She reached out and touched his arm to stop him.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you—”

  He turned back to her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Bianca wanted to see you after the morning run.”

  “Sure—I’ll check in right away.”

  “Okay, but don’t keep me waiting at five. I have a—” here she tried a little too hard to be seductive—“terrible thirst.”

  He touched her chin and laughed and they separated. He knew the minute he turned his back on her he shouldn’t have done that—why lead the poor girl on?

  * * *

  CHAPTER 26

  Tim dipped around a corner in the hallway and quickly went into his room. He dialed Bianca’s number and her assistant Sally answered.

  “Hi, Sally. It’s Tim. Cornelia said Bianca wanted me.”

  “Sure, Tim, hold on.”

  Bianca got on th
e line.

  “Hi, Tim. I need to see you for a few minutes.”

  “Sure. I’m free. Anything you need?”

  “Just to see you.”

  “No problem. I just got back from the run. I’ll jump in the shower and—”

  She interrupted.

  “I need to see you, Tim. The shower can wait.”

  Tim didn’t like the brusque, authoritarian tone she was putting on for him.

  “Well, sure,” he said, trying not to hesitate so she wouldn’t think he was second-guessing her. “I’ll be there in a sec, okay?”

  “Good,” and she hung up.

  Well, this can’t be good, he thought as he took a glance at himself in the mirror, ran his hands through his hair and headed back out into the corridor.

  As he encountered various staffers in the hallway leading to the elevators, his mind divided itself into two compartments: one part of him remained the smiling, handsome go-to guy everybody knew and liked, while the other mulled over what he might expect when he met with Bianca. The first compartment allowed him to flash smile after smile and greet a dozen people in the short trip to the elevators, a word here, a nod and a greeting there. But in the other compartment, he thought of nothing but Bianca. In his gut he had a scary sensation, that feeling of butterflies in the stomach any actor must feel just before he goes onstage. He had a very strong feeling he was about to go onstage himself, but the only person in the audience was Bianca.

  He stepped into an open elevator.

  “Hey, Tim!” said one staffer, a communications guy.

  “Hey!” Tim said back to him, the smile flashing.

  “Chicago is crazy, ya know?” said another staffer, a woman in the polling section.

  “Yeah, nuts.”

  “We got a real big day ahead of us,” said a third guy as the elevator doors slid shut.

  “We do, the candidate’s up for it, though. He’s up for anything,” Tim said.

  “How was the run today?” asked the woman, looking him up and down, her eye resting on his muscular arms and his broad chest.

  “Good,” he laughed. “I never thought I was a great runner till I saw the Secret Service guys trying to keep up with us.”

  Everybody laughed with him.

  “The latest poll is out,” the first guy said, handing Tim a couple of sheets of paper. Tim looked it over, forcing himself to furrow his brow in pretended conversation, even while the “other” half of his brain sorted out the different reasons Bianca might want him so quickly she wouldn’t let him take a shower. He looked up, smiled again.

  “Better and better every time.”

  “Day by day, we’re movin’ up,” said the woman.

  “The NBC poll is the best. Remember when we had to make up our own poll results because nobody would do them?”

  “As I recall, they weren’t bad polls,” Tim said.

  “How could they be? The only person I asked the questions was you!”

  They all laughed at the same time, recalling those early days in the campaign.

  The elevator doors slid open noiselessly. A couple of the group got out with Tim and a few more exchanged pleasantries as they went into the elevator.

  “Where you headed?” asked the woman from polling.

  “Bianca needs me for something.”

  The woman gave a knowing nod.

  “Ahh, the Wicked Witch from the West.”

  Tim smiled and offered up a knowing chuckle, but didn’t say anything. He was getting used to not saying a lot of things. With all the limitations imposed on him by the secret life he shared with Bill, he often found the mere freedom of thought a wonderful luxury.

  He moved down the corridor to Bianca’s suite. The door was open; she was busy delegating various tasks to three others meeting with her.

  “Hey, Tim,” said one of them, a guy.

  “Oh, there he is now,” said Bianca.

  “Hi, Tim,” said one of the others, a woman. “Aren’t those shorts a little chilly for Chicago.”

  “No, it’s invigorating out there.”

  He hit them all with a smile. He could see in a flicker of Bianca’s eyes that she knew how much they all liked him. And he could tell she didn’t like it. They couldn’t see the subtle shift in her mood, but he certainly could.

  The three flunkies turned back to Bianca.

  “Can you guys give us a minute?” she said, dismissing them.

  The three staffers threw each other quick little looks and then withdrew to the other room. Bianca, a tight, thin-lipped smile on her face, followed them over to the door and closed it behind them.

  When she turned around to look at Tim, the smile was gone, replaced by a determined frown and fiery eyes. Her voice was caustic, rough.

  “Sit down, Tim. It’s time we had a little talk.”

  Tim instantly sensed something, of course, merely by the abrupt change in her manner, but he didn’t sit and forced himself to continue smiling. He saw a tray with a coffee pot and cups on a sideboard.

  “Mind if I have a cup of coffee?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but went over and poured himself a cup of the steaming brew. “We’re climbing in the polls. I just got the new print-out.”

  He waved some papers given to him in the elevator.

  She marched over to him.

  “I don’t really give a fuck about the polls right now, Tim. It’s you I want to deal with. You’re more important than the polls right now.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

  “Aw, I’m not important. I’m just here to help, do what I can. We’ve got a good chance of pulling this whole thing off, Bianca.”

  “Not with you around, we don’t.”

  A little pause.

  “Excuse me?”

  She put her hands on her hips impatiently.

  “Oh, c’mon, Tim. Give me a break.”

  “Bianca, what are you talking about? Is there something I don’t know?”

  “Well, Tim, what you don’t know is that there’s something I do know. I’ve figured it all out. I’m not stupid.”

  Tim offered up a wry smile.

  “Whatever else people may say about you, Bianca, they never say you’re stupid. After all, you married Bill Dumaine.”

  “Yes, but you’re the one sleeping with him.”

  Tim gave her comment the pause it deserved, and then decided to go on the offensive. He’d been prepared for this. This was no surprise. He smiled, letting down his guard a little.

  “And who are you sleeping with?”

  “You bastard. Quit trying to turn this around on me.”

  “See, Bianca, I might not be as smart as you are, but I’m also not as dumb as you think. So what do you say we call a truce and leave it alone, okay? You’ve got your man and I’ve got mine.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, Tim. You’re wrong if you think I’m giving my man up.”

  Tim didn’t pause this time. And there was no smile.

  “Which one?”

  In a sudden furious impulse, Bianca raised her arm to strike Tim, but caught herself just as he expertly raised his arm to defend himself. She slowly lowered her arm and took a couple of deep breaths. Now her smile returned: a devious, squinty-eyed little smirk more than a smile.

  “Well, well, well. Aren’t you the clever one?”

  Tim changed tacks, immediately sensing an opening. He ratcheted down the tension, softening his voice.

  “Listen, we’re both too close to getting what we want. We’ve got to get through this together, whether we like each other or not.”

  “I don’t think so, sweetie,” said Bianca.

  “Well, I’m staying. It’s that simple.”

  Bianca just stood there and stared at him. She licked her lower lip and walked over to pour herself a cup of coffee, adding two dashes of that marvelous Drake hotel cream, and two packets of Equal.

  “Like you thought I wouldn’t noti
ce,” she said.

  “So—how did you know?” he said.

  The truth was that Phil had told her, but she wasn’t going to tell Tim that. Her tone softened; she acted almost humble.

  “Most people wouldn’t notice, but I did. Little things. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. It was one of those split second things, you know? I saw. I just simply saw. And then I knew.” She took a sip from her cup and her tone took on a reflective nature. “He used to look at me like that—years ago, of course. Before politics became, well, became everything. Before we both forgot why we ever got married. Before we drifted into the game of it all, the race for it all, before we knew what happened to us, really. We drifted apart, and before we realized that we had, it was too late to drift back together again.” She gave him a direct look in the eyes. “In that way. In the way that you have him.”