Godless

by James Dobson

  The ogling man leaned forward to enter the conversation. “You seemed caught off guard by the senator’s announcement,” he said in Kevin’s direction.

  He had been. Both Kevin and Angie remained surprised, and annoyed, by Franklin’s ploy.

  “I’d like to introduce the latest addition to the lineup of up-and-coming young Republican stars who will be speaking at the convention,” Franklin had said while welcoming Kevin to the stage.

  Surprise number one. Party leaders had hinted, but never confirmed, that Kevin would be speaking at the convention. They first wanted assurances he would indeed support Franklin’s nomination. He had given no such promise. But that hadn’t prevented Franklin from implying he had.

  The second surprise came after Kevin’s speech. He had intentionally kept his remarks about Franklin obscure, careful to avoid any hint of an endorsement that might end up in the news. The last thing he needed was for the Bright Spots coalition to perceive that he supported the man who, as yet, had shown no affection for their agenda. Of course, Kevin couldn’t have anticipated Franklin’s next move. Before Kevin left the podium the senator jumped back onto the stage and threw an arm around Kevin to create a perfect photo op. “I think you can see,” he said with a chummy grin, “why I’ve asked Congressman Tolbert to join the Franklin team.”

  Franklin had made no such invitation. Sure, Brent Anderson had hinted at the possibility of a cabinet post. But Kevin had known it to be a dangling carrot he would ignore until Franklin backed the Bright Spots amendment.

  “Yes,” Kevin responded to Barbie’s escort, “it was a bit of a shock.”

  The man appeared skeptical.

  “And an honor,” Angie said while tapping her foot against her agitated husband’s leg.

  “Yes, of course, and an honor,” he added quickly.

  The couple looked away from the Tolberts when a waiter offered to refill their champagne glasses.

  Kevin leaned toward Angie to whisper. “I’m going to confront him,” he said while glancing toward the table where Senator Franklin sat surrounded by the fifty-thousand-dollar-per-plate donors. “He crossed the line.”

  “Yes, he did,” Angie whispered through a contrived smile. “But I don’t think this is the time or place to make a scene. Play along for tonight so you don’t end up saying something you’ll regret.”

  Wise advice Kevin couldn’t heed. Some reporter was probably already crafting the morning’s headline: “Tolbert Joins Franklin Team” or “Franklin Offers First Cabinet Post.” Troy would kill him if he let the distortion go unchallenged.

  Kevin kissed his wife’s cheek before excusing himself from the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said as Angie offered a cautionary frown.

  The senator noticed Kevin’s approach. “Ah,” he said to his admiring entourage, “here he is now. The man of the hour.”

  Kevin greeted the circle warmly before turning to the senator. “I wonder if we might have a brief word?”

  “We were actually just talking about you, Congressman Tolbert,” said a man seated on the opposite side of the table. “The senator says you’re one of the best and brightest on Capitol Hill.”

  “Is that right?” Kevin forced a grin.

  “That Center for Economic Health of yours,” the stranger continued. “Brilliant stuff. Absolutely brilliant.”

  Kevin looked toward Franklin. What had he told them about the CEH?

  “How many?” asked the woman seated beside Franklin.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How many supporters do you have so far?”

  “We’re approaching one hundred thousand,” Kevin said, rounding up to the nearest impressive figure.

  “And all of them motivated by this bright spots thing of yours?”

  “Well,” Kevin replied, “it’s not exactly my bright spots thing. More like a growing consensus on the best way to improve our long-term economic prospects.”

  “Why haven’t I heard of it?” asked a man Kevin vaguely recognized as the owner of a conservative news syndicate.

  “Well,” Kevin replied while flashing a confident smile, “because they accidentally sat you at the wrong table this evening.”

  A glower from Franklin told Kevin to tread lightly.

  “But then,” he continued, “I’m sure you’ll be hearing more about the Bright Spots proposal from Senator Franklin during the convention.”

  Franklin stood, tossing his napkin onto the table. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said to his guests, “the congressman and I need a moment to chat.” He looked toward a lovely woman seated on his left. “Please, Paula, tell them about the yacht you just purchased.” He turned to the other guests. “She hosted a fund-raiser for us on it last month. Very plush!”

  The two men walked fifty feet away and positioned themselves near a large display of carved ice. Franklin’s gregarious smile sank as he assumed a scowl. “Do you have any idea who you were just talking to?”

  Kevin looked back toward the table. “Not exactly. No.”

  “Most of them are on the board of the Saratoga Foundation.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. And I don’t appreciate you putting words in my mouth in front of my most generous donors. I’ll decide what I say at the convention when the time comes.”

  “That goes both ways, Senator,” Kevin said, incensed. “What was that stunt you pulled on the stage?”

  “It wasn’t a stunt.”

  “You created the impression I’m fully on your team, completely ignoring our conversation in the limo.”

  “On the contrary, Congressman. I did exactly what I said I would do.”

  A blank stare from Kevin as the senator continued.

  “I told you I would show you how serious I am about my promise. And that’s what I did.”

  “You promised to come out in favor of the Bright Spots proposal,” said Kevin.

  “What do you think I just did? I gave you a spot on the convention stage. Who better to make your case than you?”

  Kevin felt as if a yellow light was beginning to flash.

  “And I just told my most generous donors that I want you on my team. How much more supportive could I have been?”

  Yellow turned red as Kevin’s mind seesawed between significant opportunity and serious trouble. Speaking at the convention would let Kevin articulate his ideas to a national audience. If he did well, Franklin would be forced to embrace the Bright Spots proposal. An opportunity. But if Kevin’s ideas fell flat with the party’s base, Franklin would distance himself from the misguided breeder before Kevin could say hot potato. Either way, Franklin would win. Breeder delegates would read Kevin’s visibility as a clear sign of support. Their votes would help Franklin lock up the nomination, after which he would bury the Bright Spots proposal for good.

  Before Kevin could decide how to play the moment he felt the senator’s arm easing him back toward the table. “Relax, Kevin. You made a very good impression on my friends. They want to see you succeed.” A paternal pat on the back. “We all do.”

  Kevin noticed a familiar face approaching. He felt an immediate knot in his gut.

  “Evan!” said Franklin, extending his hand. “Glad you could make it. You remember Kevin Tolbert.”

  Evan Dimitri offered a single disinterested nod in Kevin’s direction before growling at the senator, “I thought you said Trisha was giving the keynote tonight.”

  Franklin laughed nervously. “That was the original plan,” he said. “But we were fortunate enough to land Kevin instead.”

  Dimitri looked the congressman up and down. “Humph,” he grumbled. “Why’d Trisha back out?”

  “She didn’t back out,” said Franklin. “We decided this would be the best time and place to introduce Congressman Tolbert.”

  “Be careful, Josh,” said Dimitri. “I hear Trisha’s getting nervous about your…new friends. And Governor LaCalli has been winking in her direction.”

  Kevin translated the conversati
on in his mind. Trisha Sayers, the pop star turned fashion icon, remained one of the most admired fiscal conservatives in the party. But she hated the Bright Spots proposal almost as much as she hated Kevin Tolbert. And Governor LaCalli would give his right arm to steal her away from Franklin’s coalition.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dimitri continued. “This thing is by no means locked up. And I don’t like spending good money on losing candidates.”

  “Come on, Evan,” Franklin said as forcefully as he dared. “The numbers look good. I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

  A dismissive snort.

  “And what about you?” Dimitri said to Kevin as if talking to a fly in his soup. “Still have the Youth Initiative in your cross hairs?”

  Kevin glanced at Franklin. He appeared uneasy about what Kevin might say.

  “I’m not shooting at anything, Mr. Dimitri. I’m just trying to help improve the economy.”

  “This is what I’m talking about, Josh,” Dimitri said as if Kevin had left the room. “It makes our base nervous when you start criticizing the transition industry. A whole lot of the people in this room are donating to your campaign out of money inherited from volunteering parents.”

  Franklin reacted defensively. “I’ve never criticized the transition industry,” he said. “I practically coauthored the Youth Initiative Expansion Act, for Pete’s sake!”

  Dimitri waved a dismissive hand. “You know this game: ‘What have you done for me lately?’ You can bet the likes of Trisha Sayers don’t want reminders that you pandered to them yesterday. They want to know you’ll support them tomorrow.”

  The thick-necked bully turned toward Kevin. “And you’re not helping matters,” he said. “I’ve told you before, I like the feel-good aspects of your proposal. People like the whole ‘hope for the future’ thing, optimism about a brighter tomorrow and all that. You send all the right messages. Celebrate the young. Invest in the future. Play with your grandkids. Who wouldn’t resonate with that vision?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Franklin in an attempt to salvage the moment.

  Dimitri shoved a finger into Kevin’s chest. “But you need to quit the moralizing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kevin said while stepping back from the jab. “I’m not moralizing. I’m just telling the truth. The brightest economic pockets have lower transition rates and higher fertility rates. Right or wrong, good or bad, those are the facts.”

  “I’ll tell you the facts, Mr. Tolbert,” said Dimitri.

  “Fact number one: Senator Franklin here hopes to get into the White House.

  “Fact number two: He needs the support of fiscal conservatives.

  “Fact number three: We have no hope of improving this messed-up economy of ours if we lose the savings and revenue generated by the Youth Initiative.

  “Fact number four: You are perceived as a self-righteous blowhard every time you disparage the reputation and memory of millions of volunteers.

  “And finally, fact number five: Josh here takes a big risk every time he is seen with you in public, or gives you a place at the table, or gets cozy with your so-called Center for Economic Health.”

  Kevin could feel his neck throb. He took a deep breath to avoid calling Dimitri any of the names bouncing around in his head. This conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over.

  Apparently, so were his chances of influencing Franklin’s plan. Neither Dimitri nor Franklin would listen to reason. They cared nothing for the facts. Perceptions, not realities, would drive every move made between now and the election.

  “Gentlemen,” Kevin said. “I think the time has come for me to rejoin my wife.”

  “You do that,” spat Dimitri.

  “Yes,” said Franklin with all the charm he could muster, “enjoy the rest of the evening. We can discuss the best steps for moving forward tomorrow. I’ll have my assistant arrange a time.”

  Kevin smiled, doubtfully, at the offer. Then he began to walk away.

  Dimitri put his open palm on Kevin’s chest, halting his advance. “Wait,” he said gruffly. “One last thing.”

  Kevin braced for impact.

  “A word of advice.”

  “What’s that?” Kevin asked.

  “You would do well in this town to remember people elect politicians, not preachers. I suggest you focus your efforts on the economy and leave moralizing to the clergy.”

  Kevin nodded indifferently at the comment before returning to his table. Angie leaned in close to ask how it had gone. “I could see the steam coming out of your ears all the way over here. Who was that man poking you in the chest?”

  “His name is Dimitri.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To give me a bit of advice.”

  She waited.

  “He said I should talk about the economy and leave moralizing to the clergy.”

  Angie shrugged dismissively. Kevin had received similar “advice” before.

  That’s when it struck him. The clergy. Of course!

  “I’ll be right back,” he said while getting up from the table like a battered athlete limping back onto the field.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “I need to call Troy immediately.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex was starved. That’s why he had suggested Troy Simmons meet him at a hot-dog stand located about three blocks from the church. They sat at his usual table, adjacent to the small grill owned by Hakim, a first-generation American. Hakim’s parents had fled Egypt shortly after what many labeled the “Arab Spring,” which had turned into a dangerous winter for devout Christians in the region. Hakim’s mother, still alive, was so proud that her son operated his own small business and that their pastor frequented the stand whenever he could find an excuse.

  As usual, Alex ordered the kosher brat. As usual, he smothered it with mustard and washed his first bite down with a swig of orange soda. But this time he felt a gurgling sensation in his gut thanks to Troy’s unexpected request.

  “Why me?” he asked after swallowing hard.

  “First, because I trust you,” Troy began. “I’d still be keeping Christ at a safe distance if not for the time you invested in Julia and me last year.”

  Alex smiled at the recollection of a hesitant couple entering his home to join his weekly Exploring Christianity chats. Troy had participated more enthusiastically than Julia at first. But both had eventually come around.

  “Second, because you’re good with words. We’ve been sitting under your teaching long enough to know that you have a keen intellect and the ability to make difficult ideas accessible.”

  Alex accepted the compliment with a slight bow of the head. “You’re kind,” he said. It was nice to know someone in the congregation appreciated his effort to craft sermons of substance.

  “And, perhaps most important of all, you understand the urgency and difficulty of what we’re trying to do.”

  He did. Alex admired Troy Simmons and his partner, Kevin Tolbert. But he didn’t envy their task. To take on the transition industry was no small feat even for men with a proven track record in business and, more recently, politics. Alex knew himself unqualified for the first. He felt uneasy with the second.

  “So you want me to write up the document?”

  “We do,” said Troy. “We’re calling it ‘An Open Letter to Our Elected Officials.’”

  Two faces came to Alex’s mind. His wife, Tamara, would smile proudly when she found out her husband had been asked to play a small part in opposing the transition industry. His chairman, Phil Crawford, would not. But then, he didn’t need to know about it. What harm could possibly come from spending a few hours crafting a letter for Troy and Kevin to use in their efforts?

  “And that’s all? You just want me to write the letter?”

  “Well,” added Troy, “we’d also like you to persuade other ministers, priests, and rabbis in the area to join you in signing the letter. Ju
lia thinks we can get a national media agency to pick up the story. You know, a group of Denver-area ministers holding Washington accountable.”

  Alex’s stomach clenched. He examined his partially eaten brat. He placed it on the plastic table.

  “Is there a problem, Pastor?” asked the ever-attentive Hakim while wiping his hands on a grease-splattered apron. “I can make you another if you wish.”

  “No, thank you, Hakim,” said Alex while forcing himself to nibble and grin. “Excellent as always.”

  Alex turned back toward Troy, the real source of his indigestion. He recalled the conversation with Ellie Baxter. Her husband had paid a price after entering the fray of the most contentious issue of their day. It still made him mad: a pastor who, despite years of faithful service and effective impact, was forced from his position just because he took seriously what the Scriptures said about marriage. He could just imagine his own board’s reaction should he make such a public statement on the Youth Initiative.

  “Why not ask ministers in the Washington, D.C., area instead of Denver?” asked Alex.

  Troy chuckled at the suggestion. “I could probably count on one hand the number of D.C. ministers who oppose the Youth Initiative.”

  “Of course,” Alex said weakly.

  “Besides, Denver has two advantages. First, the convention is happening here. And second, I love the idea of Kevin giving his bright spots speech in the same city where he grew up as a boy, a city where pastors like you challenge national leaders to support parents and respect seniors: a one-two punch that might catch the attention of a national news outlet. Julia calls it earned media because we could never buy the kind of coverage we might garner from a story they consider controversial. We can’t compete with a hundred-million-dollar ad campaign, but we can build momentum among those who are, by and large, religiously active. You know,” Troy said with a wink, “the breeders.”

  Hakim, overhearing the comment, scowled in Troy’s direction.