by Stuart Woods
“Good morning,” Peter said, in a rich, deep voice. “Today I am privileged to announce my candidacy for the seat in the United States Senate being vacated at midterm by Senator Len Scott. I will work, hand in hand with Senator Eliot Saltonstall, who will become senior senator and who has given me the honor of representing his staff in every corner of the state, an experience that has deepened my knowledge of our citizens’ problems and expectations of their government. Between now and the election I will put forward a detailed program for our state and the nation, but for now, I will let you return to your breakfast. Thank you.”
The group behind him applauded and cheered, and Senator Saltonstall shook his hand.
The scene shifted back to Morning Joe. “That was the newest candidate for the United States Senate, Peter Rule. For those of you not acquainted with him, here are his biographical details.” She read from a sheet of paper:
“Peter Rule is the son of the late Simon Rule, a high official of the Central Intelligence Agency for many years, and the current President of the United States, Katharine Rule Lee, who was formerly director of Central Intelligence. He is a graduate of Princeton, with a bachelor’s in constitutional history, and Harvard, where he earned a master’s and a Ph.D. in American political history. He also studied at Oxford for a year as a Rhodes Scholar. After completing his education, Mr. Rule joined a London investment bank, where, while also attending the London School of Economics and earning another Ph.D., in economics, he specialized in international lending. He is currently chief of staff to Senator Eliot Saltonstall, of New York, and he was recently married to Senator Saltonstall’s younger daughter, Celeste. They live in New York City and in Georgetown.”
The discussion was thrown open to the group around Morning Joe’s table, who seemed all to be favorably impressed with the new candidate’s credentials.
“I know this young man well,” said John Heilemann, a frequent contributor to the show, “and anyone crazy enough to run against him is going to have his hands full.” Everyone at the table seemed to agree with him.
—
In Albany, the governor of New York State, Benton Blake, threw his breakfast tray across the room and screamed obscenities, alarming two members of his staff, who rushed into the room to clean up after him.
—
That night, Gloria Parsons cradled Benton in her arms. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” she cooed. “You’ll take this kid with one hand tied behind your back.”
Benton sat up in bed. “Listen,” he said, “this kid is the son of the current President of the United States and the stepson of the former President of the United States, not to mention being the son-in-law of the other senator from New York and the husband of his daughter, possibly the most beautiful woman on the North American continent. From what I’ve learned, he knows this state better than anybody else alive, including me. That is what I’m up against, and I am going to need not only both my hands, but every brain cell in my possession and half the money in the state to defeat him. Now do you understand why I’m upset?”
“Well,” said Gloria, “you don’t have to run against him. You can run for another term as governor or just join Woodman & Weld and make a lot of money, then wait for Eliot Saltonstall to have a stroke or something, so you can run for his seat.”
Benton fell back onto the bed. “I hate this,” he said. “I just hate it.”
She began fondling him. “It’s going to be all right, baby,” she cooed. “You’re going to have the most wonderful life. And,” she said, “you can take consolation in the fact that you fucked that kid’s beautiful wife before he did.”
—
Later in the day, Joan buzzed Stone. “Bill Eggers on one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Afternoon, Bill.”
“Good afternoon, Stone. I just had a call from Benton Blake.”
“And how is Benton feeling today?”
“Well, let’s see. The court has accepted his financial agreement with Vanessa and issued a decree in their divorce. He’s a free man, and he still owns all his real estate, but about fifteen million dollars less in cash. He’s still the governor of New York, but he will announce his resignation on Monday, then, after a couple of weeks’ holiday, presumably with his new girlfriend, he’ll join our firm as a senior partner, so I’d guess he feels pretty good.”
“What’s he going to do about running for senator?” Stone asked.
“He didn’t say.”
—
Fifteen minutes later Joan told him Senator Saltonstall was on the phone.
“Good afternoon, Eliot,” Stone said.
“Good afternoon, Stone. Did you watch Peter on TV this morning?”
“I watched his declaration on Morning Joe, followed by interviews on half a dozen television shows,” Stone replied.
“And what did you think of the impression he made?”
“I thought he came across as handsome, brilliant, and fully qualified for office. I missed only Celeste.”
“Funny, that’s what I thought, too. Don’t worry, you’re going to see Celeste on every daytime television show next week, starting Sunday, and in a dozen magazines’ next issue. Faith Mackey is doing a superb job.”
“I’m delighted to hear all of that.”
“Now,” Saltonstall said, “tell me if Benton Blake is going to declare for the Senate.”
“I have no idea, Eliot,” Stone said with some satisfaction, “and I doubt if Benton does, either. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
40
On Monday morning Stone watched on TV as Morning Joe switched to a shot of Benton Blake at the governor’s desk in Albany.
“Good morning,” Blake said, managing a bit of a smile. “I have served New York State as your governor, always with profound gratitude for the support that the citizens and elected officials of this state have given me. Now the time has come to for me to move on. I am resigning as governor, effective immediately, and Lieutenant Governor Pio Rinaldi will be sworn in as your new governor in this office in just a few minutes. Pio and I have worked hand in hand for the past years, and I know he will be a governor that you can be proud of.
“I am leaving on a brief vacation, and as soon as I’m back, I will be returning to the private practice of law, with the New York firm of Woodman & Weld. A note to the press and the media—I have already conducted my last press conference as governor, and as a private citizen, I will have nothing further to say.
“I thank everyone who has contributed to the success of my administration and all those around the state who have given me their support. Goodbye and good luck to all of you.”
The screen went dark, then returned to Morning Joe.
“I have it on good authority,” Joe Scarborough said, “that Governor Blake’s divorce became final on Friday, and that has freed him to make a new start in life. We wish him well.”
—
Stone’s bedside phone rang, and he answered it.
“Stone, it’s Eliot Saltonstall.”
“Good morning, Eliot,” he replied, glancing at the clock. “I didn’t know you were up and about at this hour.”
“Did you see Benton’s announcement?”
“I did.”
“I hear he’s off to Bermuda with his new girlfriend. I wasn’t able to come up with her name.”
“I’ve heard that it’s Gloria Parsons, formerly a writer at Just Folks magazine.”
“Ah! You always know everything, Stone.”
“Just something borne in on the Southern breeze.”
“Do you think he’ll announce for the Senate when he gets back?”
“You just heard him say he’ll be joining Woodman & Weld on his return. I don’t think Bill Eggers would consider that a good time to make a political announcement.”
“Do you think he’ll run eventually?�
�
“I imagine he’ll be licking his wounds for some time, after watching Peter’s performance on Friday.”
“He was good, wasn’t he?”
“He certainly was.”
“Oh, I received your check for the PAC. I’m very grateful to you, and so is Peter. I expect you’ll be hearing from him personally quite soon. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to my office.”
“So do I,” Stone replied, and they both hung up.
—
When Stone got to his desk he found a hand-delivered note from Peter Rule, thanking him for his support and promising his friendship forever. “Forever is a couple of weeks in politics,” Stone said aloud to himself.
Joan buzzed him. “Bob Cantor to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Bob came in, was greeted by the other Bob, and took a seat. “I expect you’ll want to shut down the wire at Gloria Parsons’s place, given Blake’s announcement this morning.”
“I expect so,” Stone said.
“I thought you might like to hear what I’ve got up to today.” Bob set the recorder on the desk and pressed a button.
Stone listened to the recording in full; it was voice-activated, so a few days’ conversation was shrunk to a few minutes. “Thank you, Bob,” he said. “Give Joan your bill, and we’ll wait to see what, if anything, develops when they return from Bermuda.”
“I was sort of hoping you’d ask me to follow them there,” Bob said.
“Fat chance.” The two men shook hands, and Cantor left.
Stone thought about it for a moment, then called Eliot Saltonstall.
“Yes, Stone?”
“I thought you’d like to know—I just spoke to someone who knows Benton Blake well, and I was told that he found Peter’s declaration so dispiriting that he has put aside all thought of running for the Senate at midterm.”
“That’s wonderful news, Stone.”
“Apparently Benton said that, instead, he would just wait around for you to have a stroke or something, then run for your seat.”
“That’s not funny, Stone.”
“I thought it was in very poor taste, myself, even if he did say it only privately.”
“Well, I had my annual physical last week, and my doctor said I’m fit for at least two more terms.”
“I’m sure you are, Eliot, and I’ll look forward to voting for you.”
“Thank you, Stone.”
They hung up.
—
Gloria Parsons closed her suitcase, had a look out the window for the limo, then made a phone call to Alphonse Teppi.
“How are you, Gloria? It’s been a while.”
“I’ve been busy, Al.”
“Lunch today?”
“Sorry, I’m going away for a week or so.”
“Oh? Where?”
“That’s classified. I want you to do something for me while I’m gone.”
“Sure thing.”
“I want you to put somebody on Stone Barrington. I want to know where he goes and what he does while I’m gone.”
“That could get expensive, Gloria.”
“I’ve already told my accountant to send you a nice check. I’ll take care of any necessary travel expenses, too.”
“Will I be able to reach you?”
“You can text me, and I’ll get it—but only if something important comes up.”
“I’ll get right on it, then. Have a good trip.”
“Thank you, Al. I’ll call you when I get back.”
Her bell rang, and she buzzed the downstairs door open. A minute later there was a knock on the door and a man in a black suit stood there. “May I take your bags, Ms. Parsons?” he asked.
“Right there,” she said, pointing at the stack.
Three minutes later she was in the back of the limo, headed for Teterboro and a chartered jet. She snuggled up to Blake. “We’re going to make you forget all about politics,” she whispered in his ear.
“I’ll look forward to forgetting,” he said.
41
Stone picked up the New York Times and read a front-page story to the effect that Benton and Vanessa Blake had amicably agreed to a divorce and that a property settlement fair to both had been reached. Essentially, Vanessa had gotten $15,000,000, plus a house or apartment still to be found, with a value of $5,000,000. Benton had also agreed to a lifetime of child support and school and university fees and support up to and including the Ph.D. level, for their daughter. He then turned on morning TV and found the story featured, but briefly, on every show. The whole thing had been conducted in a businesslike manner, with neither party criticized for his/her actions and attitudes. Step one was over.
Later, Stone encountered a front-page story in the Times to the effect that Benton Blake had resigned from the office of governor of New York State, with immediate effect, and that the lieutenant governor, one Pio Rinaldi, heretofore only rarely heard of, had been sworn in as governor.
Five days after that a story ran on the front page of the business section of the Times, with a similar story in the Wall Street Journal, that Benton Blake had joined the prestigious law firm of Woodman & Weld as a senior partner with responsibility for governmental relations with both Albany and Washington, D.C.
Two days after that a photograph appeared on the front page of the Arts section of the New York Times showing the former governor of New York attending a special benefit performance of the musical Hamilton, with his companion, Gloria Parsons, the well-known magazine journalist. In the days following, the couple appeared in the collection of tiny photographs taken at three big-time society functions, in a regular Times feature that Stone had always thought should have been entitled Parties That You Weren’t Invited To.
All of the rumors Stone had been privy to had now been enshrined in the political, business, arts, and social annals of the city and state. The social order had been slightly but firmly reordered, and all seemed right with the world.
—
Joan buzzed Stone: “Dino on one.”
“Good morning, Commissioner.”
“Good morning, prognosticator,” Dino said. “That’s what one calls a rumormonger whose dirt has been compressed into stone.”
“I thank you for the promotion,” Stone said.
“All that remains is the political action. When do you reckon that may come to pass?”
“I should think sometime after the New Year, since people wouldn’t want these extremely important announcements to become entangled in the Times’s holiday collection of Macy’s ads, heartwarming stories of how your contributions have given many disadvantaged families a hopeful holiday season, and stories of how members of Congress are spending their generous Christmas recesses, at home, serving their constituencies.”
“So I shouldn’t worry about that until, what, Super Bowl time?”
“Just a guess,” Stone said. “Maybe just after or in conjunction with the presidential inauguration, on January twentieth, after, of course, the incumbent has sorrowfully announced his intention not to seek reelection, in order to spend more time with his family.”
“This should make the conversation on our upcoming warm-weather cruise.”
“It’s good of you to call it that, since speaking the location over the telephone might broadcast it to all the wrong people. The White House has made no announcement of its inhabitants’ holiday plans, as yet. I expect the secretary will sneak it into a press room briefing at some point, surrounded by statements about more important or more exciting events.”
“What should Viv and I bring along in the way of clothing for this outing?”
“One or more bathing suits, of course, in the case of Viv, revealing ones, and the usual assortment of colorful cruise wear. Our guest of honor has requested, through her secretary of state,
that gentlemen should also bring a business suit and a dinner suit, for some special occasion as yet unrevealed.”
“I take it ‘dinner suit,’ to us hoi polloi, means ‘tuxedo.’”
“You may assume that. You may also substitute appropriate naval or yachting formal wear, should you possess same.”
“I take that to mean that you possess such finery.”
“I and perhaps others. Ladies to dress appropriately, of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your wife will know.”
“How is our guest of honor planning to deal with her absence from her usual residence?”
“I can’t tell you that on the phone, only over dinner.”
“Patroon, at seven?”
“Done.”
—
At Patroon, after a first drink, Dino raised the subject not mentionable on the phone.
“This is how it’s going to go,” Stone said, “but it’s only a plan and can change.”
“Shoot,” Dino said.
Stone outlined the security precautions as he imagined they would be.
“Jesus,” Dino said when he had finished, “are they really that worried about our safety?”
“No, Dino, they are entirely concerned with the health and well-being of the people they are charged with protecting. I very much doubt whether they care if we live or die.”
“That’s not very comforting,” Dino replied.
“Perhaps it will comfort you to think that, if some attempt is made on the welfare of the people they are charged with protecting, they will have to protect us in order to protect them.”
