Mounting Fears

37

MARTIN STANTON WAS STANDING BEFORE A BATHROOM MIRROR IN HIS PAJAMA bottoms when the phone began ringing. He shaved faster, hoping it would stop. It didn't. Finally, he grabbed the receiver next to the toilet in the giagantic bathroom. "Yes?"

"This is the hotel operator, Mr. Vice President. I have a gentleman on the line who says he is your attorney."

"Yes, I'll take the call." There was a click. "Jake?"

"Yes, Mr. Vice President. How are you this morning?"

"Nearly shaven. Can you hang on for a minute?"

"Of course."

Stanton went back to the mirror, moistened his beard, and completed the project. Rinsed and toweled dry, he returned to the phone, put down the toilet seat, and sat. "All right, Jake, what's up?"

"I've just been on the phone with Betty's attorney, and he says she says she wants another fifty thousand, to help her resettle. And the Cadillac."

Stanton tried not to scream. "Our settlement gives her fifty thousand for resettlement expenses already."

"She says it's not enough."

"She wants to reupholster, recurtain, recarpet, and repaint every square inch of the house," Stanton said. "I won't do it, not anymore."

"I don't blame you, Marty. We've already given her about sixty percent of your estate. It may be we've reached the point where we have to draw the line, tell them to accept what's on the table or we'll see them in court."

"I think you're right. Give her the Cadillac, tell her she can have it today, if she signs the settlement as is, but nothing else. This is the end of the line."

"All right, with your stated permission, I'll tell her attorney just that. He's smart enough to know that a judge, or even a jury, is not going to give her more than sixty percent of community property. She might even get less."

"Then do it, Jake, right now. Let me know what to expect. Oh, just to let them know I'm serious, tell them that if she doesn't sign, or if she signs and then complains about it, I'll release the settlement agreement to the press."

"All right, Marty. I'll get back to you." He hung up.

Stanton hung up, too. His blood pressure was up; he could feel it throbbing against his temples. How did what started out as an amicable attempt to settle turn into this? It was insane!

He put on his wristwatch and checked it. An hour until his first appearance. He chose a suit and tie and got dressed. As he finished, the doorbell rang, and the Secret Service agent in the living room answered it. Stanton walked into the living room to find an attractive woman standing in the foyer. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Vice President," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Elizabeth Wharton, your campaign manager, if that meets with your approval."

"Please come in, Ms. Wharton. I didn't even know I had a campaign manager yet."

"The president, knowing that you had not had time to assemble a staff, directed his campaign manager, Senator Sam Meriwether, to appoint someone to help. If you would prefer someone else, that will be fine."

"Tell me about yourself… may I call you Elizabeth?"

"Liz will be fine, sir. I'm from the small town of Delano, Georgia, President Lee's hometown. I graduated from the University of Georgia with a master's degree in history. I taught history at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta for seven years, working on Democratic campaigns on the side, then I worked on Senator Meriwether's staff when he was in the House, and I managed his campaign for the Senate."

"Sounds like a good background, Liz. Let's see how it works out."

She opened a leather envelope and produced a sheet of paper. "Here's your revised schedule for today. You're speaking at a brunch this morning attended by members of the San Francisco alumnae association of Brandeis University. They're just about all Jewish, and we've included a statement of your support for Israel in your speech, which I wrote, myself, last night." She handed him half a dozen pages. "Please read it on the way to the event, and if you don't like any of it, please feel free to wing it, but remember to include your support of Israel."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Stanton said, tucking the pages into an inside pocket. She was very attractive indeed, he thought, and obviously very smart. The doorbell rang again, and a middle-aged Filipino man was admitted.

"This is your valet for the campaign," Liz said, "Alfredo Garcia. Alfredo will pack and unpack for you and manage your luggage in transit. The Secret Service wants someone who has been cleared by them."

"Good morning, Alfredo," Stanton said.

"Good morning, Mr. Vice President. May I pack your things?"

"Yes, please."

Alfredo disappeared into the bedroom.

"And I have some good news," Liz said. "Your campaign airplane has arrived, fresh from its annual inspection. It's a BBJ, Boeing Business Jet, which is based on the 737 series of airliners. It will carry you in comfort, along with half a dozen staff and a dozen or so press."

"Do I have half a dozen staff?" Stanton asked.

"You do, sir. When we arrive at Oakland to board the aircraft, you'll find two secretaries, Alfredo, representatives of the Mallet Polling Company and of Tom Black's political consultancies, and of course, me."

"Well, let's get started," Stanton said, rising. "After you." He took note of her breasts as she turned toward the door, then got a view of her stern on the way out. She was a tall, slender redhead, and very well put together, he thought.

IN THE ARMORED SUV that served as his limousine, Stanton quickly read the speech Liz had written. "Excellent," he said. "I'll use it as an outline to refer to, as I prefer to improvise a little as I go along."

"That's fine, as long as you remember to mention Israel favorably."

"That won't be a problem," Stanton said.

"Mr. Vice President," Liz said, "if you'll forgive my asking, do you have any personal difficulties that might bear on the campaign? I understand you're going through a divorce, for instance."

"Yes, I am, but I don't anticipate that being a problem. Just this morning my attorney is making my final offer in the settlement. I hope it will be signed before the day is out."

"I see. That's good news. May I ask, is there currently a woman in your life?"

"No," Stanton replied, "there is not." Not currently, anyway. "What about yourself? Are you married?"

"No, and there is no woman in my life, either. Nor a man of any importance."

"Good to know these things," Stanton said.

"Yes," she agreed.

Stanton picked up a newspaper and laid part of it in his lap, to hide what would be all too obvious.