Balance of Power

SE VENTEEN

"Carole Tisone called me ," Marcia Harding told the President. "From the Chronicle. She knew all about the stay-away order; Bowden's threats to Joan; his visit to Marie; his conviction. Even that he's in a program for abusive men."

Sitting in his upstairs office, Kerry glanced at the others—Clayton, Kit Pace, and Lara—as Harding's voice resonated from the speakerphone. "How?" he asked.

"Not from me." Harding's voice was flat. "Maybe from court files, or the cops. Maybe someone in the PD's office told somebody else—the only thing that isn't run-of-the-mill domestic violence is that Joan is Lara Costello's sister. Now that she's left for your wedding, her life has become a 'human interest story' . . ."

"What's the public interest in humiliating Joan?"

"I asked much the same thing. She started with some pieties about domestic violence being 'our most closely guarded family secret,' and how Joan's case was like Nicole Simpson's—a wake-up call that exposes the issue." Harding paused, then added with palpable reluctance. "Then she asked about your call."

At the corner of his eye, Kerry saw Lara's look of alarm. "There were only three of us on that call," Kerry said tersely. "You, me, and Halloran."

"I can only speak for me, Mr. President. I didn't tell a soul—no one in the office, not even the police."

"What did you tell the reporter?"

"Only that it was an internal matter, and that I didn't feel free to comment. I've got a call in to Jack Halloran—I haven't been able to reach him. So I decided to warn you myself. Whatever happens, Mr. President, I clearly can't deny you called."

Across the room, Kerry watched a series of expressions register on Kit Pace's snub features—disquiet, concern, calculation. More evenly, Kerry inquired, "What did this reporter want to know?"

"What we'd talked about. How many times you'd called. What you wanted us to do. Whether Joan got special treatment." Now Harding sounded annoyed. "As to that, I said no. Which is true—the only thing I did any differently is to personally enter the stay-away order in the computer, as you asked, in case he tried to buy a gun. And that was only to ensure the system works the way it should."

Listening, Kerry felt a moment's sympathy for Harding: she had been helpful and professional, and yet might be tarnished by having talked to him at all. "I'm sorry," he said, "if I've created a problem for you."

"Oh, I'm fine with how we handled this—I just hope it helps her. And him." Her tone became more cautious. "The thing I worry about is Jack. If he told someone, and that someone told the Chronicle, he'll probably have to admit it's true. And then I'll have to talk about it."

Kerry glanced at Lara. She stared fixedly at the floor, as though watching her hopes for these few days—a warm visit with her family; a healing interlude with Joan—evaporate. "If you have to," Kerry answered, "you have to—every conversation, everything I said or asked. Pass that on to Jack, as well."

Harding was briefly silent. "Thank you, Mr. President. I will."

* * *

To Lara, Kerry said softly, "You were right. I should have hired a lawyer at the beginning, someone to be a go-between. Not been so intent on fixing things myself."

Watching, the others seemed embarrassed. "You were protecting her," Lara answered in an even tone. "You know what can go wrong."

"Yes," Kerry answered. "This. We'd better discuss how to handle it."

Briefly, Kit glanced at Lara. "We don't have many options," she told Kerry. "Halloran probably had a few too many, and couldn't resist telling a crony about the phone call from on high. We can't expect him to stonewall this, and it might only make things worse if he tried.

"You know the classic rule: get the story out your way, and get it over with. That's all the more true when you've got nothing to hide . . ."

"Nothing," Lara interjected, "except my sister's private life. On the eve of our wedding they'll have a field day with this."

Kit grimaced. "That's why we have to make a public statement. Get ahead of this with dignity, and make a plea for Joan's privacy . . ."

"How do you put that genie back in the bottle?"

"You don't," Kit responded. "We can simply make it better, or worse."

Kerry stood. "How much time do we have?"

Kit sat back, eyes narrow with thought. "As long as it takes them to nail down the D.A., and call us—they'll have to do that. Figure a day, maybe two."

"Any chance of killing this?"

"An appeal for decency?" Kit answered in a dubious tone. "We can try. It might be easier if you weren't part of the story."

Kerry did not look at Lara. "And you?" he asked Clayton. "You warned me about this, after all."

"It's easy to give warnings," his friend answered. "If I were President, and one of my girls were at risk, I wouldn't delegate this to anyone."

It was a kind remark, Kerry thought. But he could feel Lara's unhappiness. Facing her, Kerry asked, "Do we try to kill it?"

"Of course."

He turned to Kit, eyebrows raised in inquiry. "When the Chronicle calls me," she told him, "I'll make as strenuous a plea as possible. But if it doesn't work, we'll have to move quickly. I'd suggest a positive message about protecting women and children, giving troubled families a second chance—maybe through an interview with Joan. That's much better for us than a President exerting influence."

Silent, Lara shook her head in wonderment. "And if that doesn't work," Kerry answered, "we'll decide what's next."

* * *

When the others had left, Lara said, "I blame myself. I should have never put this off on you—it's not fair to Joan, or you."

"I made the call," Kerry answered. "You didn't ask me to." Pausing, he felt his frustration boil over. "We can sit here beating ourselves up, or try to figure out what to say to your family and, if necessary, to the media. And how to make the next few days as happy as we can."

Lara inhaled. "For a long time, I've known how little privacy a President can claim. But you and I assumed that risk with full knowledge of the rules. Joan didn't. Instead, we helped drag this to her door."

"It was my mistake, not yours." Kerry went to where she sat, taking both of her hands in his. "If you don't mind, I'd like to tell Joan myself."

"To protect me?" Lara inquired coolly.

"To explain," Kerry answered. "And to apologize. She put her trust in me, after all."

Lara looked up at him, and then her gaze softened. "I'll tell my mother and Mary," she said.

• • •

They ate in the family dining room, by candlelight, with Marie and her doll sitting next to Kerry. Lara and Kerry maintained a plausible vivacity; based on his recent remedial reading, Kerry told Marie that this once had been a bedroom in which another child, Alice Roosevelt Longworth, had her appendix removed.

Marie took his hand. "Did it hurt?" she inquired.

"Maybe the doctor," Kerry answered. "Alice had a wicked tongue. She was known for saying, 'If you don't have anything nice to say about anyone, please sit next to me.' "

"Today," Lara added with a teasing smile, "we call people like that reporters."

With her child's ear for the literal, Marie gave her aunt a puzzled glance. "Lara used to be a reporter," her grandmother explained. "But she covered wars, not gossip."

"I remember your letters from Kosovo," Mary told Lara, "telling us not to worry. And all of us worrying like crazy, with Mom praying for you every day."

Lara smiled. "And here we all are," she said. "With me about to get married."

"Oh," Inez told her, "I prayed for that, too."

Amidst laughter, Kerry raised his glass to her. When dessert was done, and the others about to leave, Kerry asked Joan to visit with him awhile.

* * *

Even in candlelight, she seemed to pale. Her eyes filled with tears, as if at a sudden blow. Her voice choked with fear and humiliation. "He'll be furious. John couldn't stand the thought of people knowing. It was like he was more ashamed of being exposed than he was of beating me up."

Without much hope, Kerry ventured, "There's a chance that they won't print it."

Joan shook her head. More quietly, she said, "I can never talk about this. Not in public."

Nor, Kerry thought, had his mother. "If it comes to that, I can. Or Lara. But not before you tell us what you'd be comfortable with."

"Nothing." Disbelief lingered in her voice. "I have to trust you about what's best to do. But it all seems terrible to me."

"It is terrible," Kerry answered. "For Lara, too."

Joan's smile was faint. "That's hard for me to imagine. I can't remember her ever seeming scared, or overwhelmed, or even vulnerable."

Kerry nodded his understanding. "People as accomplished as Lara, and as driven, don't excite a lot of sympathy. They sure don't ask for any." He paused, gazing at Joan intently. "But she'll never feel right about her life if your life isn't good, or if your relationship isn't good. I can't tell you what hopes she had for this time with you, and how shattered she feels now."

Joan seemed to absorb this. When she smiled again, her gratitude was tinged with melancholy, perhaps the thought that, just as she had failed to fully see her sister, she had imagined seeing love in the eyes of the wrong man. Softly, she asked, "Does Lara know how lucky she is?"

"Every day I remind her," Kerry answered with a smile, and then his expression became serious. "I'm lucky to have all of you in my life. The Costellos are all the family I have, at least until Lara and I have children. I'm hoping for a daughter like Marie." Pausing, he added, "And, like Lara, I never want anything to happen to either one of you."

Shyly, Joan kissed him on the cheek. "We'll be fine," she promised.

* * *

Mary waited until Inez was tucking in Marie to take her oldest sister aside, speaking quietly. "You've always been the one to decide things," she told Lara. "But this isn't good."

They lingered in the hallway outside the Lincoln Bedroom. "What isn't good?"

"Anyone talking about John in public. He'll blame Joanie."

"We don't control this anymore. Especially the media."

Mary's brow knit. "But you control who talks to them. If you do it, he'll think that Joan betrayed him."

"I'm worried, too." Unsettled by Mary's new assertiveness, Lara touched her arm.

Mary stared at her, unmollified. "Don't put me off, Lara, or treat me like a child. You're not my mother."

"I know," Lara answered with renewed sadness. "Sometimes it must have seemed like I thought I was." Glancing at Marie's bedroom, she finished softly. "I can't tell you what will happen. But whatever we have to do, we'll protect them both."

Silent, Mary seemed suspended between resignation and frustration. Then, without saying good night, she turned and went to her room.