Capitol Threat

4

The phones were ringing so incessantly that Jones was certain he had developed tinnitis. In the wake of the previous day’s dramatic development in the Rose Garden, everyone, it seemed, wanted to talk to the junior senator from the state of Oklahoma. If Ben was getting this volume of calls, Jones could only wonder what senators of the slightest importance had to handle. The administrative assistants in the other senators’ offices, however, would at least have the pleasure of seeing the pile of messages from other politicians, lobbyists, constituents, press, and various and sundry cranks occasionally diminish. Ben’s stack wasn’t shrinking at all. Because Ben wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Jones saw Christina burst through the door and tried to take advantage of the three seconds or so before she disappeared into her office. “Any sign of the Boss?”

“None.” She stopped just outside her door. “And I can’t waste any more time looking. Someone has to start returning calls before the villagers revolt.”

“They’re going to want to know what Ben’s position is on the gay Supreme Court nominee.”

“Which will be challenging, since I have no idea.”

“What, you two don’t go in for pillow talk?”

She looked at Jones sharply. “Not about politics. In fact, I expressly forbid it.”

“So what are you going to do?”

She threw up her hands and disappeared into her office. “What politicos do best. Equivocate.”

Jones didn’t blame her for feeling overwhelmed. There was always a wave of publicity following the announcement of a new Supreme Court nominee, but no one had been prepared for the tsunami that followed the revelation of the nation’s first openly gay nominee—nominated by a very conservative Republican President, no less. The White House had been marshaling their forces and ducking all the important questions, such as: Did you know he was gay? Will you still support him? Don’t you risk losing the fundamentalist Christian support that got you elected in the first place? Similarly, everyone had expected to see presidential flak pieces saturating the airwaves over the long weekend. Instead, literally from the second Roush made his surprise announcement, the pundits’ attention had been focused not on the candidate himself but on the cause he might represent. His nomination had stopped being about his qualifications as a judge and had metamorphosed into a referendum on gay rights.

Loving wandered in from the outside corridor, his head hung low.

“Any luck?” Jones asked.

“Not a trace.”

“You’re supposed to be a private investigator. Surely you can locate one U.S. senator.”

“Not if he doesn’t wanna be found.”

“You think he’s hiding? Why?”

“ ’Cause that’s what I’d do, if I represented the very conservative state of Oklahoma and somebody put up a gay Supreme Court justice. What do the people callin’ say?”

“They’re opposed, by a six-to-one margin. Most of the calls are from rural towns in the western part of the state.” A quick phone call to Paula, Jones’s librarian wife back in Tulsa, had told him that the consensus of opinion was no different in the second-largest city in the state.

“That doesn’t mean much. The outraged always speak the loudest. We need some real intel.”

“There are about half a hundred pollsters working on that as we speak.”

“I could fly home, visit a few bars, and give Ben a more accurate picture of the public opinion. Be a lot cheaper, too.”

“He might want you to do that. It’s hard to tell. Since we don’t know where he is!”

Even though it was Saturday and the Senate was not in session, Ben had come to the Senate chamber early in the morning and sat at the little desk in the corner bearing his nameplate. Actually, he liked it better when the Senate was not in session and he could enjoy the historic setting without having to listen to people bickering with one another. He gazed across at the expanse of brown antique desks, row after row, curving toward the center. He was reminded of Arlington National Cemetery; it had essentially the same effect, except with desks instead of graves. Symbolic? He hoped not. The inkwells, snuff boxes, and spittoons reminded him that this was a very old room, with a hallowed and distinguished heritage. All the Presidents since John Adams had walked down that center aisle and taken their place behind the elevated rostrum to deliver their State of the Union addresses, flanked on either side by a long succession of outstanding party leaders. All the Vice Presidents had sat in that chair at the rear center, serving as President of the Senate, nine of them future Presidents themselves. Behind that raised dais, the electoral votes were counted every four years so the President of the Senate could announce the identity of the next President. This was a room that had been a bastion of excellence, a home to brilliant minds and daring idealism. In truth, Ben had never been particularly political, but sitting here always reminded him that despite the distastefulness of much of modern politics, the U.S. Senate was part of a long-standing and important tradition, one that had shaped a nation, and as a result, shaped the world.

“Place kinda gives you the willies, doesn’t it?”

Ben turned to see Senator Hammond sitting beside him. He started to rise, but Hammond waved him back down. “This is my second private audience with you in as many days,” Ben said. “If you don’t watch out, someone’s going to mistake me for a person of importance.”

The corners of the Minority Leader’s lips turned upward. “Modesty. I like that. And I don’t get to see it much in this town. Made up your mind yet?”

“You and Christina. To which of my many undecided decisions do you refer?”

“Thaddeus Roush.”

“Oh. Well…I’m torn.”

Hammond leaned back and rested his head against his hands. “Between what and what?”

“Between a gut instinct that the time for a gay Supreme Court justice has come and might do the country a lot of good, and my realization that gay or not, if he was nominated by this oh-so-Republican President, he must be evil.”

Hammond grinned. “I told you yesterday, Ben—he’s a lot more to the center than you might expect. We could do a lot worse.”

“We could do a lot better.”

“Not with this President.”

Ben frowned. Good point. “Did you know he was gay? Yesterday, I mean.”

“I did not.”

“Did the President?”

“No way. Oh, they might’ve had some intimation. The man is in his late forties, never married, has a male roommate, that sort of thing. But it wouldn’t have been a problem, even for the Republicans, as long as he stayed in the closet. There are a lot of gay people in this town, Ben. We’ve known that ever since Gerry Studds became the first openly gay congressman back in 1983. No one cared about Mark Foley—till his suggestive electronic messages to congressional pages started surfacing. You’ve seen The List—the unofficial roster of gay congressional staff members. Even the Republicans have them. We call them the Pink Elephants. As long as they keep their private lives to themselves, no one much cares. Try to make a fuss about it and you get labeled homophobic. Hell, people were speculating that Justice Souter was gay when he was nominated to the Supreme Court—the man lived with his mother, for Pete’s sake. But that didn’t stop Bush the First from nominating him. Long as it’s not in the public eye, it’s not a problem.”

“But now it is in the public eye. And there’s no taking it back. Will President Blake stand behind him?”

“Well, he can’t exactly withdraw the nomination, can he? That would be too blatantly anti-gay even for that rascal. Especially after that swell speech he gave yesterday saying what a brilliant legal mind Roush has, and how he’ll be a crusader for truth, justice, and the American Way. But the inside skinny is that Blake feels hoodwinked, and frankly, I can see the man’s point. Word is he wants the nomination to fail so he can appoint someone else quickly, before his second term expires, but he doesn’t want to be the hatchet man. He’s counting on the Judiciary Committee to do that for him. The Constitution gives them the right to advise and consent. So the Republicans are most likely hard at work searching for some nongay reason to withhold their consent. And given that there’s more of them than us on the committee, they probably will succeed.

“And,” Hammond added, “whether we like the man or not, if his nomination fails, it’ll be a major-league slap in the face to gay rights. What Roush said yesterday is accurate—we’ve corrected a lot of the prejudices and problems that have haunted the nation, or at least put laws into place that make it clear we don’t tolerate disparate treatment. But the law still doesn’t protect gay and lesbian people. We actively discriminate against them, prohibiting gay couples from sharing medical benefits and passing legislation with code names like the Defense of Marriage Act. Defense against what? Gay people, obviously.”

“Change takes time,” Ben said. “It’s a mistake to force it before the populace is ready. Could create a backlash. I know a lot of good people who nonetheless have sincere religious objections to homosexuality.”

“You always think the best of people—even when they’re at their worst, don’t you, Ben? You remind me of my boy.”

Ben blinked. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

“Not many people do. He died…well, quite some time ago. But he was a great kid. So full of optimism. Such a good spirit.” He paused reflectively. “Losing him was about the toughest thing that ever happened to me.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Hieronymous Carroll, we called him.”

“Hieronymous?”

Hammond grinned. “I know—it’s awful. What can I say? I was a Latin major.”

“Ah,” Ben said, nodding. “I studied Latin in college myself.”

“But your point is correct, Ben. There is still a lot of homophobia in this country.”

“Nonetheless, I believe we will eventually have gays on the Supreme Court. Even in the White House. Eventually.”

Hammond slapped the back of his chair. “You know what? So do I. I’m just not sure I’ll be alive to see it.” He ran his fingers through his graying hair. “But if someone’s going to go down in the history books as the senators who took a stand against the last bastion of prejudice—why not us?”

“Tempting, I must admit. But I keep coming back to the same stumbling block: he’s a Republican.”

“Like it or not, Ben, the next justice appointed to the Court is going to be a Republican, this one or some other.” He gripped Ben firmly by the shoulder. “Will you do something for me? Come out to the man’s house with me tomorrow. He’s setting up a press conference—to make an announcement as to whether he’ll comply with the President’s unspoken request, or whether he’s going to tough it out. There’ll be people swarming all over the place. Everyone wants to talk to him, but he’s promised me a solid hour when he’ll talk to anyone I bring him.”

“An hour’s not long. Especially if you’ve invited a lot of people. Perhaps another day would be better.”

“An hour will be long enough. And tomorrow he’ll be expecting visitors. It’s not far from here, Ben. What better have you got to do? Meet him. Talk with him. See if he doesn’t impress you as much as he impresses me. Then make your decision.”

Hard to turn down such a reasonable request. “May I ask another question? Why me?”

“Modesty rearing its ugly head again?”

“No. I just know that there are more influential senators around than yours truly.”

“Who says you’re the only person I’ve invited? I’ve been shaking the bushes all morning. Getting a regular junket going. But I know many of our brethren will never support a Republican candidate. They may not oppose him too hard, especially now that such a position could be perceived as anti-gay. But they won’t support him. They’ve got constituents. Careers.”

“And I don’t?”

“You weren’t elected. You didn’t raise campaign funds. You’re not beholden to anyone. Last I heard, you hadn’t even decided whether you’ll seek another term. For a U.S. senator, you have a rare degree of independence. And let me also say that I think I’m a pretty good judge of character. I’ve read your résumé, Ben. I remember that big case you had in Chicago, the gay-bashing hate crime.”

“But I represented—”

“I know. Nonetheless, everyone recognized where you stood on the fundamental issue of equal rights, and I don’t imagine that’s changed much since then, has it? Bottom line—you’ll do what your heart tells you to do, and damn the consequences.” He leaned forward eagerly. “This boy Roush—he needs someone like that. He needs a friend.”

Ben walked to a window and gazed across Constitution Avenue to the Supreme Court building, the home of the most momentous legal decisions in the history of the nation. Could anything possibly be more important than helping determine who would write the next nation-shaking opinion? “I don’t know…”

“So come meet the man. That’s all I’m asking. Bring that pretty little fiancée of yours. You know,” he added, looking Ben directly in the eye, “a lot of our colleagues serve in this chamber for twenty, thirty years, and never do a damn thing of any consequence. You’ve been here a few months and you’ve been given a chance to make history. To change the face of the world. Can you really afford to pass that up?”