The First Counsel

* * *

I sleep so lightly the following morning, I hear all four newspaper deliveries. Between each one, my mind churns back to Vaughn. When the fourth one hits, I toss aside the covers, head straight for the front door, and gather the morning's reading. Section by section, I open and shake each newspaper, wondering if something will fall out. Nineteen sections later, all I've got are fingers black with newsprint. I guess it's still tomorrow at the zoo.

Waiting for Trey to call, I look over and notice the front photo of the Herald. A shot of Hartson from behind the podium as he gives a labor speech in Detroit. Nothing to really e-mail home about--except for the fact that, over his shoulder, there're only five or six people in the audience. The rest of the seats are empty. "Trying to Connect" the caption blares. Someone's going to lose his job for this.

A minute later, I pick up Trey's call on the first ring. "Anything?" he asks, wondering if I've heard from Vaughn.

"Nothing," I say. "What's going on there?"

"Oh, just the usual. I assume you've seen our front-page hari-kiri?"

I look down at the photo of Hartson and the empty crowd. "How did that even--"

"The whole thing is bullshit--there were three hundred people on the left and right of the photo, and the empty seats were for the marching band that was getting into place--the Herald just cropped it for effect. We're demanding a retraction for tomorrow--because, you know, a four-line apology buried on A2 is far more effective than an ass-sized full-color on page one!"

"I take it the numbers aren't looking good?"

"Seven points, Michael. That's it. That's our lead. Take away two more--which, once the wires pick up the photo, is exactly where we're gonna be--and we're officially in the margin of error. Welcome to mediocrity. Enjoy your stay."

"What about the Vanity Fair story? Any response on that?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? Yesterday in California--California of all places!--Bartlett apparently used his First Family/family first quote on a religious radio station. The callers ate it up."

"I didn't know they still had religion in California."

There's a long silence on the other line. He must be getting reamed for this one.

"I assume you're planning something drastic?" I add.

"You should hear it around here. Last night, it got so bad, someone actually suggested putting the whole First Family on TV for a live prime-time all-of-them-at-once interview."

"And what'd they decide on?"

"Live prime-time all-of-them-at-once interview. If America's really concerned that Nora's out of control or that the Hartsons are bad parents, the only way to tackle it is to prove it wrong. Show 'em the entire family unit, throw in a couple Aw, Dads, and pray that all's well once again."

"It's that easy, huh?" I ask with a laugh. "So I assume you'll have nothing to do with this transparent attempt at public pandering?"

"Are you kidding? I'm in the center ring--my boss and I are in charge of it."

"What?"

"I don't know what you're finding so funny, Michael. There's nothing to laugh at. We're bottoming out in every key battleground state. California, Texas, Illinois . . . If we don't start converting some undecideds, we're going to be out of our jobs."

I freeze as he says the words. "You really think--"

"Michael, no sitting President's ever done a First Family interview. Why do you think we are? It's the same reason Lamb asked you to keep quiet. This is it--if the numbers don't turn, Nora and company are heading back to sunny Flori--"

"Just tell me who you're going with--20/20 or--"

"Dateline," he blurts. "I suggested 60 Minutes, but everyone thought it was too Clinton. Besides, the First Lady likes Samantha Stulberg--she did a nice piece on her after the Inauguration."

"And when is this all going to take place?"

"Eight P.M. this Thursday, which also, lucky for us, happens to be the First Lady's fiftieth birthday."

"You're not wasting any time."

"We can't afford to. And no offense, boyo, but the way we're headed, neither can you."