The Plan

Chapter 17.

"LOOK UP," THE MAKEUP LADY SAID, AS SHE APPLIED Brenton's eyeliner. They were in his office on the Rim a few minutes before "Air."

Brenton's office was on the east side of the floor. White pile carpet, oak walls, and abstract art fought for center stage with a roomful of steel-and-glass furniture. The interior glass wall was fitted with electronically controlled drapes so he could close off the Rim if he needed privacy. He had an array of TV screens built into the far wall so he could monitor the other network news shows and a computer bank that was hooked into a Nexus program to update breaking stories worldwide. Brenton usually kidded with Cris from makeup but tonight he was distracted.

As he was getting ready for his broadcast, he went over some of the copy he had been given on the Haze Richards announcement. He had looked at the file film on the governor earlier in the day, and noted that Haze Richards was extremely handsome, a growing requirement in American politics. United States political campaigns had become beauty contests where men with capped teeth and two -hundred-dollar haircuts claimed to be just plain folks-the only tangible result of this that Brenton could see was America had the best-looking Presidents with the best haircuts in the world. The governor from Rhode Island fit the profile perfectly. Haze Richards had nothing in his back-story to recommend him. He amassed an undistinguished voting record while in the Rhode Island State Legislature; he'd gone right on some issues, left on others. The pattern continued after he became governor. He seemed, to Brenton, to be externally directed, a man who would chase public opinion.

"Little lip gloss?" Cris asked as she put some on with a Q-Tip. She was finishing the touch-up when Steve Israel, VP of the nightly news, stuck his twenty-nine-year-old bald head in, unannounced, and said, "You're on in two minutes."

Brenton heaved out of the chair, grabbed some aspirin for his dull headache, and winked at Cris.

"Break a leg." She smiled.

"Only if you'll nurse me back to health," he said, his heart not in the interplay, his temples throbbing.

"And now, a political commentary from Brenton Spencer," the P. M. announcer said. And then Brenton was on camera, seated in front of the world map in the center of the Rim while news staffers ran around in the wide shots with arms full of empty folders.. The newsroom look had been Brenton's idea. Then the camera moved in close for his political update section of the newscast.

He looked seriously into the lens. "What New England governor is mad as hell and about to do something about it?"

The shot switched to some edits of Haze Richards. They'd picked his "angry as hell" sound bite.

The film clip started. "I'm mad that our system of government has been stolen by special interest groups. I want to take America back," Haze said from the rotunda.

In the control room, Steve Israel hunched in his seat behind the director looking at the "line" monitor as the "B-roll" footage on Haze's press conference was running. On the "preview" monitor, he could see Brenton fidgeting with his tie. "Tell him to sit up. He looks shifty," Steve said as the director hit the "God Button" and repeated the instructions to Brenton who sat up and put his hands to his temples and massaged them briefly. "Coming back from the B-roll on camera one in five-four-three-two take one… "

The shot switched back to Brenton, who looked into camera as they made a slow push-in. "With that startling declaration, Haze Richards, a man unknown to most of America, hurried out of Providence and became the last Democratic candidate to head to Iowa and the big show that is scheduled to open tomorrow with the Register-Guard debate. So who is this man and why is he so angry? We know very little beyond the fact he was born rich, the son of a doctor. He has had a life of privilege. His govenunent watch in Rhode Island has been marked by inconsistencies, failing even the most modest list of prerequisites for the greatest office in the world. How can a man with no outstanding achievements join a select group of qualified, tested politicians seeking the Democratic nomination? Unfortunately, in these times of media-created candidates, his lack of credentials seems of little consequence. He has no stated position, policy, or point of view. He wavers on important issues, even in his own state."

He went on to say what he'd been told to say. He'd never taken on a candidate so directly, and it scared him. He had moved outside his role of news reporter and entered the fragile territory of participant. And tomorrow he would fly to Des Moines, where he'd take a dive on national TV.

After the show, he felt light-headed and queasy. He went back into his office, pulled the curtain, and poured himself a shot of whiskey to calm his nerves and relieve the pounding pain in his head. Then, without warning, before he could drink it, he threw up into his wastebasket.