ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (15 page)

Nelson would not be led. "That's true," He replied, "but let's
face it—the air and the water have always been there. Why meet about them now?
Are there other issues?…"

Katz tried to look like he welcomed the question. "Of course there are
other issues, Roger, more pressing issues. Trade, for instance. We would both
benefit from reduced tariffs. They pay a tariff on our manufactured goods, as
you probably know, and we do the same on their cotton, their fish and their
shrimp. If we could reduce those tariffs, we could improve living standards for
both countries."

No headlines in that answer, Nelson knew. He gave it another push. "So
that's what this meeting is all about—pollution and tariffs? There must be more
to it than that."

"There is," Katz assured him. "The meeting could lead to
cultural exchanges. Maybe they could stage one of their NASCAR events up here.
Or we could send them the New York Philharmonic. Or we could have sports
contests. Wouldn't it be great to have the winner of their World Series play
the winner of ours? As a sports fan, I'd love it. Wouldn't you?"

Ah, Nelson thought, a moment of frivolity. Excellent time for a sneaky fast
ball. "I'd love to see the Red Sox take on the Birmingham Alloys—but I
digress. Do you think President Callaway and President Bourque might discuss
travel restrictions?"

"Travel restrictions?" Katz faked a moment of confusion. He knew what
was coming, but he wanted time to properly frame his answer.

Nelson sat up straighter, and the show's director, recognizing his body
language, signaled the cameraman to zoom in on him. "Yes. I'm referring to
the armed border crossings. Some have suggested that in any
quid pro quo
,
Callaway should ask—maybe demand is the right word—that the borders be disarmed
and that the CSA allow unimpeded travel to the north, especially by
Blacks."

It was back to the two-shot then, and the camera now caught Katz mopping his
brow. Unfortunately, the handkerchief caught the edge of his comb-over and tore
it away from its hair-spray moorings, leaving visible a small patch of shiny
white scalp. Katz tried to pat the comb-over back in place and answer the
question at the same time.

"We're talking about a
meeting
here, Roger, just a meeting, not a
negotiation," Katz said, struggling to maintain his composure. "Of
course, I can't predict how the discussions might go, but that kind of
speculation is rarely useful."

The camera came back to Nelson. "I see." He said, disappointed. He
turned to look into the camera. "We'll be right back," he said,
smiling.

After the commercial, the show opened again with a two-shot. Katz's hair was
somehow back in place and his brow was dry, and Nelson was checking his notes.
"Let me change the subject, Marty…"

"Of course," Katz said, relieved.

"I know you're allergic to hypothetical questions, Marty, but I'd be
remiss if I didn't ask you a few."

Katz nodded a tepid go-ahead.

"Okay," Nelson said. "Let's say that the meeting turns into a
negotiation.
What kind of deal might we strike? What would the CSA want from us? What would
we want in return?"

Katz produced a slow-motion shrug. "As you say, those are hypothetical
questions…"

"Yes, but we all know that the Confederacy is in economic trouble. It
certainly isn't hard to imagine Bourque asking for financial aid…"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Katz said, ducking that one.
"I've already offered all of my speculations."

"Would Callaway be open to a request for financial aid?"

"The subject hasn't come up, so I can't really answer that question,"
Katz said.

"But if the subject did come up…"

"Roger, please—not only is that a hypothetical question, it's a question
for the President, not
me."

Nelson wasn't about to let go. "Okay, so let's say that the two Presidents
have had their meeting. How will you decide whether or not it's been a
success?"

Katz leaned back in his chair and ran an index finger over his mustache again,
wondering if he'd trimmed it too much. Then he laughed. "You certainly are
persistent, Roger. But I'll answer your question. I'll consider the meeting a
success if both Presidents come away with a better understanding of each
other."

Nelson perked up. He thought heard an opportunity here. "
Better
understanding
—what do you mean?"

Katz shrugged. "Well, there's really no intrinsic reason why we can't have
a friendly, neighborly relationship with the Confederacy, just as we do with
Canadia." He regretted the words before they were out of his mouth.
This was going to be trouble.

"You're comparing the Confederacy to Canadia?" Nelson asked.

"There are a lot of differences. I know that," Katz said, trying not
to sound defensive. "But we and the Confederacy don't have to regard each
other with suspicion and disapproval. We can have differences and still be
civil to each other. We can reach an understanding."

"Really?" Nelson said, sounding skeptical. "The first Black man
elected President of the North American Union and the leader of a country in
which Blacks can't vote or serve on juries can reach an understanding?
Remember, if it weren’t for Lincoln, we would have gone to war with the CSA.”

Katz tried to duck the bean ball. "Well, it's no secret that they have
differences," Katz admitted. "But they also have a lot in common.
They're the leaders of two important countries. Neighbors."

Nelson leaned forward and cut loose with another fastball. "Some have
said," he began, "that Callaway's willingness to meet with Bourque is
an endorsement—or at least an acceptance—of Confederate racial policies."

"Not at all. It's Callaway's policy to talk with friends, enemies and
everyone in between. It was one of his campaign promises."

"Mmm-hmmm," Nelson said. He was running out of time. "One last
question. We don't have any results here yet, but I'm sure the White House has
done some polling to see how the American people feel about the meeting. Can
you tell me what you've found?"

"You're right, we have done some preliminary polling, nothing extensive of
course, but the sort of thing we do on a daily basis about many issues,"
Katz said. He sat back, relaxed, on familiar territory. "Actually, we're
pretty pleased with the poll results. We expected a favorable response, but
what we got was much better than what we expected. Looks like the American
people are looking forward to the meeting between the Presidents."

Nelson smiled. Katz was a slippery one. He'd dinged him a couple of times, but
no headlines would be coming out of this one. Well, maybe next time.
"Thanks for coming, Marty," he said.

"My pleasure," Katz replied, and he meant it. He'd managed to make
every point he'd wanted to and, except for Canadia thing and the damned
business with his comb-over, he'd gotten away scot-free.

The show went to commercial. Nelson and Katz shook hands, smiling and Katz
wandered off. He was about to leave the building when he remembered there was a
bowl of sweet, cold, seedless red grapes in the Green Room, just asking to be
eaten. He walked back behind the set into a hallway, reviewing the his
performance, looking for the right door.

Just before he opened it, his cell phone sang out a few bars of "Hail to
the Chief."

He flipped it open. "Hey
Boss," he said, "what did you think?"

"I thought you did very well," Callaway said. "Julia thought so
too. You made our case."

"You watched together?"

"You were the main attraction in the Presidential bedroom this
morning."

"Well, that's a first," Katz said.

They both laughed.

"I could have done without the comparison between Canadia and the
Confederacy, however," Callaway said. "You opened yourself up on that
one."

"I know. But I think I got away with it."

"I agree," Callaway said. "Listen, Marty, I want you to come
back and coach Eric a bit before he goes on the Evening News."

"Okay. I'll be there in an hour."

"Good. And, Marty, don't let on that you're
coaching
him,
okay?"

"Of course."

They hung up. Katz entered the Green Room, selected a
Petite Corona
from
his cigar case and lit up.

*

The next day, in Studio 1A, at the INN building on Sixth Ave. in New York, Jack
Sullivan took his place on the set and tucked the rear flaps of his suit jacket
underneath him, so his lapels wouldn't gap.

Sullivan wasn't one of those performers who were troubled by stage-fright. He
was eager to start the show. And tonight, after a long meeting with Metzger and
INN's editor-in-chief Robert Eads, analyzing poll results and planning
strategy, he felt like General Sherman, about to set fire to Atlanta.

Sullivan heard the director's voice over the studio loudspeaker and took a deep
breath. "On air in five…four…three…two…one…now." He assumed a grave
expression and, at the exactly right moment, gazed into the camera and began
speaking.

"Good evening. This is Jack Sullivan. Welcome to
The Edge
, where we
unflinchingly ask the hard questions about the most important issues of the
day. The subject tonight: the historic—and potentially
transformative—meeting between President Charles Callaway, of the North
American Union, and President Virgil Lee Bourque, of the Confederate States of
America.

"And here are my questions: What's the
real
reason behind this
unprecedented meeting? What's Bourque's hidden agenda? Why did Callaway agree
to meet with him? Does
he
have a hidden agenda? How could an agreement
affect us economically, socially, religiously… racially? Or is this, as the
White House would have us believe, nothing more than a harmless attempt to 'improve
understanding'?"

Sullivan gazed into the camera and paused dramatically, as if what he'd said
was of critical importance.

"To help answer these questions, I’m going to talk to several people with
expert knowledge of the subject. And at the close of the show, I'll have an
Edge
Editorial
on the subject."

"First up, Dr. Dexter P. Kimball, Professor of Confederate Studies at
Liberty University, the leading NAU expert on President Bourque and all thing
southern. Good evening, Professor.”

The view switched to a full-screen shot of a gaunt blond man with thinning hair
and pale, watery blue eyes. He was wearing a threadbare tweed jacket with a
deerskin gun patch on one shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. Sullivan," he
said, in a wheezy treble voice, which was tuned to a particularly annoying
frequency.

"Professor Kimball, could you tell us what you think this meeting is
really all about?" Sullivan asked.

"Well, I can tell you what it's
not
about," Kimball said. He
had a snippy, sarcastic, know-it-all way of speaking. "It's not about a
better understanding, or whatever the White House is claiming. It's about money
and power."

"Money and power," Sullivan nodded, musing. "Power and money.
Interesting. Why do you say that?"

"Because money and power is all Buddy Bourque understands," Kimball
said, as though it were obvious. "He's meeting with Callaway either
because he's in danger or because he's broke—that is, the CSA is broke."

"And he's coming to us for money?"

Kimball smiled, an exercise in condescension. "Mr. Sullivan, by my
calculations, the CSA has been in a recession for the last four years. The
personal bankruptcy rate is astronomical. And then you add crop failure to
that. I think the whole country is on the edge of unrest. So, I guarantee you
that Bourque is worried. And then there's Reverend Hurbuckle."

"The Baptist leader?" Sullivan asked, in a fair approximation of
surprise. "But he's a man of religion…"

"In the Confederacy, there's a very thin line between politics and
religion," Kimball said. "Hurbuckle is the second most powerful man
in the Confederacy, and Bourque's natural rival."

"You make it sound as though President Bourque is in a pretty precarious
position," Sullivan observed.

"Well, he is."

"What can you tell us about Virgil Bourque? What kind of a man is
he?"

The camera was on Kimball again. "First of all, he is
not
Virgil
Bourque, although that's his legal name. He is Buddy Bourque. Buddy
Lee
Bourque, no less, a direct descendent of the Confederacy's first President,
Robert E. Lee, who convinced Lincoln to let the South go and who most
Southerners consider the father of the Confederacy.

"Second, 'Buddy' is one of the folksiest, down-home, good ole' boys you
will ever meet. That's the persona he shows to the world, at any rate. The
truth is that he is one of the shrewdest, most tenacious, most opportunistic,
and most amoral people in public life. No one in our country is remotely
comparable to this man."

The camera switched to a split screen, Kimball on the right Sullivan on the
left. "So he's a tough man to negotiate with?" Sullivan prompted.

A snide smile appeared on Kimball's face. "If President Callaway tries to
negotiate with Buddy Bourque," he said, "I think he'll be lucky to
hold on to his underpants."

Sullivan laughed. "That's a pretty unpleasant prospect. But of course,
what the White House announced was a meeting, not a negotiation."

"Perfidy," Kimball said. "Pure political perfidy. They can call
it whatever they like, but it
will
be a negotiation. Buddy Bourque is
not coming here to see the Washington Monument."

"I see," Sullivan said from his side of the split screen. "Well,
you say that Bourque will be after money. What is he likely to offer in
return? Why would it be worth bargaining with him?"

Kimball cocked his head, thinking. "It isn't," he said "Bourque
doesn't have anything to bargain with. Cupboard's bare. GNP is down, poverty is
up."