Rising Sun: A Novel (32 page)

Connor and I were standing to one side, with a cute production assistant named Debbie who held a clipboard across her breasts and said meaningfully, “The director is Edgar Lynn.”

“Should we recognize that name?” Connor said.

“He’s the
most
expensive and
most
sought-after commercial director in the world. He is a
great
artist. Edgar did the
fantastic
Apple 1984 commercial, and … oh, lots of others. And he has directed famous movies, too. Edgar is
just
the
best.
” She paused. “And not too crazy. Really.”

Across from the camera, Senator John Morton stood patiently while four people fussed with his tie, his jacket, his hair, his makeup. Morton was wearing a suit. He was standing under a tree with the rolling golf course and the skyscrapers of Beverly Hills in the background. The production
crew had laid down a strip of carpet for him to walk on as he approached the camera.

I said, “And how is the senator?”

Debbie nodded. “Pretty good. I think he has a shot.”

Connor said, “You mean a chance for the presidency?”

“Yeah. Especially if Edgar can do his magic. I mean, let’s face it, Senator Morton is not exactly
Mel Gibson
, you know what I mean? He’s got a big nose, and he’s a little bald, and those freckles are a
problem
because they photograph so prominently. They distract you from his eyes. And the eyes are what sell a candidate.”

“The eyes,” Connor said.

“Oh, yeah. People get elected on their eyes.” She shrugged, as if it was common knowledge. “But if the senator puts himself in Edgar’s hands … Edgar is a great artist. He can make it happen.”

Edgar Lynn walked past us, huddled with the cameraman. “Christ, clean up the luggage under his eyes,” Lynn said. “And get the chin. Firm that chin with a hard inky low and up.”

“Okay,” the cameraman said.

The production assistant excused herself and we waited, watching. Senator Morton was still some distance away, being worked over by the makeup and wardrobe people.

“Mr. Connor? Mr. Smith?” I turned. A young man in a blue pinstripe suit was standing beside us. He looked like a Senate staffer: well turned-out, attentive, polite. “I’m Bob Woodson. With the senator’s office. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Connor said.

“I know the senator is eager to talk to you,” Woodson said. “I’m sorry, this seems to be running a little late. We were supposed to finish shooting by one.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, I guess it may be quite a while. But I know the senator wants to talk to you.”

Connor said, “Do you know what about?”

Someone shouted, “Run-through! Run-through for sound and camera, please!”

The cluster around Senator Morton vanished, and Woodson turned his attention to the camera.

Edgar Lynn was back looking through the lens. “There still isn’t enough gray. Ellen? You will have to add gray to his hair. It isn’t reading now.”

Woodson said, “I hope he doesn’t make him look too old.”

Debbie, the production assistant, said, “It’s just for the shot. It isn’t reading for the shot, so we add some gray. See, Ellen is just putting it at the temples. It’ll make him distinguished.”

“I don’t want him old. Especially when he’s tired, he sometimes looks old.”

“Don’t worry,” the assistant said.

“All right now,” Lynn said. “That’s enough for now. Senator? Shall we try a run-through?”

Senator Morton said, “Where does this begin?”

“Line?”

A script girl said, “ ‘Perhaps like me …’ ”

Morton said, “Then we’ve already done the first part?”

Edgar Lynn said, “That’s right, love. We start here with your turn to the camera, and you give us a very strong, very direct
masculine
look, and begin ‘Perhaps like me.’ Right?”

“Okay,” Morton said.

“Remember. Think
masculine.
Think
strong.
Think
in control.
”

Morton said, “Can we shoot it?”

Woodson said, “Lynn’s going to piss him off.”

Edgar Lynn said, “All right. Shoot the rehearsal. Here we go.”

Senator Morton walked toward the camera. “Perhaps like me,” he said, “you’re concerned about the erosion of our national position in recent years. America is still the greatest military power, but our security depends on our ability to defend ourselves militarily
and
economically. And it is economically that America has fallen behind. How far behind? Well, under the last two administrations, America has gone from the greatest creditor nation to the greatest
debtor nation the world has ever seen. Our industries have fallen behind the rest of the world. Our workers are less educated than workers in other countries. Our investors demand short-term gain and cripple our industries’ ability to plan for the future. And as a result, our standard of living is declining rapidly. The outlook for our children is bleak.”

Connor murmured, “Somebody is actually saying it.”

“And in this time of national crisis,” Morton continued, “many Americans have another concern, as well. As our economic power fades, we are vulnerable to a new kind of invasion. Many Americans fear that we may become an economic colony of Japan, or Europe. But especially Japan. Many Americans feel that the Japanese are taking over our industries, our recreation lands, and even our cities.” He gestured to the golf course with skyscrapers in the background.

“And in doing so, some fear that Japan now has the power to shape and determine the future of America.”

Morton paused, beneath the tree. He gave the appearance of thinking.

“How justified are these fears for the American future? How much should we be concerned? There are some who will tell you foreign investment is a blessing, that it helps our nation. Others take the opposite view, and feel we are selling our precious birthright. Which view is correct? Which should—which is—which—oh,
fuck!
What’s the line again?”

“Cut, cut,” Edgar Lynn called. “Take five, everybody. I need to clean up a few things, and then we can do it for real. Very good, Senator. I liked it.”

The script girl said, “ ‘Which should we believe for the future of America,’ Senator.”

He repeated, “Which should we believe for the future of …” He shook his head. “No wonder I can’t remember it. Let’s change that line. Margie? Let’s change that line, please. Never mind, bring me a script, I’ll change it myself.”

And the crowd of makeup and wardrobe people descended on him again, touching him up and fluffing him down.

Woodson said, “Wait here, I’ll try and get you a few minutes with him.”

We stood beside a humming trailer, with power cables coming out of it. As soon as Morton approached us, two aides came running up, brandishing thick books of computer printout. “John, you better look at this.”

“John, you better consider this.”

Morton said, “What is it?”

“John, this is the latest Gallup and Fielding.”

“John, this is the cross-referenced analysis by voter age-brackets.”

“And?”

“Bottom line, John, the president is
right.
”

“Don’t tell me that. I’m running
against
the president.”

“But John, he’s right about the C-word. You can’t say the C-word in your television ad.”

“I can’t say ‘conservation’?”

“You can’t say it, John.”

“It’s death, John.”

“The figures show it.”

“You want us to run over the figures, John?”

“No,” Morton said. He glanced at Connor and me. “I’ll be right with you,” he said, with a smile.

“But look here, John.”

“It’s very clear, John. Conservation means diminution of life-style. People are already experiencing diminution of life-style. They don’t want any more of it.”

“But that’s wrong,” Morton said. “That’s not how it works.”

“John, it’s what the voters
think.
”

“But they’re wrong about this.”

“John, you want to educate the voters, well and good.”

“Yes, I do want to educate the voters. Conservation is not synonymous with diminution of life-style. It is synonymous with more wealth, power, and freedom. The idea is not to make do with less. The idea is to do all the things you are doing now—heat your house, drive your car—using less gas and oil. Let’s have more efficient heaters in our houses,
more efficient cars on our streets. Let’s have cleaner air, better health. It can be done. Other countries have done it. Japan has done it.”

“John, please.”

“Not Japan.”

“In the last twenty years,” Morton said. “Japan cut the energy cost of finished goods by sixty percent. America has done nothing. Japan can now make goods cheaper than we can, because Japan has pushed investment in energy-efficient technology. Conservation is competitive. And we aren’t being competitive—”

“Fine, John. Conservation
and
statistics.
Really
boring.”

“Nobody cares, John.”

“The American people care,” Morton said.

“John: they absolutely don’t.”

“And they aren’t going to listen. Look, John. We have ageregressions here, particularly among the over fifty-fives, which is the most solid voting block, and they are straight ahead on this issue. They want no decreases. No conservation. The old people of America don’t want it.”

“But older people have children, and grandchildren. They must care about the future.”

“Older people don’t give a flying fuck, John. It’s right here in black and white. They think their kids don’t care about them, and they’re right. So they don’t care about their kids. It’s that simple.”

“But certainly the children—”

“Children don’t vote, John.”

“Please, John. Listen to us.”

“No conservation, John. Competitiveness, yes. Look to the future, yes. Face our problems, yes. A new spirit, yes. But no conservation. Just look at the numbers. Don’t do it.”

“Please.”

Morton said, “I’ll think about it, fellas.”

The two aides seemed to realize that that was all they were going to get. They closed their printouts with a snap.

“You want us to send Margie over to rewrite?”

“No. I’m thinking about it.”

“Maybe Margie should just rough out a few lines.”

“No.”

“Okay, John. Okay.”

“You know,” Morton said, as they were leaving, “some day an American politician is going to do what he thinks is right, instead of what the polls tell him. And it’s going to look revolutionary.”

The two aides turned back together. “John, come on. You’re tired.”

“It’s been a long trip. We understand.”

“John. Trust us on this, we have the figures. We are telling you with ninety-five percent confidence intervals how the people feel.”

“I know damn well how they feel. They feel frustrated. And I know why. It’s been fifteen years since they’ve had any
leadership.
”

“John. Let’s not do this one again. This is the twentieth century. Leadership is the quality of telling people what they want to hear.”

They walked away.

Immediately, Woodson came up, carrying a portable phone. He started to speak, but Morton held up his hand. “Not now, Bob.”

“Senator, I think you need to take this—”

“
Not now.
”

Woodson backed away. Morton glanced at his watch. “You’re Mr. Connor and Mr. Smith?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“Let’s walk,” Morton said. He started away from the film crew, toward a hill overlooking the rolling course. It was Friday. Not many people were playing. We stood about fifty meters from the crew.

“I asked you to come,” Morton said, “because I understand you’re the officers in charge of the Nakamoto business.”

I was about to protest that it wasn’t true, that Graham was the officer in charge, when Connor said, “That’s true, we are.”

“I have some questions about that case. I gather it’s been resolved now?”

“It seems to be.”

“Is your investigation finished?”

“For all practical purposes, yes,” Connor said. “The investigation is concluded.”

Morton nodded. “I’m told you officers are particularly knowledgeable about the Japanese community, is that right? One of you has even lived in Japan?”

Connor gave a slight bow.

“You were the one playing golf with Hanada and Asaka today?” Morton said.

“You’re well informed.”

“I spoke with Mr. Hanada this morning. We have had contact in the past, on other matters.” Morton turned abruptly and said, “My question is this. Is the Nakamoto business related to MicroCon?”

“How do you mean?” Connor said.

“The sale of MicroCon to the Japanese has come before the Senate Finance Committee, which I chair. We’ve been asked for a recommendation by staff from the Committee on Science and Technology, which must actually authorize the sale. As you know, the sale is controversial. In the past I have gone on record as opposing the sale. For a variety of reasons. You’re familiar with all this?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“I still have problems about it,” Morton said. “MicroCon’s advanced technology was developed in part with American taxpayer money. I’m outraged that our taxpayers should pay for research that is being sold to the Japanese—who will then use it to compete against our own companies. I feel strongly we should be protecting American capacity in high-tech areas. I feel we should be protecting our intellectual resources. I feel we should be limiting foreign investment in our corporations and our universities. But I seem to be alone in this. I can’t find support in the Senate or in industry. Commerce won’t help me. The trade rep’s worried it’ll upset the rice negotiations.
Rice.
Even the Pentagon is against me on this. And I just wondered, since Nakamoto is the parent company of Akai Ceramics, whether the events of last night had any relationship to the proposed sale.”

He paused. He was looking at us in an intense way. It was almost as if he expected that we would know something.

Connor said, “I’m not aware of any linkage.”

“Has Nakamoto done anything unfair or improper to promote the sale?”