When No One Is Watching (18 page)

Blair Van Howe was not in the habit of just chatting with the president of the United States. They had met on four previous occasions since Blair had arrived in Washington fifteen months ago. Three were formal receptions, attended by hundreds of other congressmen, senators, and other politically well-connected types. They had shaken hands and exchanged pleasantries at each of those functions, but none of those conversations lasted longer than sixty seconds. Blair’s only other encounter with Arthur Courtright was at a meeting of the House Ethics Committee a week ago. Blair had been acting as co-chairperson for that committee, which had seemed like low-priority business to everyone until the president had made a personal appearance to let the committee know that ethics reform was a matter of significant importance to him. After making his pitch, the president stayed for the entire meeting as the committee discussed its priorities and debated the merits of various suggestions regarding campaign finance reform, conflict-of-interest disclosures, tighter controls on lobbying activities, and various other legislative proposals.

Mrs. Richmond picked up the ringing telephone. “Yes, Mr. President, I’ll send him in.” She turned to Blair. “The president will see you now.”

Blair felt a tingle of excitement as he walked through the ornate doors into the spacious office that had been occupied by every president since Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The current occupant sprang up from his desk and walked briskly toward him. “Blair!” he called out in a booming voice with a thick Southern drawl. “Thanks for coming.”

Arthur Courtright looked like exactly what he was—president of the United States and outdoor sportsman. He was fifty-eight years old and his well-coiffed hair was silver-gray, but his tall body was lean and hard. His face was weathered from years in the sun on his Texas ranch, yet ruggedly handsome, with a movie star smile. He had a presence, an aura of power and sophistication around him that Blair was certain would be equally evident whether he was meeting with heads of state in the Oval Office or deer hunting with a group of good old boys.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” Blair replied, feeling quickly at ease as the president gripped his hand in a bone-crushing handshake. They sat opposite one another on matching white sofas situated on a deep blue oval rug bearing the presidential seal, as a waiter brought a tray of coffee, tea, and pastries. Blair’s eyes darted quickly around the room as the waiter poured black coffee for both of them.

“First time here, Blair?” the president asked.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be gawking,” Blair replied with an embarrassed grin. “Yes, it is my first time, and I must say it’s pretty awe-inspiring.” He glanced again at the portraits of Washington, Lincoln, and Jackson, as well as the oil paintings of Texas landscapes, a personal touch of the current occupant’s.

“Well, it won’t be your last,” the president assured him. “This visit is long overdue. I’ve been wanting to get better acquainted for some time now. But I know a lot about you already, Congressman,” the president said with a sly smile. “I have my sources, and I get reports.”

“What do you hear, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?” Blair inquired.

“Enough to make me want to know you better. I watched you during the Ethics Committee meeting last week. You were the junior-most person there, but you were in complete control. You clearly had a deep grasp of the issues and all of their nuances. You made your points eloquently and forcefully, without being bombastic. You were able to elicit involvement and support from the other committee members, and that ain’t easy. Some of those guys are real pains in the ass, but you had them in the palm of your hand. It was a sight to behold. I know a political star in the making when I see one, and you’re it, Blair. The real deal. A born leader. Hell, you remind me of myself when I first got here.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Mr. President. I’m flattered.”

The president stared at him, a slightly amused smile on his face, and said nothing. After a long moment, Blair broke the silence. “So, what’s the subject of our meeting this morning, sir? I feel a bit unprepared. I wasn’t able to coax any information out of Mrs. Richmond.”

Arthur Courtright laughed loudly. “Of course you weren’t! I like tight lips around here, and no one’s are tighter than Mrs. Richmond’s. As for the agenda, it’s pretty straightforward. You’re the agenda.”

Blair looked puzzled. “Sir?”

“As the leader of the Democratic party, I consider it my responsibility to help prepare our party for the future. A major part of that responsibility is identifying our future leaders, helping to groom them, helping them move their careers in the right direction. I think Blair Van Howe is someone who represents a bright future for our party and our nation.”

Blair smiled modestly. “I’m honored, Mr. President, and I sure hope I can live up to your expectations. Any advice you can give me would certainly be appreciated.”

Arthur Courtright leaned toward Blair, an intense look in his eyes. “Here’s my advice, Blair. In Washington, you need to get along. You get things done by making friends and building alliances. Don’t make enemies. No matter how much you dislike somebody or disagree with his ideas, don’t make enemies. To do that, you need to leave your ego behind. It gets in the way. That’s such an easy concept, but most senators and congressmen seem absolutely incapable of doing that. They’re arrogant and pompous, and that makes them ineffective.”

Arthur Courtright spoke forcefully, like a passionate professor lecturing a promising student. Blair listened with rapt attention, meeting the president’s gaze and staring intently back at him. “Here’s another thing to keep in mind,” the president continued. “In addition to cultivating the right relationships, you have to be willing to make compromises. Quid pro quo, that’s how politics works, but never, and I mean
never
, compromise your principles. You’re developing a reputation around Washington as Mr. Integrity. In your short time here, people can see that in you, and they respect it. It’s an intangible, but don’t ever underestimate how valuable it is in terms of your ability to get things done, the relationships you have with other lawmakers, and most important, your future success.”

“That sounds like good advice, Mr. President. I’ll certainly take it to heart,” Blair said in his most sincere voice.

“Well, I don’t think anything I’ve said is news to you. You seem to be doing all of those things already, like it’s second nature.”

“I had a great mentor early in my legal career, sir. He was the most naturally gifted politician I’ve ever known, but he never got into politics. He was an attorney, and he was a master at everything you just described. Ever since I got here, when I faced a difficult decision, I would ask myself, ‘What would Danny do?’ It really helped me make the right decisions.”

“That’s great, Blair. Having a good mentor is invaluable. But you’re in a whole different world now. If you’ll let me, I’d like to provide whatever mentoring I can.”

Blair almost choked on the coffee he was sipping, but outwardly maintained his composure. “Mr. President, I don’t even know what to say. I’m humbled, and I’m honored, and I would be eternally grateful for whatever guidance you can provide, sir.”

“It would be my pleasure. But remember what I just said. This is Washington, the land of backroom deals and quid pro quo. I’d like you to do something for me in return.”

“Absolutely,” Blair replied eagerly. “Just name it, sir.”

The president walked across the room and picked up the calendar from his desk. He handed it to Blair, circling the date August 25. “Does this date mean anything to you?”

The date was four months off, and Blair’s mind raced for a few seconds; then it clicked. “That’s the start of the Democratic National Convention,” he replied confidently.

“That’s right. And, as you probably know, it’s customary to have one of the party’s shining stars give the keynote address. I’m afraid this election is going to be close, and you’re the best person I can think of to energize and inspire the electorate and give my reelection campaign the boost it needs. Will you do that for me, Blair?”

Blair felt a surge of excitement race through his body. “Nothing would please me more, Mr. President. I’ll make you proud.”

“I know you will, Blair. There’s not the slightest doubt in my mind.”

CHAPTER 28
W
hile Blair Van Howe visited with President Arthur Courtright in the Oval Office, Danny Moran inspected the first floor of his house with a critical eye, making sure it looked perfect for Allie’s visit. He had always been tidy, but this occasion called for a thorough cleaning. He had just finished vacuuming the living room carpet, after dusting and polishing furniture, scrubbing sinks and counters, and cleaning the mirrors. He was determined to make sure that his daughter could see that he was surviving just fine on his own.

 

Allie was approaching the end of her second semester at Northwestern. As far as Danny was concerned, she could not have chosen a better place to attend college. Aside from the obvious benefit of a first-rate education at a world-class university, the location was ideal. Allie lived in a sorority house on the Evanston campus, so she was able to experience campus life at a major university and feel like she was an entire universe away from her former life on the South Side of Chicago. At the same time, she was only a little over an hour away, and therefore able to visit her father on weekends whenever she felt like it. Although she didn’t have a car on campus, the city’s public transportation system made the trip easy. She would take the elevated train, commonly referred to as “the El,” from Evanston to downtown Chicago, and then take the Rock Island commuter train from downtown to Beverly. Her father’s home was a ten-minute walk from the train station.

Allie had come home almost every other weekend during the fall semester. However, she was now working a part-time job on weekends, and therefore hadn’t been home a single time since January. Although they spoke by telephone frequently, it’d been three full months since Danny had seen his daughter, the longest stretch of time they had ever been apart.

This morning’s visit was prompted by a family tragedy of sorts. Scruffy, the cairn terrier who had been the family pet for the past twelve years, had passed away at Allie’s sorority house the previous day. Allie was bringing her beloved pet home to be buried in the backyard of the family homestead.

As he returned the furniture polish and glass cleaner to the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink, Danny heard the front door open. He hurried into the living room, beaming in anticipation of the sight of his daughter. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, his happy countenance quickly transforming into a look of bewilderment. Allie un-ceremoniously tossed her backpack on the floor and glared at him. She was livid, outrage and indignation written across her face and emanating from every inch of her body.

“You’re not going to believe what just happened!” she said, her voice raised in anger.

“Allie, are you okay?” Danny asked, his imagination starting to conjure up visions of some scoundrel assaulting his daughter, snatching her purse, or perhaps robbing her at gunpoint.

“No, I’m not okay! I was just robbed! Some low-life scumbag just stole Scruffy!”

Danny had rarely seen his daughter so angry, yet a wave of relief passed through him with that explanation, strange as it was.

“Calm down, Allie. Tell me exactly what happened, okay?”

Allie took a deep breath. “I was bringing Scruffy home, so we could bury him in the backyard, like we talked about. I didn’t want to be seen carrying a dead dog on the train, so I wrapped him in his blanket and put him in a suitcase. Well, thirty pounds of dead weight is really heavy, and I was struggling with the bag as I tried to get on the train. Then some guy comes along and offers to help me with the bag and says, ‘Jesus, this is heavy, what do you have in here, weights?’ I didn’t want to tell him it was a dead dog, so I told him I was carrying a few laptop computers in the bag. He seemed nice. He was polite and normal-looking, wearing an expensive jogging suit. He lifted the suitcase and put it on the overhead luggage rack for me.” Her eyes were still blazing as she spoke.

“So, what happened?”

“When I got ready to get off the train at Ninety-first Street, he jumped up and offered to help. So he lifts the suitcase off the luggage rack and follows me off the train. The train pulls away and I start to thank him, then he looks around and sees that we’re the only two passengers who just got off—and he bolts! He holds a suitcase under his arm like a big football and takes off running as fast as he can! I started screaming at him, but there’s nobody around, and he disappears into the woods with my goddamn dog! Aaaargh! I’m so ticked off!” She shook both fists and stomped her foot.

Danny knew that he should be sympathetic and perhaps share in her outrage or offer some assistance in locating the remains of the precious family pet. He tried his best to look concerned, but found himself struggling mightily to suppress a smile. Allie could see the corners of his lips twitching as he tried to control them. She could see the look in his eyes was one of amusement rather than outrage.

“Daddy!” she protested. “I can’t believe you think this is funny.”

Danny exploded into laughter—loud, uninhibited, uncontrolled laughter.

“Daddy, I can’t believe you’re laughing at this!” she shouted, incrimination in her voice, but it was tempered with confusion and uncertainty.

Danny laughed harder as he doubled over, struggling to speak and forcing out broken sentences, a few words at a time. “I’m sorry, honey … I just keep picturing that guy … thinking he’d just scored some expensive laptops … then opening the suitcase and finding a dead animal. That’s priceless! He got what he deserved!” He roared.

“Daddy, it’s not funny,” Allie scolded, breaking into uncertain laughter herself at the sight of her father’s reaction.

“I … can’t … help it,” Danny cried, struggling to force the words through his laughter. Tears streamed down his face as he bent over and put his hands on his knees.