Ben couldn’t help feeling guilty about leaving the Senate chamber in the midst of the heated debate, but the truth was, it was likely to go on for days, and the flaming oratory taking place was not going to persuade anyone of anything, nor was it intended to do so. The senators were taking advantage of the television coverage to explain themselves and to shore up their support with their key constituencies. Viewed from that perspective, the speeches were little more than free political ads, and on those rare occasions when Ben was able to watch television, he habitually skipped the commercials.
One political truth had become apparent to him in his short time in Washington: If there was any persuasion occurring among senators, it did not take place on the Senate floor. It happened in the proverbial smoke-filled rooms, where private deals were done. Any persuasion came not as a result of flaming oratory but pursuant to standard quid pro quo; you give me something I want and I’ll give you something you want. And we both go home happy. A little.
The conference room to which the folded note had directed him was not filled with smoke, but he knew the principle was the same. Smoking was supposedly forbidden in the Senate complex now, although Ben knew that in reality it occurred fairly frequently behind closed doors. He hoped his visitors didn’t indulge; he still couldn’t be around cigarette smoke for more than a minute without gagging.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Senator Dawkins entered, trailed by the new minority whip, Senator Pollitt of Pennsylvania. They took a seat on the opposite side of the conference room table.
“Here we are again, Ben,” Dawkins said, smiling faintly. Dawkins had been on the Senate Judiciary Committee when Ben represented Judge Roush during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Dawkins had been bitterly opposed to Roush’s nomination. To say that there was no love lost between the two was an understatement in the extreme. Ben wondered if the lingering tension between them was the reason he had been chosen by the powers that be for this meeting.
“Our fearless leader couldn’t make it,” Dawkins explained. “He’s going to be speaking soon. Doesn’t want to miss his turn. He gave me full authority to deal.”
“That’s swell,” Ben said cheerily. “Shouldn’t we get the new majority leader in here?”
“Why bother? Everyone knows you’re the one in charge on this bill, even if you are supposedly a Democrat. You’re the president’s hand-picked playmate.”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”
“The truth hurts, huh? And to think people were concerned that you would prove too liberal for the modern Democratic party.”
“I follow my conscience, not my party. The president and I just happen to agree on this proposal.”
“Right. You’re a man of conscience.” He gave Pollitt a knowing look. “Hard to imagine anything that could be more trouble in Washington than a man of conscience.”
Ben had heard this trite line of reasoning so many times, it was hard to resist the urge to drum his fingers. “I assume you’re authorized to make some sort of deal?”
“Well, now, that’s very direct, isn’t it? No monkeying around for you.”
“I have a busy schedule.”
“Ah. As opposed to the rest of us slackers.” He gave his companion the nod. “Read him the formal proposal, Dan.”
Pollitt looked down at his notes. “We’re willing to trade SB-4582 and SB-4888 for the proposed amendment.”
Dawkins’s eyebrows danced. “What do you think, Ben?”
“I think I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We’re offering to support the amendment in exchange for your withdrawal of support on two other matters. That would include the support of any senators who have made pledges to you with regard to those bills.”
“And I’m supposed to recognize the bills by their numbers?”
“Most of us do.” He paused a moment. “But you rely rather heavily upon your chief of staff, don’t you? Let me spell it out for you.” Dawkins leaned forward, laying his hands flat on the tabletop. “We’ll throw our support behind your amendment-a guaranteed twelve votes you don’t have yet-in exchange for your dropping these two other bills.”
“I can’t believe your magic twelve will go against public opinion on such a high-profile issue. Every poll has shown that a majority of the general public wants this bill.”
“That may be so, but the twelve senators I have in mind come from very liberal jurisdictions. They aren’t going to suffer any damage from failing to support a Republican president’s initiative that appears to abridge civil rights.”
“The amendment only creates a temporary-”
“Yes, yes, I’ve already heard your song and dance, thank you. Note the use of the word ‘appears.’ The point is, they are free to vote as they like. You now have an opportunity to determine what they’re going to like.”
Ben sighed wearily. He hated politics. And he didn’t mean that in a general, abstract way, either. He hated politics. “What two bills do I have to kill? Don’t make it the Alaskan Wilderness Bill. My wife has been working on that for months. My support is nonnegotiable.”
“We’re aware of that.” Dawkins nodded at Pollitt.
Pollitt cleared his throat. “We want you and yours to drop your support for the antipoverty bill and the education initiative.”
Ben’s eyes fairly bulged. “Are you kidding? Those are the two most important bills pending, other than the amendment.”
“We’re aware of that, too.”
“I’ve been an outspoken proponent of both. Christina has been working the floor to accumulate pledges of support for both.”
“Still aware.”
“Are you saying you don’t favor education and favor starvation?”
“These are difficult, changing times. It might’ve been different when Senator Hammond was still minority leader-he knew how to assemble an alliance and collect pledges and get things passed. But we don’t have him now. We have an all-new slate of leaders with much less experience, little political capital, and no one owing them anything. We don’t know that we could get those bills passed. And even if we could, the simple fact is, Ben-we can’t afford all three.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We can’t afford it. Not politically or financially.”
“I don’t think the expenses relating to the amendment are all that great-”
“But the expenses relating to the war on poverty are enormous. We finally managed to scale back welfare not that long ago and to restore some sense to the budget. This looks too much like a reversal.”
“Tell that to the people in the South who can’t feed their children.”
“I wouldn’t bother. They don’t vote.”
“They’re still Americans.”
“Thank you for that helpful clarification.” He sighed wearily. “The truth is, we can’t represent all four hundred million Americans. It’s not shameful to suggest that our primary efforts should be devoted to those who actually contribute to the nation’s betterment.”
Ben could see this was going nowhere. “I thought the goal of having more people contribute was the reason we want to improve the American education system. Oh, wait-you want to kill that bill, too.”
“Throwing money at schools isn’t going to make anything better.”
“Why don’t we try it and find out?”
“Because we can’t afford it. And this bill looks too much like No Child Left Behind-a Republican effort, if you’ll recall. And one that resulted in little discernible improvement in the American education system.”
“So we should just abandon the schools? No! We should try again.”
“Ben, there are a lot of things out there I’d like to fix, but the reality is, even if we knew how-which we don’t-we can’t afford to do everything at once. We are still carrying the debt of the Iraq War and are likely to be doing so for a good long time. Given our financial limitations, it’s better to abandon what we can’t afford or can’t guarantee we can pass. Better to have one successful initiative and two that don’t come to a vote than three initiatives that fail, which is what we’re looking at right now.”
“That’s a cold viewpoint.”
“Every senator has to learn to prioritize. Comes with the job. You will, too, in time. Unfortunately, right now you’ve somehow managed to acquire a measure of power that far outstrips your senatorial experience, so I’m having to explain these fundamental principles I would never have to explain to a more seasoned senator.”
“If this is supposed to win me over, it isn’t working.”
“Look, Ben, in the subcommittee hearing, you said this proposed amendment is the most important matter before us as a nation. Did you believe that, or were you just foaming at the mouth for the television cameras?”
Ben did his best to suppress his irritation. “I meant it.”
“Fine. So prioritize. Make a deal. Guarantee the passage of this amendment by forfeiting two other probably unpassable bills.”
Put that way, Ben had to admit that what he said made a certain amount of sense. He hated this business of trading one law for another-it wasn’t the way government was supposed to work. But he also knew that without those twelve votes Dawkins controlled, he would never get this amendment out of the Senate.
“What do you say, Ben? Do we have a deal?”
“I…I don’t know,” Ben hedged. “I need some time to think about it.”
“We don’t have time, Ben. This thing will come up for a vote in a few days. We have to give our people their walking orders.”
“I don’t care. This is important. I want a chance to think. Talk it over with Christina.”
“Who’s wearing the senatorial pants in this family, Ben? You or your wife?”
Ben tried not to let such an obvious ploy get to him-but it was hard. “There’s nothing wrong with seeking the opinion of people you trust. Only an idiot thinks he’s so smart he can’t benefit from input from others.”
“Ben-are you having doubts about this constitutional amendment?”
Ben felt his question like a stabbing pain in his gut. Had he betrayed himself with a word, a facial expression? Why would he ask that?
“I…don’t have any doubts. I’m behind this bill one hundred and ten percent.”
“Then do what you need to do to ensure its passage.”
“I told you already. I want more time.”
“Can I at least tell the twelve that you’re tentatively accepting the offer? They need to know how they’re going to vote. Just in case someone asks. Or their turn to speak comes up.”
“I already told you-”
“Come on, Ben-give the poor boys something.”
“I…guess…if you made it clear my acceptance was tentative…”
“Good!” Dawkins slammed his hand on the table. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll talk to all the people in charge. They’ll be very glad to hear that you’ve made the right decision.”
“But-I haven’t-”
“You’re doing the right thing, Ben. I promise. You are. I mean, personally, I don’t care that much for the amendment. But the people want it, and sometimes you can tell when a law’s time has come. The new majority leader is giving me a nice piece of pork barrel for my home state. It’s worth it.”
“You mean-you don’t even-”
“So bottom line, everyone gets what they want. Or what they need. This is a win-win scenario, Ben. It really is.” He rose and shook Ben’s hand vigorously, then ran to the door, Pollitt following close behind.
When the door was opened, Ben saw Christina in the corridor outside. She saw him, too.
“Ben-there you are! I didn’t know what happened to you.”
“I, uh, had to take a meeting. I-”
“Never mind. You can tell me later. I just got a message from the hospital about Mike.”
Ben felt a hollow sensation in the center of his chest. “And?”
“He’s awake, Ben. And stable. He’s going to make it.”
Ben felt such a rush of emotion he could barely speak. “Really?”
Christina hugged him tightly. “It’s true. And Ben-he’s asking for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve already booked you a flight. Jones will take you to the airport.”
“But-the debate-”
“Will go on for days. It’ll survive without you for a little while.” She gripped his shoulders tightly. “Ben-Mike wants to see you.”
He didn’t hesitate a moment longer. “I’m on my way.”