“You can’t legislate morality.”
— U.S. Senator Barry Goldwater (Republican-Arizona)
President Lyndon Johnson signed the 1964 Civil Rights Act
into law on July 2, 1964. It outlawed discrimination based on
race and effectively ended racial segregation in the South.
20 out or 21 Southern Democrats voted against the law
in the Senate
87 out of 94 Southern Democrats voted against the law
in the House
“...we might have lost the South.”
— President Lyndon Johnson
March 1964, Nashville, Tennessee
A quick knock on the hotel bedroom door roused Carter from his slumber. He looked at the watch on his bed stand. 6:02. He sighed, and slipped on his pajama bottoms and walked to the door, opening it an inch.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” said the bellhop. “But your phone is off the hook, and you asked for a 6:00 wake-up call.”
Carter wiped his eyes, and said quietly, “Okay. Thank-you,” and then shut the door behind him. He padded back to bed, and flopped back into the crumpled sheets and blanket cover. Stirring next to him was a still naked Gabriel. Carter climbed on top of him, and whispered into his ear, “You and I were very bad last night. We knocked over the phone.”
Gabriel flipped onto his back, shifting Carter between his open legs, and stroked Carter’s lower back as he lay atop of him. He grinned, and then said, “I told you that we should have stayed in the bathroom,” and gently poked him in his ribs, tickling him.
“Hey, be careful what you start here,” Carter said, and then grinning, he pulled his pajama pants down, freeing himself to tease Gabriel’s ass more easily. He was fully hard, and slid easily inside Gabriel as he started kissing him, with each embrace a deeper thrust.
When Carter and Gabriel arrived at the front desk before heading to breakfast in the hotel restaurant, the receptionist handed the phone messages to Gabriel as she had the two days before. It was their last day in Nashville, the Tennessee Republican Convention was having their final meeting later that day, and afterwards they would fly back to Columbia.
“Could we do a late check-out from our rooms, please,” Gabriel said as he took the messages, and gave a wink to the girl. Carter came back with a copy of the morning The Tennessean he’d bought from the newspaper vending machine. As they sat down for breakfast, Gabriel read the messages aloud to Carter as he perused the headlines.
“Rocky is asking if we can talk to the Chattanooga delegation a final time,” Gabriel said as he put down the messages. “I can contact Chuck to find out where they’re meeting this morning.”
“Sure,” Carter said, “Although I think they’ve already made up their mind. I mean, the fact that they didn’t seat their Negro delegates about says it all, no?”
He motioned for two cups of coffee from the waitress who was making her rounds with the coffee pot.
Gabriel sighed, and said nothing. “It’s not looking good, isn’t it?” he said.
“Nope,” Carter said after thanking the waitress for their cups of coffee. “What do you feel like this morning?”
“Besides another round in bed?” Gabriel said. He slid his hand under the table to stroke Carter’s knee. “You were an animal last night, what got into you?”
Carter flashed him a grin, and said, “Careful, you’re getting me excited again.”
After finishing their breakfasts and taking a cab to the city convention center, they did the rounds of the various conference rooms, with Carter making a final plea for the Chattanooga delegation to remain uncommitted in their affiliation for the state’s slate at the upcoming Republican National Convention. Having made his case, he left the room with Gabriel.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said. “They’re all infected with the virus.”
“The virus” was their code for a Republican Party that had been overtaken by former Southern Democrat racists. The transformation was happening quicker than Carter had originally imagined. Each state in the former Confederacy was undergoing the convulsions of the civil rights fight to various degrees. He had managed to stave off a feverish outbreak from sheer force of will at his own state’s party convention the month before, narrowly beating back a groundswell of newly minted Republicans who were radicalized Goldwater activists. He had convinced them to postpone their final party commitment until the San Francisco convention when they would hear from all the viable candidates.
But these other Southern states were proving to be fertile soil for the reactionary, states-rights rhetoric of Goldwater. When Carter had begun hopscotching across the South in January, the various local Republican clubs in the larger cities such as Atlanta and Birmingham had greeted him warmly, if not enthusiastically. It wasn’t until he had gone to Houston when he faced his first hostile audience, the Harris County Republican monthly luncheon at the Rice Hotel was a date that would live in infamy for him.
He had begun his remarks and almost immediately a group of cowboy hat-wearing oilmen started jeering him from their table in the back. At first he tried to just speak louder over their din, but memories of his similar altercation with the First Methodist Church lawnmower had crept into his consciousness, and he’d stopped talking and just stared back at the rowdy bunch. This provoked them to start chanting “Goldwater! Goldwater!” and within minutes the dining room had been in disarray as various tables began arguing to “shut them up” and “no, you shut up” with a small fistfight breaking out. After several tense minutes, tempers had been momentarily calmed, and Carter continued to make the case for Rockefeller’s message of moderation. At the end he had received a tepid applause that he associated with a golf tournament.
What pause in passions had been granted following the tragic assassination of President Kennedy in Texas just weeks earlier was past, and by March most every venue in which he was scheduled to give a speech was skewed more and more towards neo-Confederates who just a couple of years earlier had been voting in Democratic primaries for their local sheriff and state elected officials. As the Federal Civil Rights Act was winding its way through the halls of Congress with an eventual signature by President Johnson, its entrails were being left in the country clubs and civic organizations from Abilene to Richmond. Carter’s initial rosy prognostications back to Rockefeller’s headquarters were now morose.
The sole recompense for Carter was the fact that he and Gabriel were at last together. Darren had unwittingly suggested to Carter that perhaps Cadet Sawyers would be available when he returned for his final internship that spring. Their first trip to Raleigh, North Carolina, had been spent in their hotel room, with an obligatory appearance at the local Wake County Republican Club monthly meeting performed almost as an afterthought. The trend-line for Rockefeller’s chances in the South was not promising, and his national prospects were no more inspiring, with his loss in New Hampshire to Senator Lodge of Massachusetts, and his lackluster poll numbers subsequently plummeting to less than ten percent.
Margot insisted on pushing forward, feeding Carter snippets of headquarters gossip about Rocky’s prospects in West Virginia, and that although the South might be a lost cause, it was indeed a worthwhile investment in building bridges with powerful national figures. In Atlanta, Carter met with former Vice-President Nixon for a private lunch before each of them was to address the Georgia state Republican convention, days after they had purged themselves of all their Negro members. For Carter, it became increasingly clear that he was astride a party that was shifting rapidly, leaving him politically unbalanced for the first time since he had attended the 1952 conventions.
“Darling, I’m fine either way, if you want me to come down for Easter or stay here in New York, it’s up to you,” Margot said over the phone when Carter arrived back in Columbia at his office the following day.
“I just want a relaxing weekend of no politics,” he said to her as he watched Gabriel at his desk through the open door.
“Just spend time with your brother and momma,” she said, “It will do you good.”
After they hung up, Carter was surprised that she hadn’t included the usual admonition of “no hi-jinks” or an inference that he shouldn’t “get into any trouble,” which was her usual code for not having any sexual encounters. He was certain that she was going to spend the Easter holiday with one of her boyfriends, perhaps this Italian diplomat with whom she seemed to be taken. It didn’t bother him that she had her romantic relationships, indeed, he welcomed it. It was a revelation to him that one needed to have love and romance in one’s life, otherwise one wasn’t truly living, and Carter had not been alive until he had met Gabriel and had their weekend in Charleston. But if Margot thought he was going to go back into his former life, she was mistaken. Perhaps she sensed this.
“Cadet Sawyers, please,” Carter said from his office.
Gabriel turned and got up, walking past Darren’s open door into Carter’s office. Carter remained standing, and in a lowered voice said, “I just got off the phone with Margot, and she won’t be coming back until after Easter, so I’ll have Galanos to myself, if you’d finally like to see that pool.”
Gabriel shot him a sly smile, and said, “I’ll talk to my parents. I’ll make something up about needing to do some unfinished business at the Citadel.”
“They won’t miss you?” Carter asked. “Or rather, you won’t miss them?”
“I just saw them last weekend before we went to Nashville, they’ll be fine.”
Carter grinned, and said, “Okay, it’s settled then. We’ll leave on Wednesday after work.”
“Thank-you, Cadet Sawyers,” Carter said in a slightly louder voice, for the benefit of the office.
Carter stirred a bit in bed, knowing that it was almost time to wake up, but wanting to stay in the cocoon of the sheets wrapped around the warm body of Gabriel sleeping next to him. Sunlight was just beginning to creep past the closed curtains, and Carter lay there, content and at peace. This is all I have ever wanted, he mused. He felt a renewed sense of purpose and saw the approaching end of his term as governor as liberating, an opportunity to build a life with Gabriel at Galanos and to travel the world. He wouldn’t have to try to politically arm-wrestle intransigent obstructionists like Thompkins anymore, nor have to cultivate contacts and power brokers in Manhattan and Washington. He would be his own man. Gabriel’s eyes squinted open, and then he smiled, his gapped teeth inviting Carter’s lips to greet this new day.
“Is it morning already?” He stretched, the sheet revealing his abdomen and pubic hair. “Can’t we stay in bed all day and continue what we started last night?”
Carter rolled on top of him, holding down Gabriel’s arms over his head, his stiffening cock finding sanctuary between Gabriel’s legs.
“I promise that we can for, another, ten, minutes,” he said, kissing him for emphasis at each pause.
They each climaxed not long after, with Gabriel on his back looking intently into Carter’s eyes as he brought them both to completion. After Carter got up and walked over to the bathroom to get them a towel, Gabriel called out, “let’s listen to music instead of turning on the TV, okay?”
“Sure, but I get to pick this time,” Carter said as he flung him a towel to wipe his chest and stomach.
“Pick something that you think should be your anthem,” Gabriel said. “Like we were talking about yesterday with your brother Carlton and Gwen, about TV theme songs.”
He walked over to Carter who was going through the stack of records next to his bedroom stereo, and grabbed his still plump cock, “Maybe Mr. Ed?”
“Ha-ha,” Carter said. “I think this music perfectly captures my mood.”
He pulled out a record from a sleeve, and carefully placed it on the turntable. Soon, the dramatic, recognizable piano flourish of the opening sonata from Edvard Grieg’s ‘Piano Concerto in A Minor’ filled the room. Gabriel leaned next to Carter, who enveloped him in his arms, and as they listened in silence, Carter kissed Gabriel’s forehead.
“I first heard this when Margot and I were travelling in Europe a few years ago. We slipped into Yugoslavia for a few days when we were in Northern Italy, and the Slovenian Radio Orchestra was playing it that night at the symphony hall. The beauty of it, it just overwhelmed me. It goes from flights of ecstasy, to deep, emotional passages that brought me to tears. I’ve often thought about that evening, how it is possible for us as humans to create so much beauty, to bring a theater full of people, who speak different languages and from different cultures, together through art, through the intricate hitting of notes from a variety of instruments. I don’t know, it just amazes me.”
Gabriel looked up at Carter, and said, “You amaze me,” and kissed him.
“Come here,” he said, leading Carter by the hand back to the bed. “Let’s listen to this together. Take your swim later today, I want to enjoy this, in your arms, in bed.”
They returned to their bed, spooning on top of the sheets, as Grieg’s masterpiece played. If this wasn’t heaven, Carter thought, I don’t want to go there. He nuzzled his nose into the tenderness of Gabriel’s neck, and let his lips remind him that he was there, he would always be there for him. Their fingers intertwined against Gabriel’s pelvis, as he was transported through the magic of the gentle touches of the piano striking its keys.
After the record finished, they laid together in bed. The sun shone through from the one window that was not blocked by the curtains, and it played its light in a long streak across to the foot of their bed. For the first time, despite the countless parties organized by Margot, and her living there at times in her room down the hall, the house felt like a home. Carter slowly ran his hand, gently and with purpose, down Gabriel’s back, massaging in deep intervals with his thumb and palm, the moisture from the humidity and their own oils combined with Carter’s kisses. When he reached Gabriel’s smooth butt cheeks, he stopped, and playfully spanked one of them.
“I want to quit politics,” he said at last, checking Gabriel’s face for his response.
“I don’t want you to,” Gabriel said in almost a whisper.
“But I want to,” Carter said, leaning in with just a breath’s space between them. “I want us to spend our lives together, as a couple, as lovers.” He kissed him on his nose, and then on his forehead. “We can’t do that if I’m in politics.”
Gabriel frowned, and didn’t say anything. He stared into Carter’s eyes, and after a few seconds said, “You’re doing this because of me?”
Carter swept his hand up from behind and rubbed Gabriel’s head. “I’m doing this because of us. Because I love you, Gabriel.” He leaned back in and gave him a soft embrace on his lips.
Gabriel didn’t reciprocate, and he turned his gaze to look at the sunlight peering into the bedroom. Millions of tiny particulates suspended in mid-air slowly pulsed to the faintest signal, floating aimlessly in the golden ray beaming across from the window. His silence bothered Carter, and he didn’t try to push him to talk, letting him digest this news himself, his own way.
After several minutes Gabriel turned onto his back and said, “Ugh, Carter. What we have is great, but...”
Carter didn’t respond, resting his head on Gabriel’s stomach instead. In silence they stayed, like an image on an ancient Greek vase of two Theban warriors. Sensing that Gabriel’s thoughts might need coaxing, Carter whispered, “What are you thinking? Is it your family you’re worried about?”
Gabriel sighed, and propped himself up on his elbows gazing back down at Carter. “No,” he said. “I’m worried about you.”
Carter began to speak, but Gabriel continued, “It’s not fair for me to come between you and your dreams. I don’t want you to have to choose, Carter.”
The rest of the day there remained a sort of invisible emotional barrier between the two of them, with Carter not knowing how to surmount it nor capable of pulling Gabriel over. He watched Gabriel for the slightest hint that he had changed his resistance, but he was stubbornly guarded as the morning dragged into the afternoon. The playfulness was more restrained, and the conversation more subdued, until after breakfast Carter asked Gabriel, “Tell me what you’re thinking about, my heart is breaking right now.”
Gabriel turned to him and said, “I’m thinking about what you said, about wanting to quit politics, and about us.”
“I never asked you what you want,” Carter said. “I haven’t been fair to you, where you want us to go with our lives.”
He put his arms around Gabriel, and held him. His thoughts went back to their first embrace in Charleston, their walk along the beach, the dinner after the filming at the theatre. Since then they had shared innumerable evenings in hotel rooms throughout the South, passionate nights that brought them together physically, sensually, and knitted their souls in the hours spent in each other’s arms after their animalistic labors. Carter felt Gabriel sobbing.
“I want us to be together, of course I do, Carter,” he murmured, his eyes welling. “You know that. But, I’m confused. I didn’t expect this, this surprise that you were giving it all up. For us.”
Carter rubbed his back, kissed his neck, and whispered, “All of this, this house, the politics, is meaningless, without you by my side.”
He wiped his own eyes, and continued, “This house is empty without you in it, alongside me. With you, it becomes home. Wherever you are, that’s where my heart is.”
Gabriel nodded, and smiled, looking deeply into Carter’s eyes. “I love you, Carter.”
“I love you, Gabe.”
The drive up to Columbia on Monday to return to work at the State House became an excited exchange as they mapped out a path for the two of them to become one, to begin a life together. Following Gabriel’s graduation from the Citadel that May, he would continue working in the Governor’s office as his aide-de-camp reporting to Darren still, and following the Republican Convention in San Francisco that summer, Carter would announce his retirement.
“I don’t even recognize this Republican party anymore,” he said as they approached Pelion, slowing for the sole stop sign in the town. “You’ve seen it, all of these conventions and caucuses throughout the South have been overrun by Birchers, Klan sympathizers, Kennedy haters, and racists. It makes me sick. Goldwater has unleashed the dregs of the Southern Democrats into the party.”
Gabriel looked out of the window as they passed through the small town, and said, “We still have to figure out when to tell Margot.”
Carter didn’t say anything. The unspoken topic of Margot had loomed large during their entire conversation, and confronting her ghost was the final battle. He had always assumed that once his political career was ended, whether it was finished at the Governor’s Mansion or the White House, that the two of them would part ways. Amicably. But he wasn’t so sure anymore. Her investment in the whole Carter Ridge brand, spending the past five years of her life as his wife, albeit nominally, as his campaign strategist, as his most devoted advocate and closest friend, was predicated on leaving behind her former life for something bigger. He had always been an opportunity for her, her biggest opportunity, to break free from her past. But Carter felt that she had done that with her life in New York City. She didn’t need him anymore. At least he hoped so, not out of fear, but out of love. He did love her. He always had, as a kindred spirit. She was the fuel that kept him focused on his trajectory, ever rising and ascending, until he had now broken free of her orbit.
“I’ll tell Margot about us, I just don’t know when,” Carter said. “It’s not like there will ever be a good time to say that I’m quitting politics.”
“Maybe it will just happen. Naturally,” Gabriel said, reaching for Carter’s hand.
Carter peered in the rear view mirror as they passed a truck hauling cut pine trees. As he sped past, Gabriel added, “It’s not like Rockefeller is going to win the nomination. I mean, we’ve seen it. He’s finished.”
As he returned to his lane on the narrow highway, Carter said, “You’re right. He’s finished. I just want to do what I can to stop Goldwater and the rest of his crowd from taking complete control of the party.” He patted Gabriel’s hand on his lap, and looked at him quickly. “That’s my last mission, and then I’m done.”
The fear amongst his fellow Republican governors was palpable when they met for their annual conference in Cleveland that June. If Goldwater won the Republican nomination in San Francisco, they all felt he was going to destroy the party, and ruin the party’s chances in innumerable Federal and state races across the country that November. Rockefeller’s bid to become the moderate, liberal alternative to Goldwater’s rigid conservatism had stalled, following his razor thin defeat in California. Now there were new pretenders to claim the prize. Various senators and governors were positioning themselves to promote their would-be candidacies, but nobody had the ruthlessness necessary to strike hard and make it a real fight.
At a breakfast meeting the final Sunday of their conference, Carter met with Pennsylvania’s Governor Scranton, who came armed with the latest Gallup polls showing he was in a tie with Goldwater, Nixon, and Rockefeller among likely voters.
“But you need delegates, governor,” Carter said after he heard Scranton’s pitch. Carter watched this balding, bland figure who had just spent twenty minutes making his case. He had all of the charisma of a bowl of oatmeal.
“Yes, well, Barry still doesn’t have a firm majority,” Scranton said.
“He has the most, and I haven’t heard your strategy for how you plan on amassing your own. I’ve been to these caucuses and conventions in state after state, and the South is lost. They are die-hard Goldwater supporters,” Carter said. His stern tone was meant to challenge Scranton, to wake him up to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to waltz into the Cow Palace in San Francisco and expect state delegations to budge.
Carter had already done the math, several times. The path to the nomination, bypassing Goldwater, was narrow and steep, and a dilettante like Scranton would have to get his hands dirty and fight it out state by state. Carter left the conference even more certain that the party leaders were unable to put personality aside and coalesce around someone, anyone, despite the knowledge that Goldwater would doom them all.