Senator B. Franklin Tomlinson and his wife lived on a quiet, tree-shaded street in the northwest corner of the District of Columbia, in a handsome twelve-room redbrick Georgian house set well back on a perfectly clipped lawn decorated with flowering shrubbery.
When Jake had asked the senator for a private little chat, Tomlinson had suggested having cocktails together at his home, after the working day ended.
So Jake drove his new silver Dodge Dart GT from the Hart office building garage up Tomlinson’s bricked driveway and parked it behind the azalea bushes that screened the parking area from the street. He still missed his battered old Mustang, but Tami had finally convinced him that a senator’s science advisor shouldn’t be seen in public driving such a disreputable-looking old heap.
The soft-voiced butler guided Jake to the library, where Tomlinson and Amy were sitting in comfortable armchairs by the window that looked out onto the swimming pool set into the back lawn. Tomlinson was in his shirtsleeves; Amy wore a short-sleeved, flowered knee-length dress.
The senator got to his feet, smiling. “Hi, Jake. What are you drinking?”
Glancing at the cart in the corner of the book-lined room that served as a rolling bar, Jake answered, “White wine, please.”
Tomlinson already had a tumbler in his hand. Scotch, Jake guessed.
Amy stood up and headed for the bar. “I’ll pour,” she said. Jake wondered if Tomlinson knew about their brief affair, all those years ago. Probably not, he thought, but the possibility always made him slightly uneasy.
“So,” Tomlinson said, gesturing toward the sofa near the empty fireplace, “have you come up with a surefire science policy issue for me?”
“I’m working on it,” Jake said as he sat down. Amy brought a glass of wine, smiling her cheerleader’s smile at him, and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa.
Easing himself onto the wingchair at one end of the coffee table, Tomlinson said, “So this is about Kevin, then, isn’t it?”
Jake nodded. “He’s really worried.”
Sitting on the sofa beside Jake, Amy said, “Kevin’s always worried,” her smile vanishing.
“I think he’s right,” Jake heard himself say.
Tomlinson didn’t look the least bit surprised. “Really?”
Hunching forward slightly, Jake said, “Look, you hired Kevin to be your chief of staff because he knows the ropes, he’s a Beltway insider, he’s experienced—”
“And he wants me to go slow about my nomination campaign.”
Amy added, “He doesn’t want you to run at all.”
Jake looked from her to her husband. Amy looked grim, almost angry. Tomlinson seemed almost amused.
“I think he’s right,” Jake said. “I mean, you hired him for his expertise. So listen to what he’s telling you.”
“You think I should go slow.”
“I think you should get some campaign contributions in your hands and take on a top-flight campaign manager.”
“Jake, I want to get started now. I’ve only got a year until the party’s nominating convention. I’ve got to make my name known. Now!”
Amy nodded vigorously.
So she’s behind this, Jake thought. Amy wants Frank to be president and she wants him up and running right away.
Carefully, Jake said, “A couple of weeks won’t make much difference, Frank. When you pick a campaign manager, that’ll make headlines. When you get a couple of fat cats to hand you contributions, that’ll make even more headlines. Just announcing you’re running, with nothing in place, no staff, no money, you’ll look like an amateur. The news media will laugh at you.”
For the first time, Tomlinson looked concerned. “You think so?”
“You’ll generate lots of media coverage when you announce that you’re running—with a solid campaign manager and some money in the bank.”
Tomlinson glanced at his wife. “That’s what Kevin told me.”
Amy accused, “So you’re on Kevin’s side?”
Shaking his head, Jake said, “There aren’t any sides in this. We all want the same thing: Frank and you in the White House. But let’s not jump the gun. Let’s show that we know what we’re doing.”
Tomlinson said, “I suppose Reynolds could plant a few rumors. That’d get some media coverage.”
“Frank, you’ve got to decide whether you want headlines now or the election next November.”
“Both,” said Amy. “Frank’s got to get his name out there, he’s got to be known.”
“Then let’s do our homework. Let’s get a solid campaign manager and the beginnings of a staff for him.”
“Or her.”
Jake felt his eyebrows hike up, but he granted, “Or her.”
“What you said about campaign contributions makes sense, Jake,” the senator acknowledged.
“Good.”
“But we’ve got to get moving,” Tomlinson went on. “It’s almost July already.”
“Good,” Jake repeated. “Let’s get moving.”