He told Renata over the phone on Saturday afternoon. She immediately suggested that he come to her place to talk it over but Sam wasn’t interested in talking it over.
“They don’t actually think you can win?” There was an edge to her voice.
“Who?”
“The Fords,” she said. “Who do you think?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Sam was sitting in his car near the river. The wind was up; there were whitecaps on the water.
“You’re not a politician,” she said.
“Neither was Ronald Reagan,” Sam reminded her. “What is your problem with this?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “It’s just that I thought you were going to stick it out until after the elections.”
“Now I don’t have to.”
“Christ,” she said and then she didn’t say anything for a time. He could hear her breathing. He imagined her trying to control it. Out on the river, a tugboat was coming toward him, angling into the waves.
“I have to do this,” he said. “It’s my out.”
“The Fords are actually buying into this? They can’t see that it’s a fucking act?”
“I’m not sure they’re buying it, but apparently they think they can sell it,” Sam said. “Besides, it’s no more of an act than everybody else in the game. You going to tell me that Trump isn’t an act? He’s a circus clown who became fucking president. You think Bill Clinton wasn’t an act. George Dubya—acting like a tough guy when we all know where he was during Vietnam. Under a bar stool in Texas somewhere, snorting cocaine.”
“What are you going to tell the network?”
“Same thing I was going to tell them a month from now. Goodbye.”
“Never mind the fucking network,” she said. “What are you going to tell me?”
“Other than what I’ve just told you?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Other than what you’ve just told me. This changes our dynamic somewhat, wouldn’t you say?”
He’d almost never seen her angry but he’d known it was coming. Which is why he’d called her and not dropped by. “Well, yeah, it does. At least temporarily.”
“Any chance you can elaborate on that?”
“We’re not going to be able to see each other. Rachel and Vanessa are going to have to be part of this. You understand that?”
“Wow…you actually said their names.”
He paused. “You do understand that part?”
“Stop pretending there are parts I don’t understand, Sam. I get it all. What’s Rachel think about this? Does she want to go to Washington?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
“Well, I’ll get off the phone,” Renata said. “You know—so you can call her and ask.”
“I’m not going to Washington,” Rachel told him.
“You said that,” Sam replied. “Three times now. Did I say anything about you moving to Washington?”
“Well, I’m not moving to fucking Wyoming either.”
“Neither am I.”
They were in the kitchen. Sam was sitting at the island drinking scotch and Rachel was at the counter in the kitchen, opening a bottle of chardonnay. She’d arrived home a half-hour earlier, saying she’d come from dinner with friends. Vanessa was in bed, the housekeeper gone for the day. It was just after ten o’clock.
“How are you going to manage that?” She poured the wine into a glass. “After you’ve been ranting against parachute candidates all these years? Does the name Hillary Clinton ring a bell?”
“The election’s a month away. I’ll spend a few days there, shake some hands, talk about the alfalfa or whatever. How much time do you think the average congressman spends in his home state?”
“So you’ll buy a house there?” she asked. “Hey—you could buy a ranch and tell the voters it belonged to your great-grandfather. The one who rode up the hill with Teddy Roosevelt.”
“Sounds to me as if you girls had lots to drink at dinner.” Sam took a drink. “Bill Ford has a place in Laramie.”
Rachel scoffed. “Bill Ford probably has fifty houses, one in each state, just for situations like this.” She had more wine. “Why are you even considering this, when your ratings are through the roof? I might understand if it was a couple of months ago. Well, maybe not the Wyoming part.”
“I’ve been looking for an excuse to leave the show. This fills the bill. And even if I get beat, I can still say I did it for my love of country. Fact is, a couple of months ago the Fords wouldn’t have had any interest in me. And neither would the voters of Wyoming.”
“I suppose not.” She leaned back against the kitchen counter and drank the wine, watching him. She wanted a cigarette but she never smoked in the house. “Have you really thought about being a congressman? I mean, as opposed to just the idea of it. It’s not the fucking senate. There’s, like, four hundred congressmen, aren’t there?”
“Four hundred and thirty-five.”
“You’re willing to be part of the pack? In the back row somewhere, little Sam Jackson from the little state of Wyoming? Is that how you see yourself?”
“The Ford brothers have considerably more foresight than you,” Sam told her. “I won’t be one of the pack. They’ve guaranteed me a cabinet post.”
“I’m sure that’s their standard sales pitch.”
“Are you trying to piss me off? I know exactly what’s going on here. I have a bully pulpit and there are people who think I should use it. They have the money but I have the pulpit. They need me as much as I need them. You don’t have to like it, Rachel. But I’m not asking you to live in Washington or Wyoming or anyplace other than this beautiful house that I paid for and allow you to completely renovate every other year on my dime. So if I decide to do this—”
“You’ve decided,” she interrupted him.
He hesitated. “I guess I have. What I started to say is that you will be required to show up for a few public events. Smile and look pretty, which you do well. You come up with a story that you’re not in Wyoming because of your charitable work here. But that you’re looking forward to living there, even though you never will. What else? You’ll have to do a couple of photo ops. Nessa too.”
Rachel sighed in resignation. She had never in eighteen years changed his mind about anything. And in truth, she didn’t care if he went to Wyoming, or Washington either. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Let’s keep her out of it. Politicians manage to do that.”
Sam shrugged. “We’ll see.” He poured more scotch. She was always amazed at how much liquor he could put away without showing it. “Speaking of Nessa, what’s going on with the mick driver?”
“He was late again. I gave him two weeks’ notice. Enough.”
“We need to hire somebody then.”
“The agency’s sending over some resumes.”
“You take care of it,” he said.
“Who did you think would take care of it, Sam?”
“Quit pouting,” he told her. “We’re talking about a few weeks here. I’m not asking you to change your life. But I need you to be committed to this. You need to show up and show up with a smile. You do understand that part, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do.”
“How do you know you won’t like being a congressman’s wife?” he asked. “What do they do anyway? They have lunch and organize charity events so they can salve their consciences over the fact that they don’t accomplish anything of substance. Sound familiar, Rachel?”
“Fuck you,” she said.
She’d had enough of the conversation. They rarely talked about anything and now, when they did, he was telling her that she’d be required to jump through hoops for him for the next month and a half. Not asking her, telling. She started for the stairs before stopping to look back at him. He was watching her with a shitty cast to his eye, as if he’d just won something and he was reveling in it.
“You realize what the other side is going to say, don’t you? They’re going to say that you’re using those dead kids in Pennsylvania to try to get yourself elected to office. You understand that part, right?”
“Let ’em say it. I don’t give a shit what the left says about me.”
“You know, when most people say they don’t give a shit, it’s bogus, because they really do and they don’t want to admit it. But with you, it’s true.” She smiled then, but there was no humor in it. “So let me tell you what I think about this notion of you running for Congress. I really don’t give a shit.”