Bad Girls Finish First (3 page)

3

C
hristopher wandered around the war room of his father's campaign office while he waited for Michael to complete a phone call. Michael's main campaign headquarters was on the eleventh floor of the nicest office building in Austin. The room was a high-energy mess. Phone bank volunteers plugged one ear with a finger while they called voters; others stuffed mailers. Christopher's practiced eye assured him that beneath the hectic surface, things were being accomplished like clockwork. He stopped in front of a new poster, which read, “Committed To Lead” beneath a photo of Michael.

“He looks like a winner, like a man who knows what he wants and will not be denied,” Christopher said to the campaign staffer who was preparing to ship the posters around the state. “I like it.”

“It's a good thing you do. You're looking at yourself in another twenty years, you know.” She winked at Christopher, picked up a stack of posters, and walked away.

Christopher scanned the room, taking in banners, yard signs, and bumper stickers written in Spanish and Vietnamese. A huge corkboard was filled with “the dailies,” which were the day's newspaper clippings from papers all over the nation. The
New York Times
ran an in-depth profile of Michael titled:
TEXAS POISED FOR FIRST BLACK GOVERNOR
.

 

The
Wall Street Journal
included an op-ed opinion with the caption:
TEXAS PERILOUSLY CLOSE TO FALLING INTO INEXPERIENCED HANDS
.

 

“Chris.” Michael stuck his head in the door. “Come on in, son.”

Michael's private portion of the headquarters was orderly and tastefully decorated with beautiful African artifacts. The space bespoke power, just like his home and Senate offices did. The only things on display besides art were pictures of Michael at different stages of his career. There was one of him with both Bush presidents at a formal dinner, one with Bill Clinton, and another of him being presented with a humanitarian award by Nelson Mandela. His bookshelves were dotted with plaques and pictures from past campaign victories. The best snapshots from Michael's past Senate races weren't on display because Grace was in them. They'd been replaced by an eight by ten of Michael and Raven, both beaming as Michael gave his victory speech after the Democratic primary.

“How was Dallas? The office running okay?” Michael asked, eager to begin his one-on-one time with his eldest son. He reveled in the young man's every word and movement and still saw Christopher as the miracle that he'd been when Michael first held him over twenty years earlier.

“Yep, the office is fine. We picked up five new volunteers, all about my age,” Christopher said as he took a seat before his father's huge mahogany desk. He gave Michael a detailed account of the Dallas headquarters' progress during the prior week. Michael asked about some specific tasks and was pleased, but not surprised, to find out that Christopher had gone over and above what he had been asked to do.

“Everything else going well?” Michael asked, averting his eyes.

“Sure,” Christopher lied. Michael's question was a veiled reference to Grace. He asked the same thing every time Christopher returned to Austin, and each time Christopher told him the same lie because he figured it was what his father wanted to hear. Michael knew it wasn't the truth, but he accepted it.

Michael set the stack of papers that were at the center of his desk to one side. “So what's got you so fired up you couldn't wait until later to tell me?” he asked his son.

“I just heard that you've decided to have Dudley Capps as your chief of staff.”

“You heard right. I talked to Dudley about it this morning and he's up for the challenge.”

“But Dad, why'd you make a decision without at least giving me a shot? I want to be your chief of staff.”

Michael was caught off guard. “Christopher, the thought never crossed my mind! You're developing excellent skills, but you're still too young and inexperienced. If we win this election, I'll need someone the legislators respect.”

“Since when don't I get respect? I've worked for you since I was sixteen; there's not a senator or state rep I haven't dealt with. When's the last time Dudley stepped foot in Senator Greene's office or had lunch with any lawmaker who's been around for less than three years?”

“What about nepotism?” Michael countered. He stared at Christopher from behind his desk, where he sat with his fingers tented, looking every bit the teacher waiting on a reply from a student who had no answer.

“What about your wife?” Christopher shot back.

Christopher never referred to Raven by name, if he could help it. She was always “the senator's wife” or “my father's wife.” If the election went Michael's way, Christopher would have to upgrade Raven to “the governor's wife.”

Eyes down, Michael fingered the stack of papers on the edge of his desk. “That's different.”

Christopher studied his father and considered his options. Looking at Michael, Christopher felt familiar, mild disgust. He loved and admired everything about his father except for Michael's slavish devotion to Raven.

“Dad, she's your wife. I know you've got to consider her opinion, keep her happy. But she's new at this and doesn't know what type of personality it takes to handle these sharks. Dudley's an introvert; he's fine with the technical stuff, but he's clueless when it comes to getting to know people.” Christopher paused, then added, “I could see if Dudley were more like Uncle David.”

“Just because Dudley and David are brothers doesn't mean they have to be alike. Just look at you and Evan. And Raven says we need Dudley at the helm because of the technical skill that you don't seem to think much of.”

Christopher could have argued the point—he was dead on when it came to reading people and situations. Michael had been a politician all Christopher's life and having shared his father with others for as long as he could remember, Christopher wasn't covetous. Something about Dudley being close to his father, however, disturbed Christopher and always had. No matter how Christopher felt, his father's first two words, “Raven says,” ended the matter.

Michael mistook his son's silence for tentative agreement. Another justification popped into his head and Michael started to explain, but Christopher waved him off.

“Dad, it's okay, forget I brought it up. The main thing is that we stick together and kick Jeff Sweeney's ass.” Sweeney was Michael's Republican opponent for governor.

Michael laughed and said without thinking, “Your mother wouldn't like to hear you talk like that.”

The air between father and son was instantly thick with words they'd never spoken. Michael broke the spell by reaching for his desk calendar. “You're right,” he said in a business tone, “It's already mid-April, so for the next seven months we've got to focus on beating Sweeney.”

 

 

Late that night Michael and Dudley Capps shared a nightcap to celebrate Michael's decision to make Dudley his chief of staff.

“Who was on your short list for the job?” Dudley asked.

“Nobody, really. I wanted you from the start; so did Raven.” Michael snapped his fingers. “There was one person. Believe it or not, Chris thought he was up for the job,” he said with a small laugh. “According to Chris, you, my friend, are ‘clueless' when it comes to getting to know people.”

“What?” Dudley said.

“Oh, don't get angry, and for God's sake, don't let him know I told you,” Michael said. “He's just a kid, Dudley, but I give him credit, he's an ambitious one.”

“I guess so,” Dudley said, but he didn't sound reassured.

“Chris is just like me. Remember what a go-getter I was at his age?”

“Sure do. Every student in our law school class knew that Michael Joseph was going places,” he chuckled, “at least according to Michael Joseph.”

“I wrote you off as a loner,” Michael said. “I, on the other hand, was all over the place, president of just about every organization,” he reminisced.

“You or Arnold Baker.”

“Arnold and I
were
Monroe.”

Dudley nodded, his fleshy chin completely hiding his stumpy neck. He wore a budget-priced brown suit, which his nondescript brown face and pudgy body blended right into.

“And there you were, a guy nobody noticed. The first time you spoke to me, I didn't even realize you were my classmate.”

“Strange how that changed.”

“Not really, Dudley. You were always my boy, listened to me, helped me think things through.” Michael set aside his drink, closed his notebook, and loosened his tie. “You and Arnold never got on like that, did you?”

“No.” Taking his cue from Michael, Dudley moved around the room, closing blinds and turning off lights.

“Poor guy,” Dudley commented.

Arnold Baker was in federal prison serving a four-year sentence for fraud. He was just the type of ignorant fellow Dudley despised. Back in law school, Dudley had never said so much as hello to Arnold.

“Remember when Adel Lenton dumped me? If it weren't for you and John Reese, I'da lost my mind.”

Dudley lifted one hand in an “it was nothing” gesture. “We were friends, you'd have done the same for me.”

“You and Reese never hit it off either; that always puzzled me. You're a steady guy and so is he.”

As they walked through the building's deserted lobby Michael commented, “You lucked out, Dudley. The few friends that you made in law school have done well. Adolpho Rodriguez is a key advisor to the president and Hank Shore is the richest black man in Texas. I know you never thought much of women as friends, but the one you did get close to”—Michael wagged his finger at Dudley—“damned if Veronica Preston isn't one of the best CEOs in the country.”

“And here you are, about to be elected governor.”

“If—no,
when
—I win, I know it's going to be due in large part to you, Dudley. You've managed how many of my campaigns, five?”

The exact number was six, which Dudley knew very well. “I've lost count,” he replied.

“Every campaign you've been involved with, I've won. The tougher the fight the better you get.” Michael stopped walking. “Remember when I ran against Ben Jones?”

“Can't forget it. There you were, looking sixteen instead of twenty-six, taking on a black incumbent who'd been in office nearly ten years.”

“He sicced his dogs on me, man. Tried every dirty trick in the book and thought up a few new ones.” The memory invigorated Michael, and he spoke at the top of his voice, his words bouncing off the vast lobby walls. “But you killed him, Dudley, knocked him so far out of the ring that he left politics for good.”

Michael put his hand on Dudley's shoulder. “I need that kind of fire if I'm going to take this thing and you're the best guy to give it to me.” Michael sprinkled a little of his charm on Dudley. “Even your brother says so.”

“Really? David said that?”

Michael nodded. “I'm scheduled to meet with the editorial board of the
Austin American-Statesman
. They've endorsed me for all my Senate races, so it's a no-brainer that they'll support me. Once they put my name out there, every other paper in the state will follow suit.” Michael paused, and suddenly he looked weary. “Things are going fine, and it's still early in the game, but I'm a little worried about the latest poll. Sisters aren't supporting me the way they ought to. And Jeff Sweeney's commercials are starting to hurt me. I knew when we got down to it that the big boys would contribute more to Jeff Sweeney's campaign than to mine, but I didn't know how much more.”

Dudley gave an understanding nod. “Let's talk about it tomorrow. We'll figure something out.”

As they went their separate ways, it was all Dudley could do not to skip across the parking lot. Having Michael depend on him was so uplifting! And Michael was right about one thing: Dudley was very lucky, and he wasn't going to allow his luck to run out now.

 

 

“You're right about losing black women,” Dudley told Michael the next night. “They're your core support, but you couldn't tell it by looking at these numbers.” Michael, Christopher, and Dudley sat in the great room of Michael's condo. It was going on midnight, but Michael wasn't thinking about sleep. He couldn't rest until he understood what was going wrong with his campaign. Dudley had spent the day poring over opinion polls, now stacked haphazardly on the coffee table. Black women had always been Michael's top supporters but when it came to elevating him to governor, they weren't standing up and being counted.

“What's their problem?” Michael asked.

Michael and Christopher looked at Dudley and waited for his assessment. Christopher was bone tired and ready to call it a day. That morning he had told Genie they'd go to The Oasis, have a few beers, and watch the sun set; his list of broken promises was growing.

Dudley fumbled through the papers in his folder. “It's hard to say, Michael. The people I talked to in the field couldn't pinpoint the problem. South Oak Cliff women sat out the primary, and”—Dudley licked his index finger and flipped through more papers until he found the one he wanted—“I hadn't noticed before, but you have half the number of female volunteers you had back—”

“C'mon, Dad, you know what the problem is. You left your wife and your family for another woman,” Christopher interrupted. “Black women are punishing you for that.” When they talked business, Christopher and Michael talked straight to each other. There was no indication that they were father and son. So Christopher conveyed this information to his father without rancor and Michael accepted it that way.