The Confirmation (5 page)

Penneymounter physically recoiled, visibly stunned by Love's threat. Everyone in town knew he was planning to run for the Democratic presidential nomination four years hence.

“Christy, I can't believe this!” He screwed up his face. “I've been the best friend women have ever had in the Senate.
I
sponsored the Violence Against Women Act and got it through Congress.
I
got the Ledbetter bill passed. I carried
your
bills when no one else wanted them to see the light of day.” The veins in his neck bulged. “You
know
that.”

“It's appreciated, Joe. But then you gave Golden a pass.”

“I've got bigger fish to fry,” Penneymounter said dismissively. “Forget Keith Golden. My deal is with the president, and it will prevent him from choosing nominees that would be disastrous. You and your feminist friends should be thanking me, not reading me the riot act.” His face brightened. “Besides, I didn't have the votes to defeat Golden. He's a member of the club—senators are reluctant to take on one of their own. You know that. So I negotiated away what I didn't have to gain something we need.”

“A member of the
club
?” Love shot back sarcastically, her lips curled with contempt. “That didn't stop Sam Nunn from taking out John Tower. It didn't stop Pat Leahy from trying to block John Ashcroft. And you talk to me about the
club
? Joe, you've been inside the beltway too long. You didn't even put up a
fight
.”

“Woah, hold on just a minute!” Penneymounter said, his voice rising in anger. “We wear the same jersey, remember? I'm on your team. I don't need any lectures about how to stop right-wing, extremist judges. I've done it my entire career, sister.”

“Alright, then show me,” Love said, throwing down the gauntlet. “There are sixteen vacancies on the appellate courts and thirty-four district court vacancies,” Christy said. “Show me how many of those you can stop.” She raised up on her heels, pushing her face into Penneymounter's until he could feel her breath on his chin. “And if there's a Supreme Court vacancy, who do you think Long is going to listen to—you or Andy Stanton?”

“The White House can't roll me, Christy.” He let out an expletive. “Andy Stanton's a blowhard.” His face hardened and his black eyes darted. “And you know why there are so many vacancies? Because
I
slow-walked Republican judicial nominees for
two years.
”

“Bob Long will stab you in the back just like he did Stanley and the Democratic Party,” Love fired back, blue veins in her neck showing through her fair skin. “When he does, you better fight him, or our members will not forget, and I assure you they will never forgive.” She turned the knob on the door and disappeared.

Penneymounter stood there for a moment, pondering the ferocity of Christy's blast. He knew the pro-choicers hated Golden's guts, but Christy's attitude was borderline irrational. It would be impossible for him as the chairman of the Judiciary to deny a floor vote to all of Long's judicial picks for four years. He was going to have to disabuse the feminist crowd and the far-left blogosphere of this fantasy before things got even further out of control.

The fun had drained out of the party for Penneymounter. It was time to go. As he breezed through the living room on his way out the door, he was careful to make discreet eye contact with the woman staffer who was his surreptitious date. That was her signal to leave the party separately and take a taxi back to the Capitol Hyatt.

A NONDESCRIPT ADVANCE MAN wearing the official uniform of a dark suit and dark tie walked crossed the stage and placed a presidential seal on the front of the podium. The buzz of excited conversation filled the air. The crowd of more than three thousand people, bedecked in tuxedos and formal gowns, grew more anxious, the haute couture dresses of the women rustling as they pressed against the red velvet rope line. Secret Service agents took positions to either side of the stage. Above the stage, on a balcony elevated over the ballroom like a royal box at the opera house, the VIPs—elected politicians, bundlers, major donors, and lobbyists who masqueraded as power brokers—stared down at the scene as they heavily imbibed adult beverages and flashed their jewelry. At the bar in the VIP section, two bartenders worked feverishly to keep up with the demand for vodka cranberries and scotch and sodas.

In the back of the VIP section, hiding in the shadows, stood the darkened visage of Jay Noble. Other than the president, he was the man of the hour. Following the inaugural ceremony and congressional luncheon in the Capitol, he had headed over to the media skyboxes across from the White House to do a victory lap on the cable shows. He had then briefly joined the president and Claire Long in the family box during the inaugural parade, an honor accorded to few outside the immediate Long family. Afterward, walking across Lafayette Park, he had been mobbed by the press and the great unwashed masses. At that moment it hit him like a load of bricks: he had become a political celebrity, and his life would never be the same. He had achieved the success and fame he had toiled for across two decades of smash-mouth, take-no-prisoners political combat. But now that he had arrived at The Show, Jay felt a flood of conflicting emotions and a broad continuum of ambiguity. He felt an emptiness, as though he had arrived at a banquet to find they were serving fast food. The reality of the achievement was not as satisfying as it had been in his imagination. Now, as the president made his final stop of the night at the California Ball—the hottest ticket at the inaugural—Jay was hiding in the shadows, pining for anonymity in his moment of triumph.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States, Robert W. Long, accompanied by First Lady Claire Long!” came the announcement from off stage. “Hail to the Chief” blared from speakers, the crowd erupted in a cathartic roar, and Bob and Claire Long emerged from behind the curtain like Hollywood stars jumping off the pages of a glossy magazine. Long sported an Armani tuxedo, and Claire wore a glittering silver, off-the-shoulder Oscar de la Renta gown with a large black flower over the left side of her chest. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled straight back, highlighting her high cheekbones and blue eyes. She looked radiant, her skin kissed by the California sun, her feminine, sexy glow contrasting sharply with the pale, boorish formalism of her predecessor. Camera flashes from the paparazzi and the partygoers blinked like a sea of lightning bugs.

“We have been to eight balls tonight, but we saved the best for last,” Long began to applause. “This is our last stop before we turn in, and it's a special one for us because it includes so many of our good friends from California.”

“We love you, Mr. President!” someone shouted.

“And I love you right back.” More scattered applause.

“Harry Truman once said if you want a friend in this town, buy a dog.” (Laughter.) “Well, we have two dogs, so we're going to be just fine.” (More laughter—isn't he a stitch!) “Seriously, so many wonderful people supported us and helped us in what was an uphill campaign. Not a lot of people gave us much of a chance, but you stood with us when tonight seemed like an impossible dream. Claire and I will never forget your friendship. We don't really need any new friends in Washington because we like the ones we have.” More applause and cheers. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have one last dance with my bride.” The crowd cheered. Camera flashes exploded as the band began to play. Long wrapped an arm around Claire's waist, grabbed her hand in his, and skillfully glided across the stage. Balloons dropped from a net above, creating a magical moment of seemingly limitless possibility.

“Mr. Noble, the president would like to see you,” came the hushed voice from behind him. Jay turned to see an advance man. “Follow me.” Jay quickly motioned to Satcha, who was being ogled by a corporate muckety-muck who had bought his way into the VIP suite with an obscenely large contribution. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along as he followed the advance man down a flight of stairs and into a service hallway behind the stage. Jay could hear the strains of violin strings as the president and First Lady danced. As they came down the hall, Jay caught sight of Lisa with Senator Russell Evans. He felt a pang of regret. Even the balm of Satcha's hot looks and celebrity did not seem to salve the wound.

“Hello, Jay,” Lisa said, her eyes sizing up Satcha with undisguised curiosity. “Isn't this a lot of fun?” Lisa looked stunning, her black hair flowed down to her creamy white shoulders, the straps of her green sequined dress bringing out her hazel eyes.

“It is indeed,” Jay replied. “Tomorrow comes the hard part.”

“Sometimes I think anything will be a breeze after the campaign,” said Lisa. She introduced him to Senator Evans, whose gleaming white teeth and jet-black hair seemed a tad too perfect.

The president burst through the blue curtain and bounded down the stairs behind the stage. He and Claire were effervescent.

“Jay, my main man!” the president shouted. He was jacked. “How did you convince such a pretty woman to be your date?” His eyes twinkled. He was in a great mood, flying high.

Jay was about to answer when Satcha jumped in. “Actually, Mr. President, I find that I'm only attracted to men of uncommon intelligence.” She winked.

“I see,” replied the president mischievously. “Well, I knew it wasn't his looks.”

“She's only using me to get an interview with you,” Jay joked.

“I am not!” said Satcha, her voice laced with mock indignation. “Well, I do want an interview. You should give me your first one-on-one, Mr. President.”

“You have to convince Lisa,” Long shot back playfully. “She's the gatekeeper.” Jay knew the president was deliberately causing trouble.

Lisa flashed a fake smile. “I'd give you my card,” she said. “But I don't have any yet.”

“I know where to find you,” said Satcha, her features hardening. “I'll let you get settled in and give you a call, maybe next week?” Her voice turned serious. “It would be a real statement if the White House granted its first broadcast interview with the president to Univision. We have more viewers than CNN or MSNBC in prime time.”

“Satcha is indefatigable,” said Jay.

“I'll just bet she is,” said Lisa drily.

Long grabbed Jay by the arm and pulled him into a power clutch. Lisa chatted up Claire while Senator Evans fell headlong into Satcha's trance.

“So what are you hearing?” asked Long. It was one of his favorite conversation starters.

“Reviews of the inaugural address are very positive,” Jay reported. “Marvin Myers said on the air that your election has ushered in a new era of reform. He compared you to Teddy Roosevelt. The sidebar story is Stanley blocking your agenda. The media is obsessed with the personal grudge narrative.”

“Stanley was cordial but distant,” said Long. “I'm going to need to charm him.”

“I think we may just have to roll him.”

Long nodded. “I think you're right.”

“There's a flap about Stanton's prayer,” said Jay. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Senator Evans was undressing Satcha with his eyes. Jay thought,
the guy is shameless.

“I thought Andy's prayer might cause a stir, but he brings a lot more than he takes away,” said Long. “I don't think it's a big deal, do you?”

“No, sir,” said Jay. “It's cable news trying to drive ratings. It's a one day story.”

“We have to defend Andy.”

“You bet,” Jay agreed. “He delivered.”

“Okay, talk to you soon,” Long said, signaling the conversation was over. He and Claire, flanked by advance men and Secret Service agents headed down the hallway, with Lisa and Senator Evans trailing behind.

Jay slipped his arm around Satcha's narrow waist and spun her around, leading her back to the ballroom.

“I thought Evans was going to jump you,” he said in a whisper when they were safely out of earshot.

“I couldn't believe it!” she gasped. “He asked me for my number.”

“What!? With the president standing three feet away! I hope you didn't give it to him.”

“What could I do? He's a United States senator,” Satcha replied. “I gave him my office number. He'll go straight to voice mail.” She paused. “He also pinched me.”

Jay stopped dead in his tracks. “He pinched you? Where?”

Satcha stuck out her rear end, patting it with the palm of her hand. “My bootie!” she exclaimed.

Jay burst out laughing, clapping his hands together.

FOUR

The armored black Lincoln Navigator darted in and out of traffic as it headed north on Pennsylvania Avenue, running yellow lights and changing lanes before making a sharp turn on to Seventeenth Street and pulling into a back entrance to the White House. A guard opened the electronically controlled gate to the White House complex. The SUV, followed by a staff car carrying security personnel and a chaser car, inched slowly into the parking lot adjacent to the West Wing. Inside, a man wrapped up a call on one of the two secure phones he regularly worked from the back of the SUV. Finishing the conversation, he stepped out of the car and walked briskly across the pavement, head down. Climbing the flight of stairs in a slow jog, he disappeared into the Eisenhower Executive Office Building.