The Confirmation (58 page)

“If we get Doerflinger, yes.” He leveled his eyes. “Lisa, we've done all we can. It's out of our hands at this point.”

Lisa nodded. “Alright, let me go jump in front of machine-gun fire for you.”

“That's the Lisa I know and love!” bellowed Jay, standing up and raising his arms for dramatic effect. “You're my wingman! I'm sending you two dozen roses today!”

“Save the roses. Just stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble is my middle name!” Lisa rolled her eyes and walked out.

THE MOTORCADE CARRYING ANDY Stanton—three black Cadillac Escalades with tinted windows—pulled up in front of the Russell Senate Office Building on Constitution Avenue, across the street from the Capitol. Two security guards wearing skintight black suits, wraparound Gucci sunglasses, and earpieces jumped out of either side of Andy's SUV, their heads on swivels, opening the car doors.

Traveling with Andy was like clubbing in Vegas with a rapper. The posse seemed to grow as the day went on. Besides the Prada-clad security guards (who had the caffeinated look of Marines in a firefight), there was a body man (whose main job was to carry menthol cough drops and say “yes, sir” a lot), three drivers, a vice president for communications, two Faith and Family Federation lobbyists, and Ross.

They trooped up the stairs (Andy rarely took elevators, claiming walking stairs was good for the heart) looking like a traveling circus, drawing stares. Andy trundled down the hall turning heads like a rock star. Occasionally an excited Senate staffer or tourist would stop the entourage and request a photo with Andy. The body man would take the camera or iPhone, and Andy would generously pose with the individual or group, enduring their giddy greetings and excited squeals with patient endurance.

“I hope there's no press,” quipped Andy in a half whisper to Ross as they walked.

“No press?” replied Ross. “You might as well be Madonna at the MTV Awards.”

Andy shot Ross a concerned look.

“I warned you. But we're here, so let's get in and out of these meetings and stay on message. We show the flag, rally the troops, and no gaffes.”

“Agreed. We leave it all on the field on this one,” said Andy.

They arrived at 453 Russell, the office of Senator Rebecca Rhoades of Louisiana. The first Democrat to announce support for Diaz, she had been subjected to a withering assault from Planned Parenthood, NARAL, Moveon.org, and the Pro-Choice PAC. They waited in the reception area, Andy admiring the awards and plaques on the wall, declining a seat, snapping photos with receptionists as the phones jangled incessantly.

“I guess those phone calls are our handiwork, eh?” whispered Andy.

“We've probably done eight million robocalls,” replied Ross. Andy's eyes widened. “Your recorded message has done well. Our telemarketers patch the person directly into the Senate office, then solicit a contribution.”

“I love it.” He paused. “Now all we have to do is win.”

Rhoades's chief of staff appeared suddenly, his deportment harried and solicitous. He greeted Andy and led him down the hall to Rhoades's private office.

Andy walked in, greeting Rhoades with a booming, “Senator! Good to see you!”

Rhoades smiled tightly. Wearing a proper white fluffy blouse buttoned to her throat and a navy wool skirt at the knees, she seemed both pleased and unnerved to be in the evangelist's presence. Incongruously, she held up a box of chocolates, offering one to Andy.

“Have a chocolate,” she chirped. “These were a gift from my finance chairwoman. She was one of the civic leaders who helped bring back New Orleans after Katrina. Please!”

Andy, an exercise nut, was always watching his weight. But he played along, not wanting to offend Rhoades, and took a chocolate between his two fingers, holding it awkwardly.

Rhoades directed Andy to sit in the large chair next to her, as Ross, the lobbyists, and the chief of staff grabbed the couches to either side.

“I appreciate your coming, Reverend,” she said.

“Please, call me Andy.”

Rhoades nodded. “Alright,” she fairly drawled. “But only if you call me Becky.”

“Happy to. Becky, we're very grateful for your time, especially today, given all that's happening in the Senate. I wanted to come by and personally thank you for your support for Judge Diaz. It was a profile in courage.”

“Thank you for your kind words.” A pained expression crossed her face. “The labor unions and the left are threatening me with a primary. I may lose the primary because of my support for Diaz. But I probably would have lost in the general had I opposed him.” She paused, her mouth curling into a smile. “The good news is I can only lose once.”

Andy and the lobbyists tittered nervously. The chief of staff stared blankly.

“Well, if I have anything to say about it, you'll win them both,” said Andy. “The far left may want to challenge you in a primary, and they may recruit a candidate. But Louisiana isn't Connecticut. I think you're going to do just
fine
.”

Rhoades sat ramrod straight, her posture conveying her defiant attitude. “I'm not worried,” she said, waving her hand confidently. “My staff is, but I'm not. I've never voted based on what the polls said. I think about what I believe is best for the country.” She paused, allowing her point to sink in. “Not what's best for
me
, or what might get me reelected, but what's best for the
country
. That's rare in the U.S. Senate, I'm sorry to say.”

Andy laughed appreciatively. “We need twenty more like you, Senator. I want you to know the Faith and Family Federation will go into Louisiana with everything we've got to help you get reelected. I've got a big audience. I can't endorse on the radio or TV, but there's more than one way to skin that cat.”

“Oh, I know. That's great to know. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“I'd like to have you on my radio show. Then do a conference call with some of the leading pastors in Louisiana. We will also highlight your vote for Diaz in our voter guides and congressional scorecards.”

“Excellent,” replied Rhoades, the tautness in her facial muscles suddenly relaxing. “Perhaps someone in your organization can share your plans with the RNC. They've targeted me for defeat.”

Andy glanced at Ross. “We need to tell the RNC they're going to have to go through us to get to Becky.”

After a few more pleasantries, the meeting came to an end. Throughout, Andy kept the chocolate cupped in the palm of his hand.

“Aren't you going to eat it?” asked Rhoades at last.

“I am now. . . . I've got your vote!” They laughed as Andy popped the chocolate into his mouth, chewing vigorously.

After the meeting Andy and Ross headed for the elevator, trailed by Andy's posse.

“Well, that certainly went well,” said Andy.

“You realize you just agreed to help reelect a pro-choice Democrat. And you committed to try to get the RNC to back down from recruiting an opponent against her. We're going to have a hard time selling that one to the grass roots.”

Andy glanced at Ross. “Is she really pro-choice?”

Ross nodded.

“Well, I traded one Senate seat we can't win anyway for a conservative, pro-life Supreme Court Justice, a devout Catholic, and a man who may be the deciding vote to overturn
Roe v. Wade
,” he said. “Not bad for a day's work.” Andy's face grew animated and he wagged his finger at Ross. “Tell our folks in Louisiana if that ain't good enough for them, they can take a hike! Tell them they better fall in line.”

“Consider it done, boss.”

They got on the elevator with the posse. As the doors closed behind them, Ross braced himself for the inevitable blowback when the grass roots learned about Andy's support for R-squared. Andy played chess while everyone else played checkers, and he was always one move ahead on the game board.

FORTY-FIVE

Every member of the Senate sat at their desks, a rarity reserved for the highest occasions: the impeachment of presidents, the censure of senators, the ratification of major treaties, and, in this case, cliff-hanger confirmations of Supreme Court justices. Sal Stanley sat stone-faced at his desk in the first row, his wiry frame folded into a dark brown suit with a red tie, his pasty face strained from exhaustion. Vice President Johnny Whitehead sat in the presiding officer's chair, his stooped posture and grave expression telegraphing the gravity of the moment. Everyone knew Whitehead was there in case he was needed to break a tie. The gallery was packed. Lines of spectators snaked down the stairs and through the Capitol.

Only one speech remained before closing comments by the chairman and ranking member of Judiciary (Chuck Hurley and Tom Reynolds) and the Majority and Minority leaders, who protocol dictated would close out the debate. The speech belonged to Richard Doerflinger. All eyes in the chamber turned to him as he rose at his desk.

“Mr. President, I rise to state how I intend to vote on the Diaz nomination,” said Doerflinger, scanning the anxious faces of his colleagues. “Advice and consent is essential to maintaining the balance of power between the three branches of government. It is one of the few enumerated constitutional responsibilities of the Senate. It is one I take very seriously.”

The civic lesson complete, Doerflinger plowed ahead. “I believe this is one of the most important votes, probably the most important vote, I have cast as a member of the Senate. The last vote that came close to this level of importance was when we elected my friend and former colleague Johnny Whitehead as vice president in this chamber this past January.” He bowed out of respect in the direction of Whitehead, who acknowledged the mention by raising one corner of his mouth. “The Supreme Court is evenly divided along philosophical lines. Judge Diaz may tip that balance, and he may do so in a direction with which I disagree.” He looked up from the paper on the podium before him. “But there can only be one president at a time, and presidents should enjoy the presumption that their nominees are qualified.

“Mr. President, I had concerns about Judge Diaz at the outset of this process. I addressed many of those in an hourlong meeting I had with him in my office shortly after he was nominated. Many of my concerns were addressed during the five days of hearings conducted by the Judiciary Committee.” The tension in the chamber rose as Doerflinger conducted his own version of brinksmanship, waiting until the final moment to announce his vote. “Paramount among my concerns was the right to privacy. I support a woman right's to choose. Judge Diaz stated his belief that the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution included a right to privacy. While he declined to directly address how he might rule on a woman's right to reproductive freedom, his reluctance has been shared by all recent Supreme Court nominees. Judge Diaz's reticence in this regard is neither unique nor disqualifying.”

Everyone held their breath as Doerflinger extended the drama of his decision. “I found Judge Diaz to be forthright, intellectually capable, and possessing the judicial temperament necessary to serve on the highest court. Therefore, while I do not share his philosophy in every respect, I will vote to confirm him as an associate justice to the Supreme Court.”

The gallery exploded into a mixture of loud applause and throaty booing. Vice President Whitehead, mute in his chair until then, banged his gavel loudly.

“Those in the gallery will refrain from outbursts or expressing their sentiments either way,” said Whitehead in a dull monotone devoid of emotion. “Violators will be removed from the chamber.”

PRESIDENT LONG WATCHED THE Senate debate on television with a small group of aides in the study just off the Oval. The room was crowded, the tension thick. Jay Noble paced back and forth, blowing his nose into a handkerchief, nursing a stress-induced cold. Battaglia sat in a chair, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. When Doerflinger announced his support for Diaz, Long's face broke into a broad, relaxed smile.

“We got him,” said Long. “Wow, that was close.”

“That's fifty,” said Phil with a relaxed sigh. “Congratulations, Mr. President.”

“Congratulations all around,” replied Long. “It was a team effort.”

“We did our part, that's for sure,” said Jay. “But the real credit goes to Stanley.”

“How's that?” asked Long, surprised.

“I've heard from two senators that Stanley told Doerflinger he would shaft him on funding for Los Alamos if he voted for Diaz. Doerflinger was so offended he came our way. He was sitting on the fence, and Sal pushed him into our arms.”

“Sal is the gift that keeps on giving,” said Long.

“Are we sure Rhoades won't jump ship?” asked Jay of no one in particular.

“She's stickin',” replied Charlie Hector. “Got confirmation from Tom Reynolds this morning.”

“Now there's a woman with a pair of ovaries,” said Jay.