Eighteen Acres: A Novel (34 page)

“Why, thank
you
, Dale.” Tara beamed.

After holding her final smiling pose for a few seconds, Tara pulled the microphone off her jacket and stood to leave.

“That was OK, don’t you think?” she asked everyone in the room.

Ralph nodded, and the crew busied themselves with the breakdown of their equipment.

“It was real nice to meet you. I always enjoyed watching you on the air, and I thought that what happened to you after the crash was bullshit,” Tara said.

Dale looked at her, unsure how to respond. People she’d known for ten years didn’t have the courage to raise the accident, and Tara Meyers had done so after meeting her for the first time.

“Would you ever consider a job on the inside?” Tara asked.

“What do you mean?”

“In the White House. Would you consider coming in?”

Dale stared at her for a second, not sure if she was joking or not.

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it,” Dale said.

“Keep it in mind. I’ll be in touch, and good for you for getting back to work. I couldn’t do it,” Tara said, flashing a pop-star smile and taking a sip from her frozen coffee drink.

Everything about Tara was intriguing to Dale. Fear and hesitation did not seem to enter the equation. Dale had never met anyone
so sure of herself on the stump. Maybe Tara knew exactly what she was doing when she slammed Washington insiders. Perhaps she fully intended to use Dale to send Melanie a warning shot. Tara was unlike anyone Dale had ever covered in politics.

Dale sent her news director a note about teasing the bites about Washington and the president’s team after the newscast so that the morning shows would pick them up as “new” news. She went back to the filing center to write her scripts for the station’s late newscast. The regret she’d felt before the interview about leaving Peter for the campaign had evaporated.

Tara’s question about working at the White House was one that she couldn’t get out of her mind over the next few days. She thought about telling Peter, but she knew what he’d say. She considered confiding in Brian, but he was involved with Melanie, and she couldn’t afford for anyone to know. Besides, the race was still close enough that anything could happen in the last week.

Charlotte

Is anyone going to be sitting in my line of sight?” Charlotte asked, smoothing her skirt.

“Yes, the twins will be there,” Melanie said.

“Where are you sitting?” she asked.

“Next to Brooke and Mark,” Melanie told her.

“All right, I think I’m ready,” she said. “I hate debates. I should have prepared more. I wish we’d had one more practice session last night. Why did you let me go to bed?”

“Because you are ready. Go out there and finish her off,” Melanie said.

They walked out of the holding room and toward the backstage area. Charlotte nodded toward her opponent and looked back at Melanie. Melanie smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign, then turned to take her seat in the audience.

Charlotte took her place behind the podium and tried to adjust to the bright lights onstage.

“President Kramer, do you understand the rules for the debate?” the moderator asked.

Charlotte was trying to find the twins in the audience. She couldn’t see them. She put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the light and scanned the audience.

“Madam President, do you understand the ground rules?” the announcer asked a second time.

Charlotte spotted the twins and Brooke and Mark.

“I do,” Charlotte said, smiling. “And let me take this opportunity to thank you, and everyone here, and most important, my opponent, Fran Frankel, for being here tonight. I know Fran had other places to be, but since we don’t have a campaign machine like she does, we are relying on formats like this to get our message out to the American people,” Charlotte said, stealing a glance at Fran, who was seething.

Charlotte smiled at the moderator and settled in for a ninety-minute ass kicking of her Democratic opponent. Fran was so frustrated that she yielded her response time to Charlotte on two separate occasions. Charlotte saw Melanie get up a few minutes before the debate ended to head into Spin Alley. After she left the stage, Charlotte moved into the hold room to watch the postdebate analysis. One screen showed the activity in Spin Alley on a closed-circuit television. Melanie was surrounded by reporters.

“Melanie, who won tonight’s debate?” a reporter asked.

“The American people will be the judge of that, but clearly, there was one politician on the stage and one leader. We live in serious times, and most voters are looking for leadership, not politics. Charlotte Kramer stood before the voters tonight as a humble and competent public servant, and she created quite a contrast with her ideological and petty opponent, who was swinging below the belt,” Melanie said.

“That’s right,” Charlotte declared, still fired up from the debate.

“Melanie, any comment on Tara Meyers’s attack on the president’s insiders?” one of the reporters shouted.

Charlotte leaned in to listen to Melanie’s response.

“We just won the third and final debate, and we are going to stay focused on the things that Americans care about—fixing the economy and keeping America safe,” Melanie said, looking the reporter in the eye.

Charlotte sighed and came back down to earth. She’d have to deal with the mounting tensions between Tara and Melanie now that the debates were over. She changed the channel to one of the cable outlets
and watched with satisfaction as the analysts struggled to be even-handed in evaluating their performances.

“Any way you look at it, tonight was a win for the Kramer ticket,” one of the hosts was saying.

“I agree. The fact that Fran Frankel let President Kramer frame the entire evening as one of politics verses public service was a mistake she never recovered from,” the other pundit replied.

Charlotte muted the televisions and moved to where Brooke and Mark were pouring champagne and entertaining the twins and a handful of other friends and supporters. Mark handed her a glass.

“To President Charlotte Kramer—three for three in the debates and one step closer to victory on Tuesday,” Mark toasted, raising his glass.

Charlotte put her arm around Harry and raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that,” she said.

Melanie

The election is tomorrow. I am not dignifying that with an answer, Michael!” Melanie shouted into her cell phone. “Yes that’s a denial!” she yelled. “Of course I’m sure. If you print that piece-of-shit rumor, I will bankrupt you with a libel suit that you will regret every morning that you wake up in the homeless shelter you’ll be forced to live in,” she said.

Tara and Charlotte looked on with wide eyes. They were sitting in Charlotte’s front cabin on Air Force One, waiting for Melanie to get off the phone before they took off. The pilot was standing outside the door waiting for the OK.

“Fine, call me back, but don’t print a single goddamned word until we talk again,” she threatened. Melanie hung up and thanked the pilots for holding the plane. “I appreciate it, guys—let’s get wheels up,” she said. She sat down next to Charlotte.

“Did you ever consider trying to woo the press over to our side instead of scaring them into submission?” Tara asked.

Melanie shot her a look that silenced her. “What else do I need to know, Tara? There is no information that we can’t handle. The only thing we cannot endure at this point is a surprise. I’m going to ask you one more time to go through the facts with me,” Melanie said.

“Really, Tara, the public forgives just about everything except a
bad inaugural gown,” Charlotte said, smiling warmly at her running mate.

The press had been buzzing for two days about an anonymous report on one of the political blogs of Tara doing a stint in rehab the year after she graduated from law school. The news had finally gone mainstream, and the reporters were all waiting for a response from the White House.

Melanie looked at her BlackBerry. “Shit,” she said.

“What?” Tara asked.

“CNN has a woman who says she was in rehab with you for the morning show tomorrow. I don’t need to tell you how dramatically this can affect our turnout on Election Day,” Melanie said.

“I swear to you, it is not true,” Tara insisted, looking at Charlotte.

“I believe you. Will you give us a minute, Tara?” Charlotte asked.

“Of course,” she said.

When she had left the cabin, Charlotte turned to Melanie. “You don’t believe her, do you?” she asked.

“No, and neither do you,” Melanie pointed out.

“What do we do?” Charlotte asked.

“Fight it. Call it a lie, attack the media, try to pin it on Fran, and if none of that works, we pray,” Melanie said.

“Do what you have to do,” Charlotte told her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Melanie said.

She walked to the press cabin on Air Force One with the press secretary and a stenographer in tow.

The press secretary laid out the ground rules. “This is on background as a senior administration official. We’ll let you use the phones on the plane to file as soon as we’re done here,” he said.

“Melanie, can you address the news report that Tara Meyers spent a period of time in rehab after completing law school? Doesn’t that make her technically and figuratively unfit for office?” asked the AP reporter.

“The news reports that you refer to are part of an ugly and desperate attempt by Fran Frankel to smear the character of a decent and hardworking woman. Tara Meyers put herself through college and law school by working two jobs and studying all night. She and her
husband have served their country and their state for many years,” Melanie said.

“Come on, Melanie, what proof do you have that the report was leaked by Frankel’s campaign?” the Reuters reporter asked.

“There’s a record of swinging below the belt from the other side. The American people will have their chance to weigh in on who has handled themselves with more dignity over the course of the last several months, and I’m confident Charlotte Kramer will be reelected and Tara Meyers will be the next vice president,” Melanie said.

“What if the reports turn out to be true? Would you dump her?” a network reporter asked.

“I’m confident that the information I’ve been given by Ms. Meyers is accurate and that the report is false,” Melanie said.

“That’s a nonanswer if I ever heard one,” groused the
Washington Journal
reporter.

Melanie looked at the press secretary with impatience.

“Last question!” he shouted.

“Melanie, do you think Tara was referring to you when she said Charlotte Kramer relies on Washington insiders?” another network reporter asked.

Melanie flashed a smile at the gaggle of reporters she’d known for years. “The vice president’s transition office will field those questions after tomorrow,” she said.

They turned to walk back to the conference room where Tara and Charlotte were waiting.

“How’d it go?” Charlotte asked.

“Fine,” Melanie said.

“She was great,” the press secretary said.

“Thank you, Melanie,” Tara said.

“You’re welcome,” Melanie said, turning to go to the senior staff cabin to check her e-mail.

Charlotte folowed her. “Thanks for doing that for her. I know you guys haven’t exactly hit it off,” Charlotte said.

“I didn’t do it for her, Madam President. I did it for you,” Melanie said.

Dale

Election Day was the strangest news day of all. Nothing happened until late in the evening, but there was still an entire day’s worth of airtime to fill. Dale woke up early to tape a package on the impact of the weather on voter turnout. She fed it to her station before she boarded the plane with the rest of the local reporters for the final day of rallies. She had the stump speech memorized. Only the states in which the polling was too close to call warranted a visit on Election Day. Dale flipped through the schedule for the day. It was about an inch thick. She tried to figure out when she’d be able to do live shots.

Her phone was ringing.

“Hello,” she answered.

“You’re back,” roared a familiar voice.

“Arnie, what are you hearing? I’m in a bubble out here. No cell service, and we are miles from a cable television set.”

“No one knows shit about the election, I’m talking about you,” he said.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“My phone’s been ringing off the hook since your interview with Tara Meyers aired. Jesus, Dale—you were heartless—she didn’t even notice as you sucked all the blood out of her body. She looked like she enjoyed it.”

“She knew exactly what she was doing,” Dale said.

“In fact, it’s entirely possible that the whole thing was a set up, but you know what? The beauty of being in local news is that it doesn’t matter
why
the vice-presidential nominee wants to talk to me—I’m happy to have the interview these days.” Dale reflected.

“Bullshit,” Arnie said.

“You were in control the whole time. And, as a result of your hustling, Dale, I’ve got every one of the cables dying to sit down with you next week and the other nets want to take you to lunch and begin a conversation,” Arnie said.

“That’s great news,” she said.

“Why don’t you sound more excited?” he asked.

“I am. I promise. Let’s set them up. Thanks for not giving up on me,” she said.

The rest of the day sped by in a blur of takeoffs and landings, introductions and stump speeches, and roaring crowds at events filled to capacity. Dale tried to conduct interviews with supporters at the rallies, but by the time the press set up at one event, the campaign staff was rushing them back to the plane for the next one. She gave up after a while and tried to soak in the day. Her work would begin once the polls started closing. No one was predicting a blowout, but Charlotte had a four-point lead over her opponent. Dale flipped through the exit poll data her station e-mailed midday and thought back to the recount that had delayed any outcome for more than a month. She’d learned her lesson then, having to buy clothes at the Gap and toiletries and make up at CVS because she’d traveled with her cell phone and purse and nothing else. This time, she was packed for two more weeks on the road, just in case.