The Means (5 page)

“Shoot.”

“Position questions. In confidence.”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, let's start there. Gun control.”

“I duck hunt from time to time. I'm okay with guns but I certainly don't think people need a grenade launcher in their closets either.”

“You hunt. That's good. Let's stay with social issues. Abortion?”

This guy is getting offensive. “I'm the son of two liberal Democrats. I grew up pro-choice. Once I had kids I became pro-life, but I can see both sides.”

“Death penalty?”

“Against it.”

“Are you on the record as having that position?”

“What's going on here?” Tom runs a hand through his hair.

Benson looks at the hairline Tom has exposed and studies it. “That looks like it has plenty of years left on it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Male pattern is easier to deal with than receding hair from the front, but you look okay.”

This crosses even Tom's line. “Benson, this is the strangest meeting I've ever had. I've had some strange ones. I think I'll show myself out. Take care of yourself.” Tom puts his hands on the armrests with his elbows up to push out of the chair.

“Hang on a second, Mr. Pauley. I'm sorry. No more beating around the bush.”

Tom stops but his hands and elbows are still in position. The waiter returns and delivers the two drinks. Everyone is silent until the waiter is back out of earshot.

“My GOP colleagues and I have watched your trial with great interest. We've also asked around about you. We've learned about as much as we can about you without actually contacting you.”

“This isn't making our conversation less strange.”

Benson decides he needs a moment to organize his pitch. “Tell you what. I'm going to do two things. First, I'm going to go to the bathroom. Second, I'm going to give you my thoughts on a plan.”

“There's something synonymous about those.”

Benson stands and smiles at Tom. “You're some kind of card, aren't you.” He walks to the restroom. Tom works on his drink for a few minutes until Benson returns with his sales pitch ready.

Benson sits and picks up his drink again. “I'll get to the point. We want you to run for governor. On the Republican ticket. You'd have our support.”

Tom brings his hands together to have a place to rest his chin. “I'm not a politician. I'm barely political.”

“After John Edwards, the Democrats are still very vulnerable in North Carolina. We have a real chance to take the governor's mansion. If we have the right candidate.”

Most of Tom's brain function is digesting this information and only a small part is formulating responses, so his mannerisms seem detached and sedated. “Why me?”

“Because you can win.”

“I don't know anything about running a campaign.”

“You don't have to. I do. The party does. You're a natural. You get out, give speeches, get on TV, do debates. We'll build the organization, raise the money, get out the vote. You just be you. We do the rest.”

Tom looks into the fireplace, trying to find a starting point to evaluate what he's hearing.

“Tom, North Carolina isn't so blue as people think. Historically it was as blue a state as there is. The Dems were black people plus the unions. In the seventies when all the manufacturing jobs went overseas, North Carolina got wiped out and so did the unions. In the nineties, the New South started. Banking and technology took off, places like Research Triangle Park. The Dems here now are still black people and unions, but now it's public unions. The teachers and municipal workers. Demographics are different and the Dems aren't so strong.”

Tom's mind is catching up with the conversation and his voice regains authority. “Look, all of that's fine, but this is a career decision. A life decision. It's never been something I wanted.”

“What we're offering you is an opportunity of a lifetime. Here's the timeline. In December, you declare, and I'll make sure you have about eight million bucks you can announce with it. That should scare people off and make for an easier primary. Primary vote is May. By then, I'll have another six million for you, plus a lot of the eight will still be there. If you're looking good, which you will be, in late summer the national Republican Governors Association will drop a few million more your way. They want this state. That's almost twenty million for your campaign, and that matters. There are three major media markets here—Charlotte, Raleigh, and the coastal area around Wilmington. But a hell of a lot of this state is rural. You can't reach it with ads on cable and the Internet hasn't changed everything here. You need to buy broadcast advertising and that's what's expensive. At twenty million, you're likely to have double the funding of everyone else. And you'll have organization. You'll have a chief of staff, campaign director, communications director, press secretary, maybe three spokespeople, finance director. You'll have a director of advance to scout out all your event locations and do setup for you. You're going to have early money. Early money is key to getting office space and infrastructure. You need to be built out ahead of time to be able to accept the volunteer help when it comes. We're going to do this right for you, Tom.”

“Jesus,” says Tom.

“Tom, you have nothing to lose. Let's play out a few scenarios. In all scenarios, I raise a few million bucks for your candidacy, build an organization, and we run a strong campaign. Scenario one, you lose the race but your celebrity and profile in the state are much bigger and your law practice benefits. Plus, you've had a chance to articulate what you believe to be sound political positions for the state. Scenario two, you win and you're the goddamn governor. Maybe you hate the job so you serve one term and you return to your practice, but now you're an historical figure in the state. Scenario three, you win and you love the job.”

“Benson, I have young kids, a law practice. And politics is so ugly. Call me vain, but I like people to like me. Right now, there's nobody out there running around saying they hate me. That would all change.”

“You sue people for millions of dollars all the time. You think those people don't hate you?”

“Insurance companies pay the settlements.”

“They still hate you. And so do the insurance companies.”

“It's different. Politics is nasty. And personal.”

“Tom, the party and I are offering you fame, market power. You'd have it, win or lose. You just have to say yes, and then you can leverage it any way you want. You could do some real good. That's why you got into law in the first place.”

Pauley is no dummy. He knows everything Benson Hill says is self-serving and he knows he'll owe somewhere down the line. But it also makes some sense. “My wife would have to support this.”

“Of course. She'd be important to the campaign.”

“We need some time to think it over. Don't give me any crap about twenty-four hours.”

“How about a week?”

Tom knows all he's committing to is a conversation with his wife about a crazy idea, but it's an idea he likes. He doesn't yet know if he likes it enough to do it, but he likes it. “Alright.”

“Tom, can we round back to the position questions? I need to take this back to the party.”

“So, I'm not definitely your guy?”

“We think you're our guy. Just diligence.”

Tom is too distracted to go through a punch list of questions and wants to talk with Alison. “Here's the overview of the three legs of the stool. On economic policy, I'm for lower taxes, less regulation, and smaller government. Even though I'm a lawyer I support tort reform, and the British system of loser pays is the only thing that makes sense. The good lawyers will still make money. On foreign policy, I'm for a strong military to deter conflict and to handle small, regional conflicts abroad to keep us safe at home. On social issues, I'm center. I'm pro-gun and pro-life. I'm also pro gay marriage and anti death penalty and it doesn't matter which of these positions is on the record because I won't change them for a campaign.”

Benson nods. “You sound like a candidate already.”

“You should know that now, Benson. I won't change them.” Tom feels this is a stand he needs to make now to set the tone if he's really going to do this.

Benson looks back at him. He knows he's just flipped Tom's world around. This guy can win, he thinks. He's so freaking naïve, but that's the beauty of it. “Of course, Tom. It's your call. You're the boss of the campaign.” Benson has seen uncompromising men before and that trait never lasts once they step inside politics. The first time they give away their principles is hard to watch, like seeing a homeless mother parting with her last morsel of food to feed her child. But soon they become real politicians who understand sacrifice and the larger picture. Tom Pauley can say whatever he wants today. Years from now he'll look back at this moment and have a laugh at himself. Benson looks at him as though Tom is a child. “We do it your way,” he assures him again.

Tom mistakes the look for admiration, a rare misinterpretation for him to make. “Good.”

“You a Duke fan?” asks Benson.

“Carolina.”

“Damn. Well, nobody's perfect. How the hell can you stand Roy Williams, though?”

“I don't like Roy much. He made his bones coaching at Kansas and he should have stayed there. Now that whole state hates him because he's got no loyalty and I don't like him for the same reason.”

Benson nods. If this guy gets the job, he has a lot to learn. I think I can get him the job, though. “I hate him because he's tough to beat.”

“In North Carolina, you're not supposed to talk politics or basketball in polite conversation. Look at us doing both.”

Benson laughs. “Tom, this is not polite conversation. This is the start of your campaign.”

4

Tom pulls out of the Washington Duke lot and his cell phone rings. He answers and puts it on the car speaker. The Reverend Don says, “Well done, Counselor.”

“I thought you'd still be dazzling the media.”

“They're saturated with dazzle so I stopped.”

“I see,” says Tom.

“I wanted to ask you about Harold Wallace.”

Something's wrong. The reverend's tone of voice tells Tom he's caught. It's the tone used with the name Harold. “Okay.”

“His testimony was very important.”

“Eyewitness testimony is compelling,” says Tom.

Harold Wallace was a witness for the defense. Six months earlier he had walked into Tom's office and told Tom that he was not Harold Wallace but Harold's older brother Bobby. Bobby has two prior felonies and is on parole, and when approached by the police as the witness to a homicide, Bobby panicked and told them he was Harold, his one-year-younger and similar-looking brother. Now Bobby wanted to know what to do.

Cleaning up this confusion might replace a strong witness for the defense with a parolee who has two felonies and who has already once been dishonest about the case. And to what purpose? Tom had worked with his clients several months already and was convinced of their innocence.

Tom had replied to this man in front of him, “I don't know what you're talking about, Harold, but when I go to trial, I want you, Harold, on that stand with a driver's license in your pocket that says Harold Wallace, and nothing else you've said in here today makes any sense to me.”

The Reverend Don says to Tom, “It sure is nice to have a credible eyewitness.”

“Sure is.”

“Not like his brother, Bobby. Same height, same weight, same home address, just felony convictions.”

“I guess so. I don't know much about Bobby,” says Tom.

“Of course not, Counselor. I just called to say that you did great work and you got the right result. Justice was served today, any way you cut it.”

Tom realizes that Don is the type to keep a file on everyone. The reverend makes a business of attacking what he finds to be unjust, so he always has a target, and a person on offense so much needs to think about defense too. “Nice knowing you, Don.”

5

Alison is better-looking as a woman than Tom is as a man. Smarter too, but she doesn't have the fearlessness in life that he has. Like many people, she was drawn by something her subconscious realized she lacked.

They knew of each other as undergrads at UNC, then met as first-year law students and dated off and on. She never wanted to be a litigator. She never wanted to be at a big firm at all, where sharper elbows are required to get ahead. From law school, she took a job at Duke Energy as inside counsel and started working her way up. Tom went to New York and they were out of touch for several years.

When Tom moved back to North Carolina to open his practice they went on a date and were married a year later. Alison had their first baby a year after that and Duke Energy allowed her to work part-time from home as deputy general counsel. The company feels like a second family to her now. She loves to watch Tom try cases, but making the arguments is not for her.

“I have something interesting to tell you about my meeting at the Washington Duke today.”

Alison pours them each a glass of white wine. The kids are both asleep. “It's a high bar for interesting around here these days.”

“This clears it.” They clink their glasses in a silent toast and hold eye contact. Eye contact during the toast is something that they've decided as a couple matters, and it makes a moment of feeling connected when they do it. “I told you Benson Hill is with the state GOP?”

“You did.”

“He was doing diligence.”

“On what?”

“Me.”

They hardly talk politics at all so there's no context for her to make the leap so quickly. “Why?”

“They're vetting me. They want me to run for governor.”

She's stunned and processing. “You think that or he told you that?”

“He said they think I'm their guy.”

“Tom, that's incredible!” Her emotion is pride that the man she loves has been tapped on the shoulder for something this big. She's consumed by the honor of it and not what the honor could mean.

Tom tries to bring her there. “I don't know what to do. What do you think?”

“Let's save that for the second glass of wine. My little Tar Heel law student has just been asked to run for governor. I want to celebrate that for a minute first.” She comes around the table and behind his chair. She leans down so her chest is against the back of his shoulders and she hugs his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. Thank you.” He tops up both their glasses. He's already had time to absorb the news and is on to whether or not it's a good idea. He wants to give her some time as well but has never had a lot of patience. “Should I do it?” He reaches up to hold her forearms that are wrapped around his chest with her hair draped over them. She kisses his cheek. He says, “We're happy now. We can go on being happy like this. This might make us unhappy.”

Tom already decided he wants it. On the drive home with the music loud enough to vibrate the steering wheel and drown out his screaming voice from his own ears he decided fuck yes. But he wants to keep that out of this discussion. He wants to play devil's advocate to see if Alison can independently want it also.

“What's the commitment?” she asks.

“I guess a year for a campaign. If I win, four years on top of that.”

“What would your firm do during that time?”

“They'd adjust the caseload. They'd be fine, and when I come back I'm a bigger asset, win or lose.”

“So no problem there. Just good things.” Alison's tone is positive.

“The problem is the unknown. I don't know anything about a campaign or even politics, really. I could embarrass myself. I could hate it. It could be hard on our family.” Tom needs to say all these things even though he fears none of them.

Alison straightens up her back and steps around to sit across his lap and hug him from the front this time. “We can do anything as long as it's time-limited. This will be one year, or five years max if we don't like it. How bad can it be?”

This is what he needed to hear.