Mark Coffin, U.S.S., page 17
“Well,” he said finally, “now that you’ve got the word going around the Hill that Senator Coffin and Lisette Grayson were ‘up to something pretty late the other night,’ I hope you’re happy.”
“Oh, I’d be much happier if it had actually happened.”
“Who gives a damn whether it did or not, now? The word will be around.”
“I give a damn,” she said, suddenly appearing to be completely serious, grave and quiet. “Don’t you?”
“No,” he said, giving her stare for stare, “I can honestly say I do not. Come on,” he added roughly, seizing her arm and pulling her forward. “The car’s right over there. Hop in.”
“Yes, sir,” she said obediently, did so, and said nothing further as he brought it out of the garage and onto the slippery snow-packed street.
“Near here?” he asked as they crept across the Plaza in front of the great white building. The East Front was floodlit, the dome looming ghostly above them in the gentle drift.
“Right over there,” she said, gesturing to one of the few remaining cars in the parking area. “Don’t bother to swing over, I can walk from here…Good night, Mark,” she said quietly, holding out her hand. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”
He sighed and for a moment refrained from taking her hand; then, at her hurt expression, did so.
“You haven’t. But you’ve got to cut it out, Lisette. I’m really not interested”; adding half-humorously, “I haven’t got the time.”
“Oh, if that’s the only reason,” she said, her voice suddenly light again and full of its mocking, cheerful note, “we can work that out!”
“Good night, Miss Grayson,” he said firmly. “Drive carefully.”
“You, too, Mark,” she said softly, getting out. “You, too, my dear.”
And strode swiftly away across the clinging whiteness toward her car, looking suddenly lonely and vulnerable—and somehow in a way he couldn’t quite define, a little odd, a little different, perhaps a little strange—-against the vast expanse of the deserted Plaza.
Oh, Christ, he thought, feeling the treacherous attractions of the world press in upon him. Oh, Christ.
***
Chapter 2
Next afternoon in the Senate he looked around for Rick when he came in but did not find him. Bob Templeton was seated alone a few chairs away, reading the Congressional Record while Hugh McGill of North Dakota made a heated speech denouncing the Environmental Protection Agency for its opposition to a proposed dam on the Little Missouri River. Mark went over and sat down beside Bob, who looked up with a pleased smile and shook hands.
“Hi. How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” Mark said, trying to keep his eyes from wandering to the gallery. He did not succeed: she wasn’t there. To his annoyance he felt sharp regret. God damn it, he told himself, come off it.
“You don’t look so fine,” Bob observed, giving him a shrewd glance. “What’s on your mind? Anything I can do to help?”
“Not yet,” he said wryly, “but the time may come, Bob. I’ll let you know.”
“Any time.”
Mark studied him for a moment.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly. “Coming along all right?”
Bob Templeton sighed, a deep, unhappy sound; then managed a wan, self-deprecating smile.
“Yes. It isn’t exactly easy, but I’m getting along.” Abruptly his eyes filled with tears and he looked away.
“I know,” Mark said. “Or rather, I can imagine, I don’t know. Who could know?”
“You can’t,” Bob said in a muffled voice. “You just can’t know what it means to have—have them there … and then—then—they just—aren’t…You’re so—lucky—to have your—your wife and—children. Just be thankful and don’t ever let—anything—happen—to them.”
“I won’t,” he promised with a sudden fierceness that surprised them both. “I won’t.”
And instinctively he glanced up at the galleries again with an almost openly defiant and hostile expression. But again, she wasn’t there; and again, in spite of fierce determination, he felt a fleeting but sharp regret; followed instantly by a sharp, but ineffectual, self-disgust.
“Well,” he said, turning back quickly before his emotions really got the better of him, “I was wondering what you want to do today about the Macklin nomination and Jim Elrod’s bill.”
“I don’t know,” Bob said, welcoming the change of topic but sounding a little surprised. “I thought I’d just play it by ear and if anybody mentions either one, I’d put myself on record again. Are you planning another speech?”
“No,” he said carefully. “I think maybe it might be best if we just let it ride today, don’t you? Jim’s bill, anyway, isn’t the immediate issue; we’ll have a while to fight that. Charlie Macklin, I suppose, will be up here day after Inauguration.”
“Which means two days from now,” Bob pointed out. “Maybe it would be a good idea to keep his feet to the fire. Why don’t we say something today? I’m ready.”
“W-ell,” he said, still carefully, “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, from a strategy standpoint. Maybe we should let it ride until he’s actually been nominated. We’ve made our point pretty strongly already, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Bob said, beginning to get intrigued by his tone. “Sure. But I don’t see that it would hurt to let the President know—”
“He knows,” Mark said with a grim little laugh. “Hasn’t he been after you about it?”
“No, I haven’t heard from him or anybody around him; a lot of media, but nobody official. I guess they don’t think I’m all that big a factor in the situation … I take it he has been after you, though?”
Mark nodded. Bob smiled.
“You should be flattered. Obviously you are a major factor. Is that why you’re a little reluctant today?”
“I’m not reluctant,” Mark said, more sharply than he intended. Bob made a casual dismissing gesture with one hand.
“All right, all right. I’m not pressing you on it. You just seem to have cooled a little—which I can understand, if he makes the punishment too severe—or the rewards too great.”
“I don’t know what you hear,” Mark said, more vehemently than he knew he should, “but I don’t stand still for pressure.”
“But you can be appealed to as a gentleman, can’t you? He can reach you that way, I expect. Right?”
“He did ask me not to make too much of an issue of it until after Inauguration—until Charlie is actually before us up here. And he asked me to put the lid on the rest of you, too. Can I?”
Bob smiled.
“That’s an honest account. What did he offer in return?”
“He said he wouldn’t say anything either and we’d all just let it rest for the time being.”
“Believe him?”
Mark frowned.
“I don’t really know. I just decided I had to stop being suspicious, though, or I’d soon give myself a complex about this town.”
“It’s a tricky place,” Bob said thoughtfully. “So you think you have a bargain.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t matter much if the bargain weren’t kept—except that I’d kind of like to put him on the spot and see if he’ll keep it, and if maybe through that we can re-establish a certain amount of trust and good faith between us.”
“ ‘Re-establish?’ Well, yes, I suppose that’s the way to put it. And then you’ll get on the Foreign Relations Committee, too.”
“Lord knows—I don’t. But that isn’t why I’m soft-pedaling it now.”
“I believe you. A lot of people won’t, but the hell with ’em. I’m agreeable to keeping quiet today. I must confess, though, that I’ll be a little surprised if he does—if it suits him to sound off. But maybe I’m too suspicious. As you say, one can get a complex mighty fast around this town. Have you talked to Rick?”
“Where is he? I haven’t seen or heard from him in a couple of days.”
“Probably out laying every secretary on the Hill. I see young Pat over there. I wonder how they’re getting along these days. Did Johnny McVickers move in with him?”
“Yes, I think they’ve started sharing. Johnny says the situation is apparently about the same between Pat and his father. Too bad.”
“Yes, it is,” Bob said, the bleakness returning to his face for a moment. “He doesn’t really realize how lucky he is to—to have a son.”
“Now, stop that,” Mark told him sternly. “Just cut it out. That doesn’t do you any good.”
“I know, but for a while, I guess, I’m just not—not going to be able to help it.”
“I understand,” Mark said, squeezing his arm. “Hey!” he said briskly as he saw a familiar figure enter from the other side of the chamber. “There’s our hero, now.” He raised a hand, waved, and Rick came over. While he was crossing the Senate Mark again glanced surreptitiously at the gallery. Where was she? And again lowered his eyes in frustration and annoyance with himself. “Where have you been, lover boy?” he asked as Rick slumped into the seat beside him. “The country’s needed you badly in the past hour.”
“What, to listen to that crap?” Rick asked, gesturing toward Hugh McGill, still hot after the environmentalists. “I have better things to do.”
“Getting pretty high and mighty already, aren’t you?” Bob remarked. “Doesn’t take these newcomers long to become jaded old veterans, too bored to pay attention to what’s going on in the United States Senate. How’s your love life?”
“Now, there’s a question worthy of an answer,” Rick said with a grin. “But it’s not going to get one. What are we going to do about Charlie Macklin today, leader?”
“What do you want to do?” Mark parried.
“Oh-oh,” Rick said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Mark said. “Not a thing. I really just wonder: what do you want to do?”
“I want to make a speech and kick the hell out of him,” Rick said happily. “I just had a very nice lunch hour, and I’m rarin’ to go.”
“I thought that was supposed to relax you and put you to sleep,” Bob remarked.
“Not me,” Rick said. “It makes me feel like taking on the world. Specifically, Charlie Macklin. However, I detect a certain hesitation in our gallant commander, here. Methinks his brow is furrowed a bit. What the hell’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I said,” Mark repeated firmly. “You want to make a speech, make a speech.”
“But you don’t want me to,” Rick pointed out. “I knew something was wrong. What’s up?”
“He’s made an agreement with the Man.”
“What man? Oh, that man.”
“Yes,” Bob said, “that’s the one. They’ve agreed to a truce. Our commander buttons his lip and our Commander in Chief buttons his. Until after Inauguration when good old Charlie comes before us with a formal nomination.”
“You agreed to that?” Rick asked Mark. “I thought we were going to keep on kicking the hell out of him every hour on the hour until we ground him into the floor and he dried up and blew away. Not so, hmm?”
“I’m not going to say anything today,” Mark repeated. “You do as you please.”
“But obviously you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t control you.”
“That’s for sure,” Rick agreed, “but I do like you, you know. I do want your friendship. I don’t want to blow it all in one rash, immature, ill-considered, inexcusable—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Mark said, beginning to laugh in spite of himself.
“No, it’s true,” Rick said. “I don’t agree with you, but I’ll go along with it if it’s really that important to you.”
“It could mean Foreign Relations,” Bob said, and Rick nodded sagely.
“Ah-ha! Then we must protect our commander, Willoughby. We must not Let Him Down.”
“You bastards,” Mark said. “I don’t care, go ahead.”
“No, no,” Rick said. “Not a bit of it! All I can say is, however, our Commander in Chief damned well better keep his word with us or we’ll really raise hell. Right?”
“Right,” Mark agreed solemnly.
“Right,” Bob echoed.
So for the next couple of hours they kept silent, while Hugh McGill finished his speech and John Wilson of Utah and Herman Seeley of West Virginia got into an acrimonious discussion of whether or not Social Security taxes must be raised again, and Herb Esplin and Art Hampton sparred gracefully across the aisle about the schedule for the coming week’s business. During all that time Lisette did not appear in the galleries. It did not occur to him until almost four o’clock that this must be deliberate and of course she wouldn’t. Meanwhile, he told himself, he had been a dutiful fool and had gone through all the psychological and emotional changes she had intended he should. So much for that young lady … or so he told himself, stoutly.
It was nearing four-thirty and the session was beginning to wind down to a close when he wandered out into the east lobby to go to the men’s room and take an idle look at the news tickers as they chattered away with the latest news of doom and destruction.
“BULLETIN,” UPI reported. “The President-elect said today that he regards the confirmation of Charles Macklin, his appointee for Attorney General, as ‘vital to the success of my Cabinet and my Administration.’
“Talking to reporters during an impromptu news conference at his hotel, the President-elect scathingly dismissed ‘youngsters on Capitol Hill who show more enthusiasm than good judgment when they attack a fine public servant like Mr. Macklin.’ In an obvious reference to the ‘Young Turks’ of the Senate led by Senator Mark Coffin of California, he added that ‘some people perhaps need to be taken to the political woodshed and given a gentle spanking. I might just do that!’”
Oh, you just might! he thought angrily as he ripped the yellow paper off the roll and started back into the Senate with it. You just might! Well, what do you think we’ll do!
“Oh-oh,” Rick murmured to Bob Templeton as they saw him enter, the paper shaking in his hand, his face a study in dismay and indignation. “What do you bet the bargain isn’t being kept?”
“No bet. I didn’t believe it anyway…What is it? Did he—”
“The bastard’s attacking us!” Mark replied, so angry he could hardly articulate for a moment. “Read this!”
And he thrust it at them, sank into his seat, and glowered, while above in the galleries a number of alert reporters leaned forward as it seemed the dying session might come to life again.
“Not very nice of him,” Rick remarked dryly.
“Rather hostile, in fact,” Bob agreed.
“Well—” Mark said.
“Go get him!” they urged as he rose to his feet and called out sharply, “Mr. President! Mr. President!”
NEW SENATE ROW OVER MACKLIN. YOUNG TURKS CHARGE PRESIDENT-ELECT “BROKE HIS WORD” WITH STRONG DEFENSE OF NOMINEE. “HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO FIGHT HIM WITH EVERYTHING WE’VE GOT,” SAYS COFFIN.
“Jim,” the President-elect said to the senior senator from California, “how soon do you think your Judiciary Committee can get to work on Charlie Macklin?”
James Monroe Madison gave an important cough.
“The minute you send his name up here, Mr. President.”
“Good. And how soon can you get him to the floor?”
Senator Madison thought for a moment, importantly. “Oh, I’d say—two days.”
“Fine, Jim. Come down and see me soon. We’ve got to do some talking about California.”
“With pleasure,” Jim Madison said. “With pleasure!”
“Art,” the President-elect said to the Senate Majority Leader, “I’ve just talked to Jim Madison and he thinks Judiciary Committee can get to work on Charlie Macklin day after Inauguration and have his name out to the floor in a couple of days. Does that seem feasible?”
“I don’t see why not,” Art Hampton said slowly. “If you want that much speed.”
“I’d like it. I just want to make a point to these young bloods, you know. They might as well learn now that they have a President of their own party in the White House and that they’d better go along with him. In fact, I need their support, in lots of ways. I can get along without it, considering the size of our majority up there, but they carry a lot of weight, in a popular sense—and also a lot of class. I mean, Mark’s a nice boy, I like him. But he’s got to get it through his head that the tail can’t wag the dog. He’s got to be beaten and beaten soundly on this if he’s to be a good team member later. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Senator Hampton said.
“Is there any other?” the President-elect asked sharply.
“There could be,” Art Hampton said with the calm imperturbability of one many years in the Senate contemplating the impatience of one new-come to the White House. “The question is, do we really want to break his spirit too much, right off the bat? Would we be losing more than we’d gain?”
“I thought you were with me on this,” the President-elect said in an annoyed tone.
“Oh, I am. I’ll pass whatever you want, up here. But I’m just wondering if this is the way to go about it, with these particular fellows. Particularly Mark, who’s an unusual boy and has a lot of promise, I believe.”
“I believe so, too. But I think he needs a lesson.”
“Possibly.”
“You’re the one who’s been talking more than anybody about keeping him off Foreign Relations if he gets too rambunctious!”
“I may decide that’s the thing to do,” Art Hampton agreed. “But I think it will be more effective if I do it in my own way.”
“Well, do it, then!”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I hope so!”
“I said I would,” Senator Hampton reminded mildly. “I will.”
“Let me know what he says.”
“I imagine his attitude will be obvious in what he does.”
“Hmph. When will you see him?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks, Mr. President. I’ll keep you advised.”
