“I wouldn’t count on too much.”
“I’ll take whatever I can get. Until we can qualify for public campaign financing we’re going to be chronically short of money. I had to pay all the rent on the new headquarters in advance, and that wasn’t much fun.” They got into a car driven by a volunteer. A man Will didn’t know was sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Morning,” Will said, sticking out his hand. “We haven’t met; I’m Will Lee.”
“Agent Williams,” the man said. “Secret Service. We had trouble catching up with you this morning, Senator.”
“I didn’t mean to be evasive, but we’ve been moving fast.”
“There’s another agent behind us in the car. With your permission, I’d like one of our people to do the driving from now on. This young lady wouldn’t give up the wheel.”
“Kathy,” Will said, laughing, “next stop, let the man drive.”
“I want to see his license,” the girl said. Everybody laughed, including the agent.
“It’s just that we’re trained in evasive-action techniques,” the agent said.
“I could have used you in the television studio a minute ago,” Will said.
They drove to the new headquarters, and Will mingled with the Georgia volunteers, accepting a slice of pizza along the way. There were two television crews in the building, and he was giving running interviews.
“We hear Kiel is announcing tomorrow,” a reporter said to Will.
“Be nice to have somebody to argue with besides Barnabas Pauling,” Will said.
“Looks like you had the morning shows all to yourself,” the reporter said.
“I’m sure Mr. Kiel will be all over them next week.”
“Nevertheless, you got the jump.”
“I’m going to need all the jumps I can get.”
Will sat at the kitchen table with Kate, eating pasta and shrimp and watching a videotape of his performance on the Sunday shows.
“You stopped Pod in his tracks,” Kate said.
“That’s no real victory,” Will replied. “The hardcore right wing will see it as Pod’s win, not mine.”
“The rest of the country would have enjoyed it, though.”
“I hope so.”
“What’s on for tomorrow?”
“Didn’t I tell you? First trip to New Hampshire. The primary is only seven weeks away.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Sweets; it’s going to be like that for a while.”
“I suppose so. You better take your long underwear.”
“I don’t have any long underwear. Anyway, Tim says they’re having their mildest winter in years.”
Kate put her hand on his cheek. “Just don’t freeze your ass off. It’s mine, remember?”
22
Will stood at the factory gate, freezing his ass off in eight inches of fresh snow, his chest racked with coughing and his nose streaming, and wondered why he had ever wanted to do this. His shoes were soaking wet, his overcoat was not heavy enough for a New Hampshire winter, and his new long underwear clung damply to his body, making him colder instead of warmer. All he could think of was bourbon and a roaring fire. It was five o’clock and already dark. This was his eighth appearance of the day, and he still had two to go. Two Secret Service agents lurked a few feet away; Will had demanded that they back off.
The whistle blew, and, a moment later, men and women began streaming out of the plywood plant, gathering their winter clothes about them. Will saw they were all wearing snow boots. Why hadn’t somebody thought of that? “Hi,” he said, taking off a thin glove and thrusting a bare hand at an approaching man. “I’m Will Lee, and I’m running for president.”
The man stopped but didn’t take the offered hand. “You a Republican or a Democrat?”
“I’m a Democrat,” Will replied, smiling.
“Then go fuck yourself,” the man said, and continued on his way.
Will’s instinct was to aim a kick at the man’s ass, but a woman was standing in front of him, shaking his hand. “Hey,” she said. “I heard you say something at the football game last night. I liked it, and I might vote for you.”
“I really appreciate that,” Will said, wiping his nose with a sodden handkerchief. He was probably going to give half the town his cold.
“I like that stuff about the middle,” she said.
“The New Center,” Will corrected. He was anxious to stop some of the other people who were moving past him. “Good luck to you.”
“And to you,” she said, then went on her way.
Will got a couple of dozen people to acknowledge his presence before the crowd was gone, and he was left standing in the snow. A campaign volunteer, a college student from south Georgia, handed out the last of her leaflets and came over to him. “Senator, you look awful,” she said.
“I feel awful,” he replied. “I hope the van is running; I’m freezing, too.”
“I’ll get it started,” she said cheerfully, and ran ahead.
Will trudged through the wet snow, feeling like a character out of Dr. Zhivago. An agent opened the door for him, then got into the backseat. The van was cold soaked, and the girl was having trouble getting it started. Finally, it came to life, and a rush of icy air came out of the vents. “Don’t switch this thing off again, until we return it to the rental company,” Will said.
The girl, whose name he could not remember, ran her gloved hand over the icy inside of the windshield, where their breath had frozen, and cleared a tiny portion of the glass. She drove, seeing nothing that could not be seen through the six-by-six-inch spot.
“We’re going to end up in a snowdrift, and they won’t find us until spring,” Will said. “How do people live in weather like this?”
“It ain’t Georgia, is it?” the girl said. “Freeze your buns off.” As she turned a corner, the van began to move sideways. “Oh, shit,” she said under her breath as she spun the wheel into the skid. She was too late; the van slid, broadside, into a large SUV idling at the curb.
“I’ll take care of this,” the agent said, opening the rear door.
“No, I’ll do it,” Will said. “You stay out of it.” He waited while the girl inched the van forward so that he could get the door open. Thank God there was no TV crew, he thought.
A large man was climbing out of the vehicle, while a woman waited in the front seat.
“It was our fault entirely,” Will said, preempting the man’s coming outburst. “My driver has never driven in snow before, and I want to make this right. What do you think the damage is?”
The man stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his damaged car. “I reckon a good fifteen hundred bucks,” he said.
Will dug a checkbook and a pen out of his pocket. “Let’s make it two thousand; bodywork is expensive these days.”
“Fifteen hundred will do it,” the man said wearily. “Make it out to Harry Hoskins.”
Will wrote the check and handed it to the man. “I’m really very sorry,” he said. “I know what an inconvenience this is going to be for you, and I wish there were something more I could do.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Will Lee, and I’m running for president. I hope this won’t cost me your vote.”
The man laughed. “Senator, you’re the fifth candidate I’ve met today; there’s two in the supermarket over there. Good luck to you.” He got into his car and drove away.
Will climbed back into the van, which was now a few degrees warmer than the outside air. “Let’s go.”
The girl was practically in tears. “I’m so sorry, Senator; I don’t know what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mary Ann,” he said, suddenly remembering her name. “Make a note to rent cars with snow tires from now on.”