“I see,” Will said. “The crowd seems pretty happy; I don’t think we’ll have to worry about an Arthur Bremmer.”
“Senator,” the agent said, “with all due respect, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Remember how happy the crowd was in Santa Fe?”
“Yes, that was a good rally.”
“Well, there was a man on a rooftop, probably with a rifle and a telescopic sight. We rushed the roof, but he got away from us.”
“Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“We didn’t want the press to get hold of it, and we thought it was just as well that you didn’t know.” He reached into a small duffel on the seat next to him and took out a vest that matched Will’s suit. “We’d like you to wear this,” he said. “It has a lining made of Kevlar, and it will stop small-arms fire.”
“This is Southern California; it’s a little warm for a vest, isn’t it?” Will looked at Kitty. “What do you think?”
“I think I would not like to be alive,” she said, “if I let you leave this airplane without it, and you got shot. Please wear it for me.”
Will slipped out of his suit jacket and into the vest, which was surprisingly light. “It fits,” he said. “How did you get it to match my suit?”
“We got the outer fabric from your tailor,” the agent said, “and the vest was made from his pattern by our man. We’ve got three more.”
“Looks like I’ve got a new tailor,” Will said. “I didn’t know the Secret Service provided that service.”
“If you’re nominated,” the agent said, “you’re going to have a new wardrobe of protective garments — an overcoat, a trench coat, some other things. The colder the weather, the more we can protect you.”
The airplane came to a halt, and everybody stood up.
“Funny,” Kitty said, “I feel as though the campaign is starting right now; as if nothing we’ve done so far matters; just everything from here on in. Do you feel that way, Senator?”
“I think I do. It’s very strange.” The door to the airplane opened, and the noise filled the cabin. Somewhere a band was playing “Happy Days Are Here Again.” “Let’s go,” Will said.
He stepped out onto the gangway, and the roar of the crowd struck him like a breaking wave. Clips of old newsreels flashed through his mind — Eisenhower, Kennedy, Reagan, stepping out of airplanes, hands in the air, waving, smiling. He felt like Woody Allen’s character Zelig, superimposed on some old black-and-white footage. His knees were weak as he walked down the steps. Then, as he mounted the platform, the roar became even louder, and suddenly, he felt as if an enormous rush of energy had passed from the crowd to him, and, for the first time, he was one with his audience.
The band stopped playing, and the audience slowly grew quiet. Will began to speak, and magically, what had become his standard stump speech grew into something else — rehearsed, yet improvised. He was modest, then amusing, then serious, then finally, inspiring. He knew he had never spoken so well, and when he ended and stepped back from the microphone and listened to the crowd cheer, he felt he had crossed into some fresh, new political territory.
The Secret Service agents herded him and a handful of staff down a funnel of screaming people toward a line of waiting vehicles. Will shook hands on either side of him, felt people grabbing at his clothes, heard them shouting at him. He looked into their faces and found himself wondering if one of them was his Arthur Bremmer, concealing a gun behind a smile, eager to become a footnote of history by ending his life.
Then he was in the back of a Secret Service limousine with Kitty and Tim, and they were moving faster and faster. To Will’s surprise, they drove straight across the runway and out of the other side of the airport. “Isn’t this dangerous?” he asked.
“We got the FAA to close the airport for a few minutes, until we were clear,” Kitty said. “Senator, what happened back there? I’ve never heard you speak like that.”
“I don’t know,” Will said. “I got this incredible rush. That was a very well trained crowd, Kitty.”
Kitty shook her head. “Only a couple of hundred of them were ours. The rest just showed up. Something is happening here, I swear it is. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”
“Neither have I,” Will said, his heart still pounding. “Don’t let it stop.”
39
The motorcade turned into the back drive of the Bel Air Hotel and pulled into a parking lot behind a two-story building. Will was led down a tunnel and through a ground-floor door into the handsomest hotel suite he had ever seen. It looked, he thought, like the home of a very rich and very tasteful Hollywood producer. He heard voices, and the first person he saw was Charlene Joiner.
She was standing facing the door, next to Vance Calder and a short, well-tailored man Will had never met.
“Will!” Charlene cried, and rushed forward, kissing him on the cheek.
“Charlene,” he said, “it’s good to see you.” It had been ten years since he had seen her, and she had then been in her early twenties. A decade had made her even more beautiful, and the perfect hair and Armani suit helped. He felt an involuntary stirring in his crotch.
“I believe you’ve met Vance Calder,” Charlene asked.
Will shook the movie star’s hand. “Of course. It’s good to see you again, Vance.”
“And this is Lou Regenstein,” Charlene said, pointing Will at the shorter man, “the chairman of Centurion Studios.”
“Mr. Regenstein, I’m very happy to meet you.”
“Please, Senator, it’s Lou.”
Lou it is. I want to thank all three of you for the magnificent effort you’re making for my campaign. I believe it is the most generous act I’ve ever heard of, and I’ll never forget it. Won’t you all sit down?”
Everyone sat on facing sofas before a fireplace, while Will took off his jacket and removed the vest, which, along with Charlene, was making him warm. “Forgive me, but I don’t think I need to be bulletproof for this occasion,” he said, slipping back into his jacket.
Everybody laughed.
“I want you to know,” Calder said, “that the fund-raiser is fully subscribed, a thousand people at a thousand dollars a head.” He handed Will a check for a million dollars, made out to his campaign.
Will accepted the check and looked at it. “Outside of a couple of defense expenditures, that’s the biggest check I’ve ever seen,” he said. “However did you round up so many people?”
It was easy,” Charlene said. “We simply announced the party would be limited to a thousand, so we had an immediate demand for tickets.”
“Hollywood loves anything exclusive,” Regenstein said. “We hear rumors that tickets are being scalped as we speak.”
Will laughed. “Maybe we should scalp a few ourselves.”
Everybody laughed.
“How is Arrington, Vance?”
“She’s very well, and so is our son, Peter.”
“We have a boy named Peter, too; he’s arriving the day after tomorrow with his mother. He’s at Choate.”
Charlene jumped in. “If you’re on your own, will you come to dinner tomorrow at my house in Malibu? I’m having a few people in.”
Yeah sure, Will thought. “I’m so sorry, Charlene,” he said, “but you have no idea the schedule I’m keeping while I’m here. Your fund-raiser counts as recreational time.”
“Maybe next trip. I’d love to meet Kate,” Charlene said with patent insincerity.