Soon, Zeke mused, he would add another interesting page to the history of Ford’s Theatre. He’d give the tour guides something new to talk about.
58
Last night, a national audience was treated to the second of two debates between the presidential candidates, but with a difference. This time, Representative Howard “Eft” Efton didn’t show. Well, not exactly, anyway. Mr. Efton, after taking a bit of a drubbing in the Atlanta debate three weeks ago, backed out, citing a campaign schedule that was too busy to include the city of Chicago, his advisors having apparently told him that he had less to lose from canceling than from showing up.
But Senator Will Lee seems to have gotten better advice from his people. Not only did he show up, he dragged Eft Efton in by the scruff of the neck, as it were, and debated him whether he liked it or not. The audience arrived for the telecast to find a big-screen TV set up on one side of the stage (Efton’s), and a lectern on the other (Lee’s). A moderator introduced both candidates, and the debate began. Lee’s staff had assembled a series of Efton’s statements from campaign appearances, speeches on the House floor, and from Efton’s acceptance speech at the Republican convention. When Efton was called on to speak, he appeared on the TV screen and made his statement; then Senator Lee was allowed to rebut. When the process was reversed, Efton clips were chosen to state the opposite position.
But if the audience was surprised by this turn of events, the biggest surprise came in the way this spectacle was conducted. The Lee campaign could have chosen Efton clips to make him look bad or to set him up for Lee’s punch lines, but they didn’t do that. Instead, they treated the Republican candidate respectfully, showing clips that Efton might have chosen himself. The result was not just a political stunt, but something very close to a real debate. Furthermore, the Lee staff issued a statement claiming that Senator Lee had not been told in advance which Efton clips would be used, so that his responses would be spontaneous.
Although Efton himself had no comment on any of this, his advisors were incensed. “This just shows how low Will Lee will stoop to win political points. This was an unethical, unfair, and un-American carnival sideshow,” Efton’s campaign manager said to reporters, conveniently ignoring the fact that Efton could have made it fair simply by showing up, as he had promised to do.
Who won? Far be it from me to offer an opinion, but an unscientific telephone call-in poll on the eleven o’clock news gave Lee the nod by a twenty-point margin. We’ll have to wait a day or two for the national pollsters to do their work and tell us how much Lee really benefited, if at all.
But one thing Will Lee seems to have accomplished is to pretty much guarantee that Eft Efton will not duck out of the final debate from Ford’s Theatre in Washington next week. And that may have been his intention all along.
Kitty put down the newspaper, from which she had been reading aloud. “And what’s more,” she said, grinning, “we’ve pulled in more than a dozen editorials from major newspapers around the country, saying pretty much the same thing.”
Will smiled and sipped his coffee. “You’re a very smart woman, Kitty,” he said.
“We’re redoing the schedule for the last week,” Tim Coleman said. “All your appearances are going to be in Illinois and California, with one or two others on the way to or from. It’s driving the Secret Service advance men crazy, but they’re getting with the program.”
Will turned to Moss, his pollster. “You think this is the right thing to do, then?”
“Will, it’s the only thing to do. My newest numbers project that Efton can win if he takes either Illinois or California, but for you to win, you have to take both.”
Will shrugged. “Let’s do it, then.”
Zeke was at the office of the League of Women Voters two hours before it opened, and a line had already formed. He cursed himself for not getting up earlier. His plan was all worked out, but in order to make it happen, he had to get inside the theater on the night of the debate, and that meant getting a ticket.
The doors opened, and the line inched forward. Finally, there was only one person ahead of him, a small woman with a child in tow.
“This is the absolutely last one?” she asked, holding aloft the ticket.
“The very last,” the woman behind the counter responded. “You’re very lucky.”
“But what about my husband?” the woman demanded. “My husband has to be there, too.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the woman replied, “but you’re holding the very last ticket available to the public. The rest have already been issued to the two campaigns and the press.”
Zeke wanted to strangle the woman and take her ticket.
“Why does this always happen to me?” the woman wailed.
“I don’t know,” the woman behind the counter said. “Do you want it, or not?”
The woman turned and faced Zeke. “Here, soldier,” she said, holding out the ticket. “You take it.”
Zeke accepted the ticket with a big smile.
“Congratulations, Colonel,” the woman behind the counter said. “Now if you’ll just step over there and give the Secret Service agent some information.” She pointed to a man behind the desk.
Zeke walked over. “The lady told me to see you,” he said to the man.
“Right,” the agent replied. “I’ll need your name, your date of birth, and your social security number. You’d better give me your military serial number, too.”
Zeke was happy to give the man all of that.
59
As the Boeing set down at Van Nuys airport, Will braced himself against the shower wall. There was something very strange, he thought, about a shower that moved around. Plumbing was supposed to be in a fixed position. As the airplane taxied toward the FBO, Will got into trousers and a shirt and toweled his hair as dry as he could get it. There was a knock at his cabin door. “Come in.”
Tim Coleman walked in. “Senator, we’ve got a little problem,” he said.
“How little?”
“I’m not sure. Charlene Joiner is standing at the bottom of the boarding steps, and she insists on seeing you.”
Will winced. “Tell the Secret Service to shoot her.”
“I’d like nothing better, but I think you’ll have to let her on board.”
“And let her be photographed here?”
“She’s already been photographed,” Tim said. “There’s the usual media greeting party outside; she’s chatting them up and getting interviewed now.”
Will thought for a moment. “All right, get all the traveling press off the airplane, then show her into the office area. After three minutes, interrupt us with the greatest possible urgency, and get me off the airplane. Tell the crew to keep her on until we’ve driven away and the press has followed us.”
“Got it,” Tim replied, then left.
Will was tying his necktie when Charlene arrived, so she was unable to embrace him. She looked sensational in a tailored suit that still managed to show a considerable amount of creamy cleavage. “Hi, there,” Will said. “What brings you to Van Nuys? It’s a long way from Malibu.”
“Will, I’ve got to talk to you,” she said, leaning against a desk and giving him a better view of the cleavage.
“Better hurry; I’ve got to be out of here in just a minute. I’ve got sixteen campaign stops in the L.A. area before noon tomorrow, and I have to be back in Washington for the debate tomorrow night.”