Capitol Threat (20 page)

“I tell you—I will—”

Keyes slapped his gavel on the bench. “This session is adjourned.”

Roush tried again to speak, but he was drowned out by the sounds of reporters flocking to his side. Many rushed to Gottlieb as well, no doubt seeking more of the details that Ben had squelched. Roush stood there, twisting in the wind, looking impotent and useless.

“Should I try to talk to these reporters?” Roush asked Ben.

“Under no circumstances.”

“But—”

“No buts. No exceptions. No talking.”

“I have to deny—”

“They’ve heard your denial. We need to get all our heads together and prepare a response. And it has to be good. Smart and carefully calculated. Speaking prematurely can only limit our future options.”

Ben could tell it pained him, but Roush obediently offered the gathering press a “No comment at this time” and turned away. Christina and Ben gathered their materials and retreated to the back door.

Ben knew they would all be waiting for him in the conference-room headquarters: Carraway, Sexton, Beauregard, and worst of all, Senator Hammond. They would be furious, both at Keyes and Matera. And at Ben.

Before this latest revelation, Roush’s nomination had seemed a long shot at best.

Now, it seemed utterly impossible.

34

“W
hat in the name of—Trudy!”

Loving tried to push away, but since she—
he
—was straddling him, and Loving’s feet were still cuffed to the bed, there wasn’t far for him to go.

Trudy appeared distraught. “What’s the matter?”

Loving wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, as if desperately trying to remove all traces of the earlier saliva swap. “What’s the
matter
? You’re—you’re a guy!”

“Well, duh. I thought you knew.”

“Knew? If I knew, do you think I’d be—be—”

“Yes?”

“Aarghh!” Loving twisted back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to get out from under Trudy. “Get off of me!”

“Are you sure?” Trudy traced a line down the side of his face. “You didn’t seem to mind being near me a minute ago.”

Loving slapped the hand away. “A minute ago you were a girl!”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Well, I thought—I mean, I assumed—aarrghh!” He thrust forward again, this time hard enough to knock Trudy off him. “Have you even—have you had that…that surgery?”

“No, dear. I’m still intact.”

“That’s…disgustin’.”

“You didn’t think so a—”

Loving raised a finger. “Don’t start that again.”

“All right. All right.” Trudy picked the wig up off the floor and plopped it lopsidedly back on his head. “How ’bout I put this back on and you just pretend you still think I’m a girl?”

“I haven’t got that much imagination!”

“Oh, come on now. Do you really expect me to believe you had no idea what you were doing?”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I mean, I’m good,” Trudy said, batting both eyelashes, “but I’m not that good. Anyone who took a really close look—”

“I guess I didn’t!”

“—and I could tell you were giving me some very close looks.”

“What’re you gettin’ at? I had no idea, I’m tellin’ you. No idea!”

“Uh-huh. Methinks the boy doth protest too much.”

“Are you tryin’ to say—” Loving inflated his massive chest. His T-shirt still hung around him in tatters. “Listen, buster, I had no idea. Got it? No idea. I’m all guy—like one hundred percent all guy. And I like girls.”

“I can be your girl.”

Loving was wild-eyed. “No, you can’t!”

“Are you afraid I don’t have the right parts to pop your cork? Because I can assure you, I do.”

“Would you stop talkin’ like that? There ain’t gonna be any…cork-poppin’. Understand?”

“Maybe we’re moving too fast. You’re more of a traditionalist, aren’t you? We should go out on a date first. Get some dinner. Maybe take in a movie.”

“We are not goin’ out on a date!”

“Why not? No one would know. About me, I mean. You didn’t.”

“Someone might!” He pounded the table. “No wonder all those people laughed every time I said I was looking for you. They thought I—aaarghh!”

“So you’re saying, as long as no one knows about me, it would be okay?”

Loving fairly shouted. “No! I am not saying it would be okay! It would never be okay!”

Trudy sniffed. “Suit yourself. But you’re making a big mistake. You’re missing out on the best time you ever had.”

“Oh, right.”

“And you haven’t had any for a good long time.”

“How would you know?”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

He pulled at his legs, trying to free himself. “I want you to let me loose, got it? Right now.”

“Your wish is my command.” Trudy produced a key and uncuffed his ankles.

“Thank you so very much. Mister.”

Trudy looked into a nearby mirror and reattached the wig. “But even if we can’t be together, we can still…work together, right?”

“No way in hell.”

“Why not?”

Loving jumped off the bed. “ ’Cause I don’t work with…with…”

“Yes?”

“ ’Cause I don’t do that kinda stuff.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“That…kinky stuff.”

“Good heavens, man, I’m asking to work with you to get in to see Renny, not to nibble your pickle.”

“You stop that kinda talk right now!”

“What kinda talk?”

“That—that—you know!”

“All right, all right. But you’re still going to need me, so I’m coming with.”

“Need you? At a redneck bar? Like I’m really gonna need a—”

“Yes?”

“A Trudy!”

Trudy made a few touch-ups with a mascara wand, then turned and smiled. Loving had to admit she—
he,
damn it—was gorgeous, even under the circumstances. “I think you’ll find a Trudy is a very useful thing to have in this particular redneck bar. You’re going to need some…distractions. I can provide that. Big-time. And face it, I know the territory. You don’t.”

Loving headed toward the door. His head was throbbing—for more reasons than he could count at the moment—but even if his head were missing, he was still getting out of this place. And he didn’t want any part of…Trudy.

“Why would you help me? What’s in it for you?”

“Maybe I just want to spend some more time with my new tall, dark, and handsome.” Trudy leaned forward to peck him on the cheek. Loving recoiled.

“Don’t even think about it!”

“All right, sweetie. Whatever you want.”

“And don’t call me sweetie!”

“Whatever you want, sugar.”

“Would you stop that!”

“Of course I will, honey-pie. Now, are you going to drive, or shall I?”

35

W
ithin thirty minutes of the close of the day’s hearings, the news of the latest development in the Roush nomination was global. Every podium, every channel, every water cooler seemed obsessed with the same subject. In Ben’s office and every other office in Washington, D.C., the phones were ringing nonstop and the fax machines were in perpetual motion. Ben’s e-mail server was so clogged Jones eventually just deleted all messages and hoped he hadn’t missed anything important. The Christian Congregation scheduled a rally outside the gates of the White House, and Richard Trevor was demanding that the President withdraw Roush’s nomination based on his “decadent character.” In response, numerous gay and lesbian organizations issued statements or scheduled press conferences to support Roush and demand that the President reaffirm the nomination, claiming that the references to character were a screen for homophobia. A pundit on MSNBC noted that Roush’s partner Eastwick had never appeared in the hearing room, despite the fact that he was no longer in custody, and referred to him as the “gay divorcée.”

“Well, that was about the worst thing that could possibly happen,” Sexton said,
tsk
ing his lips as an indication of his disgust. The Roush support team had gathered in the conference room in Senator Hammond’s office to concoct some plan for what to do next, while Roush himself was outside making phone calls on his cell.

“Agreed,” Hammond said sadly, running his fingers through his long gray locks. “The man lost the support of his party before the hearing began. Now he’s lost the support of our party as well.”

“I don’t get it,” Ben said. He was pacing in circles around the conference table. “They’re dumping him because he allegedly went to bars? Who in the Senate hasn’t? Because he may have had consensual sexual relations? Who in the Senate hasn’t?”

“The problem is that he’s gay,” Christina said, as she came through the door, a tall stack of styrofoam containers tucked under her chin. They had opted to bring dinner in. They didn’t have time to visit any of the Senate cafeterias, and probably wouldn’t have been left alone for ten seconds if they had.

Christina took a seat and began handing out the meals. “They may call it a character issue. But it’s only an issue because he’s gay.”

“For once, I agree with the redhead,” Beauregard said, speaking while simultaneously scanning the latest tracking polls. “This was a back-door way of making sexual preference an issue. Most Americans aren’t all that comfortable with male homosexual sex anyway. Fox News has been going wild with it—sidebar stories on the ‘gay lifestyle’ and ‘the dark world of sexual fetishes.’ Larry King hosted a debate on whether gay bars should be allowed within a mile of public schools.
USA Today
has a feature story headlined ‘Are Gays Really More Promiscuous?’ Face it—they scored on us big-time the instant they got someone to say the phrase ‘gay bar.’ ‘Orgies’ worked well for them, also.”

“And I must say, speaking as an image consultant,” Carraway added, “the witness looked great on television. He obviously spent a lot of time considering his wardrobe. Gay or not, he made a positive impression.”

“Even if he was a right-wing flunky?” Ben asked. “Even if he was paid?”

“I’m not sure it matters. Gay sex is not a vote-getter in Middle America. Toss in some threesomes and orgies—” Beauregard shivered. “Ugh.”

“Any word on whether it’s true?” Carraway asked.

Ben shook his head. “Roush keeps repeating his professional mantra: I will not discuss my private life. But honestly—orgies? I can’t believe it.”

“Ben always thinks the best of his clients,” Christina said, by way of explanation. “Not necessarily a good thing.”

“Come on. Roush is a federal judge. How long could he possibly keep something like that quiet?”

“How long did J. Edgar Hoover keep his homosexuality quiet? Like, his entire life? And he had a much higher profile than a federal judge.”

Ben shrugged. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You don’t want to believe it.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it if it was all consensual. I just…don’t believe it. Doesn’t ring true.”

“I’ve got people looking into this Gottlieb guy,” Sexton explained. “See if we can find some motive for him to fabricate testimony.”

“Maybe he’s jealous of Roush’s success,” Carraway suggested.

“Maybe Roush dumped him,” Christina added.

“Ah.” Sexton smiled. “The Anita Hill counteroffense. After she testified against Thomas at his confirmation hearing, the Republicans did their best to cast doubt on her testimony. Problem was—she had no motive to lie. She hadn’t even wanted to testify. So they started the rumor that Thomas had dated Hill, then dumped her. Suggested that she was insanely jealous because he married a white woman instead of her.”

Christina pursed her lips. “That’s just…revolting.”

“Agreed.” Sexton paused. “I wonder if it would work for us.”

“We’re not going to have an opportunity for any counter-offensive,” Ben said. “Not for a while. They still have more witnesses to call, probably of the same ilk. We should start rounding up people who have worked with Roush but have not been propositioned and have not observed any inappropriate behavior.”

“Not that it would disprove what we’ve already heard.”

“Can’t hurt.”

“It could, actually,” Sexton said, batting a finger against his lips, “if it sounds lame. Desperate.”

“What we need is for the nominee to get angry again,” Carraway said. “My polls show the public doesn’t understand why he sits quietly while people say nasty things about him. That outburst at the end of the last session was good, but undermined by the fact that he didn’t actually get to say anything. He needs to show some fire. Tell people off.”

“I disagree,” Ben said. “That would be playing into their hands.”

“Americans respect fire.”

“Not in a legal, or even a quasi-legal proceeding. Makes you look defensive. I’ve talked to hundreds of jurors.”

“When are you going to get the message? It’s not a courtroom.”

“But the same principles apply.”

“Not in the political arena. People will support a sex fiend sooner than they’ll support a wimp. You need to tell your man to fight back, hard and fast.”

“I will not. It’s bad advice.”

The deep breathing made Carraway’s shoulder pads rise. “Kid, don’t question me. I’m the expert here. Just do it.”

“Are you intentionally trying to sabotage this hearing?”

Carraway glared at him.

“I won’t do it,” Ben said firmly. “No.”

Sexton intervened. “Could you at least get him to deny the orgies part? I think that would go a long way.”

“I’ll talk to him. But I’m not optimistic.”

Hammond laid his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Give it a go, Ben. I know how persuasive you can be. Talk sense to the man. He trusts you.” The elderly statesman smiled. “I feel certain you can make him understand.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Just hear me out.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Just a tiny compromise.”

“Not an inch. Not a goddamned inch!”

Ben had taken Roush downstairs into the subterranean chambers that underlined the main Capitol building, the home of unwanted office equipment, the world’s most archaic (and noisiest) ventilation and air-conditioning system, and the private hideaways of the most senior and important senators. Ben didn’t have one; at the moment, he was about ninety-ninth on the standby list. But it was still a good place to stretch your legs and get out of the office, however briefly, without being spotted by the media. Ben had hoped a little exercise might help Roush clear his head.

So far, wrong.

“If we give them an inch, even an inch, we could set a precedent that will haunt every Supreme Court nominee till the end of time,” Roush argued. “People remember the Bork inquiry as the moment when standards began to erode. I won’t have them remember the Roush inquiry as the moment when standards disappeared altogether.”

“I don’t think you need to go into any detail. Just deny the seedy nightlife stuff. Isn’t that what you were trying to do?”

“I lost my temper. It was a mistake. Any response will constitute a tacit endorsement of these scurrilous tactics.”

“You can think of an explanation.”

“Explanation, or excuse?”

“Say you’re doing it to protect Ray’s reputation.”

Roush arched an eyebrow. “Step forward to protect the little lady? I don’t think so.”

Ben paused outside the door to what had once been the hide-away of his predecessor, Senator Glancy. After the murder, even the most eager senators passed on the chance to claim it. The room had been converted into a storage facility for cleaning supplies. “Look, it comes down to one thing. Do you want to join the Supremes or not?”

“Of course I do! What kind of fool wouldn’t? That’s not the question. The question is: How low am I willing to sink to get on the Court?”

Ben grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Please reconsider, Tad. Our only hope is that you will step forward and deny as many of these accusations as you can. Because if you don’t—I can’t help you in there.” Ben released his shoulders and looked at him sadly. “You’re on your own.”