No Safe Place (30 page)

Kit put down her coffee cup, eyes veiled.
So it’s true,
he saw her think.

“What about this woman?” Frank Wells asked. “The counselor who wrote the memo? Can we send someone to talk to her?”

Clayton gave a curt shake of the head. “That makes her look more credible. If
Newsworld
prints this, our visit could become part of the story. And there’s no controlling what this counselor might say about it.”

“At least run her through the Internet,” Kit put in. “If we’re lucky, she’s a political activist or files nut lawsuits. Something
we can discredit. Any way you look at it, what she’s done is shitty.”

“
You
know the first rule,” Frank Wells said to Clayton. “If you’ve got a problem, get it out and live with it. Then hope you can find something about Mason that’s even worse.”

“What would
that
be?” Kit demanded. “Whoever slipped this to Cutler knows how it would look—that Kerry is so ruthless and amoral he’ll do
anything
to save himself.” She turned to Clayton. “
That’s
the problem, isn’t it?”

“
I
think so,” Clayton admitted, then turned to the others. “Does anyone here disagree that if
Newsworld
can source this, it’s a story? Or that it would ruin Kerry’s chances to be President?”

Narrow-eyed, Frank Wells stared into some middle distance past Clayton’s head. “Voters are more tolerant now,” he said finally. “I can imagine a candidate saying that this is an agonizing moral dilemma, one he feels he shares with thousands of others.”

“You mean make this
Kerry
’s tragedy?” Kit’s voice, though quiet, was incredulous. “
And
hang Lara Costello out to dry? Women would hate him for it.”

Frank spoke to Clayton. “At least we could focus-group it—quick and dirty and somewhere far away, like Massachusetts. Make the hypothetical candidate some married guy who wants to run for Congress, script a few versions of a
mea culpa
, see what people think. Why close down our options?”

With this, Clayton knew, the conversation had taken a decisive turn; more blatantly than Kit’s, Frank’s suggestion assumed that the story was true. “That would take a week,” Kit rejoined. “If Kerry’s still deciding a week from now, it’s the worst mistake he could make. And this
is
Kerry Kilcannon we’re talking about, not some narcissist on a talk show. The confessional style just isn’t him.”

Stress, Clayton saw, was becoming antipathy: Frank was talking past Kit to him; Kit was telling Frank that he had no grasp of the candidate. It was time to end this. “The story’s deadly,” Clayton said. “Period. Once it’s printed, there’s only one thing he could say that isn’t hopeless: ‘It’s not true.’ And if he’s waited until
then
, it’s probably too late. So let’s talk about the next few days.”

There was silence again. They gazed out the window, watching the towers of the city, surreal amidst the haze. “Then we should sum up what’s going for us,” Kit said at last. “First, whatever problem is here, its not characterological. Unlike our current leader, no one’s going to claim that he’s been doing a volume business in women.”

Clayton shook his head. “That’s not him, either.”

“Okay. Second, Kerry’s divorced now. Adultery’s not an ongoing issue …”

“What about the ex-wife?” Frank Wells asked. “What would
she
say if
Newsworld
went to her?”

It was a good question, Clayton knew. Quietly, he said to Frank, “I don’t think Meg knows anything about this. But if someone needs to talk to her, I will.”

The ambiguous comment hung in the air, and then Kit resumed her analysis. “Third,” she told them, “—and
this
is the biggest thing—
we
already know that Lara’s denied it. That’s a huge advantage: other than Kerry,
she’s
the only one who knows for sure. Cutler may not believe her, but even these days
Newsworld
has to be ambivalent. They won’t be comfortable with one unnamed source and a memo that could be a political dirty trick. So Nate has to come to us.

“He can’t do
that
in public.” Her voice grew sardonic. “Can you imagine him shouting at Kerry along the rope line: ‘Have you fucked any NBC reporters in the last three years?’ Nate would lose his exclusive.

“The problem is when
Newsworld
goes to Lara’s friends, just like to Kerry’s ex. ‘We
know
you’re close to Lara Costello,’ they’ll say. ‘We
know
that she was having an affair with Senator Kilcannon. What did she tell you about that?’ The questions go on from there.”

True enough, Clayton thought. “As to Lara,” he told her, “they won’t find anyone.”

Kit sat back, steepling her fingers. “She told you that?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Kit dropped her crisp manner. “God, I feel sorry for her.”

“So does Kerry. He doesn’t want us to do anything which tells Cutler that Lara came to me.”

“How do we avoid that?” Kit asked. “Until Nate tips his
hand, or Kerry decides what to do, we can’t have Kerry anyplace where Nate can corner him. And one of the things the press likes about Kerry is that he’s accessible: walking through the airplane, saying hello—”

“It’s not that bad,” Frank Wells interjected. “Our guy’s tired, that’s all. We’ve already said that we’re saving his time for the California media. For a couple of days, at least, it won’t look like we’re singling out
Newsworld
.” His tone, though strained, became ironic. “With luck, they’ll think we’re waiting until Kerry’s comments on abortion die down.”

“That’s how it’ll have to be,” Clayton said to Kit. “We need to buy him some time.”

“Until next Tuesday, you mean? That only works if Kerry intends to deny it, or he loses. Otherwise it’s worse.”

Once more, Clayton found himself appreciating how sharp Kit was. “He knows that,” Clayton answered quietly.

Suddenly Kerry was a palpable presence. Clayton could feel the others imagining his conversation with Kerry; adjusting their view of the candidate; wondering how their unspoken knowledge would affect his relations with each of them. And last—because this was politics, and they were professionals—he felt their sympathy for Kerry the man.

“Isn’t it amazing,” Nat mused. “We just accept that they can do this to him—ask it, and print it. There’s no sense of outrage anymore.”

“Oh,” Kit responded, “I don’t have any illusions about these people. They’re not our friends, or even an audience—they’re usually not open to persuasion, and they’re too obsessed with scandal. But they’ve got their job to do, and I do my job best by respecting that. Sometimes they fuck up, but they’re generally pretty close to the mark. If this is true, they’ve got their arguments: the ethics of Lara covering Kerry, the fact he may look like a hypocrite, the ruthlessness thing. I even think Nate Cutler’s a decent guy. Why bother being pissed off?”

“Because
Kerry Kilcannon
’s a decent guy,” Clayton answered, “and this election should be about what he offers the country.” He turned to Nat. “You know the publisher of
News-world
, don’t you? And you’re friends with the editor in chief?”

“Uh-huh. In fact, I was in his wedding.” Nat gave a faint
smile. “His
first
wedding, before he dumped Janie and the kids for a reporter from the
Baltimore Sun
.”

Kit Pace emitted a brief, somewhat harsh laugh. “Touché,” she said to Nat.

“So,” Clayton asked him, “what would you say to your highly moral friend once Cutler knocks on Kerry’s door?”

“That they’ve got one off-the-record source. That a topflight newsmagazine needs a higher standard of proof—something like ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’—before it effectively decides the most critical primary election in recent memory. That in these times of media feeding frenzy they’re all the more obligated to get it right. That there’s still time between the convention and the general election to do more checking.”

Nat paused, looking at the others, then spoke with new force. “That if they print this story now, as thin as it is, they’re deciding that they want Dick Mason over Kerry Kilcannon. That they’d turn the campaign into the kind of mudslinging nightmare that requires us to retaliate against Mason or the other guys any way we can. And that the public is so sick of that
and
them only half of us vote now, and this ‘scandal’ would be one more step toward flushing presidential politics down the toilet.”

All of them had moved past shock, Clayton thought; the conversation was both feeling and practical. “Then maybe you fly to New York,” he said to Nat, “as soon as Cutler comes to us, and tell them so.”

Nat leaned forward, graying and rumpled, a man who had seen it all and still hoped for the best. “But Kerry has to deny this, and the denial has to stick. Otherwise it’ll boomerang on us with a vengeance.” He drew a breath. “It’s the old gotcha game. Nobody’s going to admit to fucking their dead grandmother, but once they ask the question and you
lie
, the press has an absolute obligation to expose you as a liar. I can hear the
New York Times
right now.”

“The
Times
editorial page,” Kit said with quiet contempt. “The epicenter of conventional wisdom.” She turned to Clayton. “If Cutler gets sat on, he could leak enough dirt to a lesser paper to have
them
print it. Then Nate can print
his
more complete story without
Newsworld
being responsible for breaking it. I’ve seen reporters do that.”

Clayton saw Nat Schlesinger’s rueful shake of the head; he
was sixty, Nat’s expression said, and had entered journalism in another age—in Nat’s opinion, a better one.

“A question,” Clayton said to him. “Who fed this to Cutler in the first place?”

Nat frowned. “The GOP. It’s
their
issue, after all.”

Frank Wells shook his head. “Mason. It fits with the past two days.” He turned to Clayton. “Which gets me back to my cynical question: Are our oppo-research people looking for the magic bullet we can use on Dick?”

“That’s what they’re for. But all we’ve found are rumors. Although they’re bad ones.”

Clayton heard the others stir. Frank raised his eyebrows. “About what?”

Clayton shook his head. “If they’re more than that,” he said firmly, “I’ll let you know. But if they’re not, this is something that could backfire.”

There was silence, acceptance. “All right,” Clayton said. “Let’s sum this up. For now, Kerry avoids Cutler by avoiding the press. If Cutler wants to see him in private, Kit demands to know what it’s about. And once Cutler pops the question, Nat goes to
Newsworld
. But only if Kerry’s prepared to make a firm denial.”

The others nodded. “When you talk to Kerry,” Nat said softly, “emphasize the last part.”

No response, Clayton knew, was necessary. With equal quiet, he said, “Then I’ve got one more thing to say.

“What we’ve talked about today is Kerry’s political future. It’s also personal, and involves my closest friend.

“Your first obligation is to look upbeat, as if nothing has happened. The second is to say nothing about this to anyone. To me, that’s not just loyalty—it’s morality.

“
My
moral distinction is not between one decision Kerry might make or another. It’s between campaign consultants who are loyal to their candidate and those who leak. The culture of Washington rewards disloyalty: a political consultant is never wiser than when he’s screwing his boss. Show me the consultants with the best reputations among the press, and I know who the treacherous pricks are.” Now Clayton looked directly at Frank Wells. “Of course, the
real
art form is to leak and spin simultaneously—to dump on your candidate for
not doing all
the things you recommended and then suggest how badly that reflects on his judgment, and how well on yours.

“I don’t
ever
want to see that happen to Kerry Kilcannon. Especially about this.” Clayton’s tone grew softer yet. “But if it does, whoever leaks this meeting had better bury him. Because if Kerry becomes President, no one will have to worry about how long
my
memory will be.”

Frank Wells gazed at him steadily. Clayton let the silence build, and then he looked at all of them. “All right,” he said. “The general meeting’s next, and we’ve got work to do. Among other things, Jack Sleeper’s polls say we’ve got a little problem on abortion.”

“We’re still weak on abortion,” Jack Sleeper said. “Last night’s numbers show you slipping with pro-choice women.”

Kerry looked around the hotel conference room: among the five others—besides Clayton—Kit Pace, Frank Wells, and Nat Schlesinger were trying to seem normal. Perhaps only Kerry could see the artificiality of their smiles, the too-bright looks of interest with which they tried to cover their unease. His relations to the three of them were now forever changed by something they could never mention. To Kerry, the two others—Jack, his pollster, and Mick Lasker, the California manager—seemed like innocents.

“What do you have in mind?” Clayton asked Jack.

The pollster glanced at Frank Wells. Leaning forward, Frank spoke directly to Kerry. “Your antiviolence message got lost yesterday. What we need to get across is that you’ve saved the lives of women
and
their children—literally.”

Kerry’s eyes met Frank’s. Softly, he said, “Not all of them.”

Frank seemed to hesitate. “You saved the kid, Kerry. What’s Dick Mason ever done?” Rising, he went to the VCR and pushed the button. “Here’s the spot I want to run instead of the one we saw yesterday. Jack and I think it’s stronger.”

On the screen, a younger Kerry appeared: a news photo, Kerry thought, taken when he declared for the Senate. After Jamie, before Lara. He looked at himself, young and obviously daunted, and thought of all the things this man had yet to learn.

The narrator, a woman, began quietly.

“One winter day in February, a young lawyer went to court.

“Already he had dedicated four years of his life to protecting women from violence. Now he had come to protect another woman, and her son.