No Safe Place (57 page)

Clayton shook his head. “He’s too damned passive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he winds up endorsing Dick.”

Finnerty stopped smiling. As one professional speaking to another, he said, “It’s been a tough race, I know. Things happen, and you just have to go with it.” He lowered his voice. “Tell Kerry we’re sorry about what we’re going to have to do to him tonight. I don’t know if he’ll ever accept this, but it really isn’t personal.”

Against his will, Clayton felt himself freeze, heard his own silence as he stared into Finnerty’s ice-blue eyes. Was this affirmation, Clayton hurriedly thought, or the hoary stunt of spooking the opposing candidate in the last minutes before a debate? Or, worst of all, both.

Calmly, Clayton put his hand on Finnerty’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about Kerry, Bill. He’ll be fine. But maybe you should apologize to Dick.”

Finnerty gave Clayton a look of silent appraisal, and then stuck out his hand again. Even before he shook it, Clayton had decided not to tell Kerry: for better or worse, Kerry’s mind should be as clear as possible.

Crossing the soundstage, Clayton heard Mason say, “Well, Kerry, this is it.” Then, on cue, the stage cleared, and the debate began.

For the first thirty minutes, Lara thought, Mason dominated the debate.

Anxious for Kerry, she was aware of Nate Cutler sitting directly behind her in the press section, watching her reactions. She controlled her nerves by taking copious notes. “American family,” she scribbled now, and glanced quickly at the stage.

Sitting beside Mason, Kerry listened as the Vice President continued to underscore that he was a parent and that Kerry was not. Kerry seemed watchful, cool, almost preternaturally still.

“Talk is cheap,” Mason said dismissively. “But for Jeannie and for me, our children have been the focus of our lives. That’s why we’ve taken the lead in fighting for family leave, better day care, better schools—”

“
Public
schools?” Kerry finally interrupted. “Because as a parent—as opposed to a politician—you’ve never seen the inside of one.

“Like most parents, you don’t want your own kids going to schools that are overcrowded, underfunded, and unsafe. The question is what happens to
other
people’s kids.” Leaning toward Mason, Kerry ticked off points on his fingers. “I support school vouchers to help parents send their kids wherever they can. You oppose them.

“I support charter public schools, free of the rules that protect bad teachers and students who deal in drugs and violence. You oppose them.”

Behind her, Lara heard Nate’s low, soft whistle.

“I support higher standards for teachers,” Kerry went on. “You oppose them.

“Why? Not because parents don’t want them. Not because
our kids don’t need them. But because the teachers’ union—one of your biggest financial contributors—opposes them, too. Even though many of our best teachers would tell you that the union’s wrong, and that
they
deserve better, too.”

For Kerry, aggressiveness was second nature; to Lara’s relief, and for the first time, Mason looked momentarily off balance. The risk was that Kerry might appear more prosecutor than President. As if sensing this, the Vice President drew himself up with an air of dignity.

“I have to wonder, Kerry, what choices for your children you’d have made—
if
you’d ever had to make them. I won’t apologize for ours.” He turned to the camera with an air of deep sincerity. “I mean to stop the drift toward two Americas—one for the elite and one for everybody else. That’s why I’ve proposed an Educational Bill of Rights, in which every high school graduate in America receives one thousand dollars a year to attend the two-or four-year college of his or her choice.” His voice slowed. “Who among this generation’s children might find a cure for cancer, or bring peace a little closer, if we help remove the barriers to universal college education? How many millions more would have a better life?”

As if they were still just fellow professionals, Nate murmured over Lara’s shoulder, “When it comes to hypocrisy, no one can touch Mason.”

Tensing, Lara ignored him. “All that, Dick?” Kerry responded with a quizzical smile. “For a thousand dollars a year? Why not
two
thousand, and buy world peace right now?”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter.
Don’t push him too far,
Lara silently warned.

“A thousand dollars,” Kerry said in a more serious tone, “is window dressing where rising tuition has completely overwhelmed the income of the average working family—which, in real dollars, has
fallen
twenty cents an hour during this administration.

“That’s why I’ve called for interest-free loans—up to ten thousand dollars a year for any student at a four-year college who pledges to devote two years to public service, military service, or a wide variety of charitable causes.” Now it was Kerry who faced the camera. “Not only would more young
people finish college, but they would help bring peace—if not to our
world, at least to our recreational facilities, our day care centers, and our neighborhoods—”

Despite herself, Lara smiled. “Proposals like this,” Mason broke in, “will explode the deficit and choke off programs like Head Start which we’ve
now
been able to increase—”

Kerry wheeled on Mason. “We can
find
the money, Dick. The problem, so very often, is where
you
find the money.

“Last year I introduced a bill to provide universal health coverage for children under eighteen, to be fully funded by a dollar-a-pack tobacco tax. You didn’t raise a finger to support it. And now the tobacco lobby—through something called Citizens for Responsible Reform—has funneled money to your campaign—”

“It’s irresponsible,” Mason shot back, “to pay for health care by taxing an addiction that is dangerous to health
and
life.” Once more, Mason faced the camera. “If we achieve
our
goals for discouraging tobacco use through education, there will be no one left in America who smokes.”

Only in the third world,
Lara answered for Kerry,
where the tobacco industry is free to pursue new customers in the millions. Which is why the tobacco lobby supports you as much as they dare.

“You say your contributors don’t matter,” Kerry responded. “And that you’re too worried about the budget to fight for better health care.

“Let’s look at that. In the last budget deal, a mysterious provision suddenly appeared, delaying cheaper generic drugs from going on the market. Letting them go wouldn’t hurt the budget. It involves no taxes on anyone. The only people opposed to it are the pharmaceutical companies.” Kerry jabbed a finger at Mason. “
And
you. Could it be all the campaign money you’ve received from these same companies? Let’s go through the list …”

Kerry was doing real damage now, Lara saw. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

Flinching, she turned to Nate. As he leaned forward, his voice was soft, almost apologetic. “I need to talk to you, Lara. Alone.”

Despite her surprise and apprehension, Lara managed to keep her tone equally quiet and, she hoped, controlled.

“Fuck you,” she said, and turned to watch Kerry again, filled with fear of what Nate might make public before Tuesday, of what Mason might say tonight.

Sitting to the left of the stage, Kerry’s side, Clayton checked his watch. Twenty minutes to go, and they were out of this free-for-all unscathed.

Kerry had become quicker, crisper, and every comparison he made was tied to a central theme—that he was the innovator and that Mason was too compromised to lead. But the more Kerry damaged him, the more desperate Mason might become; Clayton could not stop second-guessing his decision to keep Finnerty’s warning to himself.

“What these examples point to,” Kerry concluded, “is the need for comprehensive reform of our corrupt system of campaign finance. A fight in which you, Dick, have been conspicuously AWOL …”

“Gentlemen,” the moderator interjected, “as is my privilege, let me redirect this somewhat intense discussion of family issues to another subject that excites no emotion whatsoever: the rights of gays and lesbians.”

The dry remark drew a smile from Kerry and, somewhat belatedly, from Mason. “In recent years,” the moderator went on, “federal legislation to outlaw job discrimination against homosexuals has been narrowly defeated, while Congress passed the Defense of Marriage Act, barring same-sex marriages. Now Californians are hotly debating Proposition 244, which—if passed—would ban so-called special rights for gays and lesbians.” He turned to Mason. “Starting with the Vice President, where do each of you stand on the issue of gay rights?”

Mason leaned forward, achieving an expression of sober thoughtfulness. “Our administration,” he began, “opposes discrimination against citizens who pay taxes, hold jobs, and contribute to our society. That means
any
citizen, regardless of sexual orientation. And we will rededicate our energies to win the fight against AIDS.”

Pausing, Mason leaned toward the camera. “But Americans aren’t ready to change the definition of marriage, which is thousands of years old and derives, not from government, but
from the Old Testament and beyond.” He turned to Kerry. “You’ve
accused me of being AWOL, Kerry. But when the Defense of Marriage Act came up for a vote,
you
were conveniently absent. So let me ask you this: how
would
you have voted?”

Duck it,
Clayton silently implored.
There’s only fifteen minutes left.

Kerry smiled. “Of course, I was in China at the time, inquiring into human rights abuses. On which
you’ve
been virtually silent.”

“Not true …”

With a slight shrug, Kerry continued, seemingly quite relaxed despite the touchiness of the question. “I’ve read the same polling data you have, Dick. So I know that you’re right to suggest that if you ask most people if they’re against ‘gay marriage,’ they’ll say yes.

“The difference between us is that’s where it ends for you—with the polls.”

Don’t do this,
Clayton begged. He saw a look of undisguised astonishment flash across Mason’s face, as if he had not dared to hope that Kerry would hand him such a gift. The audience was intent, still, as if straining to hear.

“What if we ask the question differently?” Kerry said to Mason. “What if we asked people whether, because someone is born gay or lesbian, we’re going to treat that person
worse
than everyone else? That’s never been the kind of thing that Americans agree with.

“I don’t know if you need to call it ‘marriage.’ But there is a cluster of rights that go with legalized partnership—health benefits, the right to visit a loved one in the hospital, the right to make medical decisions, the right to pass on your estate, the right to Social Security.

“These are not ‘special rights.’ I mean, who among us really wants to deny gay people the right to visit a dying partner in the hospital? Very few of us, I think.” Kerry’s tone softened. “It’s as if you’ve forgotten, Dick, that Americans are a compassionate people. And once you’ve forgotten that, you can’t help bring about the same healing that’s already happened in so many American families who have accepted a daughter or a son for what they were born to be.”

The faces around him, Clayton saw, wore various expressions—open, even moved, skeptical, unpersuaded. But
everyone listened intently; Mason looked frustrated, as if he saw a defining moment slip away.

“I don’t accuse you of bad will,” Kerry said to him. “I don’t even think you believe in this bill. But you
did
advocate signing it.

“I’d have vetoed it. And that’s the difference between us.”

The ripple of applause caught Clayton by surprise. Clearly stung, Mason spoke through it. “The difference,” he retorted, “is that I respect what the American people in their settled wisdom believe marriage should be. And I don’t need any instruction from
you
when it comes to opposing discrimination. I was leading that fight when your brother held the seat that you hold now and you were still in law school …”

Mason was genuinely angry, Clayton saw, and so—at this condescending reminder of his debt to Jamie—was Kerry. His eyes narrowed, and he fixed Mason with a chill stare. “So would you have signed this bill,” Kerry snapped, “if
you
were President? Would you have spoken out for it as a senator? Would you have introduced it? Or is it just another ‘problem’ you wish would go away?” Kerry leaned forward. “Suppose I introduce a bill to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act. What will you do
then
?”

Abruptly, Kerry had changed the terms of the argument—it was about whether Dick Mason was a leader or an equivo-cator. And unless he waffled again, many of his gay and lesbian supporters might switch to Kerry Kilcannon. Nervously checking his watch, Clayton saw that only ten minutes remained.

Mason leaned forward, voice tight with strain. “Let’s talk about something that’s not quite so speculative, Kerry. Let’s talk about a woman’s right to choose. Everyone’s watching, and now’s the time for truth.”

Kerry stared at Mason.

Three feet separated them. For the first time, Kerry could see the unbounded fear of losing etched on Mason’s face, hear a tremor in his voice which jangled Kerry’s nerves.

“A woman’s right to choose,” Mason said accusingly, “is newly threatened by the Supreme Court itself. If you were
President, would you appoint justices who share
your
belief that a fetus is a ‘life’?”

Kerry willed himself to stay calm. “I’d appoint justices who share my belief in the right to privacy—”

“That means nothing,” Mason said harshly. “What if they agree with you about ‘life’? Would you appoint them? Or would you decide that a justice who shared your beliefs is too dangerous to a woman’s most basic right?”

It was clever, Kerry realized: if such a justice was “dangerous,” so was Kerry himself. “I’m not interested in personal beliefs,” Kerry retorted, “but in legal philosophy.”

“So you’d select nominees who disagree with your deep personal beliefs, and reject those who agree with you?”