Party Lines (12 page)

“It’s
not enough,” Hopkins said, pacing now. “I thought that Lindsay Martin would
have quit. Damnit.” He stood staring at the screen, which was replaying the
last interview she’d given.

“There’s
got to be more, Ron. And if there’s not we might have to take this to a place
you may not want to go. We can’t have them catch up to us; they could try and
turn it around on us, to make us look mean-spirited.”

Ron
bit his lip. “Too late,” he thought and tapped his pencil on the papers in
front of him.

“What
do you mean by “taking this to a place I might not want to go?”

Hopkins
smiled slyly. “Oh, you know, find someone who used to know her.” His grin
widened. “Or who will say they used to know her. Someone who will remember how
hopped up she was on drugs the night of the arson. Maybe someone who knew her a
year ago who can talk about how she’s still addicted. Who knows, maybe Clara
Faircloth is so committed to Lindsay Martin because they’re lesbians.”

“So
you want us to find someone willing to lie.” Ron resisted the urge to lunge at
Hopkins, to push him against he wall and drive his fist into his face.

“Not
willing to lie,” Hopkins said. “Willing to sacrifice their ethics for the
greater good. A lot is on the table with this election, Ron. You’ve said it
yourself. Traditional values are under attack. Our Judeo-Christian foundation
risks being shaken by the kind of liberal policies Clara Faircloth and others
like her want to implement.”

He
drained is glass and walked back over to the bar to refill it. “Besides,” he
said. “All politicians lie. We know that. Sometimes we have to, whether it’s to
give people hope or sway their opinion on an issue important to the people who
got us here.”

“You
mean the voters?” Ron said.

Hopkins
topped his glass off with more gin. Any other night, Ron would have warned him
not to drink with an interview scheduled the next morning, but not this time.
The more befuddled Hopkins was tomorrow the better.

“Yeah,
the voters.
But not just the voters.
People in power
don’t get there on
their own
. They have friends –
powerful friends – who help them get there. And if a man wants to keep
his office he needs to take care of those friends, because if he doesn’t, he
won’t likely be staying long.

“That’s
an interesting take,” Ron replied. “I just remember democracy being described
under different terms back when I took civics.”

“You’re
not a child anymore,” Ron. Hopkins threw back the glass and drained it in one
gulp. “You’re a man riding coattails to power. It’s time you learned how the
big boys played the game.”

Ron
smirked. His half-drunk boss was reaching for the bottle again. He let him do
it, deciding after this drink he’d cut him off. He knew Hopkins was likely
nervous about the interview, but he didn’t want to have to cancel because he’d
gotten too drunk. This time when Hopkins walked away from the bar, Ron walked
over and locked the cabinet, pocketing the key after he did so.

“Yeah,”
Hopkins was saying again. “You’re playing with the big boys.”

“You’re
right,” said Ron under his breath. “And the bigger they are, the harder they
fall.”

Chapter
Nine

Lindsay’s
headache was better the next morning, but enough remained to get her off to a
slow start. She
was  about
to call Clara and tell
her she’d be bit late when the doorbell rang. Lindsay sighed heavily; she was
in no mood for visitors but when she looked through the peephole she couldn’t
help but smile.

“Clara
!,
” she said, as she opened the door. “You know you didn’t
have to do this.” She ran her hand through her uncombed hair as the candidate,
already impeccably dressed in a turquoise suit, breezed in with a box of donuts
and a tray holding two coffees.

“I
thought you could probably use some sugar and caffeine,” the older woman said. “Helps
clear away the fog. And it’ll give us something to enjoy while we watch Newstalk
Today. Hopkins is on this morning.”

Lindsay
groaned and flopped down on the couch, rubbing her temples. “Gee, I wonder what
he’ll talk about?” Her voice was sarcastic.

“I’d
better eat this donut fast.” She selected a powdery, jelly-filled confection
from the box. “Character assassination has a strange way of ruining my
appetite.”

Clara
laughed and sat down beside her campaign manager. “I wouldn’t worry too much,”
she said, picking up the controls and switching on the set. “Mark Holden is a
really fair-minded host. If Hopkins goes too far it could actually hurt him.”

Lindsay
shook her head. “Ron Sharp won’t let that happen,” she said. “He’s taken this
campaign too far to let his own candidate lose.”

“I’ll
say,” Clara said, then – seeing Lindsay’s hurt expression –
hastened to apologize. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

But
Lindsay waved her off. “It’s alright,” she sighed. “I deserve it for being so
stupid. I’m just glad your numbers are back up.”

“Thanks
to your good performance yesterday,” Clara said.

“We
shouldn’t have to be playing damage control right now. Or playing catch-up. We
should be building on the lead we had before I made the mistake of getting
involved with Ron.”

“Can’t
change the past, honey.” Clara said in her no-nonsense way. “All you can do is
look forward to the future. We’ll have a better idea of where we stand after Newstalk.
If Hopkins scores points at our expense we may have our work cut out for us.
But if he flubs it or comes off as too mean-spirited then we may have a better
chance than we think”

“I
hope so,” Lindsay said, but she couldn’t bring herself to share her employer’s
optimism, no matter how much she wanted to.

***

Ron
Sharp reached down and helped Bradford Hopkins pin the small microphone to his
lapel, wondering as he did why he didn’t feel guilty.

Earlier
in the morning, when he’d given the Ruskin information to a courier with
instructions to deliver it ASAP to Newstalk host, Mark Holden, he reflected on
his service to Hopkins and realized that he’d known all along that his boss was
– for lack of a better descriptor – a complete slime-ball.

Doubts
about Hopkins’ character had always been in the back of his mind, but he’d
allowed his own desire for fame and power to get in the way of the ethics and
values he’d always considered important.

But
he knew now that values were more than slogans. Values were what made a man do
the proper thing; they were what made a man set wrong to write, even when the
price of doing so may be his very career.

“My
head feels awful today.” Hopkins’ voice was tinged with anger, as if his
overindulgence in alcohol the night before was somehow Ron’s fault.

“Well,
maybe we can get your lawyer to write a threatening letter to Jim Bean for
making your liquor too strong,” Ron said. “Or maybe you should try drinking
less.”

“Are
you making fun of me?” Hopkins was in no mood for joking.

“No,”
Ron said. “But you knew the interview was early today.”

“Well
so did you,” Hopkins’ hissed. “You should have locked that damn liquor cabinet
long before you did.”

Ron
smiled to himself and kept silent. What was the use of preaching personal
responsibility to a man who thought the concept should only apply to other
people?

“There
you go; you’re all hooked up.” He stood and looked into the monitor. Even with
makeup, Hopkins looked like shit. Good.

Mark
Holden walked over to the table and extended his hand to Hopkins, who managed
to plant his best, winning smile on his sickly looking face as he shook the
host’s hand.

“Sorry
I’m late,” said Holden. “I had some last-minute research to do in my office
before coming down here.”

Ron
hoped that last minute research involved the Ruskin case and Hopkins’
subsequent perks from the developer. Lord knows he’d paid the courier enough to
get the package to the Newstalk offices.

But
if Holden had gotten it, he sure wasn’t letting on. The host had a total poker
face, and Ron knew he’d just have to sit on the sidelines and wait and see.

“Are
you sitting in on this?” asked Holden.

“No,”
he said. “I’ll just watch.”

“He’ll
come on if I need him to come on,” Hopkins said, casting an irritated glance at
his campaign manager. It was another thing Ron hated about the man; he was so
completely insecure that he always had to remind everyone around him that he
was in control.
Even when he was drunk.
Even when he was not in control at all.

“Good
enough.” Holden took a seat across the table from Hopkins as Ron left the set
and walked over to where a cameraman as giving hand signals. He watched as the
man indicated by finger count the seconds left before the two were on air live.
Five, four, three two, one…

“Good
Morning, citizens,” Holden said by way of his trademark greeting, “and welcome
to Newstalk Live, where newsmakers shape what you” – he pointed directly
at the camera – “will be talking about tomorrow.

“Today
we have Bradford Hopkins, Republican candidate for the U.S. Senate. Welcome
Senator Hopkins.”

Hopkins
nodded and smiled. “Thank you for having me, Mark. And I’d like to thank the
citizens of this fine state for putting us ahead in the latest poll. Apparently
they’re looking past the glassy surface of Clara Faircloth’s campaign and
seeing that it’s more shallow than they thought.”

In
Lindsay’s apartment, Clara snorted loudly. “Dear God, what a line,” she said. “I
wonder how long it took him to come up with that?”

“Well,
it does appear that the mood has shifted a bit, given the latest revelations
about Ms. Faircloth’s campaign manager Lindsay Martin. Unfortunate business…”

“Not
for the voters, Mark,” Hopkins laughed. “It was a gift, if you ask me. Clara
Faircloth exercised poor judgment hiring a young, inexperienced radical. The
press regularly threw Lindsay Martin softballs because – and I know it’s
politically incorrect to say this, but I’m a man of truth – they threw
her softballs because she’s young and attractive. Who knows, maybe that’s why
Clara Faircloth hired her. Young, attractive single woman to spend time with.
And you see how my opponent has stood by her woman. Obviously they are very
committed.”

Mark
Holden looked shock. “Just what are you implying?”

Hopkins
adopted a look of shocked innocence. “I’m not implying anything at all,” he
said. “But this is a traditional state, and we need to make sure who we elect
shares good, hard-working Judeo-Christian values.”

In
front of Lindsay’s television, she and Clara sat speechless at what they both
knew was a strong implication of a relationship between the two women.

The
Newstalk host looked at Hopkins without speaking for a moment and then pulled a
pair of glasses from his pocket. As he put them on he slid a folder towards him
and opened it.

“Values
are important to you then?” he asked.

“Mark,
they are the bread and butter of this campaign. That’s why I’ve won the
endorsement of every major fundamentalist Christian group in this state. That’s
why I surround myself with people who are above repute, people like Ron Sharp
over there.”

Ron
felt a slight wave of nausea and at Lindsay’s apartment she looked down at the
floor while Clara wordlessly shook her head.

“Values.
Hmm. Mark Holden opened the folder.
Now then.
Harlan
Ruskin.” He looked up at Hopkins. “Friend of yours?”

Hopkins
paused, trying to read Holden’s face. “Yes, he’s a friend. I’d be lying if I
said otherwise. I mean
,
we don’t play golf every
weekend or anything.”

“You
would if you could,” Holden said. “You’ve got a condo over at the Willow
Branch, correct?

Hopkins
smoothed his tie and glanced over at Ron, a sudden look of panic on his face.
Ron looked back at him, expressionless. The plan was in motion, and he wasn’t
about to stop it.

Hopkins
looked back at the host, smiling. “Well, to tell you the truth, Mark. I’ve been
blessed. Very blessed. I’ve made it no secret that I’ve been successful. I have
several properties.”

“When
did you acquire the condo at Willow Branch?”

Hopkins
laughed. “I don’t know; back in 2002 or 2003. Not that it matters. It’s this
kind of thing that gets people off track. I’d much rather talk about my
platform on the economy. I’ve got a fabulous initiative to cut Medicaire…”

Holden
held up his hand. “We’ll get to that. Looking at my information, you acquired
the condominium in 2003, not long after Willow Branch was developed. In fact,
it was you convinced the county commission you were chairing at the time to
grant Harlan Ruskin clearance to develop the land Willow Spring now sits on, is
that correct?”