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“Just as soon as I sit down from my inaugural address,” was the answer. And judging from the calls, it was the perfect response.

But I didn't get seriously distressed until the conversation turned to social issues, even as I told her I “admired the conviction of her views.”

“Governor Haskel, let's do a lightning round on the non-economic issues. When I give you the problem, please try to offer me a solution in a short sentence if possible.”

“Lay it on me, Stan.”

“Ok, what about the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell?”

“The Bible speaks of Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”

“Abortion?”

“It's time we had a president willing to stand up for the rights of the unborn.”

“Prayer in public schools?”

“If Congress can begin its day in prayer, why can't our schoolchildren?”

I had a Stepford candidate across from me and nothing I raised would shake her from her script. And if I'd been keeping score, she would have batted below the Mendoza Line with me personally. Tobias, by contrast, would have been spot-on with
my views. But, of course, the Tobiases didn't control talk radio ratings. The Margaret Haskels did.

Then it was time to take comments or questions from the audience.

“God bless you Governor Haskel, we are counting on you to take our country back!”

“We know where you were born Governor, Godspeed.”

And:

“I know you won't apologize for our nation.”

When the “on air” light went dark, my program was over, and Governor Haskel said she'd like to have a word with me.

All of her aides except one left the studio. Haskel got up from her side of the console and walked around to where I'd been seated.

“Stan, I admire the courage of a man willing to say that which needs to be said to protect his country, even when it gets controversial.”

I said some shit like, “I consider it my duty, governor.”

“Well of course you do, because you are a great American.”

I wanted to say, “Why, because I questioned the beliefs of the Democratic frontrunner with that old canard about Judeo-Christian principles?” But instead I remained silent. Her next statement told me that was exactly what she was thinking.

“You have to keep on it. Some of my people have looked into your governor's faith and believe he's not a Christian,” she whispered. “Or worse.”

That took me back. What could she possibly think was worse?

“Stan, this is Jackson Hunter,” she said, introducing an aide who had been a flowerpot during the interview. “He's going to give you his business card. And any time you should need to reach me, about anything, all you have to do is call him. If he
speaks to you, he speaks for me. I want you to have that kind of access, okay Stan?”

“Thank you, Governor.”

Jackson Hunter was a 6-foot, late 20s, handsome guy with blue eyes and the full political uniform: blue suit, red tie, white Oxford cloth. He was a bit too perfect. Nothing was out of place.

“And Stan, I understand we might be seeing a bit more of you out in California in just a few weeks. Perhaps you and Jackson will speak before then?”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I smiled and nodded my head affirmatively like I was in the loop. She left, and my revulsion lasted only so long as it took the telephone to ring with a new round of cable TV requests for me to discuss how I thought the Texas governor would play in the I-4 corridor against a homegrown Florida legend.

On the drive home, Phil said he was pleased with how it had gone. Then I picked up a long voice mail message from Jules in which he said that some cable outlet had inquired of him as to when I would be announcing my endorsement for president. That was a first. No one had ever cared before. He also said that a web site with “red state” in its online address had speculated that I was in line for a West Wing position should Governor Haskel win the White House. Some kind of communications position. Like what, I thought, Deputy Senior Advisor for Horseshit? An endorsement was not something I had ever formally offered, nor ever considered, and the fact that anyone would be interested in a formal nod from me was indicative of just how crazy things were getting. I made a mental note to call Phil back and find out what his talk radio textbook had to say on the subject of endorsements. But Jules closed with one more line:

“Stan, your word is worth more right now than any member of the Congress.”

The way he said it made it sound obvious. But I still had trouble computing the fact that whereas just a few years ago I'd be getting my rocks off by interviewing rock stars and debating whether Roger Hodgson or Rick Davies was the true voice of Supertramp, I was now in a position to play kingmaker. Things were changing for me faster than I could comprehend.

And it was beginning to impact my day-to-day lifestyle. Whereas the anonymity of radio had previously enabled me to fly below the radar, now wherever I went, there were hints of recognition. It's not that people would stop me to say hello, or that paparazzi would jump out of bushes and snap my picture with some scantily clad model (much as I would have loved it), but rather that there was a glint I would detect in the eyes of the people who saw me going about my normal routine. Whether filling my gas tank, walking down the beach, or sitting at the bar at Delrios, if my eyes locked with someone else's, I could tell that they thought they had seen me before. And it might take them a step or two after crossing my path before they put it together, but they were putting it together. Even though they rarely said anything.

“That was Stan Powers, the host of
Morning Power,
the guy that all the presidential candidates are trying to befriend.”

Nobody ever said that. But some were thinking it. Or so I was beginning to suspect. Maybe not.

But I was thrilled anytime I heard from Jules. The increasing frequency with which he was reaching out to me (instead of me trying with futility to command his attention) was yet another sign of my success. In a heady moment, I almost called him back and told him with whom I had recently shared a private drink, but I caught myself and said nothing. Not to him. And certainly not to Phil.

So odd was the inconsequential way in which Susan and I had parted at Delrios, that I wasn't sure whether I'd ever hear from her again, much less when. Obviously she was busy. Heading into Super Tuesday, Tobias had won Florida and Colorado like Susan predicted. Baron had won Nevada, and the two of them had split a few additional states, namely Minnesota (Tobias), Maine (Baron), Arizona (Tobias), and Michigan (Baron). President Summers had won virtually all of the Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina votes because new ballots couldn't be printed in time, and he was now promising that his delegates would be released at the convention in August. Ambassador Brusso was proving to be irreverent in the debates but a nonstarter at the polls. And at the rate they were going, I doubted whether congressmen Foley and Yih would last to see their own state's primaries in Pennsylvania and California, respectively. Their only role was that of potential spoiler if they lasted that long, but all seemed to be enjoying the limelight. Ditto for Senator Wrigley, who if she took Vermont on Super Tuesday, would count it as her only win.

On the Republican side, Governor James won his home state of Colorado as predicted and was getting a free ride from the media whose members both genuinely liked him and wanted to make sure that Margaret Haskel didn't wrap up the entire nomination before they could milk their advertisers. A good underdog story was always a winner. But while the mainstream media built up James every chance it could, it didn't go too hard on Haskel for fear that they'd help elect one of what I was privately calling the “triple threat” of Figuera, Redfield and Lewis.

Phil and I had strong disagreements about how to handle Wynne James, who was the surprise candidate in the field. While his competitors concentrated on Michigan and Arizona, he'd focused on Minnesota and pulled an upset. And where Figuera, Redfield and Lewis couldn't win, they were denying Haskel a blowout and put James in second position.

“He's in second position, Phil,” I argued. “I've had virtually every other candidate on recently, why not him?”

“Nobody who would vote for him matters to you, Stan. Your P1s are a combination of Haskel, Redfield, Lewis and Figuera voters. Take any of the four anytime they'll do your show. You cannot lose with any of them. They are walking sound bytes who will say what your listeners want to hear. But James is a RINO. I'd rather you go kiss Tobias' ass again than welcome him with open arms.”

“And where am I if James pulls a Romney, Phil? You and I know that the only way Mitt won the nomination is that Ron Paul, Rick Santorum, Newt Gingrich, Michele Bachman, and Herman Cain were all trying to out-credential one another with their conservative bona fides. And Romney slipped in. If it happens again and I've treated this guy like shit, where am I?”

“That's not happening. There aren't enough country clubbers left in the party to enable this guy. South Carolina was a
fluke. Of course he won Colorado, the land of the pot smokers. And fuckin' Minnesota? They elected Al Franken. What more need I say? That Haskel is beating him even with Redfield, Lewis and Figuera in the race is a testament to her strength.”

•  •  •

On the eve of Super Tuesday, Susan surfaced again. I was in the big conference room at WRGT post-show, when Alex entered and handed me another “Wilma Blake” message that had been logged at the main number for “Stan Powers.” One fake personality calling another. I figured that my appearance on
Hardball
the night before had drawn her out. Funny thing was that Phil had actually suggested that I use the appearance to trash Susan Miller (“she's the Jane Fonda of the New Millenium,” he'd intoned). But I'd resisted and gone hard on Tobias' religion instead. If he'd known that Susan was now the one person about to give me feedback on the segment, he'd have had a conniption.

At the moment, her message felt like a lifeline. After completing my shift, I had holed myself up in the room where WRGT usually serenaded potential advertisers. But today was no dog and pony sales pitch. Instead I was now in the middle of taking a one-hour, mandatory, online decency test and ready to blow my brains out. A holdover from the sale of WRGT from Star Channel to MML&J, this obligatory, annual, cover-your-ass, broadcast ethics exam forced me to grapple with the likes of the following:

QUESTION #3:

Which of the following statements, if aired, might expose a broadcast station to the risk of an FCC indecency forfeiture? Please consider all options before answering.

ANSWERS:

1. “His testicles are, like, down to the floor, you could use them as bocce balls.”

2. “He's a complete bullshitter!”

3. “He really seems like a dick to me.”

Normally I would have pitched a fit to Steve Bernson and told him I had better things to do than waste an hour so that the company could later answer a lawsuit by saying, “Well, we gave him his training, so there was nothing else we could do to prevent him from spontaneously slandering someone.” But right now I was in no position to complain. The fact was that I'd had a potential indecency violation right after the Margaret Haskel interview, and Bernson and the MML&J suits were in an uproar. I had uttered an f-bomb during weekend programming. This was a speed bump I could ill afford, because right now things with the show were really popping. The WRGT listeners were keenly interested in the Tobias campaign and there was rampant speculation as to why he would not offer me a more customary answer when I'd questioned him about his faith. It was almost as if they themselves had raised the issue, and they kept it going long after I brought it up.

“Stan, I heard Tobias is a Wiccan.”

Or:

“You do know, Stan, that his wife was once in a Satanic cult.”

And even:

“They're sympathetic to Sharia law.”

I could tell that Alex hated it when callers would spread those sorts of rumors on air, but she knew her role, and dutifully punched up the calls and one-line summaries without any editing. Rod, meanwhile, was in his glory, and seemed to be choreographing the bumper music he played to suit the
anti-Tobias sentiments embraced by the callers. One day a caller went on a tirade about Tobias' failure to embrace the Ten Commandments close to the top of the hour, when we had a hard out. Rod was supposed to start a music bed 30 seconds before our time was up, giving me and whomever I might be speaking with an audible signal to wrap it up. Well, in sync with this guy's tirade, Rod cued up the Rolling Stones' “Sympathy for the Devil.” I admit it suited the brand of
Morning Power
, but it made me feel dirty to be the ringleader just the same.

The ratings suggested that this passion, most of it driven by anger, was translating into new highs for our listenership. That sense of purpose was measurable in other ways too, including my Twitter followers, Facebook friends and the deluge of anonymous postings on the
Morning Power
page of the WRGT blog. Although I'd always believed that if I could trace who wrote them, I'd find myself circling back to Rod's computer.