The Best Laid Plans (25 page)

“The Leader would like to meet your guy if you can come back in for a few minutes,” Stanton said.

“Hang on a sec, Bradley.” I turned to Angus, covering my cell’s mouthpiece microphone with my thumb. “Our fearless Leader
wants to shake your hand and bask in your glory. It’ll only take a couple of minutes,” I said.

His shoulders drooped. “Do we have to? I’m beat, and the chessboard beckons,” he scowled.

“Angus, he’s the Leader of the Liberal Party and perhaps our next Prime Minister. When he asks for an audience, protocol – not to mention, courtesy – suggests we give him one. We’ll be in the car in 15 minutes tops.”

The Leader’s office was also in Centre Block on the second floor. His office overlooked Parliament Hill and was a beautiful space with lots of carved wood and leaded windows. We were shown in. He was on the phone with his back to us, looking out the window. He finished his conversation and turned to find Angus and me before him.

“Duncan, my friend, how good to finally meet you,” the Leader boomed.

I prayed Angus would not correct his split infinitive. The Leader did not take kindly to criticism. It made advising him a perilous task.

“It’s nice
finally to meet
you, too,” Angus replied, deftly rejoining the infinitive without burdening the Leader with any grammatical elucidation. “I go by Angus.”

The Leader came around the exquisite wooden desk that once belonged to Laurier and gripped Angus with his habitual political handshake. It was much like any other handshake except with the addition of the strong, left-hand shoulder squeeze, connoting great friendship, respect, and affection for the person he’s just met for the first time. The Leader had a tendency to invade your personal space when talking to you. From my vantage point, it looked as if his forehead actually came into contact with some of Angus’s unruly locks. Even though Angus’s hair was standing up as if straining to defect, the Leader was still right in his face. Angus tilted back to create separation.

“Angus you’ve done a great thing, knocking Cameron off his pedestal,” the Leader declared.

“Well, the way I see it, sir, Mr. Cameron jumped off of his own accord. I just happened to be the least unpalatable alternative.”

“Nonsense, man! Don’t be so modest. You ran a great campaign. I followed it very closely. You deserve the accolades being heaped on you now. You’ve worked your way into the hearts of Canadians, and that usually takes years. Your victory was quite a coup and sets us up well for the next time around.”

Angus just shook his head, the expression on his face eloquently asking “are you daft man?” My heart rate increased in anticipation of what might next fly from his lips.

“Since we’re on the subject of nonsense, my campaign
and
my candidacy were not worth a tinker’s curse – no offence to my colleague here,” Angus patted my back in reassurance. “I didnae win the damnable election. Cameron lost it, and no blatherskite’s foolish ramblin’s will ever change that.”

The Leader was taken aback, unaccustomed to being contradicted. He turned to me with a “what gives?” look on his face.

“Ah, sir,
blatherskite
is a Scottish term of endearment. As you can well imagine, Angus is still coming to grips with our rather surprising victory,” I skated, with very weak ankles.

“Understandable, completely understandable. It’s been a shock to us all. But I have to say your little speech at the airport was a masterstroke. Daniel must have polished that prose for hours. It was brilliant,” the Leader gushed.

I jumped in before Angus could tear the fabric off this meeting any farther. “Ah, actually, Angus is a wonderful writer and orator in his own right. I heard his speech for the first time that night when everyone else did. Angus was just speaking from his heart. There was none of my wordsmithing at all. It was completely extemporaneous,” I clarified.

“Amazing. And I really do like the disheveled maverick look you’ve cultivated. The hair and beard are great – very strong and tough. Very ‘bring it on’ and ‘go ahead, make my day.’ Canadians really seemed to have bought it, you old rascal,” he nodded, and
smiled conspiratorially. Fortunately, he didn’t actually elbow Angus in the ribs.

We drove in silence for quite some time, and then, just as Cumberland hove into view, Angus weighed in.

“So he’s the Leader of the Liberal Party.”

“He wasn’t exactly on his game today, Angus. I got to know him pretty well when I worked there, and he really is a good guy,” I replied, feeling the need to defend my former employer.

“We don’t need ‘good guys’ runnin’ the country, Professor Addison. We need smart people who know what’s what and aren’t afraid to make the right decisions,” Angus countered. “I dinnae get a good feelin’ from him.”

“Don’t lock in your judgment, yet. He’s done a good job. He just needs to surround himself with different people. He’s got too many Bradley Stantons on his staff and not enough PLUs.”

“PLUs?” he asked, looking quizzical.

“People Like Us.”

I got whipped in our first two games but managed to draw the third. I retired to the boathouse, tired and uneasy. Angus had been sworn in. The Throne Speech was scheduled for the following week. I was back wearing my old life, but it somehow no longer fit.

“You are the lab rat in what could be a classic experiment in Canadian democracy,” I noted from the passenger seat as Angus drove us to Ottawa in his Toyota Camry. “I say that with great respect and regard.”

“Aye, but I heard it with distaste and disdain,” countered Angus. He gave me a withering look and held it as long as the road was straight.

“Seriously now, think about it. Perhaps for the first time in Canadian history, the voters have elected a Member of Parliament whose singular commitment is to the public interest, not his own, and the political consequences be damned,” I continued. “You cannot be bought, you have no desire for re-election, you have no interest in higher office, and you don’t care what people think of you. You actually do what you say. You are the mirror opposite of what Canadians have come to expect from their politicians. You are the antipolitician. In fact, my rudimentary understanding of physics suggests that if you were to collide head-on with a traditional politician, you might cancel one another out and both disappear in a puff of smoke,” I concluded, quite pleased with my little theory.

What was the thoughtful and enlightened response of the newly elected MP from Cumberland-Prescott? He paused, looked pensive with brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field, and narrowed his eyes to slits. He then reached over and pushed in the
cassette that protruded from the stereo in the dash. Out blasted the greatest hits of the 48th Highlanders. I’ve always liked “Amazing Grace.” It’s a very nice little tune. But played by 62 bagpipers at ear-bleeding volume in a compact car with a stereo of questionable fidelity, the tune lost some of its lustre. I turned down “Amazing Grace” until it was drowned out by the ringing in my ears. I let another 15 kilometres pass in silence before dipping my toe in the frigid waters again.

“I just think if more politicians adopted your approach, we’d be rewarded with better government and a healthier democracy.”

“My approach? What is my approach? I’ve only just arrived. Why not let me find out where the parliamentary crapper is before you declare me the cure for all that ails democracy,” Angus commented with finality.

“Okay, okay, I’m simply saying that if you’re the same person on the Hill as you were in the Ottawa airport on election night, we’re in for an interesting time of it.”

Angus just lowered his chin, nearly to his sternum, and shook his head. The simultaneous gesture translator in my brain came back with “haven’t you done enough already.”

“This from a man who promised me a Liberal could never win this ridin’. You need a wee credibility transfusion before your word carries much heft with me.”

I held my tongue for the remainder of the drive while trying to coax vital signs out of my ego.

We had a busy day ahead. Angus had his first caucus meeting in the morning, about which I had considerable anxiety. In the afternoon, the Usher of the Black Rod would bang on the front door of the House of Commons and then lead a ceremonial procession of MPs to the Senate, where they would listen to the Governor General read the Government’s Throne Speech.

While the House was in session, caucus meetings were held once weekly on Wednesdays. All Liberal MPs and Senators were supposed to go, but attendance was not taken and was frequently
sparse. However, because this caucus meeting was the first one since the election, a capacity crowd was expected. Normally, political staffers, except for the Leader’s advisers, were not permitted to attend; the Leader’s advisers could pretty well do whatever they wanted. As a very recent émigré from the Leader’s office, I slipped into the meeting unchallenged. As in similar situations, if you carried yourself as if you belonged there, no one said boo.

The Opposition caucus room was full of new and returning MPs. Several Senators also showed up, including the Senate Leader. A long table stretched across the front of the room, and theatre-style seating spanned the space from wall to wall with a centre aisle. The arched windows overlooked the front lawn of Parliament Hill while beyond, the Langevin Block, which housed the Prime Minister’s Office, was visible on the south side of Wellington Street. The worn and seedy look of the green carpet was matched only by the beige drapes on five of the six windows. The sixth was curtainless, although a naked steel dowel stood ready to do its part. Aging metal light fixtures painted a garish gold hung from rods in the ceiling and looked as it they were last dusted when Diefenbaker led the Opposition Tories in 1956. Within Centre Block, Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Needless to say, the Government caucus room was in much better shape and was more lavishly appointed.

As agreed on the walk over, Angus and I separated on arrival. He looked good, for Angus, though a tad grumpy for a newly elected Member of Parliament. He was wearing one of two new suits I’d convinced him he needed. He’d tamed his hair, to the extent possible, and cleared his beard of food fragments, as a dedicated farmer might have rid his field of stones. He took a seat close to the far wall near the front. Most others in the room were smiling and laughing. Excitement was in the air, and thanks to a carefully chosen breakfast menu (no turnip), I hoped Angus would contribute nothing else of his own. Many MPs approached Angus and offered spirited congratulations. There was much “David and
Goliath” banter, which, I confess, had become tiresome by the morning after the election. Angus was polite but looked to me like he was awaiting a vasectomy. I lurked in the back, chatting up my former colleagues on the Leader’s staff and trying to mask a growing sense of foreboding.

Bradley Stanton popped into the room, surveyed the scene, and leaned into the microphone on the front table.

“Awright, folks, listen up. The Leader is on his way, and as usual at the first post-election caucus meeting, he’s bringing the press gallery with him. So let’s be upbeat and act like we’re spoiling for a fight and ready to bring down this evil Tory government.”

A few muted cheers greeted his instructions before Stanton darted out of the room to pick up the Leader’s posse. At that stage, Angus looked like he was about a third of the way into his vasectomy. He had low-to-no tolerance for political theatre and the kind of “optics” Stanton was trying to orchestrate. Ten seconds later, the Leader, with the look and gait of a man on a mission, strode into the room. The assembled caucus erupted into a “spontaneous” standing ovation, triggered by the frenetic applause of Bradley Stanton and his underlings in the wings. I stood and clapped, too. That was what one did. The Leader reached the front of the room and stood to face his adoring throng. He held his hands in the air in a half-hearted attempt to quell the commotion, though we all knew enough to sustain it for several more minutes.

It took a while before we all realized what was happening. The eight Betacams with their glaring sun guns were not trained on the triumphant Leader but had encircled the lone MP who’d remained seated while all others had leaped to their feet. Yep, much to the Leader’s chagrin, and my misfortune, Angus was the centre of attention. Needless to say, it was not the desired “optics” for that particular photo opportunity.