The Cost of Commitment - KJ2 (2 page)

The Cost of Commitment

Banks, a sandy-haired man with a crew cut who couldn’t have been a
day over twenty-five, addressed Kate. “Ma’am, it’s our job to make
certain you can do your job. You just tell us what you need and we’ll take
care of it.”

She smiled. “You guys are going to get awfully tired of me, I’m sure.

The way I look at it, I’m sort of an internal reporter; I’ll ask you for all
the information I’m sure the media will be looking to squeeze out of me.

That way, by the time they get wind of a story, I’ll have the answers
already. I’ll also know how much information I’m going to share and
how I want to play it with them.” Kate didn’t ever want to be blindsided
by a reporter who knew something she didn’t. She recognized
immediately that her relationship with the officers in this command
center would be elemental to her ability to succeed in that endeavor.

The executive deputy commissioner chimed in. “Anything you need to
know, any questions you have that need answering, these fellas will bend
over backward to make sure you get everything you need. Right, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

Commissioner Sampson tipped his chair back and laughed. “As I recall, the governor warned you that being the DOCS public information officer would be a challenge.”

“Yes, he did, and he was right.” Kate smiled wistfully. Governor Charles Hyland had taken a huge risk politically when he had called to offer her the PIO job. After all, she had just been fired as WCAP-TV’s lead anchorwoman after the
Enquirer
outed her as a lesbian. She would always be grateful to him for hiring her despite the media storm had that ensued.

“Ms. Kyle, is there any truth to the rumor that WCAP bought you off
for a quarter of a million dollars?”

“Kate, can you confirm that the woman you were pictured kissing on
the cover of the
National Enquirer
is one of the wives of the sultan of
Brunei?”

“Ms. Kyle, how does it feel to be a hero one day and a goat the next?

Are you bitter about the treatment you’ve received?”

No,
Kate thought sarcastically,
I’m not the least bit upset that my entire life has been turned upside down, my career derailed, and my privacy shot to hell. Not to mention the fact that I very nearly lost the love of my life in an effort to protect her from you vultures.

It had been two days since Kate had returned from Sedona with Jay,
and her emotions were still somewhat raw. Although she didn’t know
how, word had leaked out that she had cut her trip short, and reporters
Lynn Ames

were swarming around her like locusts as she attempted to shop for
groceries.

Truthfully, she didn’t care that there was no food in the house, but
Jay had insisted that they needed something to eat other than Raisin
Bran, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, and Diet Pepsi. The continued attention
had dictated that Jay remain secluded in their house or risk exposure.

While Jay professed to not care about being linked to her, Kate wanted to
avoid that for her lover if at all possible.

She dredged up a smile from somewhere. “Folks, if you really want a
news story, here it is.”

Every reporter’s pen stood poised to record her statement.

“Kate Kyle is actually grocery shopping with the intent to cook
something other than breakfast cereal.”

The gathered throng of journalists groaned collectively. “C’mon,
Kate, you’ve got to give us something here.”

“Are you shopping for one or for two?”

It was an attempt to push her buttons and get her to react angrily,
and it very nearly worked. Her blue eyes narrowed to ice chips as she
turned from selecting pasta sauce and faced the group.

Give you something? My friggin’ grocery list is suddenly a story. If I go to the bathroom, it’s newsworthy, and my fiancée can’t so much as leave the house for fear of having her life ripped apart, too. And you want me to give you something?

Somehow she managed to restrain herself. “Sorry, I’d love to help
you out, but I’m afraid you’re finding out the truth: my life is terribly
dull. I hate to disappoint you, and I could make something up, I suppose,
but then that wouldn’t be journalism, would it? That would be
sensationalism, and I’m sure none of you is interested in that, right?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She finished her shopping without
further incident.

When the press release announcing her hiring as the director of
public information for DOCS was disseminated a week later, the heat
shifted from Kate to Governor Hyland. The headlines ranged from
factual to inflammatory: “
Former TV Anchorwoman Turns Spin Doctor;” “Hyland Hires Disgraced TV Personality;” “Governor Goes for Gay Girl;”
and, in one ultraconservative newspaper,
“Pervert to Speak for Prisons.”
Subsequent editorials called into question the governor’s
judgment, morals, ethics, and commitment to follow the will of his
constituents. The spate of negative publicity led Kate to call her new
boss.

“Governor, it’s Kate Kyle.”

“Hi, Kate, how are you? Holding up okay?”

“I’m fine, sir. I was going to ask you the same question.”

The Cost of Commitment

“I’m just dandy, Kate, lovin’ every minute of it.”

“Sir, if you’d rather I didn’t take the position, I’ll understand.”

“Katherine Kyle, if I ran from a fight every time the press had an
opinion, I’d be a pretty poor excuse for a leader. I’m not the least bit
concerned about the uproar. This, too, shall pass, as they say. And don’t
you let them get to you either. You are more than qualified for this job,
and I feel very lucky to have snagged you before someone else made you
a better offer.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind. I won’t forget this.”

“Forget the humble attitude, Kate. I liked you better when you were
feisty. I’ve always valued your opinions and approach. I’m looking
forward to having your advice and counsel close at hand. Let’s get
together soon to talk, all right?”

“Any time, sir.”

“I’ll have my secretary set something up.”

She had dined at the governor’s mansion several times since then.

The conversation had been lively, the debate spirited. He truly did value her positions and opinions, and they argued policy and politics for hours.

Kate shook her head slightly to clear it and refocused on the commissioner.

“I’m sorry, what’s that, sir?”

“I was saying I’ve been impressed with your work so far. You seem to have little trouble grasping the nuances of this business, and your ability to deflect negative publicity is uncanny. In short, you’ve caught on quickly and stopped our image from hemorrhaging any further. It’s nice to have a spokesperson on board who can get along with the press.”

Here he smiled, and Kate could clearly hear the unspoken phrase,
unlike
your predecessor.
“I just wanted you to know that I’ve noticed, and that I am awfully happy to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad you feel that way.” Kate was somewhat at a loss; she was pretty sure her boss hadn’t called her in just to inflate her ego.

After a moment’s hesitation, he went on. “Ah, Kate, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the governor’s been under a lot of pressure lately.” At her raised eyebrow, he explained, “Seems the boys from the DNC aren’t crazy about some of his positions. They see him as their meal ticket to the White House next year and they’re afraid of him alienating middle America.” His tone was derisive.

“What you’re saying is the Democratic National Committee wants him to take no real stand about anything meaningful, accomplish nothing, and just
pretend
like he’s governing for the duration, right?”

Lynn Ames

“Charles is right about one thing: you are perceptive and not shy about telling it like it is in the appropriate company.”

“Sir, I’ve never been one to subscribe to the ‘tell them what they want to hear’ theory. I believe people like you and the governor rely on me to offer the unvarnished truth; it’s that kind of advice that has real value.

I’m afraid I’ll never be a good yes-person.”

“Thank God, Kate. Thank God.”

“Sir, I’m sure there’s a reason why you’re telling me this now.”

He sighed. “Yes. I want you to know that there’s going to be increased scrutiny of everything we do here. You know what a hot-button issue crime and corrections is for a democrat. We’re going to have to make sure we dot every i and cross every t for the next year. You, in particular, are going to be in the hot seat. Are you all right with that?”

Kate favored her boss with a cockeyed grin. “Respectfully, sir, been there, done that.”

In the luxurious private study at the exclusive Fort Orange Club in Albany, three Democratic power brokers were in a heated discussion.

Robert Hawthorne had been selected the year before to take the helm of the Democratic National Committee. He had recently retired from the U.S. Senate, where he had served four terms. Michael Vendetti, press secretary to Governor Charles Hyland of New York, was the most powerful spin doctor in the state. David Breathwaite, “super flak” of all law enforcement agencies, had made himself indispensable over the years by unearthing all manner of damaging information on important figures on both sides of the political aisle.

“God damn it, David, you promised she wouldn’t be able to handle the job.”

The former director of public information for DOCS answered,

“Relax, Michael, you know you’re not supposed to get excited. Imagine what that’s doing to your blood pressure.”

The man across the table from him actually growled. Vendetti, who was always impeccably dressed in finely tailored suits, regarded Kate’s predecessor and the current czar of criminal justice PR as the human personification of a weasel, and a short one at that.

At Vendetti’s fierce expression, David continued mildly, “You’re the governor’s press secretary. It’s not my fault he prefers her advice to yours.”

Vendetti rose so quickly that his ornately appointed high-backed chair toppled over backward, landing with a resounding bang on the hardwood floor. “You little—”

The Cost of Commitment

“That’s enough. Both of you.” Hawthorne leaned forward in his seat.

“It won’t do us any good to fight amongst ourselves. We can’t afford to lose sight of the objective here. We need our boy Charlie in the White House—”

Under his breath David mumbled, “That’s only because you couldn’t get yourself elected dog catcher last time around,
Mr.
Senator.”

“And that Amazonian dyke is standing in our way.” If Hawthorne had heard the cutting remark directed at him, he chose to ignore it. “She has entirely too much influence over our boy. She goes to dinner with him every few weeks and all of a sudden he’s making dramatic policy announcements that have nothing to do with our agenda. Not only that, but we’ve got a wild card in the form of a commissioner we can’t control.

I don’t like it.”

“Bob, it’s too early to be concerned. She’s only been in the position three months. We said we’d get her out at six months.” Breathwaite never looked up as he chewed on his cuticles. “Give her time, she’s bound to screw up. If not, we’ll help her.”

“Yes, well, I’m not leaving anything to chance here, so I’ve asked an old friend of mine to join us.” Hawthorne rose from his position at the head of the table and went to an inner door. “You can come in now, Willie.” To the others in the room, he said, “Gentlemen, I’m sure you know my good friend William Redfield, executive deputy commissioner of DOCS.”

At the unexpected sight of the man he had worked with for more years than he cared to count, David Breathwaite visibly blanched. He hated surprises. “Bill. I didn’t realize you and the senator were on such friendly terms.”

Redfield smirked, recognizing that he’d caught the department’s former spokesman off guard. To his view, Breathwaite had always been a necessary evil, but not someone to be trusted. “There are a lot of things you don’t know, David. Bob and I went to college together. He called me recently and filled me in.”

“Yes, I thought it was important that we have someone on the inside.”

Breathwaite protested, “We have someone on the inside already.” He wanted to control the flow of information from inside DOCS; with Redfield in the picture, his value had just decreased.

“Yes, David, that’s true, but so far I’ve been less than satisfied with the results we’ve been getting from our source. We need someone with a little more pull, someone who can make things happen, if you will.”

Hawthorne smiled thinly. “Please, Willie, have a seat.”

Redfield selected the fourth and last available seat at the table. He had been to the Fort Orange Club only once before, to a retirement dinner for a state assemblyman. The place was too rich for his taste—all those
Lynn Ames

bluebloods who were born to power huddling behind their cigars and pipes in a setting that looked like it belonged in a British movie about the aristocracy. But Redfield was a practical man—he knew that there was no better place to conduct business discreetly than here. His musings were cut short by the sound of the chairman’s voice.

“Michael, how did our boy Charlie take my discussion with him today?”

“As you might expect, he was less than overjoyed at having you come in and dictate political strategy and policy positions to him.”

The veins in his neck bulging, Hawthorne thundered, “For Christ’s sake, he’s running around like he’s actually his own man. He belongs to this party. He belongs to
us
, and we’re gonna make sure he gets elected president in spite of himself. I don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not he’s happy as long as he sticks to our agenda!” Adjusting his tie, he added more quietly, “Michael, you’d better keep him in line. Will, I’m gonna need your help here. Kyle has got to be out the door in three months, no ifs, ands, or buts. Can you make that happen?”