"Everybody, I th-th-think. The Prestons. Grace's s-sisters. I'm not sure."
"And you want to let Andrew Preston spend a week sucking up to Lenny, pushing himself ahead of you at Quorum while you sit by and do nothing? Good God, John. How stupid are you?"
John opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. The business didn't work like that. Andrew Preston could never hope to usurp John's position and he wouldn't try. He wouldn't dare. But there was no point trying to reason with Caroline.
"So you want to go, then?"
"I don't want to go, John. Frankly I can't think of anything worse than being cooped up with Lenny Brookstein's inane child bride on some godforsaken island for seven days. But I will go. And so will you." She swept imperiously out of the room.
Once she'd gone, John Merrivale allowed himself a small smile.
I did it. We're going. We're actually going!
The reverse psychology had worked like a charm. All it took was a little courage. Perhaps I'll try it more often?
Chapter Three
SENATOR JACK WARNER WOKE UP ON Saturday morning with a crushing hangover. Honor had left early for her yoga class. Downstairs, in the playroom of their idyllic Westchester County farmhouse, Jack Warner could hear his daughters, Bobby and Rose, screaming blue murder at each other.
What the fuck is Ilse doing?
The family's new Dutch au pair gave an excellent blow job, but her nannying skills left much to be desired. So far Jack had resisted Honor's requests to be allowed to fire Ilse. But this morning, he changed his mind. An uninterrupted Saturday morning in bed was worth much more than a good blow job. In Senator Jack Warner's world, good blow jobs were easy to come by. Peace and quiet, on the other hand, were priceless.
Jack Warner first knew he wanted to become president of the United States when he was three years old. It was August 1974. His parents were watching Richard Nixon's resignation on television.
"What's that man doing?" little Jack asked his mother. It was his father who answered.
"He's leaving the best job in the world, son. He's a liar and a fool."
Jack thought about this for a minute.
"If he's a fool, how did he get the best job in the world?"
His father laughed. "That's a good question!"
"Who's going to do his job now?"
"Why d'you ask, Jacko?" Jack's father pulled him up onto his lap and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Do you want it?"
Yes, thought Jack. If it's the best job in the world, I rather think I do.
So far, Jack Warner's path to the White House had been straight as an arrow. First in his class at Andover? Check. Steady record of volunteer work and public service? Check. Yale undergrad, Harvard Law, partnership in a prestigious New York law firm? Check, check, check. After two brief internships working on senatorial campaigns, Jack Warner ran for Congress, winning the 20th Congressional District seat by a landslide at the astonishingly young age of twenty-nine. Jack Warner never made a friend, took a job, attended a party, or got laid without first thinking, How will this look on my record? On the rare occasions when he slept with a less-than-suitable girl, he made sure that the event took place well away from the prying eyes of any potential voters. But such slipups were rare. Jack made it his business to be in the right place at the right time with the right people. He knew that his appeal lay in his all-American good looks, the air of confidence and down-home goodness that he seemed to project so effortlessly.
Like everything else in Jack Warner's life, his marriage to Honor Knowles had been a carefully choreographed political decision.
Fred Farrell, Jack's campaign manager, sat him down. "Our data show you're still perceived as too young to run for the Senate. We need to 'mature' your image."
Jack was frustrated. "How? Should I grow a beard? Start wearing vests?"
"Actually the beard's not a bad idea. But what you really need to do is get married. A couple of kids wouldn't hurt either. The single women all love you, but you need to work on the family vote."
"Fine. I'll ask Karen over the weekend."
Karen Connelly was Jack's girlfriend of the past ten months and his first really serious love. The only daughter of a respected, political family - Karen's father, Mitch, had once been White House chief of staff - Karen was also beautiful, intelligent and kind. She adored Jack unconditionally. The two of them had spoken often about starting a family together one day, when Karen finished grad school and Jack's congressional schedule got less hectic. Evidently "one day" was now.
Fred Farrell frowned. "I'm not so sure Karen's the best choice. She's a sweet girl and all. But for your wife..."
Jack bristled. "What's wrong with her?"
"There's nothing wrong with her. Don't take it personally, Jack. I'm merely saying that ideally I'd prefer someone with a little more 'wow' factor. Not too pretty, of course. That's a big turnoff for your base."
"But prettier than Karen?"
"Higher profile than Karen. It wouldn't hurt if she were independently wealthy, too."
"Why?"
"For the future, dear boy." Fred Farrell shook his head despairingly. "I'm assuming your political ambitions don't end with the Senate?"
"Of course not."
"Good. Then start thinking practically. Have you any idea how much a presidential run costs these days?"
Jack had a pretty good idea. Many a wealthy man had lost everything pursuing his White House fantasies. Even so, marrying for money seemed distasteful.
"Look, I have a girl in mind. Meet her, see what you think. No pressure."
Three months later, Congressman Jack Warner got over his distaste and married society heiress Honor Knowles in a blaze of publicity. The day they left for their honeymoon, Karen Connelly committed suicide, slitting her wrists in the bathtub. Out of respect for Karen's father, the press never ran the story.