Andrea Walden, the media consultant, sat apart from the rest of the people gathered around the conference. Chain-smoking, she resembled an inscrutable chimney.
“This afternoon we’re filming the television spots with Warner, Richard, and Carolyn. We’ll follow the same layout as the ads from the primaries, except this time Warner and Richard will be together, superimposed over Carolyn in the courtroom for crime, industrial cleanup for the environment, etcetera.”
Nick gestured across the table at Dave Willis, one of the campaign managers. “Dave believes that if we get back to basics and utilize a grass roots type of approach, we’ll be viewed in sharp contrast to the ivory tower image of the Washman ticket.”
“What do you have in mind?” Richard Young asked.
“Actually we want to revitalize an old method. A tour blitz with a hometown angle,” Dave explained, “I’ve got it mapped out. We can do fifty cities in thirty days. We charter a few planes, take along the press, and we go out and meet the people. Face to face. Both you and Warner excel at this approach, so lets use it to our best advantage.”
“What’s the hometown angle?” Carolyn asked.
Nick smiled. “We fly into metropolitan areas, but drive out to the suburbs and throw big community picnics in the parks. The press will eat it up, no pun intended.”
Carolyn laughed. “I can see that.” She glanced down the length of the table, meeting Dave Willis’s gaze. “Good job. Dave. This is an excellent vehicle for Warner’s and Richard’s styles.”
“Let’s not forget yours.” Nick reminded her. “We’re going to have you stumping with them.”
“All right.” Carolyn started making notes. “Why don’t you get Braunson on the line, Nick? We’ll want polls on everything. We need to know exactly what the American people want. Have him do the polls constantly, so we can adapt as the trends change. We’ll review his data every day, and that will keep us up to date on what our positions should be. Matt, you’ll want to call the Secret Service and notify them of our itinerary.”
Without preamble or a fancy introduction, the hometown boy, Warner Hamilton Lane, strode onto a small stage in the town square of Medina, Ohio and greeted the masses like a rock star at a conceit. “Good evening, Medina!”
A roar went up from the crowd, which was packed for a three-block radius.
Upturned faces carpeted Warner’s field of vision. “I love this town-” he stalled, only to be interrupted by another roar. “Medina is an example of the United States at its best. A beautiful town full of hard working, law abiding citizens. Citizens who raise America’s future leaders. I grew up in a town like this, a town where you could walk the sheets at night without concern. But times have changed. Thieves, gangs, and drug dealers lurk in the shadows of America’s finest communities. Well. I say. ‘enough!’ It’s time to take back our neighborhoods. It’s time to take back our lives – our freedom. And I’m ready to lead that fight!”
The crowd cheered.
Richard and his wife, Dixie, joined Warner on stage. Warner shook Richard’s hand and hugged Dixie. Like a tag team member, Richard picked up the speech where Warn rt left off. “We must direct our energy to fight those who cut funding for our police forces, the programs for our youth, and those who cater to the underworld with soft prison sentences and lenient laws…”
Their remarks, which focused on their dream for America, their goals, and their plans for attaining them, continued for forty-five minutes. Technically, the speech should have lasted thirty minutes, but breaks for applause and chanting stretched the time.
Then Warner joined in. “Now, please let me have the honor of introducing the real headliner for the evening. Our very own one woman war on drugs, my partner, my wife – Carolyn Alden Lane.”
Carolyn walked onto the stage and the crowd went wild. Three minutes later, she was finally able to speak over the din. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she pointed at the crowd.
Again the crowd began to cheer.
“We have a dream for a drug-free America, where children flourish, no one lives in fear or hunger, and families thrive. But as simple as this sounds, it’s far more difficult to accomplish.” Carolyn made eye contact with several people in the crowd below her. “The battle begins right here, in hometowns across America, where we come together to fight against drugs and crime. I’ve joined this battle, Warner has picked up the challenge, and we need you to finish the war. We can be victorious, we can hand America back to her law-abiding citizens – but it starts with your vote!”
The crowd roared its approval and began chanting, “Lane in 2000.”
Warner, Richard, and Dixie stepped forward. They linked hands with Carolyn and raised them high in the air.
FIFTY
We’ve done it!“ Stan Benson stood in the doorway of the hotel room in Hutchinson. Kansas. ”We’ve pulled ahead of Washman in the polls, and our numbers are glowing.“
A cheer went up in the room.
Richard Young pulled Carolyn aside. “I have to compliment you,” he said as he took her hand. “Your war on drugs platform is our strongest asset.” His eyes searched hers.
“Thank you,” Carolyn said as she met his gaze. Now that she’d gotten to know him, she realized he wasn’t at all as she had expected. Although he could be strong when necessary, she sensed a vulnerability in him, a sensitivity.
“You’ve sot to have some of the highest approval ratings of any woman in American history,” he said.
Carolyn blushed under his scrutiny. His compliment felt good.
He smiled.
She’d never paid attention to his dimples before. He was handsome, she thought, and like Warner, the female constituency loved him.
He still held her hand in a warm but gentle grip. “I wasn’t sure about our relationship in the beginning of the campaign,” he continued. “But I hope we can be friends. I truly do admire you, and I think we make a great team.”
Carolyn leached up and kissed his cheek. “We’re already friends.”
She heard a cork pop in the background.
“Champagne all around” Braunson said.
A shiver of excitement skittered down Carolyn’s spine. The pendulum had swung in their favor. They just needed to keep their balance and maintain momentum.
On election eve, the culmination of years of hard work ended. At eleven-fifteen in the evening, activity eddied around campaign headquarters as the exhausted staff returned to Jefferson City to give one final push, and to watch Warner and Carolyn cast their votes the next morning.
“It’s almost over,” Matt said, slapping Nick on the shoulder. “I just want you to know that win, lose, or draw, I’ve enjoyed working with you.”
Nick extended his hand. “I’ll only agree to a win, but the feeling is mutual.”
“The polls are looking strong.”
Nick shrugged.
