with water from a pitcher on the adjoining table. Finally, he moved to the sofa and lay down, putting his feet up. He took several deep breaths.
'What the fuck was that?' he finally asked himself in wonder. He lay there, afraid to move, until it was time to get made up, dressed, and go on stage to meet the candidates.
Outside, the candidates started pulling up at the convention center, arriving like stars at a Hollywood premiere. Across the street, standing behind curb barricades, was a gallery of Iowa voters. The pod people were ready, microphones and cameras at port arms. Each candidate stopped to pose for pictures, and make a few remarks.
Then the front runner pulled up in a black limousine with six people in the back of the car, including the president of the Iowa Democratic Committee. Skatina was the Party choice and they had orchestrated the arrival.
The senator was confident. He was way ahead in the tracking polls and knew he was going to kick ass in Iowa. '
Tonight is gonna be a very special night because tonight we're going to make some promises to the women of America. And I think it's time those promises were made and kept. . '
The pod people had already started to pack up when a red pickup truck with the Caulfields and Haze Richards pulled up to the front of the auditorium. The fenders were muddy; the windshield was dirty. Bud had wanted to wash the truck before they left the farm but A.]. stopped him.
It pulled to a stop and Bud and Sarah Caulfield got out; then Haze Richards stepped down on the concrete apron in front of the convention center. Single blow-dries looked up. Pod people turned. And then it dawned. . Oh yeah, that governor. . from Rhode Island. Reluctantly, some of them got their cameras out again and back up on their shoulders.
'Arriving last is candidate Haze Richardson,' Lon Fredericks from WXYO-TV said into his pillbox mike. 'Governor Richardson, Governor Richardson,' he shouted. Haze paused in the TV glare to hug Sarah and shake Bud's hand, then moved over so that all of the cameras could focus on him.
'Good evening,' he said.
'Governor Richardson, you have almost no voter recognition in Iowa. Do you have any hope to win?' Lon Fredericks said.
'It's Richards. . Governor Haze Richards. I don't know if I can win. I came here at my own expense to try and say what I believe.'
'Governor Richards, Governor Richards, over here,' Ken Venable called. He had wedged himself in with the press.
'Yes. .' Haze said, looking into the eyes of his own campaign pollster.
'Who are those people you came here with?' Ken asked, throwing Haze the slow, chest-high pitch.
'That's Sarah and Bud Caulfield. They own a farm in Grinnell that is mortgaged to the hilt and about to go back to the bank. I spent the night with them. Bud and Sarah are the reason I'm in this campaign. I'm in it for them and for all the people like them. I want to make America work for people like the Caulfields.'
He moved into the convention center.
UBC had parked their sixteen-wheel control room around the side of the auditorium. Nestled in beside it was the satellite news-gathering truck.
Brenton Spencer walked onstage and stood for a moment. He had a lavaliere radio mike hidden behind his bold tie and had pushed the audio receiver into his ear so that the cord ran down the back of his neck and into his shirt collar to a battery transmitter on his belt. Ted Miller, the director, hit the intercom switch.
' 'Evening, Brent. This is Ted in the truck. We're gonna be going live in two-twenty.'
'Okay,' Brenton said.
'We'll be giving you any political facts you need through your angel,' he said, referring to the earpiece. 'Whatever,' Brenton said.
Ted hit a switch in front of him, cutting Brenton out of the audio loop and turned to his sound man. 'Is he okay? He sounds terrible.'
The sound man shrugged.
Ted Miller hit the intercom, putting Brenton back on with him. 'Brent, anything we can get you? Want any water?' But Brenton had taken the angel out of his ear. It was hanging down the back of his collar. 'What the fuck?' Ted said. He leaned forward and spoke into his mike to the stage director. 'Tell Brenton his angel is out of his ear. We need to talk to him before air. We're up in ninety seconds.'
They could see the stage manager on the camera 2 monitor as he ran to the stage and said something to Brenton, who nodded but didn't replace the earpiece.
'He said okay,' the stage manager said in desperation over the headset, 'but he didn't stick it back in.'
'Seat of the pants TV,' Ted said. 'We're up in five-four-three-two-take one.' And the line monitor showed the wide shot of the stage with five empty chairs and a center podium. 'Roll music and cue Bob,' Ted said. And they pointed at the announcer through a glass wall in the remote trailer. As the bumper music played loud for a few seconds, then was dropped down, Bob Banks, in his rich, round voice, kicked off the 1996 political season and then went on to make the candidate introductions.
Malcolm Rasher sat with Ryan, Ven and Van in Haze Richards's cramped dressing room. They had the UBC- TV feed hooked into an eighteen-inch monitor. A. J. banged through the door with a slip of paper in his hand. 'Just got the last Iowa poll. Came in twenty minutes ago. Skatina is at fifty-five percent. His people are down the hall opening the champagne already. They think in five days they're gonna landslide the election.' He looked at the slip in his hand, 'Dehaviland is polling ten percent. He's got good internals. They want to like him but they don't get what he's saying. Savage is at fifteen percent, mostly because of young voters. And Gilligan is at fifteen. Good internals but his message is stale. Five percent undecided.'
Ryan was adding it up in his head. 'That's a hundred percent. Where's that leave us'?'
'We're in the asterisk division. The Jo-Bobs don't even know we're running, but we're about to change that.'
Brenton Spencer moved onto the stage. As the light hit him, he seemed to straighten, to come more alive.
'Good evening, I'm Brenton Spencer and I'll be asking the questions tonight. First, let's meet the Democrat from New York City. Two-time U. S. senator, one of the shining lights in the Democratic party. . Senator Leo Skatina.'
Skatina walked out and took his chair. When he looked up, he started squinting as the blinding follow spot hit him. He tried to shade his eyes, then realized his mistake and lowered his hands.
'What's going on with the follow spot?' Ted Miller said in the control room. 'He's burning up.'
'We checked the lights this afternoon,' the technical direc`or said in a panic. 'Jesus, they musta put halogens in there after we set up.'
Skatina continued to squint, looking sinister in the TV monitor.
The next three candidates were introduced, and they, too, were blinded by the punishing lights.
'What's with the lighting?' Ryan asked. 'These guys are on fire.'
A. J. grinned. 'Bunch a' shifty-lookin' fucks, if ya ask me.'
Then it was time for Haze to make his entrance.
'And from the state of Rhode Island. . a two-term governor, who only announced last week, a new name in national politics, Haze Richards.'
Haze walked out slowly, completely at ease. Since his follow spot had not been altered he had no need to squint. He looked composed and alert as Brenton began the debate.
'Gentlemen, the agreed-upon rules are. I'll ask a question and I'll be allowed a follow-up. If any of you wants to make a comment after that, I'll recognize you, but there will be a two-minute time limit on all responses.'
Brenton was moving now, prowling the stage, revitalized. A jungle cat in a silk suit and striped tie.
His opening questions were. contentious, his responses argumentative, and the candidates were clearly unprepared for an assault by the moderator.
In the truck, Ted Miller agreed. 'He's supposed to be moderating this debate, not joining it.' Steve Israel's voice came through the speaker from New York.
'What's Brenton doing?' Steve asked.
