Balance of Power

    'Which,' Kit interjected, 'would televise beautifully.'

    Lara glanced at the others, then at Kerry last, and saw his look of reflection. Clayton, too, looked at Kerry before speaking to Lara. 'Cardinal McKiernan,' he told her, 'would see it as a tribute. So would Catholics nationwide.'

    'So would everyone,' Kit told the President. 'Suppose we have pool coverage only, and a stationary camera . . .'

    'What's to keep them,' Kerry interjected, 'from treating it like the New Hampshire primary? While Lara and I are repeating vows, CNN is saying, 'Our instant tracking polls are showing that the President's numbers among Catholics are up seventeen percent.' Just how exploitative do we want to look?'

    'We can set the ground rules,' Kit answered. 'We can even select the commentator. We've got the leverage here.'

    'What about still photographs?' Lara suggested. 'Won't that be enough?'

    'It's not the same,' Kit insisted. 'This isn't about show business, or even politics. It's a unique moment in American history, and Americans will want to share it. Please consider giving them that.'

    There was silence, and then Francesca Thibault spoke. 'What about a small wedding at St. Mathew's?' she asked. 'Televised with dignity. Then a larger but still manageable reception at the White House, with the White House photographer and perhaps our own video crew. Elegant tents on the South Lawn, dancing in the East Room.'

    'With a mariachi band?' Lara asked.

    Only Clayton did not smile. 'Actually,' he said, 'that's not such a terrible idea.'

    Connie Coulter gave Lara a quick glance. 'We can only avoid a charge of elitism,' she argued, 'by including the American people. But we can't let in random tourists—in the age of Mahmoud Al Anwar, that would be a Secret Service nightmare. One could argue that televising the wedding is more intimate and meaningful than televised toasts and dancing.'

    Listening, Lara felt the wedding slipping away from her in the cross current of advice. 'Who would officiate?' Kit was asking. 'Cardinal McKiernan?'

    'My old parish priest,' Kerry said promptly. 'Father Joe Donegan.'

    Clayton raised his eyebrows. 'Isn't that the cardinal's call?'

    'I'm the President, Clayton. Vince McKiernan can pass out wafers.'

    Clayton smiled at this. 'A simple nuptial mass,' Francesca Thibault offered, 'with tasteful liturgical music.'

    Kit glanced at Lara. 'Who might be in the wedding party?'

    'Beautiful people,' Francesca suggested dryly, 'without a hint of scandal.'

    'My college roommates,' Lara said. 'Anna Chen from NBC is one of my closest friends. My sisters, of course.'

    Kit gave an emphatic nod. 'That's great. The media, including the Spanish language media, will want them before the wedding . . .'

    'Oh, absolutely,' Lara said with mock sincerity. 'Hispanics and women carried California. And who better to help with Catholics than my family?'

    'They're part of who you are,' Kit answered. 'It's your burden, Lara, to be more popular than the President.'

    'We're all proud of Lara's family,' Kerry interjected. 'But having them with us is enough. We don't want anyone to use them.'

    Lara touched his arm. 'For Kerry's sake,' she told the others, 'I'll do my part. I'll learn to live with becoming 'Lara Costello Kilcannon.' I'll even consider television. But about my family, I want everything—and I mean that—to go through Connie and me.'

    'Of course.' Clayton said this so quickly that Lara wondered if he and Kit had used her family as a cat's-paw, hoping for other concessions to political practicality. Like a televised wedding at St. Mathew's.

    'Concerning the gown,' Francesca Thibault suggested brightly, 'this is a chance to put your stamp on contemporary fashion. But the designer has to be an American—perhaps Vera Wang or Carolina Herrera . . .'

* * *

When the meeting was over, Clayton asked to speak to them alone.

    'About the honeymoon,' he observed, 'isn't Martha's Vineyard too much of a privileged enclave?'

    'We like it,' Kerry answered crisply. 'Sorry, pal, no Yellowstone. Or pup tents with mosquito nets.'

    Clayton's smile came and went. 'The other thing is Lara's sister. Joan.'

'What about Joan?' Lara asked.

    Clayton turned to her. 'For a week now, the President's managed to keep her problems quiet. But once the media knows you're getting married, there'll be more focus on your family—including your brother-inlaw. Your chances of keeping that from becoming public will diminish day by day.

    'Imagine some tabloid story two days before the wedding—embarrassing your family, sapping some of the joy out of what, for them and all the rest of us, should be a wonderful day . . .'

    Listening, Lara imagined Joan's sense of betrayal. 'We're trying to protect her, Clayton.'

    'Then talk to her about a carefully managed disclosure, sooner rather than later. Perhaps softened with a broader message on combating family violence.'

    Lara stared at him. Glancing at her, Kerry said softly, 'Remember my mother? You know how I feel about this.'

    Clayton was unflinching. 'What happened to your mother ended twenty-five years ago. You're President now and the media's very different. You won't be able to control this.'

    'We can damn well try,' Kerry told his closest friend. 'Beginning with you.'

TEN

Standing in her kitchen, Joan Bowden held the telephone to her ear, one finger of her other hand resting on the replay button of her answering machine. Her throat was dry. The living room was filled with flowers; the answering machine jammed with messages. It was only two p.m.

    'I didn't want to call you,' she said to Kerry. 'But it's been like this since I got the stay-away order. Deliverymen ringing the doorbell, John leaving message after message. He sounds more desperate every day.'

    'What does he say?' the President asked.

    'Listen,' Joan said, and pushed the button. Her husband's disembodied voice echoed in the kitchen.

    I love you, Joanie. I know there's something wrong with me. But I can't change unless you help me . . .

    'Did you talk to him?' Kerry cut in.

    'Yes. I asked him to go with me to counseling . . .'

    I don't need therapy, the recorded voice said.