Balance of Power

school—my friend Tom Burns can do. It all depends on how much you want to spend.'

    At once, the President looked relieved. 'Money's no object,' he replied. 'At least until this guy's calmed down.'

* * *

    At seven forty-five that evening, the President took a call in his upstairs office.

    'Sorry I'm so hard to find,' Robert Lenihan told him. 'But I'm in the middle of a securities fraud trial, with close to five hundred million dollars in damages. Another corporate rip-off.'

    His tone was less apologetic than self-satisfied, tinged with the suggestion that Bob Lenihan's work approached in import the President's own. In recent years, his personal wealth swollen by millions wrested from tobacco companies, Lenihan and his trade association of plaintiffs' lawyers, Trial Lawyers for Justice, had become major donors to Democratic campaigns. Fueled by ideological passion and the desire for headlines—in Lenihan, Kerry had found, these motives were impossible to separate—Lenihan had recently launched a series of high-risk lawsuits against the gun industry on behalf of American cities, asserting that companies who marketed semiautomatic handguns were responsible for millions of dollars in costs incurred by public hospitals in treating the dead or injured. The kinship Lenihan felt this established with the President was only enhanced by two million dollars in television ads that Trial Lawyers for Justice had run in support of his nomination of Caroline Masters to be Chief Justice.

    'You're a busy man,' Kerry answered mildly, 'so let me cut to the chase. With the understanding that this cannot hit the papers.'

    For Lenihan, Kerry knew, this request would only increase his selfesteem. 'Absolutely, Mr. President.'

    'Clayton tells me you've got thirteen major lawsuits against gun manufacturers. Suppose I want to reach an agreement with one of the biggest, settling all of your lawsuits against it?'

    This, for once, induced a momentary silence in Bob Lenihan. 'In exchange for what?'

    'Zero damages,' Kerry said briskly. 'Just a fundamental change in how this company does business—including how it sells its guns, and who it sells to.' After a brief pause, Kerry added, 'And, perhaps, your legal fees. Some modest compensation for time spent.'

    To Kerry's amusement, more silence followed. 'To agree to that,' Lenihan ventured, 'I'd need the approval of all the cities.'

    'That shouldn't be hard. These suits are all uphill—and in a few states, the SSA is pushing legislation to bar them outright.' Kerry's tone remained crisp. 'The mayors of all thirteen cities are Democrats, and they need the assistance a President can provide. Besides, they filed these lawsuits claiming they wanted to reform the American gun industry. I'm proposing to help them.'

    Once more, Lenihan hesitated. When he spoke again, his tone was subdued. 'You've taken me by surprise, Mr. President. I'll have to consult with my clients and cocounsel.'

    'You do that,' Kerry said succinctly. 'I need a breakthrough on guns. You need a President who looks as strong as possible. Especially for the next time the Republicans in Congress gin up some 'tort reform' bill to wipe out half your lawsuits against the corporations you sue, or cut the damages you can collect to zip.'

    This time, Kerry surmised, the quiet on the other line suggested not resistance, but calculation, the weighing of political costs and benefits. At length, Lenihan said, 'I'll start making inquiries tomorrow.'

    'Thank you,' the President answered politely. 'This is delicate, and I don't have time to waste.'

SIXTEEN

Four days before the wedding, Lara's family arrived at the White House.

    Lara had met them at Dulles; on a muggy late afternoon, the motorcade of black limousines eased through the East Entrance of the White House, accompanied by the Secret Service and D.C. Police, some on motorcycles. As Kerry emerged from the East Wing to greet them, television cameras and photographers with telephoto lenses, cordoned off by more security, followed him from a distance.

    The President had cleared his schedule, determined to make this visit as warm and easy as Lara devoutly wished it to be. When Lara emerged from the limousine, he walked over briskly, and kissed her.

    'How was the trip in?' he asked.

    Lara smiled. 'Noisy. Marie loved the sirens.'

    Inez emerged next. In her mid-fifties she retained the slender build she had passed on to Lara. Her handsome face, while careworn, was animated by spirited black eyes which conveyed warmth and intelligence. Her dress was simple, her grooming flawless. Once more Kerry was reminded of his own mother, Mary, an Irish immigrant who, despite her great surprise at finding herself mother to a President, had always maintained a dignity she felt appropriate to his achievements. He went to Inez and kissed her on the cheek.

    She smelled of a spicy perfume, felt more fragile than Kerry had recalled. Pulling back, Kerry smiled at her. 'You,' he said, 'are the mother-in-law I had in mind.'

    Inez laughed softly, taking in the grandeur of the White House. 'I'm Lara's mother, in any event.' Though she had come to America as a child, her voice was lightly accented. 'So this is where my daughter will be living.'

    'For seven and a half more years, I hope.'

    Turning, Kerry saw Lara's youngest sister, Mary. Neither as plump as Joan nor as pretty as Lara, Mary had crescent eyes, a wide mouth, and the tentative look of someone who was waiting to be invited to dance, but felt uncertain that this would happen. She was a kindergarten teacher: it was with children, Lara had told him, that her hesitant manner was replaced by an air of unflappability.

    Kerry kissed her on the forehead. 'Mary,' he said, 'it's terrific that you're here.'

    After a tentative moment, she hugged him. 'To me, it's amazing that I am. But Lara's an amazing person.'

    To Kerry, Mary's comment had a faint and unintentional undertone—that Mary felt more awe for Lara than she found comfortable. Then he saw Joan standing behind her, and extended his arm. When Joan came forward, he gently pulled her closer, until she rested the crown of her head against his cheek.

    'How are you?' he murmured.

    'Better, for now.' She leaned back; her liquid brown eyes were filled with a trust which reminded Kerry of how much he still worried for her, how deeply he had become enmeshed in the life of Lara's family. Quickly, Joan glanced down at Marie. 'Thank you, Kerry. For everything.'

    Grasping her mother's hand, Marie was looking about her with the shyness of a six-year-old in the presence of a stranger. It struck Kerry that Marie, so much a part of his thoughts, had never met him.

    Kneeling, he took both of her hands. 'Hi, Marie. I'm Kerry.'

    She looked at him, head slightly angled away, as if to keep her inspection surreptitious. 'You're the President.'

    Kerry smiled. 'True. I'm also marrying your Aunt Lara. That makes me your uncle, believe it or not.'

    Marie gazed at him, as if torn between interest and suspicion. As her picture had suggested, she was so much like a miniature Lara that it pierced him, yet there was something harder to define, perhaps the set of her mouth and the apprehension in her eyes, which reminded Kerry of his encounter with John Bowden.

    'At the airport,' she informed him, 'they took my picture.'

    'Yeah—they do that a lot. After a while you sort of get used to it.'

    Marie gave a fractional shrug. 'I didn't really mind,' she allowed, and then looked past him at the White House. 'It's huge. My teacher said it would be.'