Chapter Three

 

Adam Quinn sits down for the first time tonight, and for an instant he allows himself to enjoy the respite from the day's work. He lets it wash over him and then looks at the clock. Eleven-thirty. Still work to be done. It's time to start taking himself more seriously again.

There's work that's left to be done. Work that he needs to be doing. If he can't even keep up with his usual workload, then he might as well drop out of the race. The American people don't need a president who can't work a few long days.

He stands up and flicks the news on, walking away and not particularly listening until he hears a familiar voice that catches in his mind.

Mr. Quinn turns toward the TV, the last of the day's work temporarily forgotten. His 'campaign manager' is on the screen. Jesus, she looks good. For an instant, he feels the edge of arousal starting to form. Then he pushes it away.

Not right now, not while he's running for President. Not with her. That would be a terrible idea. Still, he can't take his eyes away. She looks good. She's more comfortable with the cameras than most people who Quinn plucks from the rank-and-file.

Up until now, she's probably mostly been in the background. Campaign manager is a terrible name for what she's doing. But then again, how else would he explain her presence?

No, her job is to mop up his messes, so that he can make them with impunity, and that's exactly what Adam has every intention of doing.

America needs a mess. They need a mess to understand exactly how bad the situation they've gotten themselves into. And he's more than ready to be that mess, if it means that everything else starts getting worked on as well.

He forces himself to turn away from it. There's other work to be done. At least two calls to be made, and the sooner the better. Anything else can be done any time. He can wait until three in the morning if he has to. But the phone calls? At some point, they'll go to sleep.

He picks up the phone. Tom Delaney won't be asleep, but if he only makes one call, then it has to be to Tom. Three rings, and the call connects.

"Yeah?"

"Tom? Is this a bad time?"

"Adam Quinn. You son of a bitch. I was wondering when you were going to call. How's politics treating you?"

"If these boys had to spend five minutes in the business world I think their heads would pop clean off," I tell him. And it's true.

I turn back towards the TV just in time to see Linda walk away from the cameras. They have better taste than to watch her ass while she walks, but I can imagine it pretty well anyways.

"Yeah, they're still green on some shit. Then again, I suppose you already knew that."

"Suppose I did."

"You been feeling alright? Still sleeping, what, six hours a night? Five?"

"Four most nights."

"Shit."

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?"

"I guess not."

"Look, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing in a minute. I just needed to get in touch with you. I'm interested in your, shall we say, particular brand of political advice. When can you start?"

Delaney doesn't respond right away; a fraction of a second that I can only imagine is spent pretending to look at his watch. "When does your office open tomorrow morning?"

"Good man. I'll talk to you more tomorrow."

"Sure thing."

I disconnect the call without hanging up the phone and start dialing immediately. Some folks have PR people. I suppose I should, too. But there are some things important enough that you take care of them yourself.

A woman's voice answers the phone. She doesn't sound tired, but she does sound distracted.

"Ellen Holden, who's this?"

"Ellen? It's Adam Quinn."

I hear something fall off the table on her end of the line.

"Uh. One second. Jeff, can you get me a notepad and a pen? Five minutes ago. Go."

"I can wait. You sound busy."

"No, not at all. Thanks for calling. What can we help you with?"

"You called my office earlier. An interview, I think?"

"Yes, we were asking about that."

"What were you thinking?"

"Thank you, Jeff. Uh. We were thinking…" Adam wonders if she's waiting on advice from a production manager. Television is a mess. There's no other way to put it. A god damned mess.

Quinn's met Ellen once or twice, and if he's learned one thing, it's that she's smart as a whip. If they just let her control her own damned show, they'd have something ready to air all the time.

But there's too much for any one person to do, between setting up teleprompters, gathering stories, writing copy, getting the set design just right, getting clothes just right, makeup, everything.

She's smart enough to do it, and she's smart enough to hire the right people for the things she can't do herself. But of course, the network wouldn't let anyone fly solo. No chance in hell.

So they put their greedy little fingers in everything, and it comes out a big mess, and everyone gets to act surprised that it didn't all go perfectly smoothly.

"Ellen?"

"Sorry, I was just confirming something. Yeah. We've got a slot open tomorrow afternoon?"

"No. Too soon. What would you say to an exclusive next week? Thursday."

"An exclusive?" Her voice is trying to hide the sound of her pleasure at the idea. She can't afford to tip her hand too much. Not for any reason, really.

"I'd expect that you would put in a certain amount of effort to making sure that people who might be interested in it would know it's coming up."

"And you won't be doing any interviews before that?"

"Nothing sit down, not with me. I want to keep the mystery up a little."

"Okay. You got it, then."

"Are we filming this? Or doing it live?"

"Which would you prefer?"

"You know what I'd prefer, Ellen. I'd prefer to be able to get whatever I say straight to the people."

"You're still not going to be able to say 'fuck' on live TV. It's on a delay."

"Not even a little one?" I let her hear the laugh.

"Not even a little one. They don't even let me say it."

"No, I suppose not. Well, live is better than edited, I think."

"Live it is, then."

"I'll see you in a week," he says, and he sets the phone into its cradle.

A week is a long time, and he's going to have to give her plenty to talk about in that time. Plenty to talk about means plenty of coverage. And an exclusive interview is the perfect time to assure people that it's all under control.

The perfect time, indeed.