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Authors: Jerome Teel
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bent forward, toward the center of the table. He glanced around at the other patrons to see if anyone was listening. Satisfied that his and Cooper’s conversation couldn’t be overheard, he whispered, “Judge Dunbar Shelton.”
“You’re kidding.” Cooper gave a loud, patronizing laugh.
Porter could feel his face flush. The people at adjoining tables glanced briefly at the two, in reaction to Cooper’s outburst, before resuming their own chatter.
Cooper, obviously realizing that he had drawn attention to himself and Porter, also leaned toward the center of the table. “You’re kidding,” Cooper said again, only this time in a much softer voice. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before the Senate confirms him. He’s much too conservative. The pro-choice lobby will have our heads on silver platters if he’s appointed to the Supreme Court.”
“That’s who the president wants, and he’s willing to do anything to get him.”
Both men were still leaning into the center of the table. Their faces were less than two feet apart, speaking forcefully with tones barely above whispers.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Cooper reverted to the upright position in his chair and narrowed his eyes. Porter, too, sat upright, and waited in silence for Cooper to make the next move. It took only two seconds.
“You know the price will be high.”
“I know.” Porter crossed his arms over his chest. He intentionally paused before continuing, for the dramatic effect. “And so does the president.”
Cooper removed the cloth napkin embroidered with a script V from his lap, folded it, and laid it on top of his plate. “Let me talk with Senator Proctor.” He pushed back his chair and stood to leave. “I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
The Hart Building, Washington DC
After leaving the Vidalia, Cooper went directly to the Senate majority leader’s office in the Hart Building. It was the newest of the three Senate office buildings—the other two were the Russell Building and the Dirksen Building.
The Senate was on a lunch break between the morning and afternoon sessions. Cooper walked past the senator’s secretary without waiting for her to announce him and entered Senator Proctor’s opulent office with its sixteen-foot-high ceiling. Senator Proctor was sitting behind his oversize mahogany desk, watching the stock market on CNBC. He pressed a button on the remote control to lower the volume as Cooper entered.
“I just had lunch with Porter McIntosh,” Cooper proclaimed. He plopped down in a wingback leather chair across the desk from Senator Proctor. He crossed his legs and smiled wide.
The senator was in his midfifties and a rather large man. To say he was robust would have been an understatement. His bushy black hair contained a hint of gray, and a full beard and mustache consumed his face. When his mouth was closed, which wasn’t very often, his lips were barely noticeable among the dark facial hair. He had a very dominating personality, and a resonant voice that commanded attention when he spoke.
“Did he confirm that Wallace wants to nominate Shelton?” the senator demanded.
“Just like we thought.”
“What did he offer?” Senator Proctor smiled.
Everything in politics was negotiable, Cooper had learned. He cocked his head back and spoke deliberately. “He said the president would do ‘anything’ it took to get Shelton confirmed.”
“Anything?” Senator Proctor asked rhetorically. He locked his fingers together over his corpulent stomach, and Cooper could sense the gears grinding in the senator’s head. “Really,” Senator Proctor said thoughtfully. “The president will do anything for this nomination,” he repeated. He looked back at Cooper. “What did you tell him?”
“Only that I had to talk with you,” Cooper responded proudly.
Senator Proctor stood and walked to the closet on the right-hand side of his office. “That’s good, Cooper,” he said, as if he were a
“You’re kidding.” Cooper gave a loud, patronizing laugh.
Porter could feel his face flush. The people at adjoining tables glanced briefly at the two, in reaction to Cooper’s outburst, before resuming their own chatter.
Cooper, obviously realizing that he had drawn attention to himself and Porter, also leaned toward the center of the table. “You’re kidding,” Cooper said again, only this time in a much softer voice. “It’ll be a cold day in Hades before the Senate confirms him. He’s much too conservative. The pro-choice lobby will have our heads on silver platters if he’s appointed to the Supreme Court.”
“That’s who the president wants, and he’s willing to do anything to get him.”
Both men were still leaning into the center of the table. Their faces were less than two feet apart, speaking forcefully with tones barely above whispers.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Cooper reverted to the upright position in his chair and narrowed his eyes. Porter, too, sat upright, and waited in silence for Cooper to make the next move. It took only two seconds.
“You know the price will be high.”
“I know.” Porter crossed his arms over his chest. He intentionally paused before continuing, for the dramatic effect. “And so does the president.”
Cooper removed the cloth napkin embroidered with a script V from his lap, folded it, and laid it on top of his plate. “Let me talk with Senator Proctor.” He pushed back his chair and stood to leave. “I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
The Hart Building, Washington DC
After leaving the Vidalia, Cooper went directly to the Senate majority leader’s office in the Hart Building. It was the newest of the three Senate office buildings—the other two were the Russell Building and the Dirksen Building.
The Senate was on a lunch break between the morning and afternoon sessions. Cooper walked past the senator’s secretary without waiting for her to announce him and entered Senator Proctor’s opulent office with its sixteen-foot-high ceiling. Senator Proctor was sitting behind his oversize mahogany desk, watching the stock market on CNBC. He pressed a button on the remote control to lower the volume as Cooper entered.
“I just had lunch with Porter McIntosh,” Cooper proclaimed. He plopped down in a wingback leather chair across the desk from Senator Proctor. He crossed his legs and smiled wide.
The senator was in his midfifties and a rather large man. To say he was robust would have been an understatement. His bushy black hair contained a hint of gray, and a full beard and mustache consumed his face. When his mouth was closed, which wasn’t very often, his lips were barely noticeable among the dark facial hair. He had a very dominating personality, and a resonant voice that commanded attention when he spoke.
“Did he confirm that Wallace wants to nominate Shelton?” the senator demanded.
“Just like we thought.”
“What did he offer?” Senator Proctor smiled.
Everything in politics was negotiable, Cooper had learned. He cocked his head back and spoke deliberately. “He said the president would do ‘anything’ it took to get Shelton confirmed.”
“Anything?” Senator Proctor asked rhetorically. He locked his fingers together over his corpulent stomach, and Cooper could sense the gears grinding in the senator’s head. “Really,” Senator Proctor said thoughtfully. “The president will do anything for this nomination,” he repeated. He looked back at Cooper. “What did you tell him?”
“Only that I had to talk with you,” Cooper responded proudly.
Senator Proctor stood and walked to the closet on the right-hand side of his office. “That’s good, Cooper,” he said, as if he were a
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