Adam found himself beginning to get irritated. “Just how do you plan to do that?”
“It’s simple. You’re a product, A.W. We’re going to sell you just like we’d sell any other product. We—”
Adam turned to Stewart Needham. “Stewart, could I see you alone?”
“Certainly.” Needham turned to the others and said, “Let’s break for dinner and meet back here at nine o’clock. We’ll continue the discussion then.”
When the two men were alone, Adam said, “Jesus, Stewart! He’s planning to turn this thing into a circus! ‘You’re a product, A.W. We’re going to sell you just like we’d sell any other product.’ He’s disgusting!”
“I know how you feel, Adam,” Stewart Needham said soothingly, “but Blair gets results. When he said you’re his third President, he wasn’t kidding. Every President since Eisenhower has had an advertising agency masterminding his campaign. Whether you like it or not, a campaign needs salesmanship. Blair Roman knows the psychology of the public. As distasteful as it may be, the reality is that if you want to be elected to any public office, you have to be sold—you have to be merchandised.”
“I hate it.”
“That’s part of the price you’re going to have to pay.” He walked over to Adam and put an arm across his shoulder. “All you have to do is keep the objective in mind. You want the White House? All right. We’re going to do everything we can to get you there. But you have to do your part. If being the ringmaster in a three-ring circus is part of it, bear with it.”
“Do we really need Blair Roman?”
“We need a Blair Roman. Blair’s as good as there is. Let me handle him. I’ll keep him away from you as much as possible.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
The campaign began. It started with a few television spots and personal appearances and gradually grew bigger and bigger until it spanned the nation. Wherever one went, there was Senator Adam Warner in living color. In every part of the country he could be watched on television, heard on radio, seen on billboards. Law and order was one of the key issues of the campaign, and Adam’s crime investigation committee was heavily stressed.
Adam taped one-minute television spots, three-minute television spots and five-minute spots, geared for different sections of the country. The television spots that went to West Virginia dealt with unemployment and the vast supply of underground coal that could make the area prosperous; the television segments for Detroit talked about urban blight; in New York City, the subject was the rising crime rate.
Blair Roman confided to Adam, “All you have to do is hit the highlights, A.W. You don’t have to discuss key issues in depth. We’re selling the product, and that’s you.”
Adam said, “Mr. Roman, I don’t care what your goddamned statistics say. I’m not a breakfast food and I don’t intend to be sold like one. I will talk about issues in depth because I think the American people are intelligent enough to want to know about them.”
“I only—”
“I want you to try to set up a debate between me and the President, to discuss the basic issues.”
Blair Roman said, “Right. I’ll take a meeting with the President’s boys right away, A.W.”
“One more thing,” Adam said.
“Yes? What’s that?”
“Stop calling me A.W.”
44
In the mail was a notice from the American Bar Association announcing its annual convention in Acapulco. Jennifer was in the midst of handling half a dozen cases, and ordinarily she would have ignored the invitation, but the convention was going to take place during Joshua’s school vacation and Jennifer thought about how much Joshua would enjoy Acapulco.
She said to Cynthia, “Accept. I’ll want three reservations.”
She would take Mrs. Mackey along.
At dinner that evening, Jennifer broke the news to Joshua. “How would you like to go to Acapulco?”
“That’s in Mexico,” he announced. “On the west coast.”
“That’s right.”
“Can we go to a topless beach?”
“Joshua!”
“Well, they have them there. Being naked is only natural.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“And can we go deep-sea fishing?”
Jennifer visualized Joshua trying to pull in a large marlin and she contained her smile. “We’ll see. Some of those fish get pretty big.”
“That’s what makes it exciting,” Joshua explained seriously. “If it’s easy, it’s no fun. There’s no sport to it.”
It could have been Adam talking.
“I agree.”
“What else can we do there?”
“Well, there’s horseback riding, hiking, sightseeing—”
“Let’s not go to a bunch of old churches, okay? They all look alike.”
Adam saying, If you’ve seen one church, you’ve seen them all.
The convention began on a Monday. Jennifer, Joshua and Mrs. Mackey flew to Acapulco on Friday morning on a Braniff jet. Joshua had flown many times before, but he was still excited by the idea of airplanes. Mrs. Mackey was petrified with fear.
Joshua consoled her. “Look at it this way. Even if we crash, it’ll only hurt for a second.”
Mrs. Mackey turned pale.
The plane landed at Benito Juarez Airport at four o’clock in the afternoon, and an hour later the three of them arrived at Las Brisas. The hotel was eight miles outside of Acapulco, and consisted of a series of beautiful pink bungalows built on a hill, each with its private patio. Jennifer’s bungalow, like several of the others, had its own swimming pool. Reservations had been difficult to get, for there were half a dozen other conventions and Acapulco was overcrowded, but Jennifer had made a telephone call to one of her corporate clients, and an hour later she had been informed that Las Brisas was eagerly expecting her.