Senate Cloakroom Cabal (10 page)

I pressed Senator Dalton's bell, which resulted in a distant chiming sound, suggesting a well-insulated door. I stood in front of the peephole. A female voice came through a speaker I had not seen. “Yes?”

“Laura Wolfe,” I looked around the doorframe, but could not locate a speaker. I wondered if there was also video. I got no response, but then the door opened.

“Ms. Wolfe. Roanne Dalton,” she said, extending a hand. “Come in, please.”

If I hesitated, it was barely a second. I was prepared for a pretty woman, but . . . I recovered. “Thank you.” I shook her hand.

“Please, to your right,” she said graciously.

I walked through the two-door wide archway into an elegantly decorated living room. Drapes were closed on what I imagined were large windows or a patio door leading onto a balcony. I guessed that the furniture was French provincial or some eighteenth- or nineteenth-century period. I was not up on furniture. We had
early eclectic
at home.

She was at my side. “I thought we'd sit there.” She indicated a mid-room sofa, coffee table, and twin, flanking upholstered chairs. They looked much more like they were for show than sitting. I aimed for one of the chairs and placed my briefcase-like bag alongside it.

“I didn't put anything out for us, but I do have a small selection to choose from.”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

She started in the direction from which we had just come. “Come on, we'll get it together.”

“You have a very attractive place.”

“I'll take you on the nickel tour, if you'd like.” She disappeared through the foyer.

I followed into a short hall, which emptied into a very white, immaculate kitchen. It looked like it had never been used. Tyler would have changed that fast. Recessed fluorescent lights behind translucent panels gave the feeling of daylight without shadows. The senator had a formality about her, accompanied by an easy demeanor. She made me feel immediately impressed, but comfortable.

Dalton wore a scoop-necked, short-sleeved, peach cashmere pullover; a strand of pearls; a medium-grey, knee-length skirt; and low heels—sort of preppy. The outfit accentuated her good figure without being showy. She looked in great shape and made me feel frumpy. However, I didn't hate her for it.

She removed two tumblers from a cabinet. “I don't do much cooking. No fun doing it for one,” she said, placing the first glass into the ice-and-water dispenser in the refrigerator door.

“I know the feeling. When I lived alone, I was more of a snacker.”

“That's an easy habit to get into.” She clanked ice cubes into both glasses, filled them with water, and handed one to me. “I gather you might not care for a snack.”

I shook my head. “Pregnancy and a strict, motherly news assistant weaned me off that.”

“Well, shall we?” she asked politely, gesturing toward the living room.

We headed to the living room, the tour forgotten. I sat in what proved to be a very comfortable, sturdy chair. She sat at the end of the sofa nearest me and slid two coasters into place for our glasses. I set mine down and took out my steno pad and Horne's folder.

I set them on the table. “You put a lot of work into these papers.”

“This is and has been a subject of great interest to Michael.”

I got the impression she wanted me to know she had not initiated this.

She continued, “He's been concerned for some time about the pressure from the pharmaceutical lobbyists. After I was elected, I sat down with Michael and had him explain it to me in detail. I assume you are familiar with my background.”

“Yes.”

“I honestly didn't get into the flow of everything until after I decided to run for the seat. I was only supposed to come here and fill out H.T.'s term—my father's idea.”

“He's a former governor?”

She nodded. “He thought my filling out H.T.'s term would be good for my career. I've wondered whether I should be called doctor senator or senator doctor.”

“Hmmm, it could become more complicated when you go back to teaching . . . you'd have professor to add to that mix,” I quipped.

We laughed congenially.

“My mother prefers I be referred to as senator, replacing the sobriquet,
former beauty queen
—a term used too often in papers around the state.”

The senator said all of that without any pretentiousness. She was, after all, a very beautiful woman who happened to have been a beauty queen, but who now had two graduate degrees, a university teaching career, and a seat in the United States Senate.

I wasn't in her league in looks or education, but we both were working girls and strongly influenced by our fathers. The difference there being she had accepted hers and I had fled from mine. Now, she was a senator and I, a Pulitzer-winning reporter. We both had celebrity, regardless of rank. The winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor was saluted by generals and admirals. I had that sort of parity with her. She had the position, and I had the honor.

“I appreciate you seeing me, Laura. May I call you Laura? Please call me Roanne, or Ro, if you prefer.”

“Laura's fine, but because of our current relationship, I'd prefer addressing you as senator.”

She smiled. “Ah, the wall of objectivity best not be bridged. Well, how shall we proceed?”

“I'd like you to relate exactly what occurred between you and your Senate leadership, and what relationship, if any, you have had with the unnamed pharmaceutical company in the papers Michael Horne gave me.”

“Yes. The pharmaceutical is Rogers. Their founder and chair, Harley Rogers, developed the drug Tutoxtamen. I have had no contact with Mr. Rogers or his company, and I don't believe H.T. had either. I had asked my financial advisor to review both of our portfolios—H.T.'s back to when he became senator. He never owned any Rogers stock.”

That was as straightforward as it gets.

“Michael felt you would ask that,” she said unassumingly.

“That's fine.” I sat ready with my pad in hand.

Senator Dalton spent the next twenty minutes going over everything that had happened relating to Rogers, including her conversation with fellow senator Crawford, a new name to me. By the time she had finished, both our glasses were empty and I had nearly twenty pages of notes. I needed to excuse myself, and she pointed the way to the guest bathroom.

When I reappeared, she had refilled our glasses. “Would you care for anything else?”

“No thanks.” We resumed our conversation.

“Would you begin with your concerns about ethics, illegalities?”

The senator looked down for a moment, collecting her thoughts. At that same moment, a thought popped into my head, and I interrupted before she responded.

“Excuse me, senator. Have you discussed any of this with members of the Ethics Committee?”

“No,” she said bluntly.

Her emphasis made it sound like she had no plans to do so either. “Please, continue.”

“I was approached after I won the primary by a pharmaceutical lobbyist at a Fourth of July party here in Washington. They were introducing themselves to me. No proffers were made. I'm sure they assumed my politics were the same as H.T.'s.

“They are a very powerful lobby. The drug industry is in a unique position to help or exploit American citizens. They have something we all want when suffering an illness or in severe pain. They advertise and market their products so suavely, telling us they have all the answers for what ails us.”

She paused to take a drink, which gave me a chance to catch up with my notes. I had been writing furiously, even in my shorthand.

“They know this and we pay for it, big time. They are experts in rationalization, and without government protection, our citizens are in jeopardy. This becomes more desperate in a recession, when people are out of work and/or lose their medical benefits. State budgets drop to where they can't keep up financially. With no enforceable controls in place to curb drug prices, we bow to the pressure of the pharmaceutical lobby and do nothing.

“It takes a concerted effort always to have the votes go in one's favor, and that is where I believe illegal activities germinate. Deals are made, and who suffers while they profit? The seniors, the unemployed, the unemployable, the part-timers, and the families who are devastated with life-threatening diseases.”

The senator leaned slightly closer to me. “The drug industry relies on complexities, where no one is willing or able to put a finger on the solution. Watchdog groups storm the gates but are rebuffed and ridiculed. Congress pays them lip service at best, unless it's a partisan issue. The protesters don't have the money to compete with the drug companies.”

She smirked when she said that and saw my puzzled look. “I'm sorry. I was struck by a funny thought.” She paused and then decided to tell me. “I don't think Congress or the entire federal government has the money either. It would take extraordinary financing to compete with the pharmas . . . protestors would have to hire very expensive, professional lobbyists and back them up with TV and print ads.”

“Let's go back to illegal activities. Do you believe actual payoffs were involved?”

“Nothing I can prove. What I meant was that some of my fellow lawmakers are sympathetic to the pharmas' cause.”

She paused, appearing to reflect on something. I wrote feverishly. She continued. “On second thought, to your question, yes, I do believe some colleagues have been bought off. Those who don't play the lobbyists' games at all, who rebuff them are, well . . .”

She let that hang, and took a sip of water. She then continued.

“Did you know there are more pharmaceutical lobbyists on Capitol Hill than there are of us, including both houses of Congress? Back on the Fourth, while I involuntarily listened to that pharmaceutical lobbyist, it was difficult to maintain a polite demeanor when he coolly and so very sincerely told me how put-upon they were, how misunderstood they were . . . well, that nearly turned my stomach.”

22

I
couldn't go to bed when I got home after my visit with Dalton. She had pushed a bunch of my buttons. My hair was on fire. I couldn't cope with millions of people dying to satisfy the corrupt personal gains of a few senators and lobbyists.

I wasn't so naïve to think this sort of thing didn't go on. I'd seen corruption in each of the cities where I had worked. However, this was different. This was the Senate of the United States, which magnified the greed. I hadn't asked for and she hadn't offered any names.

I'd know soon enough, once I got into that environment. Dalton had mentioned Senator Gavin Crawford. He'd spoken to her about her opposition to her leadership's stance as it supported the FDA's denial of the new drug. Dalton considered him a friend, not one involved in the cabal.

The virtual island that is Capitol Hill is surrounded by the streets where I plied my daily beat—in the same town, but worlds apart. I don't have a “Max” up there. It's a world of subtleties and nuances. Their muggings aren't done with a knife, a club, or a gun. They're done passive-aggressively with manipulation and bribery.

It was nearly 2:00 when Jerry dragged me off to bed.

23

I
felt lethargic after Jerry woke me around 7:30 a.m. He had been up with Tyler since 6:00. Our five-month-old was playing in his highchair when I arrived in the kitchen. I welcomed a much-needed cup of hot coffee. Jerry went up for a shower. He had a meeting at 9:00.

I played with and talked to Tyler, who was having the time of his life slapping his little toys around the tray and onto the floor. Tyler thought the whole thing was a game. He squirmed and flapped his arms, his bright blue eyes shining with delight. I checked his diaper and, finding it dry, put him in his playpen.

I warmed my coffee and sat in sight of my active son, who was now attempting to put a square block into a round hole. The same thing I was trying to do. I looked through the paper. I was in the business section, which I rarely paid any attention to, when Jerry came down. I rushed upstairs— my turn. I was back in the kitchen by 8:20 and found Tyler in his father's lap. Jerry had a small, non-shedding, waterproof blanket protecting him, just in case. The two boys were jabbering away. How blessed we were to have such a healthy, happy son.

Jerry set Tyler down in his playpen, which Tyler mildly compained about. It didn't last long. He quickly discovered a toy. Jerry took his suit jacket off the back of a kitchen chair, gave me a light kiss, and went out the door.

Anna came a few minutes early, and as usual Tyler was excited to see her. I wondered which he would learn to say first:
Mama
or
Anna
. She and I went over a few items, I hugged and kissed Tyler goodbye, and passed him over to his adoring nanny.

24

M
ichael had found Gordon Pederson—Senator Crawford's AA— easier to get along with than he had anticipated. Gordon was open to dining with Nancy, Tyrell, and Michael at a little café on the Hill. Michael had chosen it because he'd found out that Gordon enjoyed the place.

Michael liked what Senator Dalton stood for and felt trusted by her. She genuinely sought his counsel and built him up to staff by deferring to him on those issues that were his bailiwick. He had no plans to leave his job.

Being in intimate discussions with a beautiful woman might be difficult for a heterosexual male. Even he felt her allure at times. His relationship with Nancy was very much the same way. They shared many secrets. He was a male friend she could turn to when things went bad in one of her relationships. Nancy's big worry each time she fell out of love was that she would wake up, be over forty and single, and panic. She also had constant anxieties about her career. He, Nancy, and Tyrell had shared many a laugh. They had a tight relationship, which is what made Nancy the perfect ally to loosen the tongue of Crawford's AA.