Taft 2012 - Jason Heller [30]
In this case, however, he hadn’t meant to deflate Pauline Craig. Or equate her with a cow. But it was too late. Her face reddened and her eyes shot daggers. She called for a sponsor break.
An assistant ran out to touch up their makeup, thankfully if momentarily breaking the tension. After patching up their faces with the speed of a Buster Keaton film, a stagehand began to count down the remaining five seconds of the break. Craig, again composed and in total control, hissed out of the side her mouth, “I hope you like surprises, Taft.”
“And we’re back with President William Taft!” The countdown had run out, and in a split second Craig shifted from the sinister whisper to a full-throated broadcast voice. Even her posture and expression changed like an electric light being switched on. What made this woman tick? What was her game? He couldn’t help but wonder, even as a knot of dread gathered in his belly.
“I want to speak more seriously about you, Mr. President.” Order seemed to have been restored in the audience, and Taft swore there were even a few empty seats that hadn’t been there before, as if certain less-obedient members had been surreptitiously ushered out during the break.
“I’m afraid I’m not quite as compelling a character as you might imagine, Pauline.”
“I’d say a president by his very nature is compelling, wouldn’t you?”
“Ah, that’s where you may be misinformed. Compelling people is not leading them. At least not in a great democracy like ours.”
“Tell me about your leadership style, Mr. Taft. Of course you’re a Republican, but would you describe yourself these days as conservative or liberal?”
“If there’s one thing time has taught me, Pauline, it’s that those distinctions are shifting and devious. If, for instance, you’re right-handed, do you denounce your left and leave it to wither, even if the task before you requires both?”
Pauline ignored the murmur that ran through the crowd. “That’s a clever way of putting it, Mr. President, but the fact remains: left and right do indeed have hard-and-fast meanings, ideologically speaking, and those meanings do have tangible influences on policy and the fortunes of this nation.”
“Yes, but this nation has its own direction, and far too many politicians claim to drive the American people forward when all they do is ride shotgun.”
“An interesting choice of words for a former secretary of war.”
He grinned. “At least during Teddy Roosevelt’s time, we didn’t lie by calling it something else. Funny enough, there was no war during my tenure as secretary.”
“And that, Mr. President, is exactly my point.” She glanced down at her desk, then picked up a small piece of paper and hesitated a moment. This was it, Taft thought. Then she took a breath and continued. “I’m sure you’ve had ample opportunity to observe the state of this nation since you rejoined us. The contrasts must be striking. There is more disenfranchisement among voters than ever before, and our economy is close to a shambles.” What was this speech she was giving? Why the grandstanding? “Even the term ‘progressive’ has become muddled and mostly meaningless. But you were a true Progressive, with a capital P, weren’t you?”
“I still am,” he said proudly. “A Republican and a Progressive. That may seem like a contradiction today, and I certainly have no plans to affiliate myself with any party now or in the future. They don’t speak for me, and I certainly don’t speak for them.” Now how did Craig lead him so easily off the track of talking about Rachel? He must steer back in that direction. “As my great-granddaughter the congresswoman has so bravely done, I must stake my claim as an independent. The Tafts, after all, have always been their own people and gone their own way. Even if we must do so alone.”
Craig broke into a huge smile, the look of a trapper who hears the jaws snap shut. She put her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her hands. “And what if I told you, Mr. President, that you are not alone?”
She nodded almost invisibly toward one of the stagehands. A previously