Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [20]
David Palmer hardly noticed the decor. The brace of reporters was what concerned him, along with the cheering group of spectators, who'd suddenly recognized their choice for the next presidential election.
Palmer studied the throng uncertainly. His race for the U.S. Senate had involved local Maryland press, of course, but the glare of national media interest, now that he was about to announce his presidential run, was nothing like he'd ever before experienced.
Sherry touched his arm. "Wave, David," she urged through a tight smile.
Palmer waved.
"Now slip on your jacket," she whispered. "It'll cover those nasty sweat-stains." Sherry released the grip on her husband long enough for him to cover his wrinkled dress shirt with the blue suit coat draped over his arm.
"Look," she continued quietly, "I know you don't like to talk off the cuff, but it's time you practiced. Just say a few words. Keep things light and cheerful and don't let the press steer the conversation."
"They're the ones who ask the questions."
"Politics 101, David. Do I have to remind you? They ask. That doesn't mean you have to answer," Sherry Palmer said through a stiff smile.
The Senator glanced down at his wife and his grin became more genuine. "What would I do without you?"
"I shudder to think," Sherry shot back. Then she gestured with her expressive brown eyes. "Look, there's Larry. Go greet your old teammate and make nice with the people who came out to see you."
Palmer looked up, saw Larry Bell approaching. He moved forward to greet him. Photographers flashed and spectators applauded as the famous Congressman and even more famous Senator clasped hands.
Both ex-basketball players were taller than everyone around them. But Larry Bell was lanky with gangly arms and legs. Broad-shouldered Palmer was built more like a linebacker than the former Big East Conference Defensive Player of the Year and NCAA All-American; and though both men had a full head of hair, Bell's closely trimmed Afro was peppered with gray.
Almost at once, the pair was surrounded by cameras and proffered microphones.
"Really great to see you, David." Bell's smile was warm, but his eyes remained fixed on the press.
"An impressive welcome, Larry," Palmer replied without a hint of rancor.
Bell faced his colleague eye to eye. "Nothing but the best for the guy who consistently passed me the ball in the greatest game of my career." Bell slapped Palmer's arm. "Even when he didn't have to."
Palmer shook his head. "I wasn't there to make you look good, Larry. I was there to win — and since you scored every time you got near the basket, I just thought I'd hand the ball off to you."
"We made a great team..." Congressman Bell faced the cameras, his voice rising. "And we'll make a great team again. Only this time we'll be doing more than winning the NCAA championship."
Lhere was a smattering of applause, then a Washington Post reporter fired the opening salvo. "My question is for Senator Palmer. What brings you to Las Vegas, sir?"
David Palmer grinned. "Well, as Larry said, this time it's not the NCAA championship. In fact..."
"How about the presidency?" a woman from the Los Angeles Times shouted. "Are you here to raise your national profile, Senator Palmer? Is it true that you're planning a run for the White House next November?"
Palmer waited patiently for the battery of questions to end. "I'm in Nevada for only one reason," he told them. "I'm here to participate in a vital and important program that may someday end the scourge of illegal narcotics, not just in the United States, but throughout all of North, Central and South America..." Palmer paused, gestured to his colleague.
"Of course, Congressman Bell and I both know that solving this massive problem will require international cooperation — which is exactly what the Pan-Latin