Page 16 of Primary Season
Asmall scrum of reporters greeted our campaign bus as it pulled into the parking lot off to the side of a white, columned building on the edge of town. A sign posted in front read “Women of the Democratic Party,” and patriotic bunting draped from the second-floor balcony. A few “official-looking” women wearing buttons stood on the porch waiting for us.
They didn’t look pleased.
“Let’s do it,” I said to Heather just before I sucked in a breath to steel my nerves.
She nodded. As I walked to the front of the bus, Heather corralled the rest of the staffers and interns. Stepping off, I heard her going back over the plan for the next few hours.
“Miss Jones, what is the campaign’s reaction to the recent allegations by a Miss Amanda Parker of Ohio?” shouted a network reporter I didn’t recognize.
“Will the campaign be issuing an official statement?” screamed another.
“What are you saying to voters?” said the first one.
Just as we suspected. This wasn’t going away.At all. The reporters, photographers, video cameramen, and other media closed in on me in a round robin right in front of the bus.
I took another deep breath. “I have a quick statement I’d like to make on the allegations,” I said as I opened my steno pad. “And after this, we on the campaign staff will consider the matter closed and not take further questions on it.”
“But—”
“Don’t you think that—?”
“Does Mr. Blanco—”
“Ms. Parker says he promised her they’d have a future together.”
The questions came at me like buckshot. Having expected this, I raised a hand to silence them and reminded myself to stay calm and steady. The media wanted to see me off my game, but I wouldn’t give them that. “Again, this is the only statement on this issue that our campaign will make.”
I cleared my throat and hoped my makeup had stayed intact. I also reminded myself of the first rule of public relations: even bad news could be good news. Handle this right, and Patrick Blanco might even get a bounce in the polls.
“We consider this a vicious effort to undermine Patrick’s credibility in light of his recent victory in New Hampshire,” I said. “Their only objective here is to distract from the real issues facing everyday Americans.”
“Do you suspect someone from the Republican Party might be behind it?” asked a blonde woman I recognized from FOX News Channel. “Or one of your opponents?”
I decided not to address that question. The press could glean their own conclusions. Instead, I took a deep breath and refocused on the words that I’d agonized over on the bus ride from Charleston to Columbia.
“Patrick Blanco did meet Amanda Parker while he was in Oxford during commencement weekend in December of last year. She attended a VIP cocktail party along with dozens of other students, trustees, and donors. Ms. Parker did not have any unusual interaction with Patrick at the event, and for him it was a typical event. That weekend, he gave the address, met with some trustees and donors for the school, and spent the rest of the time with family at his home in Bloomfield Shores, Ohio. He did not begin a relationship with Ms. Parker at that time, and he categorically denies all of these allegations. A legal team has also ordered Miss Parker to cease and desist charges until a paternity test can be taken. We believe this is nothing but a gross distract—”
In the middle of the last of my words, the door to the bus opened, and Patrick strode down the steps with a huge, affable smile on his face. Everyone’s attention shifted to him.
“Thank you, Miss Jones, for your wonderful statement.” Still perched one step above them, Patrick turned to the media. “But I thought it would be better if I addressed these accusations myself.” With every word he spoke, Patrick laid the charm thicker. “Now, who has questions? I promise you, there is nothing to this story. It is a complete fabrication.”
As the media shifted and stumbled around him to get a better shot or a clear soundbite, I stepped back from the crowd and watched Patrick work his magic on them. Within seconds, he had them rapt, willing, and believing his every word. He left no doubt that he’d never met Amanda Parker, whether it was true or not. He knew how to twist them, and he knew how to twist me, too.
Damnit.
“Daddy is not happy.” Kathryn eyed me on the ride from the Columbia Women Democrats’ event to a rally planned at Emily Douglas Park. “Three text messages and one email from him already.”
I released a long, pent-up breath.
“This is serious, Patrick. You need to make this go away. Now.”
“I told you, it’s a lie. Fake. Made up. I certainly didn’t father her child.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean ‘are you sure’? Of course I’m sure. There is no way this happened.”
Kathryn shook her head as if she didn’t believe me, fell silent, and turned her attention to the city outside the car window. As we drove, I remembered the way this had all been presented to me that night in Palm Beach. Simple. No frills. Mutual benefit. A way for me to get the money and influence I needed to rise in the polls and a path for the Van der Loons to gain power in a sphere that had eluded them. It wasn’t enough to conquer real estate, Wall Street, and hospitality. They wanted more, and DC would give it. Tie yourself to a rising political star and watch all the traditional limits fade away.
