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Chapter One
The Billy Mack Show
Putting on makeup in front of a room full of people was always a strange thing. Senator Ben Phillips wondered if he'd ever get to the point where it felt normal. Probably not, he decided. As Shelly Greenblatt and Thomas Campman peppered him with last-minute questions and his makeup man powdered him with last-minute powder, as his assistant Charlie fixed him a glass of apple juice, Campman's wife photographed him, and his own wife smiled at him, Ben realized that this predebate ritual was something very few Americans would ever experience. There was a feeling in the air that history was about to be made, and the effect was dizzying.
"Remember not to let him out-smile you," said Shelly, who was pacing. "Struck is gonna be smiling and smirking. You can't always look serious in response. Smirk back sometimes."
"Shelly, I'm not gonna smirk at the president."
"Well just don't let him out-smile you by too great a margin."
"I know. I know."
"You're gonna do fine," said Campman.
"Ben, you'll be wonderful," said Melissa, always the supportive spouse. "You'll finally have a chance to square off on the issues, and that's exactly what we want. I'll say it again: I really don't see how he has a chance."
Melissa Phillips was wearing her green dress, the one that drew attention to the blazing green of her eyes. Her brunette hair fell down in waves, stopping at her shoulders but brushing the gold necklace that matched her conservative emerald earrings just a little too well. With her red lips and warm subtle smile, she looked every bit the first lady, sitting in that leather dressing room chair. What gave her away was the over-eagerness of her posture, the tension in her shoulders, and the tapping of her foot, all signs conspiring to betray her as the nervous girlfriend of a boxer, minutes before the big fight.
Melissa Phillips was a part-time member of the campaign, flying back and forth from D.C., where she continued to teach English at Georgetown University. She only had one summer class and was set for a light course load in the fall, but she refused to give up teaching altogether while her husband campaigned. He respected her for that. Ben had even grown to enjoy her constant coming and going from the campaign trail. As much as he knew it exhausted her, he couldn't deny that it energized him, these repeated farewells and rendezvous across the country. Seeing his beautiful wife after an absence of forty-eight hours was always a thrill for him, and this evening was no exception. He was, in fact, particularly excited to have her on set for to-night's televised debate on The Billy Mack Show.
President Struck's handlers had weaseled their way down to two debates for the campaign season, and tonight's tête-à-tête wasn't even a traditionally structured debate, but rather a casual seated double interview with America's most-watched TV interviewer, the grand softballer himself: Billy Mack.
The importance of the evening could not be overstated, particularly for Senator Ben Phillips. After months of sliding in the polls, The Billy Mack Show represented a crucial opportunity to turn around the momentum of the campaign, something that millions of dollars in advertising and a skillfully orchestrated Democratic convention had thus far failed to do. Ben Phillips knew he was running out of chances.
The dressing room was quiet now. Everything that needed to be said had been said numerous times. In this calm before the storm, as the makeup artist worked to define his eyes, the senator allowed his mind to wander.
He thought about Campman's crazy idea. It had been four days since his top advisors approached him with their plan to create a sex scandal. Ben thought they were joking at first but was surprised to find they actually considered this to be a viable strategy. He was even more surprised to find his old friend Shelly Greenblatt was one of the folks behind it all. After the meeting, he had pulled Shelly aside.
"Shel, do you really think this is a good idea?"
Ben knew that Shelly Greenblatt couldn't lie believably. Whenever the slightest fib was attempted, Shelly's body would have a violent physiological response. His skin would turn red, his throat would close up, and he would get short of breath. This made him a terrible choice to run for office but a great choice for an advisor, and Ben trusted him completely. For any politician who finds himself surrounded by "yes men" (and most do at one time or another), a savvy friend who is willing to give it to you straight is your most valuable asset. At the moment, Shelly's face was reddish but far from its peak hue. He would be telling the truth.
Shelly sighed. "I think it's probably not a good idea, Ben. But we are running out of options here. I just don't know what to tell you. Unless you can work some magic in that debate. . . . But then, I'm sure you will. You have to."
Ben found Shelly's grave tone troubling. He wondered: had his campaign really sunk this low? Was his situation so dire that they would actually entertain such a ridiculous idea?
Ben couldn't let himself believe it. He decided to stall, telling his advisors he wouldn't discuss any drastic measures for another week. "Let's see if the numbers pick up after the Billy Mack debate," he'd said.
Ben knew he was the more skilled debater, and his senatorial record was much less vulnerable to attack than the president's record (which was riddled with broken promises, inconsistencies, and poor judgment). Still, despite his confidence about the debate itself, Ben was deeply troubled by the bigger picture. He knew that for whatever reason, the public wasn't listening to him. And he knew he was losing. Badly.
The Scandal Plan
Excerpted from The Scandal Plan: Or: How to Win the Presidency by Cheating on Your Wife by Bill Folman
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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