William Bernhardt - Capitol Threat

They all acted as if he had been physically raped when those paid whores started rattling on about gay bars. Not him. He knew that would come out. He hadn’t anticipated all the lies about orgies and threesomes, but that was okay. Ironically, it had backfired, ended up reinforcing the claims of homophobia, especially when it was proven that the witnesses—at least some of them—were liars. Paid liars.

The truth always emerges, eventually.

That’s what he was worried about. It was not possible to keep a secret in this town. At least not for long. Certainly not forever.

He tiptoed down the hallway to Ray’s door, then knocked gently.

No response.

Probably wasn’t locked, but he wasn’t going to test it. If Ray had shut the door to his room—the room in which he’d been sleeping for the past many weeks—he’d done it for a reason. Nothing good could come from entering a room where he wasn’t wanted. It had been so long since the two of them slept in the same room that Roush couldn’t even remember when it was. Before this endless media conflagration. Before his life was turned topsy-turvy. Which was mostly his own fault.

He just hoped Ray wasn’t avoiding him for the wrong reasons. Not that there was a right reason. But if there were more to it than just his irritation, his humiliation at having his private life made public…

Well, Roush preferred not to even think about that.

Was withdrawing still an option? Could he decline the nomination, after so many had done so much to keep him in the game? How would he possibly explain it?

He couldn’t. And so, tomorrow, he would dutifully walk into that Caucus Room, waiting to hear sixteen people decide his fate. With his friends, support staff, and co-workers. All the while knowing that, of all the hearts beating on the Roush confirmation team, his was the one that had the least faith in the nominee.

When Jessie Matera turned thirty—not yet a senator, but close—she had blown her first perfect smoke ring. Since then, she had mastered the art. She didn’t smoke much; she didn’t smoke cigarettes at all. But occasionally, in times of great stress or jubilation, she allowed herself a good old-fashioned stogie. Why should the boys have all the fun?

Except tonight, it wasn’t working. This was her third attempt, and it still wasn’t right. More oblate than circular. Like the shape of the earth as viewed from outer space.

“Care for a smoke, Richard?”

Trevor reacted as if he had been offered a sneak peek at a porn flick. “I don’t smoke, Jessie.”

“Sure? Might relax you a little.”

“I’m fine. Smoking is a vice.”

“You seem a bit uptight tonight. But then, you always do.” She passed the humidor toward the young man in the blue suit. “Try one.”

“No thank you.” Trevor smiled a little. “Jesus never smoked.”

Matera took a long drag on her cigar, then exhaled. “Jesus never lobbied Congress for favors, either.”

“In a way, he did. When he turned over the tables in the temple and tossed out the moneylenders—”

Matera raised a hand. “Spare me. I’m too old for fairy tales.”

“Are you suggesting that the Holy Bible is not the word of God?”

“Perish the thought.” She took another long drag. “I know the party line. Every word contained in the Bible is literally true. Just like it says in the Gospels. Even though the Gospels contradict each other constantly, they’re still all literally true. Somehow…”

Trevor pointed a finger. “Don’t be sacrilegious with me. I won’t tolerate it. I can withdraw my funding—”

“Don’t threaten me,” Matera said, cutting him off. She didn’t have to point. She could get her message across with her eyes. “You need me.”

“You need me, too.”

“That, unfortunately, is correct. I mean, I don’t, not really. I couldn’t care less if Roush gets to wear a black robe. And I’m not planning to run for reelection, as you know. But I do care whether I get nominated for the vice presidency. I’d make a damn good Vice President. And our current Commander in Chief seems to share my opinion. All he requires in exchange is that I serve as his personal lickspittle and perform every nasty job he needs done between now and then. A small sacrifice for such a distinguished position, don’t you agree?”

Trevor looked at her directly. “Hasn’t been a Republican Vice President named in the last twenty years that didn’t have the support of the Christian Congregation.”

Matera covered her mouth and yawned. “You don’t have to wave your dick at me, Richard. I already know how big it is.”

“I don’t appreciate that kind of talk.”

“I know. Jesus probably never said ‘dick,’ either, did he?” She put the cigar to her lips and savored the slightly woody aroma. “What’s your big interest in this thing, anyway? Is it just that you want what President Blake wants?”

“The President wants what I tell him to want.”

“As I suspected. So why are you so dead set against Roush? He’s a smart man, you know. A good judge. Fair. Rational. Has actually read the Constitution.”

“The man is a sodomite. That’s still illegal in some states, you know.”

“So is spitting on the sidewalk. Seriously, though, is that all? You oppose him because he’s gay? ’Cause that’s a dying cause, you know. And I say that as a prominent Republican senator who raked the man over the coals about his gayness during the hearings. I can see the handwriting on the wall. This is another form of prejudice, and future generations aren’t going to look on you any more favorably than current generations look on the KKK.”

“The Bible expressly forbids—”

“You’re talking about that bit in Leviticus, right? Which was written about…what, 1750 B.C.? That was the Bronze Age, for pity’s sake.”

“I had no idea you were a Biblical scholar. I myself just read the words and follow them, and the Bible says, ‘A man shall not lie down with a man—’ ”

“Except, taken in context, it’s talking about a married man, right? It’s saying that it’s still adultery, even if you aren’t having intercourse with a woman.”

“That’s not how I read it.”

“And God didn’t say anything about homosexuality in the Ten Commandments, did he?”

“No, but—”

“So this Biblical imperative didn’t even make the top ten. Did Jesus say anything about it?”

“Not that we have a record of, but—”

“So in the end, it’s just that one Bronze Age passage from Leviticus. And scholars aren’t even sure what it’s saying.”

Trevor lowered himself into the nearest available chair. It had been a mistake to meet Senator Matera in her office. Something about being on her home turf gave her too much confidence, just as the fact that she wasn’t running for reelection gave vent to a singularly unpleasant rebellious streak. “Satan produces false evidence to tempt the weak. Sometimes even people of great power can be weak.”

“Oh, don’t be so touchy. I’m not trying to threaten your narrow little worldview. I can’t oppose the Christian Congregation and we both know it. I’m just curious. Is that really all this is? Political gay bashing? Pandering to the public distrust of anyone different from themselves?”

Trevor hesitated. “I happen to believe the President made a mistake when he nominated Thaddeus Roush.”

“But you must’ve approved it. Or he never would’ve done it.”

“We didn’t know then what we know now.”

“Namely, that he’s gay.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. An indicator of so much more that’s wrong with this man. It’s a mental illness, you know.”

“Being gay is a mental illness?”