A Bitter Cup of Tea

Goethe

PREFACE

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness…

This is a passage from the second paragraph of the Declaration of Independence, drafted by Thomas Jefferson in June 1776. It was written as a formal breaking away of America from its mother country, Great Britain. Our Founding Fathers, thinking that the British Parliament and king were unresponsive and unjust in their transactions with its colonies across the Atlantic, took the drastic and deadly step of declaring independence, knowing that they would have to gain their freedom by the force of arms. Today, as then, these men would be called extremists. Today, as then, they would be called radicals. Today, as then, those in political power would call them ignorant.

CHAPTER 1

The issue today is the same as it has been throughout all history, whether man shall be allowed to govern himself or be ruled by a small elite.

—Thomas Jefferson

Hobbs Willers was sitting in his glassed-in cage. It was almost time to start his show. His producer, Aleighse Avery, had just told him that the Washington Post had written an unflattering article on him that nonetheless proclaimed him to be the newest, freshest voice on right-wing talk radio. She had told him he had taken the East Coast by storm, and he had just surpassed Rush Limbaugh both in Dallas and in all of Texas as the most listened-to radio host in his time slot. Still, it was nerve-racking, how fast and far he had come in the few short weeks he had been syndicated. He would have to write and talk on a level he had only dreamed about. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and prayed he wouldn’t falter.

He looked out of his glassed-in cage and saw Aleighse hold up her hands. Ten seconds to go to dazzle his audience and sponsors. Could he do it again?

Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…

"Good afternoon, folks. I’m Hobbs Willers, and I’m coming to you from a little town in Texas that folks around here call the Big D, otherwise known as Dallas. Welcome to the show. For those of you that are new to the show, what I do every time I open is give a little monologue that can last anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes. When I’m done jawing, I’ll break for our dear sponsors or the news. When we’re back on the air, I start taking phone calls. Now that you know how I do business, let’s get ready to rock the political boat.

"I hope everyone out there in radio land is feeling hale and hearty today because we’re going to be talking about our newly elected president, Barack Hussein Obama. And yes, folks, now that he has been elected, we can say his middle name without fear of being chastised by our good friends on the left, or at least we hope we can. I’ll be jawing about him and a few other things as well. So hold on to your hats or purses, ‘cause here I go.

"I tell you, folks, Obama as a campaigner is a man who sure knew how to dazzle most of us unwashed masses with a vague but powerful message of hope and change. I doubt anybody but he and his nearest advisers knows exactly what kind of hope and change he has in store for the country now that he’s in a position to offer it to us, but some of my friends on the political right have their suspicions. Regardless, both us unwashed and the mainstream media have fallen in love with him, and those on the far, far left have gone into near epileptic fits of joy. I remember watching the boob tube awhile back and one pundit said with a stern face, ‘I have to tell you, you know, it’s part of reporting this case, this election, the feeling most people get when they hear Barack Obama’s speech. I felt this thrill going up my leg. I mean, I don’t have that too often.’ After my laughter stopped echoing through the house, I thought, you know, Senator McCain is in big-time trouble because I bet my bottom dollar that a whole lot of other folks are feeling that same weird thrill going up their legs, and sure enough I was right. There was no stopping Obama, especially after the economy tanked.

"As David Ehrenstein wrote in the Los Angeles Times, Obama is a ‘Magic Negro,’ a nonthreatening African American who whites can feel comfortable voting for as the first black president. And I got to tell you, his supporters thought he would, if elected, be the new messiah, a demigod who could not only walk on water but, if that wasn’t enough, also keep the world’s oceans from rising and Manhattan from sinking. In stunned adulation, the world would watch as lions bedded down with the lambs while Hezbollah and the Israelites gently placed their weapons on the ground and embraced in loving forgiveness. To top it all off, they thought, and they were right, he could be elected! As then Senator Joe Biden said, ‘I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that’s a storybook man.’

"Well, folks, one has to wonder what went through the minds of all other black politicians throughout the land when they heard that completely inane remark, but coming from Mr. Biden they probably took it with a grain of salt just like every other time he has put his foot in his mouth, which is pretty much every time he speaks. In any event, fate would dictate that we would indeed elect Barack Hussein Obama as our first black president, thus allowing former president William Jefferson Clinton to shed that label for all time.

"I know that many of my friends on the right were puzzled and despondent over the victory. They cannot for the life of them understand how a onetime community organizer with no executive experience and precious little legislative experience could have been nominated, much less elected president. Nevertheless, the Democrat base—which consists of the labor force, both public and private sectors, Hollywood, the mainstream media, college professors and students, minorities, welfare recipients, Socialists, Communists, ne’er-do-wells, malcontents, and rabble-rousers—understood because Obama’s message was clear to them. He was going to spread the wealth, and they would be the beneficiaries of that confiscated wealth. As one voter interviewed by a television reporter put it, ‘I can’t wait till Obama brings me my new car and fridge!’

"Well, folks, those friends of mine on the right have another reason to be despondent. A columnist from the New York Times gleefully wrote that conservatism was dead and buried and that it would take at least twenty years before it could rise from dank and rotting earth. James Carville, Bill Clinton’s most ferocious political lapdog, predicted forty years. Now, I can’t tell the future, but those two seers of the left, if there truly is no God, just might turn out to be right on the money; that is, unless they’re both descendants of Cassandra.

"Those liberals that were running against Obama in the primaries must have felt their own puzzlement and despondency as well. I mean, hell, if credentials mean anything anymore, then those men like Bill Richardson, Joe Biden, well maybe not him, Russ Feingold, Tom Vilsack, or Evan Bayh were all infinitely more qualified than Obama, who, to tell the truth and shame the devil, had no qualifications to speak of to be our next president. But of course since the advent of television, it seems that what matters most to the average voter is how one looks, not how one thinks, or even if one thinks at all. So Obama, who is one clean, articulate, and good-looking African-American, was given the brass ring, to the joy of the woman who needed a new car and fridge and millions more like her.

"But you got to know, folks, that out of all of Obama’s primary opponents, Hillary Clinton has to be the most bitter at his victory. She just knew that Gaia or her husband, Bill, had preordained that her husband would be First Husband, and you could see her frustration when Democrat voters cast their votes for a man just as inexperienced as she was. Her husband, Bill, we can only hope and pray, felt her pain, along with tens of thousands of radical feminists who wanted to see a left-leaning woman preside in the White House almost more than life itself. It just wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t right, but after fighting the good fight for much too long, and after crying bitter tears, Hillary finally threw in the towel and had to acknowledge that her husband would not go down in history as the first president and the first man to be called First Husband.

"But fear not, folks. As a consolation prize, Mrs. Clinton has accepted the position of secretary of state, and she is more than qualified for that job since the main requirement to hold that position is the ability to jaw a lot, which means that every successful politician in this great land would, like her, make a damn fine secretary of state.

It’s time for a station break, my friends. We’ll be right back with your phone calls so you can tell me if I hit the bull’s-eye with my assessment or if I need to take more archery lessons.

For what might have been the millionth time that day, Andrew Rand, thirty-six years old, pulled up the sleeve of his Brooks Brothers suit to glance at the Raymond Weil wristwatch his wife, Carolyn, had given him as a gift two Christmases ago. There were still ten minutes to go before the polls closed in his hometown of Wyland, Ohio. If his pollster, Karl Lettering, was as good as he said he was, Rand would know within a half hour after the polls closed if he would be the new congressman to represent the good people of the Seventeenth Congressional District of Ohio. He knew he would win. He just didn’t know how much time it would take to be declared a winner.

He was in the top suite of the Wyland Marriott Hotel, sitting in a chair, a television set six feet in front of him. Carolyn was sitting next to him, and surrounding both were his parents, Clint and Amy Rand, also from Wyland; his campaign manager, Tina Ackland; Lettering; and Taylor Radford and his wife, Corrin.

Radford, one of the richest men in Ohio, had been his biggest campaign contributor and had also funded several key campaign events throughout the district. He had rented both the suite and the ballroom on the third floor of the hotel. The ballroom was full to bursting with Rand’s supporters eagerly awaiting the moment Rand would come down from the suite so they could share in his anticipated victory.

Thinking of Radford, Rand felt a twinge of guilt flicker through his body. In order to get Radford’s support, he had made a promise that he would vote against the passage of health care reform if the Democrats were able to bring the bill to the floor for a vote. Even as he’d made the promise, Rand knew in all likelihood he would not be able to keep it, and he hoped to God that Radford would understand the reason he could not keep the promise when he found out it had been broken. Well, it was no use worrying about that now since it would be months before he would have to cross that Rubicon.

He glanced down at his watch again and then glanced at Carolyn, who, as usual, was lost in her own thoughts. Carolyn, three years younger than he, was stunningly dressed in a satiny blue A-line dress bought at the Cheesecake Boutique in Columbus. In sharp contrast, she was wearing a cheap $20 silver locket around her neck. It was the first gift Rand had given her when they were dating. She had told him never to buy her another necklace because she would never take it off, and she never had as far as he knew. Besides a slender Rolex he had given her on their fifth anniversary, the only other jewelry she wore was her engagement ring and wedding band. He had asked his father for a loan to buy the rings, and his father, after meeting Carolyn, had gladly given him the money as a wedding gift.

God, you look so good, he thought as he looked at her. But then he always thought that. Even on her worst days, when she was sick and her eyes were puffy and her nose was a Rudolph red, he thought her incredibly beautiful and sexy. If it was possible, he thought her more beautiful and sexy than he had when he had first met her at Stanford University when he was a senior and she was a freshman.

The love he had for her, which had already been as deep as Lake Baikal, had grown deeper still when she first gave him his son, Charles, and then his little princess, Maggie. His love for her was so strong that if she turned to him in the next instant and asked him to end his political career, he knew he would, without hesitation, pick up the hotel phone and call his Republican opponent and concede defeat. And though he knew he would do that, he also knew that she would never deny him his dream of working as a congressman in Washington, DC.

Even after fourteen years of marriage, he still felt extremely lucky that she had agreed to be his wife. He knew that many men his age or older, who had gained success, left their first wives and latched on to women in their early twenties. They were called trophy wives, and novelist Tom Wolfe described them as boys with breasts. Unless the first wife was a complete and utter bitch, Rand could not understand why those men would do that. Carolyn, though she could be withdrawn and as shy as a wild rabbit around others she did not know at times, was all he needed in a wife, all he could have hoped for, and it was a rare day when he didn’t thank God she was a part of his life. He thanked God because although Carolyn disdained all things political, she had agreed to be his wife anyway. Her reluctance to become more involved in his career may have frustrated him at times, but he seldom had reasons to regret letting her remain an outsider in his political world. Whenever he did regret it, he remembered what she had told him about her upbringing.

Even with her dislike of politics, Rand knew Carolyn would be happy for his victory, which, if Lettering’s preelection polling numbers stood, they would soon be celebrating.

Carolyn glanced at Rand and gave him a smile. He smiled back and whispered, I love you, and then looked down at his watch once more. Less than two minutes to go.

Hey, Karl, Rand said, turning to his pollster. I know you and Tina think you’re the hottest shits in Ohio at what you do, but do you want to place a bet on how good you really are?

What do you mean? Lettering asked, smiling broadly.

Rand smiled back. You assured me I’d know the results within a half hour of the polls closing. If that’s true, I’ll give you one of the hundreddollar bills I have in my wallet. The bet with Tina is, if I lose the race, I get a full refund, and if I win as she predicts, she gets to be my campaign manager on my next go-around.

What do you win with my bet? Karl asked.

I get to kick your butt without you fighting back.

Everyone in the room, including Carolyn, laughed.

Sorry, Andy, but I learned a long time ago never to bet on politics. You never know what’s going to happen until the fat lady stops singing so she can finish eating her Twinkies.

That fat woman you keep fantasizing about must weigh more than a baby beluga by now with all those Twinkies you force her to eat. Does Suzy ever get jealous of her?

I’ll take the bet, Tina said, because I’ve seen the fat lady and her voice is hoarse and she’s eaten the last Twinkie.

As more laughter echoed through the suite, Carolyn placed her hand on her husband’s arm and said, The polls have just closed, my darling.

The room became silent as raw numbers started scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. After ten minutes, a checkmark was placed next to Rand’s name as the predicted winner of his race. Rand pumped his arm, leaped up from his chair, and yelled, Yes! Everyone else in the room began to clap.

Carolyn stood up. She wrapped her arms around her husband, kissed him, and then whispered in his ear, I’m so happy for you, Andy, and so very, very proud, and you know what that means.

God, how I love you, Rand said, blinking back tears.

After the couple released from their hug, Rand then went to his mother and hugged her. She kissed him on the cheek and said, I know how much this means to you, and I’m so very happy for you, Andy.

Thanks, Mom. Rand said and then turned to his father and gave him a hug. His father, smiling, said, Even though I failed you as a father and you became of all things a Democrat, I’m still very proud of you, son. You set a dream for yourself, and you did what it took to reach that dream. Very few men can claim that prize.

I’m not supposed to tell you this, Andy, his mother said, but your dad sent your campaign an anonymous donation, and he asked me to send one as well, which I already had.

His father laughed and said, Just don’t tell any of my friends at the country club or I’ll be blackballed.

Rand laughed and said, I promise I’ll keep mum. Thanks so much, Dad.

He then went to Taylor Radford. Radford shook his hand and said, Do us proud in Washington, Congressman Rand.

I’ll do my best, Taylor. Thanks for all your support. I could not have won without it.

I’m glad I could be of help. Just remember promises made must be promises kept.

I’ll remember, Taylor, Rand said, shifting his focus to Radford’s wife.

That’s good, Radford said, nodding his head. That’s good.

Rand gave Corrin a hug, accepted her thanks, and went to Lettering. They shook hands and then hugged as well.

Congratulations, Andy.

Thanks, Karl. You did a hell of a job for me. Shame you didn’t take me up on the bet, but all the drinks will be on me tonight.

Last, Rand went to his campaign manager, who had made her way to a far corner of the suite. Instead of the jeans and a tucked-in men’s shirt she usually wore, she was wearing a very feminine business suit and a pale blue blouse. She looked very pretty tonight, and also kind of sexy, and he wished some man would find her so because he thought her a very lonely woman.

He gave her a fierce hug. Politics and everything political were Tina’s whole world, and he knew this victory meant as much to her as it did to him. Thanks, Tina. You’ve taught me more about campaigning than I could ever hope to know. I don’t know how high I can climb up the political ladder, but I’ll always want you by my side. You’ve been fantastic throughout, and I’ll always be grateful.

Tina, her face lit up like a Roman candle that seemed would burn for as long as the sun sunned, smiled and said, Thank you, Andy. It’s been a pleasure working with you. I don’t think you stumbled once during the campaign, and that’s rare. I’m very proud of you.

Do you think we should go down now and thank our supporters? Rand asked her.

Now, now, Andy, don’t be impatient. Remember protocol. You need to wait for MacMurray to concede the race and call you to offer congratulations.

Do you think she will? It got pretty nasty between us, especially during the debate. I think if she had been carrying a gun I would have been deader than Old Yeller before the night was through.

She’s a bitch, but she will. She knows the rules of the game. And she was pretty nasty herself. Just be gracious to her when she calls. You’ll probably be running against her again at some point, and you don’t need to give her any ammunition to use against you. I’ll go down to the ballroom and keep ‘em happy until you get the call; although the last time I checked, they seemed to be happy enough.

Thanks, Tina. Now that all this is over, I’m a little scared about my new duties. I hope I can cut the mustard in Washington.

You’ll do fine, Andy. I’ll fly to DC and help you get settled. We’ll start finalizing the staff you’ll need tomorrow. With a good staff that knows the ropes, all you’ll need to do is latch on to an experienced congressman to guide you during your freshman year. It won’t be much different from the work you were doing in Columbus except that now you’ll be working in the big leagues, so you’ll need to practice hitting curveballs.

Damn, Rand said, a worried look on his face. Then I guess I need to withdraw and stay home.

What… why?

Football was always my game. I couldn’t hit a baseball if it was sitting on a tee.

Stop being silly, Tina said, giving Rand another hug and a light kiss on the lips. In a lower voice, she said, Before I go downstairs I’d like to ask you something.

Yes?

I’ve been meaning to ask all campaign, but one thing or another seemed more important at the time. Just why in the hell would Radford support you? I mean I’m glad he did, but he’s further to the right politically than Sean Hannity.

Rand looked a little sheepish. That’s one of the things I’m nervous about. Taylor knew that MacMurray would lose, so he came to me and offered financial support if I promised I would not support health care reform if it came up for a vote.

Tina’s smile vanished. Jesus Christ, Andy, you ran on a platform of liberalism against my advice, and one of the major planks was your support of government-led reform. How in the hell do you think you’ll get reelected if you vote no? Your liberal supporters will tear you to pieces if you vote no on something that is so important to them, something you promised you’d vote yes on.

But we needed his money, Tina.

Tina shook her head and then took a calming breath. He could tell she wanted to punch something, and that something was Rand, but she held back. Andy, my job is to protect you from making mistakes, and you made a fucking huge one. Your job was to kiss goddamn babies and smile for the cameras. If you had bothered to come to me in the first place I could have told you that money was flowing in. We did not need his money or his support to win this election. You just better hope to God that health care never makes it to the House floor, or you’re in the goddamn hospital undergoing some kind of emergency surgery if it does, because you’ve needlessly put yourself between a rock and hard place. If you vote no, you’ve lost your base. If you vote yes, you’re going to have one very powerful enemy who’s got more money than Midas and will probably spend every dime he’s got to make sure you’re defeated next election.

Okay, Tina, enough. I get your point. I screwed up, but I’ll figure out what’s best to do when the time comes.

Whatever. I’m going to the ballroom. I’ll see you when I see you.

Jesus, Rand muttered.

When Tina stormed away, Carolyn came up and handed Rand a Glenfiddich on the rocks. Is everything all right between you and Tina, Andy? she asked.

Yes. We had a minor disagreement over something. I’ll make up with her when we go downstairs.

Carolyn gave her husband a puzzled look and then let the puzzlement fade away by saying, I’m your designated driver tonight, my darling. I want you to enjoy your special day.

Rand kissed her, smiled, and said, I promise not to enjoy it too much so I can enjoy it more when we get home.

Carolyn gave her husband the wicked smile she knew drove him crazy and said, I’ll be counting the seconds until I can see you enjoying yourself more.

Carolyn Rand, the only child of Bethany Klein-Brathson and Felix Brathson, was born in the city of Hartford, Connecticut. Both of her parents were professors at the University of Hartford. When they were not teaching, politics at the local, state, and national levels consumed their waking lives. While Bethany was a true-blue, left-of-left progressive radical, her husband was only a true-blue pragmatic progressive. Before Carolyn had even entered kindergarten, both had indoctrinated their daughter with the lesser glories of European-style Socialism from her father, and the greater glories of Marxism from her mother.

Carolyn’s earliest memories, in fact most of her memories of childhood, were of her parents screaming at each other or at their friends over some political figure or platform or bill. The start of dinner was usually placid, but the food was never fully consumed before voices became strident and the words more vile. Little Carolyn, her parents not noticing, would burst into tears and run and hide in her bedroom, her pillow over her tiny ears to help mute the vulgar clamor of her parents’ verbal fights.

Carolyn’s clearest childhood memory was of the day she turned five. She was expecting presents and a birthday party, but instead, Bethany took her to a political rally to show support for Chris Dodd in his successful 1980 run to become Connecticut’s newest United States senator. Though Carolyn had never been invited to a birthday party, she had seen birthday parties on TV, and she felt certain that she was supposed to be the center of attention. She thought this party was not fair, since all the attention was being showered on the man on the stage. When she began to complain, and then cry, Bethany slapped Carolyn’s face, unintentionally knocking her daughter to the ground. Bethany, jerking her back up, whispered, This is one of the most important things you’ll ever see in your life, so stop being a brat.

It was at that moment that a seed of hatred for her mother, father, and the world of politics began to germinate inside Carolyn.

After the slap, Carolyn became a model Stepford daughter. Around her parents and her parents’ friends, she would wear a forced smile, submissively listen to whomever was speaking, and nod her head in agreement if the person speaking glanced her way. During and after dinner, instead of running to her bedroom to hide whenever arguments became loud and heated, she would sit still in her chair and thinly smile at whomever was holding forth. Though the adults seldom paid attention to her, if asked a question, she would respond with an appropriate answer, receiving, at times, a smile of condescension.

As Carolyn inched into her teenage years, she was, at least politically, more knowledgeable than most Americans. Not only could she name the president and vice president, and why she should hate them if they belonged to the Republican Party, or revere them if they were Democrats, she could also name the chief of staff and all the cabinet members. She knew the names of all the Supreme Court justices and which way each one leaned. She knew why she should admire Chris Dodd and why she should despise Bob Dole. She could count off the reasons it was permitted to vilify Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, George Herbert Walker Bush, and Jack Kemp, and she made herself understand why it was okay to lionize John, Robert, and Teddy Kennedy, Lyndon Baines Johnson (only on domestic issues), George McGovern, Patricia Schroeder, Walter Mondale, and Michael Dukakis. Likewise, she could argue talking points on why Fidel Castro should be treated like a secular god, while Margaret Thatcher should, when she died, find her final resting place on the hearthstone of hell. She was told by her mother to think of Betty Friedan as her goddess, Gloria Steinem as the daughter of the goddess, the Feminine Mystique as her bible, and the neighborhood Planned Parenthood abortion clinic as her holy church.

On Carolyn’s thirteenth birthday, her mother bought her subscriptions to liberal magazines Mother Jones, The Nation, The New Republic, and Sojourners as gifts. To ensure that she read the magazines, her mother would give her a time frame to read each one and then quiz her on select articles. By the time Carolyn turned fourteen, thoughts of suicide and murder flittered through her mind like angel dust. With those thoughts, and all other thoughts, the words clueless and stupid seemed to be forever echoing in her mind and in her nightmares. The fact that she had less than four years to go before she could flee from her mother’s clutches tempered, but only barely, her thoughts of mayhem.

Ever since being slapped in the face, Carolyn had never openly rebelled against her parents. That changed the day she gave the valedictorian speech at her high school graduation. For the first time in her life she had fought back against her parents, and to her surprise, had won. Because of that small victory, she decided that the secret she’d been harboring would finally reveal itself. Her parents expected that she would attend Hartford University, and she gave all indications she would do so. However, earlier that spring she had secretly applied to Stanford and had been accepted. She had kept the secret the entire school year, dreading the day when she would have to confront her mother. Now, with her minor victory after graduation the night before, she steeled herself to face her mother’s anger and her father’s disappointment.

The day after graduation, Carolyn entered the kitchen. Both her mother and father were sitting