In the production trailer, the director could not restrain himself from punching the button that cut away to a long shot of the auditorium stage. At the moment, it consisted of a number of stuffed shirts, arguing, consulting with aides, and staring in shock at television monitors.
"And I made up my mind," Cozzano said, "that the entire thing was corrupt. Only a scoundrel can participate in such a campaign; only a cipher can win. I am neither. So I have decided that I am no longer interested in campaigning for president of the United States.
"Earlier today, I drove my car down to Sterling Texaco, down on the corner. It's a place I've been buying gas and tires ever since
I bought my first car back in high school. And old Mr. Sterling came out to fill up my tank, wash my windshield, check my oil. This is kind of an old-fashioned town, and that's still how we do things here.
"Well, Mr. Sterling, who sold me my very first tank of gas back in the early sixties, took one look at my dipstick and he told me to get out of the car and come and have a look. I did so. And sure enough, the end of that dipstick was coated with the darkest, grimiest, sludgiest coat of oil I have ever seen. It was disgraceful, and Mr. Sterling didn't have to say so. I knew it. I knew I'd gone too long without changing my oil. So I bought five quarts of fresh oil along with my tank of gas, and drove them home."
As Cozzano told this story, he was strolling back into his garage, where his car was angled up on a pair of ramps. He kneeled beside the car, reached underneath with one arm, and slid out the metal basin, which was now filled with black oil.
"Just a few minutes ago, as I was crawling under the car to let that old sludge out of the system, I realized that there was a powerful metaphor for politics. Our political system is basically sound, but over the years it has gotten all fouled with dirt and sludge."
Cozzano carried the basin over to a counter, where an empty plastic milk jug sat with a funnel stuck into the top. He held the basin up and tipped it, pouring the oil down the funnel and into the plastic jug.
"Of course, that kind of thing rubs off. It permeates everything after a while. And I realized that being a presidential candidate had fouled and stained my life in many ways, some obvious, some a little more subtle."
Cozzano set the basin down. He took a metal oil spout off a pegboard on the wall, then picked up a fresh can of oil. He shoved the spout into the can, piercing its top, then tilted it just a bit and spilled a few drops of clean, clear, golden oil into the palm of his hand. "Now, that's more like it," he said. "This is how my life used to be. And this" - he set the oil can down and slapped the milk jug full of sludge - "is how my life was after a few months of presidential politics. Of course, the President and Tip McLane have been in the same game for much longer than I have. I don't know how they do it."
Cozzano pulled the rag out of his pocket and wiped his hands. "Well, I've got some burgers to eat. A son and daughter to get reacquainted with. Some new oil to put in the car. Then I think we'll go for a stroll around town, maybe take in a movie. And I know that the President and Tip have got important things to do also. So I'll let you attend to those things. Best of luck to you all, and good night."
The Tuscola feed cut back to the long shot of Cozzano's house, now just a silhouette against an indigo sky, lights shining warmly from every window.
In the press room, Zeke Zorn was standing on a table shouting. Important blood vessels were showing on his forehead, which, like the rest of his face, had turned red.
"This is an absolute disgrace!" he screamed. Then he took a deep breath and got himself under control. "This is the most dirty, underhanded, filthy campaign trick ever devised."
Al Lefkowitz, the President's chief spin doctor, was calmer, paler, seemingly almost distracted, like a man who has been hit on the head with a two-by-two and whose consciousness has withdrawn into a deeper neurological realm. He was speaking more quietly than Zorn, with the result that reporters, fleeing in fear of being struck by a loose drop of saliva ejected from Zorn's mouth, had clustered around him. "It's very disappointing. It's an act of political vandalism, really. If he just wanted to withdraw from the race, that would be one thing. But he went beyond that and attacked the candidates. And more importantly, he attacked the American electoral process itself. It's very sad that his career has to end this way."
Zeke Zorn suddenly grabbed the floor by howling. "THERE HE IS!" and pointing toward the entrance. Cy Ogle had just strolled into the room and was now blinking and looking around himself curiously, as if he had wandered in while searching for the men's room, and could not understand all the commotion.
Zorn continued, "Maybe you would like to explain how you're going to get Cozzano's name off the ballots in all fifty states in just four days!"
Ogle looked perplexed. "Who said anything about ballots?"
"Cozzano did. He claims he's withdrawing from the race."
"Oh, no," Ogle said, shaking his head, and looking a little shocked. "He never said anything about withdrawing from the race. He just said he didn't want any more campaigning."
Zorn was speechless.
Lefkowitz was not. "Excuse me, Cy, but I think we have a problem here. We negotiated the terms of this debate in good faith. Then you came in with a last-minute change. You said you wanted some free time for Cozzano to speak from Tuscola. And your excuse was that he wanted to make an important announcement. Am I right!"
"Yes, you're right. These were my words," Ogle said.
"The only reason that Cozzano was granted that free time was because of this important announcement. He wouldn't have been given that time if all he wanted was to make editorial comments."
"True," Ogle said.
"So we all construed his words to mean that he was dropping out of the race."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Ogle said, "he didn't mean to say that."
"But if he wasn't dropping out of the race," Lefkowitz said, "then he wasn't making any important announcement - which means that you obtained that free air time under false pretenses. You committed a fraud against the American people! And I am sure that this fraud will be covered extensively by those here in the press room, and that you and Cozzano will be judged for it by the American people, who have grown sick of dirty campaigning."
"But he did make an important announcement. Just as I said he would. There's no deception here," Ogle said. "Just a misunderstanding.
"What are you talking about?" Zorn shouted.
"You heard him," Ogle said, "he announced that his son was publishing a book. Doesn't that seem like an important announcement to y'all?"
PART 4. Resurrection Symphony
57
Four days after Cozzano's landslide victory, the Speaker of the House suffered a stroke during a party in a private Washington ' club, while sitting on the toilet in the men's room. On the recommendation of the President-elect, the Speaker's family sent him. to the Radhakrishnan Institute for therapy.
The house across the street from the Cozzano residence in Tuscola had become vacant a couple of months previously, and the Cozzanos had bought it. Cy Ogle and some of his best people now moved into it and made it into the headquarters for the transition. If the Cozzano house was the Tuscola White House, then the place across the street was the Tuscola Executive Office building.