a new man. Someone the country already knows and already feels comfortable with.”
“Jeff LaMott looked like he was having a pretty good audition on the talk shows this morning.”
Hoyt dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Please. Jeff LaMott wants to please all the people all the time. Do you know what that qualifies him for? Kindergarten teacher. Don’t be cute with me here. You know as well as I do how close you got to the ticket last year. It was Chris’s time, of course. But you polled well, and everyone knows you did. And you did well by John Hyland in the general. His numbers here were outrageous. None of his people have a single thing to complain about when it comes to you.”
“That’s all well and good, Whitney, but I already have a job. Plus, if LaMott were to step up, that positions me for the head of Foreign Relations.”
“I’m telling you, he won’t. Hyland might make overtures, but he’s not going to put that man next to the presidency. Besides, Foreign Relations? That’s a fine thing, but is that where you’re planning to park your car?”
Andy was not really in the mood for this conversation. Not with Whitney, at any rate. Attempting to lighten things up, he grimaced in mock agony. “Go on without me.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up now. I don’t want to be the cause of your going stubborn.” Whitney allowed himself a smile. “I know down deep you’re a smart man, Andrew. For goodness’ sake, you did a more than admirable job of choosing your father-in-law.”
“Don’t take offense, Whitney. But his sexy little daughter did figure into the equation. And by the way, I suppose you know Christine’s views on all this?”
Hoyt scoffed. “John Hyland is not going to ask Christine to be his next vice president.”
“You know what I mean.”
“All I’m going to say is, she married you and she certainly didn’t have to. You two seem to have done okay with your separate but equal lives.”
“This would be different. The vice presidency. You know it would. So does she.”
Hoyt again looked out over his backyard. Jenny and Christine were heading toward the house. He indicated the women.
“She’s a strong kid,” Hoyt said. “I raised her right. I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about her if I were you.”
W hile the children were ushered to a long table set up on the grass, the adults took their meal on the upper patio. Lamb, cauliflower au gratin with capers and goat cheese, roasted red potatoes. Most of the guests were acquaintances of Whitney’s and Jenny’s from the Greenwich area — many of them from the club, others coming to them through Jenny’s various charitable functions. A decidedly nonpolitical crowd, which was just fine with Andy.
He found himself seated next to a petite British-born woman named Hailey Jordan, who was the wife of Whitney Hoyt’s long-standing personal secretary, Paul Jordan. They lived in nearby New Canaan. Andy had always found navigating a conversation with Hailey Jordan a tedious event. As he’d once commented to Christine, “There’s prim, and then there’s Hailey.” There were times when Andy found himself fighting back a nearly irresistible urge to say something deliberately shocking to the woman, simply to observe her reaction.
Paul Jordan, on the other hand, was considerably less socially flat-footed than his tightly wound spouse. He possessed a wit only a dram less dry than the Sahara, but also the self-restraint to keep his arid barbs largely undelivered. Jordan had been with Hoyt for nearly fifteen years, beginning before the conclusion of Hoyt’s ambassadorship. Andy knew from Christine that her mother had never found much to embrace in her spouse’s secretary. The easy interplay between the two men had irked Lillian, and in fact had been one of the rare points of contention between Lillian and Whitney on which Christine had come down on the side of her mother. Neither much cared for Jordan, and
“Jeff LaMott looked like he was having a pretty good audition on the talk shows this morning.”
Hoyt dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “Please. Jeff LaMott wants to please all the people all the time. Do you know what that qualifies him for? Kindergarten teacher. Don’t be cute with me here. You know as well as I do how close you got to the ticket last year. It was Chris’s time, of course. But you polled well, and everyone knows you did. And you did well by John Hyland in the general. His numbers here were outrageous. None of his people have a single thing to complain about when it comes to you.”
“That’s all well and good, Whitney, but I already have a job. Plus, if LaMott were to step up, that positions me for the head of Foreign Relations.”
“I’m telling you, he won’t. Hyland might make overtures, but he’s not going to put that man next to the presidency. Besides, Foreign Relations? That’s a fine thing, but is that where you’re planning to park your car?”
Andy was not really in the mood for this conversation. Not with Whitney, at any rate. Attempting to lighten things up, he grimaced in mock agony. “Go on without me.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up now. I don’t want to be the cause of your going stubborn.” Whitney allowed himself a smile. “I know down deep you’re a smart man, Andrew. For goodness’ sake, you did a more than admirable job of choosing your father-in-law.”
“Don’t take offense, Whitney. But his sexy little daughter did figure into the equation. And by the way, I suppose you know Christine’s views on all this?”
Hoyt scoffed. “John Hyland is not going to ask Christine to be his next vice president.”
“You know what I mean.”
“All I’m going to say is, she married you and she certainly didn’t have to. You two seem to have done okay with your separate but equal lives.”
“This would be different. The vice presidency. You know it would. So does she.”
Hoyt again looked out over his backyard. Jenny and Christine were heading toward the house. He indicated the women.
“She’s a strong kid,” Hoyt said. “I raised her right. I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about her if I were you.”
W hile the children were ushered to a long table set up on the grass, the adults took their meal on the upper patio. Lamb, cauliflower au gratin with capers and goat cheese, roasted red potatoes. Most of the guests were acquaintances of Whitney’s and Jenny’s from the Greenwich area — many of them from the club, others coming to them through Jenny’s various charitable functions. A decidedly nonpolitical crowd, which was just fine with Andy.
He found himself seated next to a petite British-born woman named Hailey Jordan, who was the wife of Whitney Hoyt’s long-standing personal secretary, Paul Jordan. They lived in nearby New Canaan. Andy had always found navigating a conversation with Hailey Jordan a tedious event. As he’d once commented to Christine, “There’s prim, and then there’s Hailey.” There were times when Andy found himself fighting back a nearly irresistible urge to say something deliberately shocking to the woman, simply to observe her reaction.
Paul Jordan, on the other hand, was considerably less socially flat-footed than his tightly wound spouse. He possessed a wit only a dram less dry than the Sahara, but also the self-restraint to keep his arid barbs largely undelivered. Jordan had been with Hoyt for nearly fifteen years, beginning before the conclusion of Hoyt’s ambassadorship. Andy knew from Christine that her mother had never found much to embrace in her spouse’s secretary. The easy interplay between the two men had irked Lillian, and in fact had been one of the rare points of contention between Lillian and Whitney on which Christine had come down on the side of her mother. Neither much cared for Jordan, and
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