“Then patch him into this call,” Bill instructed.
The lawyer knew this was not a good time to call the crotchety octogenarian but since nobody else was having much of a good time he’d do it. But first he needed the number. The house phone book wasn’t in its usual spot on the hallstand by the phone, so he had to go hunt for it and, sure enough, it was on his wife’s bedside table. As he slipped it away, she fluttered one eye open.
After he answered her, she strained at her bedside clock and said, “You’re kidding, right? You want to ring Pa at this time of night… morning? He will kill you.”
“He’s against capital punishment, remember,” Pryor joked weakly. He was visualising the old man creaking out of bed, perhaps wearing pyjamas overprinted with his trademark attire of red, white and blue striped tie, blue shirt and English tweed jacket.
As he tiptoed out, his wife said, “Once you’ve finished the call, place an order for your coffin. Good luck and,” she rolled over on her side, “good night.”
Gregory jotted down the number the lawyer read out and passed it outside to Julia. She phoned Dupont and, without a word, patched him into the conference call the moment he picked up; she wasn’t getting caught explaining.
“Hello? Hello?” grunted the irritated professor. “Who the hell’s there? Do you know what time…?”
“Robert, it’s Bill Edwards. From the Party. I’ve got Isabel Diaz on line with me…”
“Hello, sir,” said Isabel.
“…and her campaign manager, Gregory Samson, as well as your grandson-in-law Oliver Pryor.” He chose not to mention the other six he knew Gregory had on the line.
“Hi, Pa.”
“I won’t speak to you,” Dupont snapped.
If anyone could’ve seen Oliver Pryor, they’d have guessed he’d either just been hit with the first foul sniff of a dead elephant’s rotting carcass or he’d discovered he’d been cut out of his inheritance.
Bill took the lead; Oliver’s silence spoke to him louder than if he’d actually seen the lawyer’s face. “Robert, on Oliver’s behalf, on all our behalves, I sincerely apologise for calling you at this ridiculous hour but…”
“That’s not why I won’t talk, you fool,” said Dupont. “And Bill, cut the obsequious crap… Excuse the French, ma’am. I know why you’re calling me and, frankly, I’d have called me too, but I simply can’t talk, okay… lawyer-client confidentiality and all.”
And may God bless you, Joshua! smiled Gregory though, on reflection, he hadn’t counted on locating the magic box but not being able to pry the lid open.
“Then we’re in a bit of a bind,” Bill said.
“That you are,” said Dupont, pausing for a moment as if he wished to say more. “We all are, actually. But, ah, the Constitution is the Constitution. Nothing we can do about that, not now. Ollie… you there?”
“Sir?”
“It’s a shame you didn’t call your old Pa before my, er, client did. Not that I could’ve changed the outcome… you just would’ve been more prepared. Ms Diaz…?”
“Professor?”
“The only thing I can say to you…,” he paused, and everyone held their breath. The silence seemed to go on forever as the old man carefully collected his words. “…I just wish that old buzzard Orrin Hatch had got his stupid amendment through. Like I said, I can’t talk. Good night to all you fine folks. You, too, Ollie.”
“Well, that was useless,” Bill snorted. “And he’s supposed to be a friend?”
“He is that, Bill,” said Isabel. “He was giving us a clue. People,” said Isabel, taking control, “what constitutional amendments did Senator Hatch fail on?”
The call immediately descended into a rabble, with everyone trying to have a say, until Isabel spoke again. “Jack, are you on this call?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the campaign’s research director, who was already typing and clicking.
“Can you get someone onto this?”
“Already have…”
Thirty seconds later, Jack came back on line. “Okay,” he said. “I can only find two really significant ones… a constitutional amendment to… protect the rights of victims of violent crime…”
“No,” said Isabel; in her case, that one was already three decades too late.
“Well, there’s his Arnie amendment... Remember that? Here… I’m reading from the Salt-Lake City Tribune: ‘…Republican Senator Orrin Hatch wants to terminate the constitutional prohibition against foreign-born citizens such as Arnold Schwarzenegger and others from becoming president if they’ve been citizens for twenty years.’ Hatch proposed it back in ’03. Barney Frank—you know, the Dem. Congressman?—he drafted a similar bill before that but…”