The Speechwriter by Barton Swaim Read Free Book Online Page B

wire.”
    â€œKnotts, calling for an investigation,” I repeated to Aaron. “About cooking the books.”
    â€œNo. About the NGA grant.”
    â€œSorry. NGA grant.”
    When we got into the car, I said to the governor, “Aaron called a minute ago. Knotts is on the floor of the senate calling for an investigation.” Suddenly I couldn’t recall why. All I could remember was that it wasn’t about cooking the books.
    â€œWhat’s he want to investigate?”
    â€œHe—Aaron—seemed to think you’d know,” I lied.
    â€œI don’t know. I’m asking you. Why’s Knotts calling for an investigation?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œOkay,” the governor said fiercely, “you just told me somebody’s saying there should be an investigation. Investigation of what? Of me? And you don’t know why? I’m asking. You don’t know?”
    â€œIt was in the middle of the press conference and I didn’t get the details.”
    â€œOkay, so you’re going to tell me I’m being investigated, but you’re not going to tell me why?”
    â€œOh! I know. The NGA grant.”
    â€œWhat about the NGA grant?”
    â€œNow that I don’t know. Aaron said you’d know.”
    â€œAgain, I don’t know. I’m asking you.”
    This went on for three or four minutes. I wondered why he didn’t just pick up his phone and call Aaron for the details, or tell me to. Later I would realize that he knew everything about it already and that this was his way of coping with distressing news. He wasn’t trying to demean me, but when he was anxious, he needed somebody to berate, and you were nearby and a staffer you were that somebody. Being belittled was part of the job. It created a weird camaraderie among the staff: we would relay the latest episode and compare it to the “classic” ones of former times. “Nothing tops the time he lectured Lewis for getting the wrong burrito,” someone would say, and the stories would all be retold again.
    The next morning in the office the air felt tense. When I arrived, the governor was already there, which was unusual. (Ordinarily he would arrive at ten or ten-thirty.) Aaron was walking up and down the governor’s wing of the State House, from the press shop to the governor’s office, pen and tablet in hand, as if he were waiting tables.
    I gathered from Nat that the bustle had to do with Knotts’s accusations. I read the reports from the AP and The State —the first I knew about any of it. A year before, the National Governors Association had had its annual meeting in Charleston. The governor had done a few fund-raisers to help offset the cost to the taxpayers, and that money included a $150,000 grant from the state. As it turned out, the funds raised had exceeded what was needed by a substantial figure. The governor had put the excess in the accountof Reform Alliance, a nonprofit advocacy group he had founded a year before. Actually “group” is probably an exaggeration; as far as I know it was just a bank account and maybe a staffer and a laptop. The question was whether the money he raised for the NGA, which included governors from both parties, belonged to the state. If it didn’t, he could presumably do whatever he wanted with the unspent portion. If it did, he was guilty of diverting state funds to what could almost be called his personal account, “a potentially serious offense,” wrote editorialists who didn’t know whether or not it was serious.
    Aaron had already put out a statement on the matter, but reporters were calling for more in the way of explanation and response. After a few months of listening to Aaron on the phone, I could tell when he felt at ease with the official position and when he didn’t. When it was clear that we had the stronger argument, he sounded both warm and utterly