62
Michael, Stuart, and I crisscrossed the state those final weeks until it started to feel like there wasn’t a person of voting age whom we hadn’t spoken to personally. And we got a little help in reaching those we didn’t meet as well.
On a rare morning when I was actually in the office, Evelyn handed me the phone. “Who is it?” I asked, assuming it was a press contact who had a question that Evelyn couldn’t answer.
She shrugged. “She asked for you.”
Mildly annoyed, I put the receiver to my ear. I didn’t have time for minor concerns. “Beverly Diamond,” I said. My name had been an interesting subject in the divorce—but I didn’t have to decide immediately. And I liked having the same last name as my kids.
“I have a present for you,” a voice said over a staticky line. “Call it a happy divorce gift.”
“Marilyn?” I asked, pressing the receiver closer to my ear. “Where are you? The line is bad.”
“Down in Key West. Make sure you watch Walter Cronkite tonight.”
“What did you do?”
“Just watch the show,” she said mysteriously. “Also, I know you’re swamped right now, but Key West is lovely at Christmas, and you have an open invitation.”
I told her I would think about it, then let Michael and Stuart know that something was happening on the news that evening.
“Something for the campaign?” Michael asked.
I should have asked Marilyn that. “I think so. Although it’s Marilyn, so it could be anything at all.”
My parents were both over again when I got home, which was happening more and more frequently. The kids loved having Grandpa there too. I told them about my call with Marilyn, and my mother didn’t react at all.
“You know what she did, don’t you?”
“Me? Why would I know what Marilyn is up to?”
“Because you talk to Aunt Rose long distance every day. I saw the phone bill when you were living here.”
“Darling, I don’t know what you could be talking about.”
My father didn’t make eye contact but hummed something that took me a few minutes to recognize as the “I like Ike” campaign song.
As instructed, I sat down to watch Walter Cronkite deliver the news. But when the broadcast ended with the anchor’s signature, “And that’s the way it is,” an animated screen came on, with the words “A paid advertisement,” and underneath that, “Paid for by the People of Maryland for Michael Landau.”
My eyes widened. “What on earth . . . ?”
A rich voice began narrating over images of Michael from the photoshoot Marilyn’s fiancé had done. “President Kennedy told us to ask not what our country can do for us, but what we can do for our country. A good start would be voting for Michael Landau ...”
The ad continued for another twenty seconds, outlining our main talking points. The phone rang, and I picked it up, mostly to stop the ringing so I could hear the rest of the ad. I didn’t even say hello.
“Is that—?” Michael asked.
I suddenly placed the narrator’s voice. “It can’t be.”
We both stopped talking and listened again. “Gregory Peck,” we said in unison.
My mother laughed.
I looked at her, the phone still held to my ear as the screen faded to black and was then replaced by an ad for cereal. “Mama, just how much money did Marilyn inherit from that aunt of yours?”
“All of it, it would appear.”
“That—” I heard a phone ringing in the background on the other end of the line. “Are you still at the office?”
“I am,” Michael said.
“Go home.”
He laughed. “I’m just finishing up a couple of things.”
A second phone rang. “This is crazy,” I said.
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I didn’t do this.”
“You kind of did,” Michael said. “I’m going to answer these calls, then I’ll go home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bev.”
I turned to my parents. “I think we’re going to win this thing.”
“It’s hard to say,” my father said. “Ike was the first to use a television ad, and it certainly worked for him. But the presidency is different. You have a real shot though. Which is something he couldn’t have said a few months ago. Win or lose, you should be very proud of yourself.”
I was, I realized. But I still wanted to win. Even if that did make things more complicated for me and Michael personally.