Saturday afternoon Ann was in her office at the New York campaign headquarters. Henry Carson had made his acceptance speech as presidential nominee of the Republican Party, and had chosen the Texan, Max Post, as his running mate.

Outside, it was a blustery New York day that had a touch of autumn in it. Kate Lee was out making campaign appearances in New Jersey and, later, Long Island. Will Lee was holed up at the Carlyle apartment doing, apparently, not much of anything.

The phone rang, and Ann picked it up. “Ann Keaton.”

“Hi there, it’s Kate,” a cheerful voice said.

“Good morning. How’s it going in New Jersey?”

“Everyone has been just wonderful out here,” Kate replied. “I’ve only got a second. I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. I want it in a small theater, like the one at the Museum of Modern Art—no more than five hundred seats, smaller if possible. Bill it as a major press conference, okay? And tell Jim I want that cell phone blocker thing.”

“Okay. What’s the subject?”

But Kate had already hung up. Ann made some calls: the MoMA auditorium wasn’t available, but she came up with an ideal venue on East Sixtieth Street. She typed up the release and took it to the press secretary, who sat next door to her.

He looked at the release. “What’s this about?” he asked. “Nobody consulted me.”

“I don’t know. She just called and instructed me to do that. And she wants the cell phone blocker.”

“I’m going to call her and find out what’s going on. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“Jim,” she said, “you’re aware that I know Kate a lot better than you do, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that she’s not going to like it if her cell starts ringing for what she considers no reason. Put out the release. And if anybody asks you what it’s about, tell them you’re not going to tell them. That will ensure added interest. Everybody will be there because they’ll be afraid they’ll miss something important if they aren’t.”

“Whatever you say, Ann.” He started typing the e-mail.

Ann went back to her desk feeling a little queasy. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning was a strange time to call a press conference. The P word raised its ugly head. Ann knew Kate well enough that she wouldn’t call a press conference to announce something like that. What she would call a press conference for was to announce that she was pregnant and leaving the race. Ann knew she wouldn’t be seeing Kate tonight, so she wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk her out of it.