George got up and walked naked into the kitchen. He started a pot of coffee and thought about Bobby, who was wearing his brother’s clothes, spending too much time at the graveside holding hands with Jackie, and letting his political career go to hell.

Bobby was the public’s favorite choice for vice president. President Johnson had not asked Bobby to be his running mate in November, nor had he ruled him out. The two men disliked one another, but that did not necessarily prevent their teaming up for a Democratic victory.

Anyway, Bobby needed to make only a small effort to become Johnson’s friend. A little sucking up went a long way with Lyndon. George had planned it with his friend Skip Dickerson, who was close to Johnson. A dinner party for Johnson at Bobby and Ethel’s Virginia mansion, Hickory Hill; a few warm handshakes in full view in the corridors of the Capitol; a speech in which Bobby said Lyndon was a worthy successor to his brother; it could be easily done.

George hoped it would happen. A campaign might bring Bobby out of his grief-stricken torpor. And George himself relished the prospect of working in a presidential election campaign.

Bobby could make something special of the normally insignificant post of vice president, just as he had revolutionized the role of attorney general. He would become a high-profile advocate for the things he believed in, such as civil rights.

But first Bobby needed somehow to be reanimated.

George poured two mugs of coffee and returned to the bedroom. Before getting back under the covers he turned on the television. He had a TV set in every room, like Elvis: he felt uneasy if he was away from the news too long. “Let’s see who won the California Republican primary,” he said.

Verena said sleepily: “You so romantic, baby, I like to die.”

George laughed. Verena often made him laugh. It was one of the best things about her. “Who are you trying to kid?” he said. “You want to watch the news, too.”

“Okay, you’re right.” She sat up and sipped coffee. The sheet fell off her, and George had to tear his gaze away to look at the screen.

The leading candidates for the Republican nomination were Barry Goldwater, the right-wing senator from Arizona, and Nelson Rockefeller, the liberal governor of New York. Goldwater was an extremist who hated labor unions, welfare, the Soviet Union, and—most of all—civil rights. Rockefeller was an integrationist and an admirer of Martin Luther King.

They had fought a close contest so far, but the result of yesterday’s California primary would be decisive. The winner would take all the state’s delegates, about 15 percent of the total attending the Republican convention. Whoever had won last night would almost certainly be the Republican candidate for president.

The commercial break ended, the news came on, and the primary was the top story. Goldwater had won. It was a narrow victory—52 percent to 48 percent—but Goldwater had all the California delegates.