of his campaign mired in one firestorm after another, the severity of which would have been career-crushing for any other politician. Yet his poll numbers kept rising. Registering at just 6.5 percent in the RealClearPolitics national average one month before the debate, Trump had soared to 24.3 percent by the time Fox News hosted the clash in Cleveland. And nothing—certainly not his vulgar insult of Kelly—appeared capable of bending his trajectory downward.
With a sprawling, historically large field of seventeen Republican contenders, Priebus and Fox News had agreed to limit the prime-time debate to the ten top-polling candidates, relegating the other seven to a “kids’ table” debate earlier in the day. Trump hated the even number of participants—“Because that meant two people were at the center,” he says—and personally lobbied Roger Ailes to change the number of people onstage to either nine or eleven.
It was one favor that Fox News couldn’t do for him. When the survey averages were tabulated, Trump was in the pole position and Bush was positioned beside him, at center stage. They were the tallest, the best known, the highest-polling. But the similarities ended there.
Trump was made for these moments, having spent decades mastering camera angles and production quality, distorting his expressions and gestures for maximum dramatic impact. He was having the time of his life.
Bush was not. Awkward and reticent, with his six-foot-four frame coiling into itself due to poor posture, the former governor was already sore about having to compete with the Judas known as Rubio. Now he was forced to endure the indignity of sharing top billing with a man who had spent the last year mocking his family.
Trump could read the repulsion on his rival’s face. At one commercial break, he turned to Bush. “Jeb, how you doing?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Donald.”
“So, where are you going after this?”
“Headed to New York for some fund-raising events tomorrow.”
Trump beamed. “You want a ride? I’ve got my plane here. We’re heading back tonight.”
Bush stared blankly. “No. I’m good. We’ve got a ride.”
“You sure?”
Bush nodded briskly.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Trump, feet still positioned perfectly over his stage mark for the television cameras, turned toward his family in the front row and winked. It was a down payment on the space he would occupy inside Bush’s head for the duration of the campaign.
Chapter Ten
September 2015
“We fed the beast that ate us.”
FOR JOHN BOEHNER AND HIS TEAM, THERE HAD BEEN A MILLION LOGISTICAL hurdles to clear in preparing for the visit from Pope Francis: coordinating security logistics, arranging meetings by protocol, allotting space on the Capitol lawn for spectators, securing tickets for relatives and friends, including John Calipari, the University of Kentucky men’s basketball coach. Reared in Catholic pews, instructed in Catholic schools, guided by his Catholic faith, the Speaker had spent twenty-five years daydreaming of bringing the pope to address a joint session of Congress. It was finally happening.
The Speaker also had a personal wish. He had asked if the supreme pontiff would baptize his one-year-old grandson. Vatican officials had gently denied the request, citing limitations in their scheduling.
Yet now, standing just a few feet away inside the Speaker’s suite, with Boehner’s family assembled in front of him, Pope Francis was smiling down at the baby and asking his assistant for some water. Boehner began to sob uncontrollably. He looked to make sure a camera was trained toward the baby. He could already see the photo resting on the mantelpiece in his Ohio living room. Pope Francis received the glass of water . . . and then tipped it back, drinking every last drop. Boy, the Speaker thought to himself, you really are a Boner.
But nothing, not even the Holy Father’s unwitting head fake, could ruin this day for Boehner.
In an institution thriving on cynicism and spite, Francis’s visit offered an oasis. His speech, delivered in heavily accented English, had included ideological catnip for both parties. “We, the people of this continent, are not fearful of foreigners, because most of us were once foreigners,” Francis said, drawing booming applause from the Democrats. He then earned a rousing ovation from the Republicans: “The Golden Rule also reminds us of our responsibility to protect and defend human life at every stage of its development.”
Still, partisanship did not rule the day. Boehner and Pelosi beamed at each other during the speech. Lawmakers of warring tribes snapped photos with one another and their families. Catholics of every gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and political affiliation gathered on the lawn