Knight Life (19 page)

    
“Well, she called, and she's not coming in.” Basil shoved the piece of paper on which she had taken the message over to Arthur. He picked it up, glanced at it, and his frown deepened. “Get Gwen—Miss Queen—on the phone for me, if you please.” But then he saw that she seemed distracted. “What's wrong?”

    
“Someone is heading this way.”

    
“Well, this is a place of business,” Arthur said reasonably. “Perhaps it's someone who wants to conduct business with us.”

    
But Basil shook her head. “It's someone who wishes to prevent you from obtaining your goals. I can smell it from here. Someone who inhales lies and exhales insincerity with stunning ease.”

    
The door was thrust open. A ruggedly handsome man stood in the doorway. He was tilting his chin slightly in one direction, presenting his good side. His graying hair was meticulously coifed, his chin had a perfectly positioned cleft, and in Arthur's opinion the man looked better in a suit than just about any other man on the planet. Several print and TV reporters were right behind him as if they'd been born there.

    
He looked Arthur up and down and then held out a hand. As he did so, still cameras flashed and TV cameras recorded. “Kent Taylor!” he said with impressive exuberance, “actor and politician!”

    
“Well, that explains the lying and insincerity,” muttered Basil. “Damn this eternal accuracy of mine.”

    
For a moment Arthur had thought that the newcomer thought that he, Arthur, was named Kent Taylor, but quickly realized that he was introducing himself. “Arthur Penn,” he said, gripping the hand firmly.

    
Taylor looked a bit surprised. “Solid grip you have there, Art.”

    
“Arthur,” Arthur corrected him gently.

    
“Not going to go all formal on me, I hope,” Taylor said. He sounded to Arthur like someone who was constantly
addressing a back row in a theater that wasn't there. “Maybe you'd prefer, ‘Your highness.'”

    
“It's not necessary,” Arthur assured him, and then added softly after a moment, “anymore.”

    
But Taylor didn't hear him, or if he did, he wasn't paying attention. He turned to the cameras and said, “Gentlemen, ladies, I'd like to confer with Mr. Penn alone, if that's all right. So take five, everyone, okay?” There were a few half-hearted attempts at shouted questions, but a fearsome look from Miss Basil silenced them, and they allowed themselves to be herded out the door. “Sorry about the press boys,” he said when the door to the hall was closed. “They follow me wherever I go. Wish I could do something about it, but ... I'm me,” he shrugged, as if caught up in something that was far greater than he could hope to control. Then he added, “I hope I haven't been overly presumptuous.”

    
“It's a little late to start worrying about that,” Basil said, making no attempt to hide her irritation.

    
“Don't concern yourself about it,” said Arthur, “or about Miss Basil here. Why don't we talk in my inner office? Miss Basil, do try to get in touch with Gwen for me, would you?” Basil scowled, and Arthur had a feeling that the chances were fifty-fifty at most that he would be picking up the phone and finding Gwen on the other end anytime soon.

    
He led Kent Taylor to the back office and left the door open. He went around the desk to his chair and sat, tilting back in a relaxed fashion and gesturing for Taylor to sit. Taylor remained standing, hands folded behind his back, looking around the office at pictures and objects of art—the wall-mounted swords and armored helmet. “So,” said Taylor after a few moments of silence, “you've seen me on
City Hall
, I take it.”

    
Arthur gave him a politely blank look. “Should I have?”

    
Kent Taylor laughed and pointed an approving finger at Arthur. “Good for you. Television's a useless waste of
mental processes. And our show was no great shakes. But, to be honest, I couldn't be where I am without it.”

    
“You couldn't be in my office?”

    
Taylor laughed uproariously this time, as if Arthur had said the funniest thing in the world. “I like the way you play dumb, Arthur!”

    
“Thank you. The effect does not come without practice,” replied Arthur, wondering whether or not he'd made a serious blunder letting this man into his office.

    
Taylor leaned forward, resting his hands on Arthur's desk. “Art, let's be honest, shall we?”

    
“That is the only way I can be.”

    
“Well, that's going to make you unique in politics. But then, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, huh? The news coverage on you so far makes you come across as a little, well ... hey, you got money?”

    
“Some. Why?” asked Arthur, momentarily nonplussed.

    
“Well, then the word's ‘eccentric.' If you got money, you're eccentric. Otherwise, you're just plain crazy.” Taylor laughed and Arthur joined in uncomfortably. When his self-induced humor had subsided, Taylor continued, “I think what you're doing here is great. The whole thing with an independent party, a little guy trying to go up against the big guys. I think that's all great, really great.”

    
“Yes, so you've said. Great.”

    
Taylor gave no indication that he heard the sarcasm in Arthur's voice. “I've just about got the Democratic nomination for mayor all sewn up. It's a done deal and, frankly, it's time we got this city back into Democratic hands. You with me so far?”

    
“I believe even one such as I, with my limited cranial capacity, could be following you, yes.”

    
“Now I'm in a pretty good situation here.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and it rapidly became evident to Arthur that he was stating, not his own opinions, but those of others. “Thanks to
City Hall
, my demographics, my Q rating, all of it is sky high.”

    
“And ... that's good?” For Arthur it was clearly a question, but Taylor apparently didn't hear the curious upturn in his voice at the end of the sentence.

    
“That's exactly right that it's good,” Taylor said forcefully. “You know what they call me already? ‘The Acting Mayor.' You can't buy that kind of publicity. However, my people assure me that if it comes down to Bernie Keating and me, it's going to be a tight race, nevertheless. He's very, very popular, and you didn't hear that from me.”

    
“I didn't?”

    
“No.”

    
“But you just said it.”

    
Taylor smiled thinly. “Forget that I did.”

    
“I doubt that I can,” said Arthur in his most reasonable tone. “And let us say, by some miracle, I was able to do so ... why, then, that begs the question of why you told me in the first place.”

    
Taylor looked at him very oddly. “Is English a second language to you there, Art?”

    
“No,” said Arthur pointedly, “but oftentimes I get the feeling that it's a second language for Americans.”

    
Taylor blinked a few times, clearly not getting it, and Arthur could almost see the mental process at work that prompted him instead to shift gears. “Here's the point,” he said, apparently deciding that not getting to it was proving counterproductive. “The news media seems to like you. You're getting news coverage; small, but in hip venues.”

    
“That's nice to hear.”

    
“And in my experience, this kind of thing can snowball if it's not monitored. You can't possibly get enough votes to win, Arthur. You must know that.”

    
“Do I?” said Arthur, his eyebrow raised.

    
“You're trying to build an independent party, and I can totally respect that. But in the final analysis, a vote for you is the same as a vote for your opponent. Because
there's simply no way that you're going to pull in enough votes with your fringe ideas and amateurish notions—no offense meant—to do anything other than draw votes away from me. You'll be hurting the best man for the job while having no chance of your own to get in.”

    
“Is that a fact?” Arthur said. Behind his desk, he might as well have been made of ice for all the emotion he was showing.

    
“Yes, I'm afraid it is. On the other hand, another fact is that—if the nice media people want to keep talking to you, and you endorsed the Democratic Party and the ideas of—”

    
“I would endorse any idea that overlaps with mine, but otherwise I would only support my own concepts, Mr. Taylor,” Arthur said evenly, rising from behind the desk. “And although you claimed to mean no offense, I nevertheless
do
take offense at such comments as ‘fringe ideas' and ‘amateurish notions.' First and foremost, sir, I treasure honesty. Honesty in those who work under me, honesty in those whom I encounter. I do not suffer fools gladly, and the deceitful I treasure even less. I find you patronizing and annoying, and utterly lacking in respect.”

    
It was that last comment that seemed to generate the most amusement for Taylor. “Art ...” He stopped when he saw Arthur's clouding face and amended, “Mr. Penn ... again, no offense intended, but if what you're looking for is respect, you're running for mayor of the wrong town. This isn't Paducah. This is New York City, the home of cynicism and dissing. If you think for even one moment that you're going to be accorded the kind of respect you seem to believe is your due, then you're going to be bitterly disappointed.”

    
At that moment the door to Arthur's office opened and Merlin walked in, side-by-side with a beefy black man, who took one look at the standing Arthur and promptly went to one knee with bowed head. “Highness,” he said.

    
Taylor's jaw dropped as he looked from the black man
to Arthur and then back. Then he made a tactical mistake: He laughed. “This is a joke, right?” he demanded of the kneeling man. “Is this a joke? I mean, no African-American I know bends a knee to anyone. The subservient thing went out a hundred years ago—
aggghhhh!
”

    
That last comment came as a result of Taylor suddenly finding himself being grabbed by the right ear and dragged to the ground alongside the kneeling man, who was glaring fiercely into Taylor's face. “You will show courtesy and respect due to my lord,” he said tightly.

    
“Yes, I ... I love God! I go to services every Sunday! The archdeacon endorses me! Not the face, not the face!” Taylor was babbling.

    
“Percival, let him up,” Arthur said gently. “And you too, get up. It's unseemly. As Mr. Taylor pointed out, after all, this is New York. Not ... somewhere else.”

    
“Are you certain, highness?” Percival did not look pleased at the order.

    
Arthur smiled. “Yes, I'm afraid I am. And I think ‘Mr. Penn' will do. Now release him.”

    
Percival did as he was instructed. Taylor backed up, his gaze darting frantically among them. Then he pointed a trembling finger at Arthur. “You're ... you're crazy!”

    
“I thought I was eccentric,” Arthur said mildly.

    
“I'm ... I'm going to tell everyone that—”

    
“That a black man abused you?” It was Merlin who had spoken, and he sounded quite amused by the notion. “By all means, do. And by the time we're finished responding, the entire black community of New York will decide that you're a racist for accusing Arthur's ‘African-American' right-hand man of being some sort of thug. By the way, Mr. Taylor, you have no African-Americans, Latinos, or Asians on your staff. Why is that?”

    
Taylor looked like he'd been pole-axed. “Who is
this
?”

    
“My manager,” Arthur said without hesitation. “Was there anything else, Mr. Acting Mayor?”

    
Straightening his tie, endeavoring to regain his composure,
Taylor said calmly, “No. No, I don't think so. It's been a ... unique pleasure, Mr. Penn.”

    
“Yes, it has. Oh, and Mr. Taylor,” Arthur said almost as an afterthought as Taylor was about to leave. “Don't forget: Vote early, vote often.”

    
Taylor didn't deign to reply as he walked out the door. As soon as he was gone, Arthur turned his attention back to Percival. Although inwardly he was amused, he couldn't let it show. “Percival, that was inappropriate.”

    
“I'm sorry, highness,” Percival said, bowing his head slightly. And then, to his surprise as much as anyone's, he laughed softly. “It caught me off guard a little, I have to admit. After all these years, I didn't expect that I was going to ... well ... switch into the mode of the dutiful knight. Some habits, it appears, are harder to break than others.”

    
“Understood. But it is a different time and place. We should take care to act in accordance with the local mores. I value your good right arm and your dedication, Percival. Plus Merlin tells me you're a gifted accountant.”