My instinct was to pulverize him. Bright had been practice, but not a challenge. This would be the real thing.
And from where had this instinct sprung? It was pure Melvin, although the old man wouldn’t have been hasty. But he’d built the edifice stone by stone. I was trying to keep it from falling over, and I couldn’t be cautious. I had to maintain my nasty attitude. I called Fred.
“I’m trying to get in the mood for our dinner with the senator,” I said. “I was going to get a flyswatter but I can’t find any flies.”
“Tonight you’ll be in a beehive. Be careful what you swat.”
“Tell me specifically how Forrester could sting me.”
“Just because he has no organization doesn’t mean he can’t build one. He has money and friends with money. Clinton Grainger is gone but there are other organizers who could put the governor’s organization back together for someone else. Forrester couldn’t match your machine in just three years, but he could become competitive.”
“I don’t think he has the personality.”
“A good campaign staff can compensate for that, somewhat. And do you have a better personality?”
“Slightly. And I have unions and lots of employees. You don’t need personality when you sign paychecks.”
“He has his office as senator. He can continue to attack your youth and inexperience, and the media will broadcast his message. Stan Morton can downplay it, but he’ll still have to report what a senator is saying. He can’t ignore it.”
“Okay. But I can get my message out just as well.”
“That is true, but this is not the time. Take care of the state government first. It will take all your attention to hold it together.”
“I still have to do something tonight.”
“Negotiate. Neither of you wants a battle.”
Might as well just say it. “Both of us want that Senate seat.” There, I’d said it.
“Then this is what you should do. First, blackmail Forrester into resigning. Second, bribe Bright to appoint you to the vacant seat. But do it quickly, before he goes to prison. Third, have a new birth certificate forged to add two years onto your age. As an alternative to the third step, you could have the Constitution amended to lower the minimum age for senators.” He was highly exasperated. “Or you could just wait a little while.”
“Where do I get the forged birth certificate?” I said.
“When you are in prison for the bribery and blackmail, I’m sure you will make many new friends who can help you with that. Perhaps you can share a cell with the governor, and he can introduce you.”
“I’ll be patient, Fred.”
“Good. That may be the first intelligent thing you’ve said.”
“It took a lot of effort.”
“But now you will need to be rational for an entire evening.”
“I won’t promise, Fred. The senator was a little too pointed yesterday evening. He deserves a jab.”
“I agree. By all means, jab him. Aim first, do it prudently, and don’t complain when he jabs back. Then get on with business.”
“We’ll see.”
I took the afternoon off from being powerful and was simply rich.
For the first time, I wandered the acres outside to see what I owned. I socialized with the groundskeepers. Two of the gardeners were from Melvin’s estate and the third was new. We talked landscaping, and I requested a half-mile path suitable for running.
I sat in the kitchen with Rosita and she fixed me an ice-cream sundae. She was so happy with her new domain. She might go to school somewhere, to learn how to use it all properly. And she didn’t mind at all that we had maids now! The maids were also family veterans, so grateful to be with us.
I found my office and locked the door. I’d spent lots of words already today, and I didn’t want to run out before tonight. This would be time to think.
I checked the stock market for the first time since Wednesday. The scandals and uncertain future had pushed the share prices down some, but not as much as I’d assumed in my forecast spreadsheets. I’d meet with George Elias on Monday to check cash flow for the next six months, but I knew it would be good through the end of the year at least. Even Katie couldn’t spend it all.
The governor was taking care of himself. I couldn’t improve on that whole situation, and the television interview would ice the cake. He was no threat at all now, with Clinton Grainger gone, except for his wild screaming. That would hurt him more than it hurt me.
Katie was happy and busy, as long as I supplied cash. She was only doing what she needed to. New house, new . . . everything. It would calm down. It would have to.
I was having lots of quality big brother time with Eric, so he was good for a week or two, as long as Madeleine and Genevieve didn’t get predatory tonight.
So, tonight. Senator Forrester was the next item to deal with. According to Fred, Bob was only staking positions, readying for a deal. My agenda was to negotiate. No ultimatums—no tantrums; just pretend I could act like an adult. That’s what I was always telling Eric to do. He was proof that it was not easy.
Anything else? Of course, that irritating murderer. What about that? Commissioner DeAngelo had made it plain he was no longer a lackey of the governor, so the politics of the investigation weren’t against me. DeAngelo might even want to get in good with the winning side.
Hopefully they’d catch the miscreant. At the moment, it wasn’t my main concern.
I took the picture frame from Melvin’s bedroom out of my desk and stared at the pictures for a while. There is such promise, and hope, in pictures of long-ago youth. Promises unkept.
I took a risk. Even though my previous conversations with Nathan had backfired, I still wanted to hear his opinion on the senator.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your Saturday afternoon,” I said.
“No, Jason, that’s fine. I’m just reviewing some position papers. What can I do for you?”
“I’m talking to Bob Forrester this evening, and I’m not looking forward to it. You know him, don’t you?”
“Of course. He’s occasionally helped with foundation programs when we needed federal involvement. I suppose you’ll have quite a few other things to discuss. He’ll have a great interest in the recent political affairs.”
“That’s the main reason we’re meeting.” What did Nathan know about Melvin and Big Bob? “I’d like to know your impression of him.”
“Well, well. I’ve known Bob Forrester for quite some time, from school days, in fact. He was years ahead of me, but he took me in hand as a newcomer and was very kind. We’ve kept up with each other since, at least slightly. He was at the conference I attended last weekend in Washington, though we didn’t cross paths. So . . . my impression is that he would be quite above anything improper—and that’s more than just an impression. I feel quite certain of it.”
“He wasn’t part of the family corruption. I know that. But he wasn’t above making deals.”
“Yes, Jason. I’m afraid that’s true. Probably Fred has given you his version of the dealings?”
“Is there another version?”
“Where Fred sees ambition, I might have seen idealism.”
Idealist Robert Forrester. Right up there with virtuous Harry Bright. Or frugal Katie Boyer. “I don’t know him very well, Nathan, but that’s hard to believe.”
“I’m speaking of years past. I know he’s not a friendly person, and he has an aristocratic bearing that can be unwelcoming. But aristocrats sometimes have a surprising sense of responsibility, of
noblesse
oblige,
and Bob once had real plans concerning social justice.”
“And now?” I asked.
“I’m not sure he still has those concerns.”
He’d gained power. “Idealism is hard to maintain in a place like the Senate.”
“Yes, Jason,” Nathan said. “I expect you understand that.”
“There must be people who survive having power.”
“Only if there is something stronger in their life, some higher purpose.”
“But what?” I asked, but then there was the roar of many cylinders, and Eric and Katie blew in.
Katie had the goods, a dozen bags at least. She shoved half at Eric, two at me, and kept the rest.
“Now, go,” she said. “We will only barely make it.”
“This is going to be so cool,” Eric said.
Katie’s
we
was really an
I
. Within forty minutes I was showered, sitting by the fireplace in my high society suit, with new shirt and tie. Just before six, Eric pranced in to join me.
“Check it out,” he said.
He, too, was also wearing new tie, brown leather, and shirt, black linen. Dark brown corduroys, black shoes, a flash of purple socks. No jacket.
There should be a Nobel for whatever it is that Katie does. With our black hair and dark complexion, I never touch brown. Eric could have walked into a Manhattan architecture firm and looked like one of the partners. His spiky hair was a lethal weapon; he had learned to do that to himself somewhere in college.
“I’m charging you for Katie’s time. She makes you look so classy, it’s worth money.”
“It’s just the real me coming out.”
“Then it’s been buried real deep for about twenty-five years.”
I was only three years older, but I was going to dinner as an adult, and he still got to be a child.
And then we waited, each of us deep within his own specially constructed aura of style and presence. At six fifteen I thought about peeking in the television room for a slice of our Channel Six interview, but I knew it wouldn’t be on until at least six thirty. The recorder would get it and we would enjoy it at our leisure.
At six thirty we stood in awe. Sky blue silk. Glistening pearls and pearl-white shoes. Auburn hair, with more life in it than in most people.
“You’re gorgeous,” I stammered.
Smile of pearls. “Thank you, Jason. I want to look my best for you.”
“I didn’t know it got this good.”
Sweet smile again. “Then let’s go show this senator a thing or two,” she said.
Formality would place Eric next to me in the car and Katie in the back seat, but I would have none of it. This lady sat at my side. The dress cost at least two thousand, and once she wore it to the Forresters’, she could never be seen in it again. I wanted maximum appreciation.
Birds of a feather flock together; we did not have far to go from our nest to theirs. The sky was dim. The sun had places to go and things to do and so did we, so we parted company with it. It left a few clouds behind, but not many, and some warmth.
A few trees were getting bare but most were in full glory. In the twilight they were dull until our headlights kindled them into flame—red and gold and yellow.
At just five minutes after seven our forces breached the moat and came to the courtyard of the oldest old money in the state. This was the mansion that Melvin’s grand estate was trying to be.
We dismounted and a young retainer took our steed away. The drawbridge lowered and we were ushered into the hall.
“Mr. Spellman has just arrived,” the squire informed us. “He is in the library.”
We, too, were taken to the library, where we found not only Friar Tuck but also the Sheriff of Nottingham himself.
I considered my adversary carefully. The senator, tall and straight as ever, crowned with dignity and silver hair, possessed every quality that could make him impregnable: office, wealth, reputation, family, height.
“Bob,” Fred murmured, “you know Jason, of course. This is Katie, and Eric.” It wasn’t proper for Fred to introduce my family, but it was less awkward. The senator and I were only acquainted through business, not socially, so I didn’t really have standing myself to introduce him to others.
And, of course, we had also now traded public insults and were on the verge of war, not that this would technically affect our proper behavior toward each other. I watched for clues of how the evening was scheduled to unfold.
He stiffly shook my hand and bowed to the lady. Eric’s age and
avant-garde
appearance were a problem, whether he qualified for a handshake or a pat on the head. He got the shake—his hair would have impaled the senatorial hand.
And then we were through the first indignity. Everyone had been introduced and we were no longer aliens. The next issue was polite conversation. Certainly the host would have a plan to avoid that. On cue, the library door opened. With maximum drama the granddaughters entered.
And they were all that Eric was hoping for.
The first was a Botticelli, dusky blond, blithe and carefree in a casual yellow sleeveless dress and thin white sweater. Cheerful blue eyes rested immediately on Eric, lighthearted smile shone as the sun.
But directly following came a Raphael, poised and deep, luminous green eyes beneath lustrous brown hair, carefully arrayed in a burgundy pullover and tan slacks. This smile rested on Eric as the silver moon shining on a cloudless night.
Their attention to him centered the attention of us all.
Dark young Boyer was the lone and towering pine, the brooding thundercloud caught in the rays of Sun and Moon. A genial grin slowly lifted the corners of his mouth but his eyes were enigma, unfathomable.
“These are my granddaughters,” the senator said. “Genevieve.” The blonde international economist. “Madeleine.” The brunette European historian. Katie had known perfectly how to dress our young cavalier to match these damsels. “Jason and Katie Boyer”— the introduction was continuing—“And this is Eric Boyer.”
This was his moment. Don’t say anything stupid, Eric. Please. Or just do it and get it over with.
“Je suis ravi de vous rencontrer,”
he said.
I do remember more than six words of French, but not as many as he was using. He cocked his head to the side a little and let the smile grow.
“J’espérais avoir ce plaisir.”
“Nous avons beaucoup entendu parlen de vous,”
Madeleine said, glowing.
“Et maintenant nous commes face â face.”
Not only was he saying his own words, he was understanding hers.
Genevieve sparkled.
“Rencontrer une personne vaut mieux que
d’en entendre parler.”
She giggled and said to her sister,
“Je t’avais dit
qu’il était mignon.”