"Make
certain you can see the NAM placards behind him," Candy whispered
excitedly. "I intend to have my story dominate tomorrow's front
page."
It
seemed to Gwenyth that Candy's fascination of late with tabloid journalism was
at best another attempt on the author's part to alleviate the monotony of having
worked within the same field for several years. Last year, bored after hitting
the New York Times bestseller list yet again, Candy hit the drag racing scene,
deciding it would be "cool" to become the next Shirley Muldowney.
That lasted a week. The year before that Candy swore up and down she'd had a
vision and was thereby convinced that she was destined to deliver singing
telegrams for a living. That lasted three days. Gwenyth was willing to lay odds
that tabloid journalism would last equally as long if that. Still, she said
nothing.
"Done."
Gwenyth stood up and rubbed her hands together with unabashed glee. "With
the senatorial race right around the corner, this couldn't have happened at a
better time."
Candy
nodded bemusedly. She spit out the piece of bubble gum rapidly losing its
flavor and popped a fresh piece between her lips. It seemed to Gwenyth that any
given career outside of novel writing lost its flavor to her best friend as
quickly as the piece of gum she'd just discarded. "Until tonight, nobody
knew that Senator Green supported the agenda of these naked buffoons. Not only
will this jumpstart my as of yet stagnant career in tabloid journalism, but
this will also make your brother's coup all the easier."
Gwenyth
grinned. She could agree wholeheartedly with the last observation. "I
know." Like a panther stalking its prey, she silently moved through the
fragrant trees and snapped as many photographs as she could take. Two rolls of
film later, she dropped to her knees and placed the camera on the ground while
she hid her evidence.
To
prevent the soon-to-be irate senator from removing the incriminating
photographs of him and his aide chumming it up with the naked NAM men, she
tucked the two rolls of film into her underwear and reloaded her camera with a
third decoy roll. That accomplished, she regained her standing position and
gave the signal to Candy to move in for the kill.
Candy
blew out a bubble and nodded. And when she moved in, the shit hit the fan.
Threats flew, fists cuffed, and naked men scattered for their clothing, their
unmentionables flapping up and down as they did so.
An
hour and a painkiller later, Gwenyth sat up in the back of the ambulance bed
and dabbed at the shiner she'd received from the senator's aide in his struggle
to take the camera from her. She winced as she drew the icepack up to her
battered eye, but managed to glance over at Candy with the eye she could see
out of long enough to grin.
The
senator's aide had taken the camera.
But
Gwenyth Jones always got the picture.
* * * * *
The
following evening, Gwenyth was ear-to-ear smiles regardless that she sported a
purplish, puffy eye. Candy's story was not only picked up by the Florida
papers, but by the Associated Press as well. Once that happened, Gwenyth's
photos of the naked NAM men with Senator Green at their rally spread through
the nation like wildfire. The incumbent's numbers in the polls immediately
dipped ten percentage points. Her brother Harry's went up by twenty-three. It
was a glorious day.
"I
still can't believe it." Harry grinned as he flicked off the TV by remote
and swung around on the barstool in the Jones' family house. "I knew Larry
was wacko, but fraternizing with NAM? Jay-sus!"
Granddad
Willy harrumphed. The fact that he was a wealthy, self-made man was at ironic
odds with his long gray ponytail and the tee shirt he was wearing today that
proclaimed:
Proud
to be a Union Man
. "I'm not surprised a
lick. Met the senator once or twice myself. Weird boy, that'n."
No
one bothered to mention to Willy the fact that at forty-five, Senator Green was
as far from boyhood as a man could get. "That he is, Granddaddy."
Gwenyth touched her eye lightly and winked. "But his aide can sure pack a
wallop."
Harry
winced. "Sorry about that, Gwen. I appreciate what you went through to get
those photographs, but I wish you hadn't had to get a black eye in the
process."
Gwenyth
studied her brother quietly. With the Jones family's trademark tawny hair and
green eyes, he was a good-looking man and a very eligible bachelor. Until this
morning, Harry's unmarried status had been working against him in the polls.
Now it seemed that no one genuinely cared. Compared to Larry Green and the
naked NAM men, Harry's singlehood was by and large turning out to be the lesser
of two political evils. She shrugged and grinned. "No big deal."
Granddad
Willy harrumphed again. "She's a Jones girl, Harry. Your sister has true
grit. It's in the blood. Why I remember a time before your Grandmama did me the
honor of weddin' this ole boy when we were at a protest for."
Gwenyth
and Harry groaned simultaneously. Willy had more stories of his hippie,
protesting days than a cat had lives. In the fifties, he and Grandmama had
protested the communist scare. In the sixties, Viet Nam. In the seventies,
racism and sexism. In the eighties, they protested against President Reagan in
general. These days, he and Grandmama rallied against a little of everything.
Not that their causes weren't good. It's just that the stories all tended to
run together after awhile. Whether it was how Willy had been named the first
white Black Panther or how Bob Dylan had once called him "a groovy
guy", Gwenyth and Harry had heard them all. "Please Granddaddy,"
Harry begged, "not another story."
Willy
glared at him. "Your Grandmama would roll over in her grave if she could
hear you say that, boy."
Harry
frowned at the family patriarch. His southern lilt carried a hint of annoyance.
"Grandmama isn't dead. She has no grave to roll over in."
Willy
waved his hand dismissively. "A figure of speech."
Gwenyth
and Harry exchanged an amused glance, but said nothing. They had been brought
up by the elderly hell-raisers after their parents were killed in a car crash,
so if Granddad wanted to tell one of his stories of the glory days, they would
just have to listen to it—again.
"Quit
your talk, Willy, and let our grandson revel in his gained percentage points
for awhile."
Grandmama
wafted into the family room as airily as a July breeze off the Gulf of Mexico.
She looked radiant today in a rose colored silk shirt and shorts set, her
bleached blonde hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head. Two wisps
of hair had broken loose of the hold and dangled above either ear, giving her
ageless face a vixon-esque look. Perfect for a seventy-year-old woman whose
name still inspired awe in the world of fashion photography. She strolled up to
her husband's side and kissed him soundly on the cheek.
Granddad
Willy harrrumphed—his favorite method of communication. "'Bout time you
graced us with your presence, Verlene. I was beginning to think you'd up and
disappeared."
Verlene
slapped him playfully on what was left of his rump, then sauntered over to
Gwenyth and held her chin in her hand while she angled her granddaughter's face
this way and that, getting her first good look at the shiner. "Luckily for
Jones
& Jones
, it's your left eye," Verlene murmured.
"This won't affect your scheduled shoot with the Vantrys tomorrow."
Gwenyth
smiled. "No ma'am. And thanks, by the way, for letting me grab the reins
of this account and go with it."
Verlene
patted Gwenyth affectionately on the head. "It's not me you should thank,
sugar. It's yourself. The Vantrys asked for you specifically to photograph
their new line of sportswear, they didn't ask for me." She gave her that
affectionate smile that grandmothers reserve only for their progeny. "I'm
so proud of you, sugar. Me and Granddad both. Aren't we Willy?"
"Sure
are."
Harry
grinned. "Me too, Gwen." He motioned toward the picture of Senator
Green that had made the front page of the Miami Herald this morning, a
photograph in which the incumbent politician was smiling at a less than
impressively endowed NAM
man who was beating on his chest and chanting.
The paper had placed an embarrassingly tiny black bar across the protester's
genitalia. The caption read:
Senator Green helps a voter reclaim his manhood
.
"In fact," Harry beamed, "I couldn't be prouder."
Gwenyth
laughed. She saluted her big brother with a glass of wine, holding it up as if
in a toast. "My duty as a patriotic citizen."
The
Jones family settled down to a lively dinner of lasagna and sourdough bread,
with tossed salad as the appetizer. They spoke of the impending election for
over half of the meal, each of them offering Harry their individual predictions
of how wide his winning margin would be on Judgment Day.
"I
still say twenty percent." Granddad Willy crossed his arms over his chest
and glared at his disagreeing family members.
"Twenty
percent!" Harry shook his head. "I'd love it, Granddad, but I doubt
it. Even with Larry's latest scandal, it will still be a tight race."
Verlene
looked thoughtful. "I doubt the margin will be as wide as twenty, but it
won't be as slim as you think, Harry. I vote eight percent."
Gwenyth
nodded her head up and down as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.
"Grandmama's right. Eight percent is what the pollsters are predicting as
well."
"I
still say it will be more." Willy opened up a second bottle of Chateau
Blanc and poured a glass for his wife. "Y'all are forgettin' that Harry
hasn't pulled out his really big gun yet."
Gwenyth
smiled wickedly. "Gee Harry, I didn't think they'd let you show that on
TV."
Verlene
and Granddad Willy laughed. Harry turned a delightful shade of pink. He'd
always been a bit of a prude. Much to Granddad Willy's never ending disgruntlement.
Gwenyth's
dimples popped out as her mouth curled wryly. She patted her brother on the
arm. "Just teasing. What's your big gun, Bro?"
Harry's
intelligent eyes lit up. "Sam Trevianni."
Gwenyth's
hand stilled. She removed it from her sibling's forearm. Now
there's
a
name she hadn't heard spoken aloud in years. Outside of what one hears on the
TV and in the papers that is. "Sam?" She held out her wineglass to
Granddad Willy for a refill. "I didn't know that you and he were still
friends."
Harry
shrugged absently. "We haven't talked in a few years, that's true."
Verlene
inclined her head gracefullly toward her grandson. "You've heard from him
again I take it?"
"Uh
huh." Harry forked up a bite of lasagna and chewed thoughtfully. "You
know how it is when you grow up and your life changes. You lose touch with your
old friends and whatnot. But Sam called my campaign headquarters downtown after
seeing me in the papers." He shrugged again. "Said he'd like to help
out."
Granddad
Willy whistled through his false teeth. "No kiddin'? And here I thought
your big gun was to be the fact that you'll look better on TV during the
debates than that geeky Green dude." He snorted with an air of grateful
relish at his grandson's good luck. "Hell, Sam alone can help you in the
polls, son. You'll get the youngsters out to the votin' booths with a star
athlete like him peddlin' for ya."
Granddad
Willy smiled gaminelike. He threw the females of his clan a look of pure male
ego. "Anybody care to recant their less than twenty percent
prediction?" He waggled his eyebrows in challenge. "I won't think
less of you for it."
Verlene
rolled her eyes. "No."
Granddad
grunted.
Gwenyth
dabbed at her mouth and rose up from her place at the table. She kissed Harry
on the forehead, then offered the rest of them the same. "I have to catch
an early flight," she informed the group between smooches. "I better
head back to my apartment and get some shut-eye."
Harry
stood up and sighed. "Me too. I'll drive you home, Sis."
Verlene
rose from her place at the table to see her grandchildren to the front door.
"Call me as soon as you finish tomorrow's shoot, sugar. I want a full
report."
Gwenyth
smiled. "Will do, Grandmama." She offered Verlene one last peck on
the cheek, then strolled out of the front door as Granddad Willy yelled
something behind her to the effect that she better not forget to buy him a
present.
Gwenyth
glanced up at Harry and chuckled. Granddad was quite a character.
* * * * *
"You're
certain you won't mind seeing Sam again, Sis?" Harry kept his eye on the
road as he continued to ease down Swann Avenue in his American built sedan.
Gwenyth
glanced absently at the road in front of them, then did a quick study of the
interior of Harry's new car. Her brother had traded in his stylish, imported
automobile months ago for this domestic monstrosity so voters wouldn't cast him
aside for not "buying American." That the maker of this particular
sedan imported the majority of the factory work from overseas was somehow lost
on the voting populace. If it carried an American label, it was an American
car. Period. "Harry, get real. I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't
think the sun shines and sets on Sam Trevianni's biceps."