The Presence (16 page)

“I heard somebody call her the Dragon Lady,” TJ said idly. He got up and refilled both their coffee cups from the pot on the stove. “People kept sticking their heads in my office, not saying anything, just looking in like you'd stop and look at an animal in the zoo. I could kind of hear what they were thinking. You know, there he is, the guy who committed hari-kari in the cafeteria his first day on the job.”

“If there's one thing I'm not worried about, it's whether the Lord is watchin' over you,” said Jeremy, stirring sugar into his coffee. “You just keep on tryin' to do His will. Let these other turkeys take care of their own selves.”

****

TJ had hardly been at his desk for five minutes the next morning when Bella Saunders appeared, trailing cigarette smoke and stale perfume. “Mind if I come in?”

“Please do,” he said. He stood and scooted around to hold her chair. When he looked up, Ann was standing in the doorway.

“I guess you don't want to be disturbed,” she smirked.

“Thank you, no.”

She shut the door with a knowing smile, and TJ wondered what it was going to be like trying to work with people in his office who weren't really on his side.

“A real gentleman. I like that,” Bella said. “Got an ashtray?”

“I think I saw one here yesterday.” TJ glanced around, spotted one on the conference table. It was pewter and stamped with some official insignia.

“Thanks.” Bella set the ashtray in front of her on his desk and dragged deeply on her cigarette. “It was real interesting what you said yesterday about the lawyer looking down on the truck driver.” The smoke poured out with her words. “See, my father was a truck driver.”

TJ sat down, felt his stomach sink a notch. “I didn't mean anything personal—”

“He was always real defensive about the way people looked at him,” she plowed through his apology. “He was a real proud man. Real proud. And hard.”

She paused for another puff, a shaky one this time. “He'd get so excited watching the news or reading the paper he couldn't sit still. There wasn't anything he loved more than hearing about some big-time politician or businessman being dragged through the mud.”

Her mouth tasted a smile. “I can still hear what he'd say, almost shouting it out. ‘Sweet revenge. Yessir, all those good times are over. Revenge, baby. How sweet it is.' “As she spoke, TJ felt the same inward connection as the day before. Perhaps because he was not caught so flat-footed by its arrival, he was able to listen to Bella and watch his own inward transformation at the same time.

“He was a hard man. I've said that already, haven't I? He was hard on us children and hard on my mother. Especially when he'd been drinking. He could get so mean then, he used to scare me something awful. It was like some devil got out and took over his body when he'd been drinking.

“There were a couple of black men who drove trucks for the same company as my father. We'd all get together sometimes, and he was always real nice to their faces. But the things he said behind their backs were just terrible.”

She stabbed her cigarette out with an angry motion, clearly fighting hard to maintain control. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I stayed awake half the night thinking about what you said and remembering things I hadn't thought of for years. But I don't know why I'm sitting here running my mouth like this.”

He felt the Presence extending outward like a rising sea of calm, washing words into his mind. “You're here because you're tired of carrying these burdens,” he said quietly, reaching through her anger and distress with compassion.

Suddenly she was weeping softly. “Look at me,” she sniffled. “I can't even control the faucets.”

“You're tired of feeling the emptiness, tired of running from the pain. In all those years of running, you've never escaped. And you know you never can. Do you know why, Bella? Because you carry what you flee from in your mind and in your heart.”

With that, she broke down completely. “I'm so alone,” she sobbed.

“How wrong you are,” TJ said softly. “You've never been alone.”

“I'm old, I'm alone, and nobody cares. Nobody.” She looked at him through eyes streaming tears and mascara. “What are you doing to me?”

“‘Verily I say unto you, Unless a man dies and is born again, he can never enter the kingdom of heaven.' Have you ever heard those words before?”

“I don't know. Maybe I have. I can't remember.” She crumpled her hanky and dabbed at her eyes. “I must look a wreck.”

TJ spoke, his words a gift from somewhere beyond his earthly limits. He felt the Spirit moving, touching, teaching, praying. He held a gift he could only know by giving it to another.

“It's a verse from the New Testament, and it means that you must allow the worldly self with all its pains and fears and doubts and struggles to pass away,” he told her. “First you must see this old self for what it is—nothing but a lie. A lie seeking to convince itself and others that it's real.

“When you see it honestly for what it is, you can recognize it as worthless. It is not a treasure to be guarded. It is not worth fighting and hating and hurting others to keep intact. It is a burden. The heaviest one you can ever know. Do you feel the weight?”

“It's like a stone on my heart,” she said, with hopeless eyes and a trembling voice.

“You can be free,” he said, his voice still soft, the words still a gift. “Let that burden of sin and guilt go.”

The tears came anew. “But how?”

TJ smiled with a tenderness that reflected the love in his heart. “By turning it all over to God. By accepting His Son Jesus as your personal Savior.”

She was crying so hard now that the words were barely a whisper.

TJ asked her, “Would you join me now in prayer?”

****

When Congressman John Silverwood arrived at his office, his stomach churned from another argument with his wife. He had accused her of caring more for her position than for their marriage, and she had accused him of being blind to everything but his own political ambition. There was no mention of love, not even a casual questioning of how the other person was feeling.

In the cab on his way to work, Silverwood decided he would stop calling her every day. All they did was argue anyway. It left him feeling sick.

He did not bother to make polite conversation with his secretary. Marge knew him well enough to understand his mood. She offered him only one small smile with his telephone messages and mail.

Bobby was in Silverwood's doorway before he sat down. “Ted Robinson's called you five times already this morning. Says it's urgent. Want me to get him?”

“Go ahead,” he said dully, sorting through messages and letters, scribbling notes to aides on most, setting some aside to handle himself. A few he threw away—lobbyists and busybodies who pestered him constantly, offering him nothing but exhaustion, frustration, and illogical ideas.

His hand hesitated over the last telephone message, from a Ms. Sally Watkins, asking him to call her back. Sally Watkins? Where had he heard that name before? Then he remembered. The beauty he had met in the hall yesterday, the one who worked for Congressman Hesper. He felt his blood sing as he remembered her look. The gloom he had carried into the office lifted.

The phone rang. It was Bobby, saying he had Robinson on line two. Silverwood pushed the button and heard, “What say, John? How's it going this morning?”

“Fine,” he said, still staring at the phone message from Sally Watkins.

“Got anything we need to discuss?”

“You called me,” Silverwood replied.

“Yeah, that's right.” The head of the North Carolina Republican party seemed unsure of himself. “Listen, ah, how're those HUD investigations moving along?”

Silverwood put the message slip down. “You want to know about the investigation or about the meeting I had with your man yesterday?”

“He's not my man.” Robinson hesitated. “Listen, John. Gotta be careful with this Shermann.”

Bobby appeared in the doorway, and Silverwood waved him away. “What're you doing, sending me somebody like that, Ted? The man didn't even tell me who his client was.”

“I'm not talking about the client. I'm talking about Shermann.” Robinson sounded almost frightened. “Just take it easy with him, John. Humor the guy.”

Silverwood opened a side drawer, leaned back in his chair, pried off his shoes, slid his feet into the recesses. “How am I supposed to humor somebody who basically admits that his client has been up to criminal activities?”

“He said that?”

“More or less. Bobby was sitting in the office with me.”

Robinson thought it over. “Well, I guess there wasn't anything else you could have done.”

“Who is this guy?”

“He's a menace,” Ted Robinson replied, his voice showing spark for the first time. “I'm surprised the grass doesn't wither under his feet.”

“Then what on earth are you doing sending him to me?”

“I didn't have any choice. Don't ask me anything more, because I'm not going to tell you. Just listen to what I say, John. Be careful around this guy.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Silverwood replied.

“Afraid you'll be hearing from Reggie on this one.”

“Erskins knows him?”

“Most people who've been around Washington for any length of time know Shermann. He has a habit of getting around.”

“It gave me the creeps just being in the same room with him,” Silverwood replied. “He looks like walking death.”

“That may be,” Robinson said. “But just remember, when you know that guy's involved, stay on your toes. And don't cross him if you can help it.”

As soon as Silverwood put down the receiver, Bobby poked his head around the door again. “Hearing starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Be right there. Shut the door, will you?” Silverwood picked up the telephone message slip and dialed the internal number. When the voice answered, he felt his heart speed up.

“Oh, how sweet of you to call me back.” Sally seemed genuinely pleased. “I was so hoping I could catch you before your day got too busy.”

“What can I do for you?” It was a new sensation to be pursued by a woman as attractive as this.

“Well, I was just wondering if maybe we could get together for that drink tonight?” That attractive little lilt was still in her voice.

“Let me check.” Silverwood drew his calendar toward him and was astonished to find his evening schedule booked solid for the next two weeks. “I don't believe this.”

“What's the matter?”

He flipped through the pages again. A series of formal receptions he had already agreed to attend stretched out like some endless barrier. He wondered for a moment if something wasn't trying to keep them apart, then swiftly pushed the thought aside. It was suddenly very important that he see her, that she not think this a polite turndown.

“I'm really sorry, but I have something on every night for the next two weeks. My first free evening is a week from next Sunday.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, if that's the earliest we can get together, I suppose it'll have to do.”

In an attempt to make it more definite in her mind, he asked, “Where shall we meet?”

She brightened at that. “Let's see. Do you know the Four Seasons Hotel?”

He hesitated. The Four Seasons was a mammoth brick structure with outrageous prices—a single room cost over two hundred dollars a night—situated in the heart of Georgetown. He debated whether or not he should be seen there with an attractive single woman. Then it struck him that, in all honesty, he really didn't care whether Suzanne found out or not.

“Yes,” he replied. “As a matter of fact, I live only about five blocks from there.”

“You live in Georgetown?” Suddenly she sounded like an excited teenager. “Oh, I've always dreamed of having a home on one of those little cobblestone streets. There's nowhere else on earth I'd rather live.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to invite her to his home, but he was saved by Bobby's impatient knock on the door. Silverwood dropped his feet to the floor and said, “Sorry, but I've got to get to a committee hearing. What time shall we meet?”

“Would seven o'clock be all right?”

“Perfect,” he said, smiling into the phone. “See you then.”

****

TJ arrived late the next morning, slowed down by Friday traffic and fitful snow showers. The big flakes fell wet and heavy, slowing traffic to a snarling crawl. The roads were solid streams of blinking lights, steaming manhole covers, honking horns, and heavily bundled pedestrians moving faster than the cars.

Bella was waiting for him in the outer office. TJ's staffers were clustered around her, glancing from her face to the Bible tucked under one arm and back to her face again.

She lit up at his entry. “I was afraid the weather would keep you away this morning.”

“Not on your life,” he said, returning her smile. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“That's all right. I've just been telling your people what a wonderful boss they have.” She held up her Bible. “Look what I bought.”

“Excellent, excellent,” he murmured, pleased. “Shall we get started?”

“I'd love to.”

TJ ushered her into his office. As he closed the door TJ noticed his staffers still standing there, watching him. He said, “Any of you who wish would be most welcome to join us.”

Bella chuckled. “I've been getting that same reaction from everybody.”

TJ pulled up a chair beside her, said, “Just so long as you don't let them turn you back.”

“Not a chance. I can't remember the last time I've felt so good.” She turned shining eyes toward him. “I feel as though a mountain's been lifted from my shoulders. And the crazy thing is, it wasn't until yesterday that I ever really acknowledged that the weight was there. Oh, I suppose I've known all along that it's been with me. The pain, the frustration, the loneliness. I'm so much in the habit of pushing that stuff away I guess I just forgot that's what really was inside me. That and this aching emptiness I never wanted to face up to.”