I said that I did, perfectly. I was beginning to revise my estimate of him. He was not entirely a fool. Had he been in the fashionable liberal camp I should probably have thought well of him … there were men far less astute than he who enjoyed a good deal more esteem.
“Now I anticipate a deadlock at the convention.…” For the next few minutes I was told political secrets which any Washington journalist would have given an arm to know. I found out what the President was going to do and what was going on in the inner circles of both parties … it was all very grand. “I am taking you into my confidence, young man, because unless you are up on the facts you’ll be of no use to me, and you have a lot of work to do. Fortunately, we have money. I am backed in this by some of the richest men in America and we’ll spend all that the law’ll allow … and then some.” He smiled for the first time since I’d met him: long yellow teeth, like a dog’s.…
It was almost one-thirty when our conference ended. “I feel we understand each other,” said the Senator, shaking my hand as he led me to the door.
“I do, too, sir,” I said sincerely, not adding, however, that I understood Leander Rhodes so well that I was tempted to take the next train back to New York and start a crusade against him. I had not realized the extent of his cunning nor had I suspected he had so many large sinister interests behind him. It was a chilling interview, even for a political innocent like myself: I realized, as I walked down the hall, that Huey Long had been a ward heeler compared to Senator Rhodes.
In my confusion, I went downstairs to the drawing room instead of upstairs to my bedroom. The butler was still up, to my surprise, collecting the remains of the coffee cups and brandy glasses. He looked at me expectantly but I only smiled vaguely at him and then, seeing a package of cigarettes on the couch opposite me, I walked over and picked them up, determinedly, as though I had come downstairs for them. The butler and his tray vanished. I stood for a moment, looking into the coals of the fire. The phrase “Man on horseback” kept going through my head. What a terrible man he was! I thought impotently, and what should I do? just how far from virtue should self-interest propel one? It was very perplexing.
“Oh, you gave me a start,” said a female voice.
I jumped myself; it was Verbena Pruitt in a dressing gown of flesh-colored silk, a vast tent-like affair which made her seem more than ever like a mountain of festering flesh; her thin gray hair was done in paper curlers and I noticed that she had a bald spot the size of a Cardinal’s cap on the back of her head.
“I was looking for my cigarettes,” said the apparition. “I thought I left them on the couch over there.”
I felt like a thief: the lady’s cigarettes in my coat pocket. Had I been of strong character, I should have admitted guilt and handed them over to her. But, as usual, I took the easy way. “Perhaps they fell down behind the cushions,” I said and I began to search for them with great stage gestures, scrutinizing the backs of cushions with an idiot stare.
“It’s unimportant,” said Verbena Pruitt. “The butler probably took them. They always do. Anything they can get their hands on.” She glanced thoughtfully at the row of bottles on a tray near the fireplace.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked eagerly.
“Perhaps a mouthful of that brandy,” said Miss Pruitt smiling; I noticed with alarm that her upper teeth had been removed for the night … so richly fat was her face, though, that it made hardly any difference. Only her speech was somewhat impaired. I wondered if I should attempt some pleasantry or not about the mouthful … did she want me to carry it to her in my mouth? I let it go. The Verbena Pruitts of the world were, as far as I was concerned, an unknown and dangerous quantity, capable of any madness. I brought her a stiff shot of brandy, and one for myself.
“That is nice,” she said, tossing off half of it in such haste that a bit of the essence trickled down her tier of chins, like Victoria Falls.
We sat down on one of the couches. I could hardly believe it. Here I was alone at night in an empty drawing room with the First Lady of her Party seated beside me, wearing an intimate garment of the night, her hair in curlers and her teeth waiting for her upstairs in one of the bedrooms. It was the sort of moment every boy dreams of, in nightmares.
“Tell me, my dear young man, what your function is … in relation to Senator Rhodes.”
“I am to handle his publicity.”
“Not an easy job,” said Miss Pruitt cryptically, touching her bald spot bemusedly with a hand like a bloated starfish.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Lee has many enemies.”
“I can see why.”
“You what?”
“I mean I can see why … considering the principles he stands for and so on,” I extemporized hastily.
“Of course. Still most of the press is against him … I can’t think why except you know what smart alecks those newspaper people are … just between you and me and the lamp post.… I hope you won’t quote me.” She smiled, terribly.
“I know what you mean,” I said, averting my eyes.
“Lee has such courage,” she added irrelevantly, sniffing her brandy like a terrier at a rat’s hole. “Take tonight. He actually thinks he can win over that young Communist from New York who’s writing a piece about him. He is fearless … but he should keep people like that at a distance.”
“Perhaps the Senator needs someone to save him from himself,” I suggested.
“How right you are, Mr. Schroeder.”
“Sargeant.”
“I mean Mr. Sargeant. Then you must remember that I’m not exactly pro-Rhodes.” This last information was said with a shrewd wink which struck me as being oddly unpleasant.
“I thought you were on his committee.” Rhodes had given me to understand that Miss Pruitt would deliver the women of America on Election Day.
“Wheels within wheels,” said Verbena Pruitt rising to her feet. “But now I must be off to my beauty sleep.” And, like Lady Macbeth, she sailed out of the room.
I finished off my brandy slowly. Then, wondering whether or not I should look in on Ellen, I walked up the dimly lit staircase. I was just recalling that I had no idea where her bedroom was when a figure stepped out of the shadows on the first landing. I gave a jump.
“Hope I didn’t startle you,” said Rufus Hollister smoothly, emerging from the darkened doorway, where he had been standing, into the faint lamplight. He was still dressed.
“Not at all,” I said.
“The Senator just phoned me … on the house phone. He’s working late … never lets up … secret of his success … nose to the grindstone.” I was pelted with saws.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, edging away. I didn’t get very far, though. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, in Mr. Hollister’s arms, an enormous gold-framed mirror in fragments about us as the whole house rocked back and forth while a sound like thunder or the atomic bomb deafened us and put out all the lights.
They picked a fine moment to bomb Washington was my first conscious thought. My second thought was to check myself in the dark for broken bones. I was all in one piece, I decided, though my cheek was bleeding … from the broken glass. Then the shouts and shrieks began. I heard Mr. Hollister cursing in the dark near me, heard the tinkle of glass as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. Then, from all directions, candles appeared, held by servants, by Mrs. Rhodes, by Miss Pruitt, who was standing in the corridor with the Pomeroys. No one knew what had happened. Not until an hour later did we find out, when a police official addressed us in the drawing room.