‘I’m a lot more comfortable in a union hall than I am in a place like this.’
I wanted to laugh but I couldn’t, of course. It was alleged by James he had the ‘touch’ (his word) with the working class, so he actually went to some meetings in union halls in Robert’s district. A union guy I knew who’d worked with James said, ‘He came to a meeting and left after twenty minutes. He claimed he had another appointment. But you could see that we kind of freaked him out. Like we’d give him an infection if he stayed long enough.’
An angel of mercy in the comely form of Caitlin Conners appeared in a strapless silver gown. Very fetching. She slid her arm through mine and said, ‘I hope you’re planning to dance with me tonight.’
‘If you’d ever seen me try to dance you wouldn’t be asking me that.’
She stuck her tongue out at me. I’d always loved her occasional immaturity.
‘I’ll dance with you,’ James said. ‘In fact, I already have.’
‘Yes, I remember. And by the time we were finished I’d wished I’d had my rape whistle.’ She obviously wasn’t joking.
Most men would have been embarrassed to hear a woman say that about them. Not James. He just grinned. ‘Oh, I forgot you’re a virgin.’
Caitlin’s laugh was piercing. ‘You’re such a clown, James, and you don’t even know it.’
Then she was brushing her lips against my cheek — all perfume and warm woman flesh — and hurrying away.
‘Bitch.’
‘She’s a friend of mine. And she’s not a bitch.’
‘They’re all bitches, Conrad. And when you grow up someday, you’ll realize that.’
He smirked and walked away.
A few dozen men and women in white coats were finishing their work with the tables that filled three-quarters of the small ballroom. The walls were hung with large color photographs of our senator doing various things including being sworn in, waving to people at a Cubs game, whitewater rafting in Colorado, looking somber as he delivered a speech to his colleagues, standing between a rabbi and a priest, shooting baskets with inner-city kids and hugging Elise and his teenage daughter Maddy to him. If we could have gotten a photo of him ascending into heaven we’d have had our victory in our pocket.
There was a stage with a six-piece band of mostly bald men in shiny red dinner jackets and blood-red cummerbunds. They called themselves the Cavaliers; four of them were lawyers and two worked at the same brokerage firm. Not rock-and-roll rebels but I’d heard them play several times before and they were just right for gigs like this.
There were enough small chandeliers to blind you and enough flowers to give you a sinus infection. The peach and red décor was smart and the red chairs comfortable. I’d tried one. I’d also scanned a menu. I was up for the Grilled Marinated Salmon with Roasted Red Pepper Sauce and Saffron Rice. For fifteen thousand dollars a couple — half that for singles — would you expect any less?
Within half an hour the place was filled with people of various ages and various colors all shiny and fine in their evening attire and almost immediately klatching up in groups of friends. Young men and women in red jackets — replacing the first battalion of white jackets — flitted about the room like worker ants offering cocktails while the Cavaliers tuned up.
When Elise and Robert appeared fifteen minutes later, everybody turned to the doors. They made their way toward the front of the room, throwing out smiles and nods the way royalty had once thrown out roses. A standing ovation was inevitable since everybody was standing anyway and little effort was required.
At an appropriate distance behind them, like a courtesan, came Caitlin. The problem was her smile. She’d obviously had to wrench it out of herself and I wondered why.
I’d hoped to talk to her before we both took our seats at the small table nearest the dance floor — just the five of us, Elise and Robert, Caitlin and I, and of course my good friend James — but there wasn’t an opportunity because exactly on time a burly guy from the Chicago machine grabbed the microphone that Robert would be using for his speech and proceeded to inform us of what a buncha great people we were and how we were gonna break the legs — so to speak — of our opponent. I exaggerate, of course, but not by much.
Dinner, it seemed, was served.
By the time both Robert and Elise had finished their first cocktail it was clear that they, too, were wrenching paparazzi smiles out of themselves. Robert kept glancing at her nervously and she kept glaring at him in return. Then they’d become aware of me observing them and up would come these rickety bullshit smiles like fading footlights.
James had excused himself after gulping down a drink. He was making the rounds of the tables, no doubt searching for tonight’s lucky woman, married or not. That he’d be interrupting people’s dinners wouldn’t bother him — not James. Or maybe he was smart. Maybe he just wanted to get away from the tension at the table. But whatever, he’d be hitting on women all through the night, taking what he considered the trophy back to his Michigan Avenue condo. The gossip columnists in Washington loved him. He was always good for a couple of sleazy lines. I’d finally convinced Robert to rein him in by threatening to fire him. James had gotten all in my face about it; like I gave a shit.
Caitlin kept telling Elise how pretty she looked and she did, her pale elegance in her mauve gown all the more endearing because of her palpable sadness.
What the hell was going on?
‘Excuse me,’ Elise said. I tried to pretend that I didn’t notice the tears in her pale gray eyes. ‘I need to visit the ladies’ room.’
As soon as she was gone Robert said, ‘Well, this is some goddamned night, isn’t it? I could’ve just stayed home if I wanted to hear her tear into me.’ Then, quickly: ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I love her. She’s the love of my life, in fact, and I was the one who screwed it up.’ Then he was on his feet and tossing his heavy white cloth napkin on the table. ‘I’m going to the john myself.’
‘All right,’ I said to Caitlin once he’d disappeared. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
‘He’s right. He screwed it up and he’s paying for it.’
‘Screwed what up?’
‘His marriage. He had a little affair three years ago and she’s never been able to trust him since. They’ve tried to keep it quiet but one night when we were in a private plane they woke me up with their arguing. I was able to figure it out in pieces. Some waitress in a Washington pub. Georgetown, I guess. The woman was crazy enough to call him — drunk, of course — late at night. Elise was able to find the number on the phone in the morning and called it. The woman answered. It took her a week to work on him — Elise, I mean — but he finally admitted that he’d slept with the woman three times. Which meant it was probably ten times or more. It really destroyed Elise. You know how fragile she’s always been anyway. It runs in her family. A lot of mental issues.’
‘Robert told me about that. What’s she so upset about tonight?’
‘Just seeing all these beautiful women, I guess. She starts thinking about him sneaking around again and kind of loses it. She feels threatened all the time. She’s seeing a therapist and taking anti-anxiety meds because it’s getting worse, but they don’t seem to be helping much.’
The first time you meet a potential client you expect to hear nothing but what a wonderful swell man or woman he or she is. You expect that. The problems come out in the following meetings when you’ve begun to work together. Oh, didn’t I mention...? Oh, I didn’t think that would be a problem! That was just a misunderstanding with the IRS. Eventually you get most of it but not all of it. When George McGovern ran for president in 1972 his vice-presidential choice, a man named Thomas Eagleton, forgot to mention the teeny tiny fact that he had spent time in a mental hospital for depression. McGovern probably hadn’t had much of a chance of winning anyway but getting stalled like that right at the start of his campaign sure didn’t help him.