Charles suddenly realized he was being indiscreet. He looked at me and forced a grin. He turned to Amber, kissed her again.
“Darling, Robert and I have been thinking, we’re going to have a big party, honey, tell me it’s ok, but the offices are so boring, I was really thinking we could go to our house, it’s big and nice, comfortable, everyone would love it, but if you don’t think so, we could go to the offices, tell me what you think?”
“If that’s what you want, Charles,” Amber said a little reluctantly.
“Terrific, I’ll tell Robbie and Abe,” Charles said, and ran back to the others.
“So we’re going to your place?” I asked Amber.
“It’s not as clean as I would have liked, the maid only comes every other day, I hope we’re not embarrassed,” Amber said.
Amber was not embarrassed. The house was spectacular. An Edwardian pile on Eighth and Pennsylvania, the heart of Capitol Hill, a block from the governor’s mansion. Easily six thousand square feet, with a big open-plan living room decorated in what I took to be southwestern style: Indian artifacts, prints, throw rugs, pastel furniture. A Georgia O’Keeffe painting of an adobe house. Pottery that looked to be pre-Columbian. It must have cost a bloody fortune, which meant the brothers couldn’t really have been as poor as Klimmer claimed, although wealth is a relative thing. Perhaps they weren’t that well off in comparison to their fabulously wealthy father. But even so, all of us humble campaigners were awed.
Twenty of us in here easily, but we hardly filled the space. Charles ordered a crate of champagne and food deliveries from several restaurants. We all mucked in, setting a table with caviar, French cheese, Mexican dips, hot plates, paté, and the like. After a couple of minutes I found Charles, gulping from a flute of champagne.
“Wonderful house,” I said, “just the place for a future congressman.”
“What?” he asked, grinning merrily.
“You’re moving into politics, I hear,” I said.
“Alex, walls have ears, I see. Don’t breathe a word of that. Please. But yes, it’s an exciting time, a very exciting time. You know, Robert thinks they’re going to ask me to give a speech at the GOP leadership seminar in Aspen on the sixteenth. I don’t know how I’ll manage it. Can you imagine, six months ago no one had heard of CAW. We couldn’t buy publicity and now, well, I hate to bring it into the realm of the personal, but things are looking up for me. I should have listened to Amber a long time ago.”
Charles was getting a little excited. I got him another champagne.
“So Amber wanted you to go into politics?” I asked, handing him the glass.
“She’s very clever, Amber, did I tell you how we met? Completely by accident, although I’d sort of known her before. Teacher-student relationships, frowned upon, you know. Anyway, yes, what a time. The first thing was to move CAW from Boulder to Denver. It seems like years rather than weeks ago. Couple of setbacks. We had those two terrible tragic incidents. Good God.”
His tongue was really loosening, but before he could tell me any more Amber appeared, took Charles by the arm, and tried to lead him over to the window.
“Sorry, Alex, she said, there’s something we have to take care of.”
“No, don’t go,” I said, “I never get to talk to the big boss anymore, this is my big chance to weave my way into his consciousness.”
“Yeah, what’s so important, darling?” Charles said.
“Well, I think we — someone knocked over a glass of champagne, you know what that will do to the carpet,” Amber said.
“Oh my God, Amber, leave it, this is a party, Rosita will do it tomorrow. Not tonight, we’re celebrating,” Charles said.
“Do come on, Charles,” Amber insisted.
They both disappeared and, try as I might, I couldn’t get into conversation with either of them the rest of the night. The best I could do was Robert, who was not drinking and indeed looked quite somber. He was talking to Abe about politics. I joined the conversation.
“Mind if I butt in? I find the American political system fascinating,” I said.
Robert looked me up and down as if deciding whether I was worth speaking to.
“And, Alexander, are you from the North of Ireland or the S-South?” Robert asked.
“The North,” I said.
“And that’s part of the UK,” Abe said.
“Yup.”
“So you vote for the London p-parliament,” Robert said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Interesting. Alex, we were just talking about the elections, here, n-next year,” Robert said.
“They vote for the president and the House and the Senate,” I said.
“No, not the Senate, Alex, only a third of the S-Senate,” Robert said.
“But it will be the big year,” Abe said, “a presidential election year. The GOP candidates are already battling it out. Dole will win, of course.”
“I know, how could you miss it, it’s in all the papers,” I said.
“You’d be surprised how many people don’t read the p-papers. Or they read exclusively about O. J. Simpson. Only about fifty percent of people eligible to vote actually vote in this country, I think in Ireland it’s around seventy to eighty percent.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Dole will lose,” Abe said, “and Charles will help pull the party back to the center, we’ll all do well out of this.”
Robert looked at Abe as if he were saying too much.
“Oh, I’ve told Alex about August sixth, we can trust him,” Abe said.
“Good heavens, how many other people have you t-told?”
“Just Alex.”
Robert turned to me.
“Alex, p-please don’t say anything to anyone. Abe should never have told you. We d-don’t know for certain that Wegener is going to announce his r-retirement, it wouldn’t do to j-jump the gun.”
“He’s retiring, Charles’ll have the drop on everyone, the state chair wants him, the GOP needs him. Nobody should forget that this is the party of Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt, not just Reagan and Bush,” Abe said.
“I’d rather you didn’t t-talk about this,” Robert said.
Abe looked a little put out.
“Ok,” he said glumly.
“You too, Alex,” Robert insisted.
“Won’t breathe a syllable,” I said.
“Robert, can I have a word?” someone asked.
Robert excused himself and headed across the room. Abe was embarrassed and made an excuse to leave me too.
As illuminating as the conversations with Charles and Robert had been, the real shock story of the night, the real revelation, the real scoop, was to come as the party was winding down and I was on a trip to the bathroom. Never has a bog run been so profitable in my life.
Some people, it is said, keep their Academy Award in the toilet, others provide reading material in a little magazine rack next to the throne, still others attempt to affect a comedic air by plastering the toilet walls with cartoons or purchasing kitschy or otherwise risible bathroom equipment. It is more of a British thing than an American thing. Brits take equal parts delight and shame at the contemplation of bodily functions. But some Americans feel the urge to introduce levity into their bathroom arrangements. Perhaps those who have gone to prestigious Anglophile universities.
The Mulhollands had thought it a good idea to place, on their bathroom wall, framed photographs of themselves in younger days. Preferably those from the awkward teenage years. There was Charles, face covered with acne, standing beside a snowman, whose face he had also unself-consciously covered with pebble acne. There was Amber dressed in a barrister’s wig and gown, playing a male part in the operetta Trial by Jury. There was a grinning Charles dressed in shorts and a striped jersey standing next to a dozen other boys, in front of a massed bundle of equipment, with the legend “Governor Bright Academy Lacrosse Team, 1973.”