Micah Patel, a special aide to the governor, waited patiently at a restaurant on West End Avenue. He had gotten there early in order to get a table; if one didn’t arrive by shortly after eleven, there could be at least an hour’s wait. No sooner had he been seated than a line began to form, four or five people or more each minute. Ordinarily, the restaurant didn’t like to seat a party unless all members were there, but because Patel was known to be an aide to the governor, it relaxed that rule for him, allowing him to wait at his table before the other party arrived. The governor, who had just taken office in January, had charged him with a special mission. The governor’s family was into many different business ventures: healthcare, insurance, construction, and distribution of various types of alcohol beverage products. Patel was waiting for a luncheon meeting with an alcohol beverage lobbyist, Robert Ehrenburg. Ehrenburg was well-known in the legislature as one of the most formidable lobbyists around, one who seemingly had influence with every single legislator. He had rarely come out on the losing end of any proposal.
Patel shifted nervously in his seat. He had never met Ehrenburg, and only knew what he looked like from a photograph the governor had shown him the day before. He didn’t think he would have any trouble recognizing him, but the importance of the meeting, the first time the governor had entrusted him with such a task, was weighing on him heavily.
Patel had joined the governor’s staff when the governor had been a congressman, about three years before, when Patel was fresh out of law school. The congressman had liked him, been curious about his Indian background, and seemed to put increasing responsibility on him. When the congressman had been elected governor last fall, he immediately promoted Patel to one of his chief aides, and had begun to entrust him with some really important, confidential tasks. One of those was dealing with lobbyists. The governor had explained to him that, while plenty of lobbyists would be visiting him for his support on numerous things, he would also be using a lobbyist to work the legislature into favoring various proposals he put forward.
From his table, he saw Ehrenburg appear in the doorway, a heavyset man, with a large head and a big, half-smiling face. He walked past the line of people and stopped at the hostess stand, cutting in front of a small, elderly lady getting ready to take her seat. He said something to the hostess, and she turned and pointed in Patel’s general direction. Ehrenburg’s face flashed a sign of recognition, and he made his way quickly to Patel’s table. He wore a nice looking suit and tie, and although he must have been at least six feet four and weighed close to three hundred pounds, he moved quickly, seeming to sink down with each step and rise up with the next step, almost catlike in movement in spite of his size.
Patel stood up as he approached and extended his hand, introducing himself. Ehrenburg seized it and shook it vigorously, looking him up and down and scrutinizing his face. Patel could tell immediately that Ehrenburg was one of those men that like to hold a look a few seconds longer than the average person, and even shake hands a little bit longer than was needed. The two men sat down, with Ehrenburg keeping his coat on.
“How did you know me?” Patel asked.
Ehrenburg grinned at him. “Hell, you stood out like an Eskimo wouldAnd all of Paul’s boys always look real buttoned-downWhat does the SOB want now?”
Patel thought Ehrenburg must be joking, but he wasn’t sure, so he sat there and didn’t say anything, a blank expression on his face. Ehrenburg noticed the look, and threw his head back and laughed, a booming laugh that caused others around them to turn their heads.
“That’s what I call the governor,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I used to call him that when he was a congressman, so I guess I can call him that nowHe and I have known each other almost thirty years.”
“Did you both grow up here?”
“No, I grew up in Florida—Tampa area. I’m not sure where Paul’s from—maybe Kentucky—maybe Memphis.”
“I saw an article this morning in the Business Journal,” Patel said. “It said that Nashville was becoming a favorite place to retire.” He smiled at Ehrenburg, trying to establish a rapport.
Ehrenburg grunted, and leaned back a little. He didn’t really seem that interested in the tidbit of information. “Yeah, it’s hot now. It’s real hot here.” He studied Patel more closely and fell silent.
As they sat there, a number of people passing the table stopped to greet Ehrenburg. Some patted him on the back as they passed, without saying anything. Some stopped and extended their hands, and engaged in a minute or so of conversation. Patel got a quick sense of how widely known Ehrenburg was, especially among the patrons of the restaurant. It was obvious he was a regular there, and knew most of the other regulars as well; it was clearly a small seat of power in the scheme of things.
“Talking about the surveys,” Ehrenburg said, “I don’t mean to seem cynical, but they don’t really mean a whole lot for very long. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you see surveys picking every city in the country as the best to retire in, or the best to live in, or the place where people are the happiest. It just changes every time they do a survey. I don’t know why, really. Maybe it’s just a publicity event for whoever publishes it, and then it gets picked up by all the newspapers and other media.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Patel replied. He could tell that he could learn a lot from Ehrenburg. He was an unusual individual, but Patel liked him, and sensed that he would be a good person to get to know better.
“What’s on the governor’s mind?” Ehrenburg’s tone seemed very businesslike, as if he was taking charge of the conversation and trying to focus to save time. “I’m not able to do a long lunch today.”
Patel hesitated, trying to get his words in order in his mind. He was generally confident, but he sometimes tended to stumble in a new situation, and he was very conscious of the trust the governor had put in him in this new assignment. The governor had stressed the confidential nature of it all, that details of it should go to no one besides Ehrenburg, and that nothing should be put down on paper.
“It’s the beer,” Patel began, a little nervously. “He wants you to—I’m sorry, I don’t drink beer, so I hope I’m getting right what he saidHe said what he wants to do is to limit the sale of imported beer in Tennessee. Specifically, he wants to limit serving imported beer on draft at bars and restaurants.”
A scowl appeared suddenly on Ehrenburg’s face, and he made a sharp movement with his large head and turned to the side. Then he leaned back in his chair and looked narrowly at Patel. “I was afraid he was going to come up with that shit again. He’s been talking to me about this for a long time, back when he was a congressman and didn’t have as much influence in the state legislature. I told him I didn’t want to do that; I like foreign beers.”
Patel laughed as best he could. He was still nervous, but he felt like he should play along with Ehrenburg, since Ehrenburg seemed so serious. It was difficult for Patel to gauge when some of the political figures were being sarcastic, or using straight-faced humor, or were really upset or angry about things.
“Like I say, I don’t drink beer, so I don’t really know what it’s all about. But that’s what he asked me to ask you about.”
Ehrenburg grimaced again, and brought his large hand flat down on the table, making a smack that people at other tables heard and turned to. “No, you’ve got the right thing, all right. He’s been on that case for years. You know his family owns the largest beer distributor in the state, and they only want their own beer on draft. If they had their way, you’d only be able to buy the brands they sell anywhere, even in grocery stores and convenience stores. But they know that won’t work, so they’re trying this route to limit imported beers on draft. They know they’re gettin’ more popular, and it’s starting to cut into their business.”
Patel smiled weakly. “I’ve never had an imported beer or any other kind of beer.”
“I like imported beers,” Ehre
nburg thundered, seemingly oblivious to anyone hearing him. “I’ve been drinking them for years, and now people in Tennessee are finally catching on to them, and they’re getting more popular. And the price is coming down, too. They used to be expensive as hell. And now the old SOB wants to ban them. Go back and tell him I said ‘Hell, no.’ Tell him that, and see what he says.”
Nashville: The Mood (Part 2) Page 6
