“Mr. Cartwright.”
“Mr. Goldblatz, I must apologize, a family problem has arisen and I won’t be able to make our meeting this afternoon.”
“I see,” said Goldblatz, not sounding as though he did.
“Mr. Goldblatz,” said Nat, “I’m not in the habit of playing games, I have neither the time nor the inclination.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you did, Mr. Cartwright,” said Goldblatz curtly.
Nat hesitated. “My son has run away from Taft and I’m on my way to see the principal.”
“I’m so…so…sorry to hear that,” Mr. Goldblatz said, his tone immediately changing. “If it’s any consolation, I also ran away from Taft, but once I’d spent all my pocket money I decided to go back the following day.”
Nat laughed. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“Not at all, perhaps you’d give me a call and let me know when it’s convenient for us to meet.”
“Yes of course, Mr. Goldblatz, and I wonder if I might ask a favor.”
“Certainly.”
“That none of this conversation is reported to Ralph Elliot.”
“You have my word on that, but then, Mr. Cartwright, he has no idea that I planned to meet you in the first place.”
When Nat put the phone down, Su Ling said, “Wasn’t that a bit of a risk?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Nat. “I have a feeling that Mr. Goldblatz and I have discovered something we have in common.”
As Su Ling drove through the Taft gates, memories came flooding back to Nat: his mother being late, having to walk down the center aisle of a packed hall when his knees were knocking, sitting next to Tom, and twenty-five years later, accompanying his son back on his first day. Now he only hoped his boy was safe and well.
Su Ling parked the car outside the principal’s house, and before she had turned the engine off, Nat spotted Mrs. Henderson coming down the steps. He felt his stomach churn until he saw the smile on her lips. Su Ling jumped out of the car.
“They’ve found him,” Mrs. Henderson said. “He was with his grandmother, helping her with the laundry.”
“Let’s both go straight to the hospital and see your father. Then we can decide if one of us should go on to Lakeville and check up on Lucy.”
“Lucy would be so sad if she knew,” said Annie. “She has always adored Grandpa.”
“I know, and he’s already begun planning her life,” said Fletcher. “Perhaps it would be better not to tell her what has happened, especially as she obviously won’t be able to visit him.”
“You may be right. In any case, he did go and see her last week.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Fletcher.
“Oh yes, those two are plotting something,” said Annie as she drove into the hospital parking lot, “but neither of them is letting me in on the secret.”
When the elevator doors opened, the two of them walked quickly down the corridor to Harry’s room. Martha stood up the moment they walked in, her face ashen. Annie took her mother in her arms as Fletcher touched Jimmy’s shoulder. He looked down at a man whose flesh was drawn and sallow, his nose and mouth covered with a mask. A monitor beeped beside him, the only indication that he was still alive. This was the most energetic man Fletcher had ever known.
The four of them sat around the bed in silence, Martha holding her husband’s hand. After a few moments she said, “Don’t you think one of you should go and see how Lucy is getting on? There’s not a lot you can do here.”
“I’m not moving,” said Annie, “but I think Fletcher ought to go.”
Fletcher nodded his agreement. He kissed Martha on the cheek, and looking at Annie said, “I’ll drive straight back just as soon as I’ve made sure that Lucy is OK.”
Fletcher couldn’t recall much of the journey to Lakeville as his mind wondered from Harry to Lucy, and for a moment to Al Brubaker although he found that he was no longer preoccupied with what the chairman of the party wanted.
When he reached the road sign announcing the intersection for Hotchkiss, Fletcher’s thoughts returned to Harry and how they had first met at the football game. “Please God let him live,” he said out loud as he drove into his old school and brought the car to a halt outside the entrance to the infirmary. A nurse accompanied the senator to his daughter’s bedside. As he walked down the corridor of empty beds, he could see in the distance a plastered leg, hooked high into the air. It reminded him of when he had run for the school presidency and his rival had allowed the voters to sign his cast on the day of the election. Fletcher tried to remember his name.
“You’re a fraud,” said Fletcher even before he saw the huge smile on Lucy’s face and the bottles of soda and bags of cookies scattered all around her.
“I know, Dad, and I even managed to miss a calculus exam, but I must be back on campus by Monday if I’m to have any chance of becoming class president.”
“So that’s why Grandpa came down to see you, the sly old buzzard,” said Fletcher. He kissed his daughter’s cheek and was eyeing the cookies when a young man walked in and stood nervously on the other side of the bed.
“This is George,” said Lucy. “He’s in love with me.”
“Nice to meet you, George,” said Fletcher smiling.
“You too, Senator,” the young man said as he extended his right hand across the bed.
“George is running my campaign for class president,” said Lucy, “just like my godfather ran yours. George thinks that the broken leg will help bring in the sympathy vote. I’ll have to ask Grandpa for his opinion when he next comes up to visit me—Grandpa’s our secret weapon,” she whispered, “he’s already terrified the opposition.”
“I don’t know why I bothered to come down to see you at all,” said Fletcher, “you so obviously don’t need me.”
“Yes I do, Dad. Could I get an advance on next month’s allowance?”
Fletcher smiled and took out his wallet. “How much did your grandfather give you?”
“Five dollars,” said Lucy sheepishly. Fletcher extracted another five-dollar bill. “Thanks, Dad. By the way, why isn’t Mom with you?”
Nat agreed to drive Luke back to school the following morning. The boy had been very uncommunicative the previous evening, almost as if he wanted to say something, but not while both of them were in the room.
“Perhaps he’ll open up on the way back to school, when it’s only the two of you,” suggested Su Ling.
Father and son set out on the journey back to Taft soon after breakfast, but Luke still said very little. Despite Nat’s trying to raise the subjects of work, the school play and even how Luke’s running was going, he received only monosyllabic replies. So Nat changed tactics and also remained silent, hoping that Luke would, in time, initiate a conversation.
His father was in the passing lane, driving just above the speed limit, when Luke asked, “When did you first fall in love, Dad?” Nat nearly hit the car in front of him, but slowed down in time before drifting back into the middle lane.
“I think the first girl I really took any serious interest in was called Rebecca. She was playing Olivia to my Sebastian in the school play.” He paused. “Is it Juliet you’re having the problem with?”
“Certainly not,” said Luke, “she’s dumb—pretty, but dumb.” This was followed by another long silence. “And how far did you and Rebecca go?” he finally asked.
“We kissed a little, if I remember,” said Nat, “and there was a little of what we used to call in those days petting.”
“Did you want to touch her breasts?”
“Sure did, but she wouldn’t let me. I didn’t get that far until our freshman year at college.”
“But did you love her, Dad?”
“I thought I did, but that bombshell didn’t truly hit me until I ran into your mother.”
“So was Mom the first person you made love to?”
“No, there had been a couple of other girls before her, one in Vietnam, and ano
ther while I was at college.”
“Did you get either of them pregnant?”
Nat moved across to the inside lane and fell well below the speed limit. He paused. “Have you got someone pregnant?”
“I don’t know,” said Luke, “and neither does Kathy, but when we were kissing behind the gym, I made a terrible mess all over her skirt.”
Fletcher spent another hour with his daughter before he drove back to Hartford. He enjoyed George’s company. Lucy had described him as the brightest kid in the class. “That’s why I chose him as my campaign manager,” she explained.
Fletcher was back in Hartford an hour later, and when he walked into Harry’s hospital room the tableau hadn’t changed. He sat down next to Annie and took her hand.
“Any improvement?” he asked.
“No, nothing,” said Annie, “he hasn’t stirred since you left. How about Lucy?”
“A complete fraud, as I told her. She’ll be in a plaster cast for around six weeks, which doesn’t seem to have cramped her style; in fact she seems convinced it will help her chances of becoming class president.”
“Did you tell her about Grandpa?”
“No, and I had to bluff a little when she asked where you were.”
“Where was I?”
“Chairing a meeting of the school board.”
Annie nodded. “True, just the wrong day.”
“By the way, did you know she had a boyfriend?” asked Fletcher.
“Do you mean George?”
“You’ve met George?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have described him as a boyfriend,” said Annie, “more a devoted slave.”
“I thought Lincoln abolished slavery in 1863?” said Fletcher.
Annie turned to face her husband, “Did it worry you?” she asked.
“Certainly not, Lucy’s got to have a boyfriend sooner or later.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Annie, she’s only sixteen.”
“I was younger when I first met you.”
“Annie, have you forgotten that when we were at college we marched for civil rights, and I’m proud that we’ve passed that conviction on to our daughter.”
40
When Nat dropped his son off at Taft and returned to Hartford, he felt guilty about not having enough time to visit his parents. But he knew he couldn’t miss the meeting with Murray Goldblatz two days in a row. When he said goodbye to Luke, at least the boy no longer appeared shrouded in the world’s woes. Nat promised his son that he and his mother would be back on Friday evening for the school play. He was still thinking about Luke when the car phone rang—an innovation that had changed his life.
“You were going to call before the market opened,” said Joe. He paused. “With some possible news?”
“I’m sorry not to have called, Joe; a domestic crisis came up and I simply forgot.”
“Well, are you able to tell me more?”
“Tell you more?”
“Your last words were, ‘I’ll know more in twenty-four hours.’”
“Before you burst out laughing, Joe, I’ll know more in twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll accept that, but what are today’s instructions?”
“The same as yesterday, I want you to go on buying Fairchild’s aggressively until the close of business.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Nat, because the bills are going to start coming in next week. Everyone knows Fairchild’s can ride out this sort of storm, but are you absolutely certain you can?”
“I can’t afford not to,” said Nat, “so just keep on buying.”
“Whatever you say, boss, I just hope you’ve got a parachute, because if you haven’t secured fifty percent of Fairchild’s by Monday morning at ten o’clock it’s going to be a very bumpy landing.”
As Nat continued his journey back to Hartford, he realized that Joe was doing no more than stating the obvious. By this time next week he knew he could well be out of a job, and more important, have allowed Russell’s to be taken over by their biggest rival. Was Goldblatz already aware of this? Of course he was.
As Nat drove into the city, he decided not to return to his office, but to park a few blocks from St. Joseph’s, grab a snack and consider all the alternatives Godblatz might come up with. He ordered a bacon sandwich in the hope that it would put him in a fighting mood. He then began to write out a list of the pros and cons on the back of the menu.
At ten to three, he left the deli and started to make his way slowly toward the cathedral. Several people nodded or said “Good afternoon, Mr. Cartwright,” as they passed, reminding him how well known he’d become recently. Their expressions were of admiration and respect, and he only wished he could advance the reel by one week to see how the faces would react then. He checked his watch—four minutes to three. He decided to circle the block and walk into the cathedral from the quieter south entrance. He climbed the steps in twos and entered the south transept a couple of minutes before the cathedral clock chimed the hour. Nothing would be gained by being late.
It took Nat a few moments to accustom himself to the darkness of the candle-lit cathedral after the strong light of the mid-afternoon sun. He looked down the center aisle that led to the altar, dominated by a massive gilded cross studded with semiprecious stones. He transferred his attention to the rows and rows of dark oak pews that stretched out in front of him down the nave. They were indeed almost empty as Mr. Goldblatz had predicted, save for four or five old ladies shrouded in black, one of them holding a rosary and chanting, “Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with you, blessed art thou…”
Nat continued down the center aisle, but could see no sign of Goldblatz. When he reached the great carved wooden pulpit, he stopped for a moment to admire the craftsmanship, which reminded him of his trips to Italy. He felt guilty that he’d been unaware of such beauty in his own city. He looked back down the aisle, but the only occupants remained the cluster of old ladies, heads bowed, still mumbling. He decided to make his way to the far side of the cathedral and take a seat near the back. He checked his watch again. It was one minute past three. As he walked, he became aware of the echoing sound his feet made on the marble floor. It was then that he heard a voice say, “Do you wish to confess, my son?”
Nat swung to his left to see a confessional box with the curtain drawn. A Catholic priest with a Jewish accent? He smiled, took a seat on the small wooden bench and drew the curtain closed.
“You’re looking very smart,” said the majority leader as Fletcher took his place on Ken’s right. “Anyone else and I’d have said you had a mistress.”
“I do have a mistress,” said Fletcher, “and her name is Annie. By the way, I may have to leave around two.”
Ken Stratton glanced down the agenda. “That’s fine by me; other than the education bill there doesn’t seem to be a lot that involves you except perhaps candidates for the next election. We’ve all assumed you will be running again for Hartford, unless Harry plans to make a comeback. By the way, how is the old buzzard?”
“He’s a little better,” said Fletcher. “Restless, interfering, irascible and opinionated.”
“Not much change then,” said Ken.
Fletcher considered the agenda. Fund-raising was all he would be missing, and that item had been on every agenda since the day he was elected, and would still be there long after he’d retired.
As twelve struck, the majority leader called for order and asked Fletcher to present his timetable for the education bill. For the next thirty minutes Fletcher outlined his proposals, going into considerable detail about those clauses he anticipated the Republicans would oppose. After five or six questions from his colleagues, Fletcher realized that it would require all his legal and debating skills if he was to get this piece of legislation through the Senate. The last question predictably came from Jack Swales, the longest-serving member of the Senate. He always asked the last question, which was a sign that it was ti
me to move on to the next item on the agenda.
“How much is this all going to cost the taxpayer, senator?”
Other members smiled as Fletcher performed the ritual: “It’s covered in the budget, Jack, and was part of our platform at the last election.”
Jack smiled and the majority leader said, “Item number two, candidates for the next election.”
Fletcher had intended to slip out as soon as the discussion got under way, but like everyone else in the room, was taken by surprise when Ken went on to say, “I have to inform my fellow members, with some regret, that I shall not be running at the next election.”
A half-sleepy group meeting suddenly became a powder keg, with “whys?” and “surely nots” and “who?” until Ken raised a hand. “I don’t have to explain to you why I feel the time has come to retire.”
Fletcher realized the immediate consequence of Ken’s decision was that he was now the favorite to become majority leader. When his name was called, Fletcher made it clear that he would be running for reelection. He slipped out when Jack Swales began a speech on why he felt it was nothing less than his duty to seek reelection at the age of eighty-two.
Fletcher drove the half-mile to the hospital, and ran up the stairs to the second floor rather than wait for the elevator. He walked in to find Harry laying down the law on impeachment to an attentive audience of two. Martha and Annie turned to face him as he entered the room.
“Anything happen at the party caucus that I ought to know about?” Harry asked.
“Ken Stratton won’t be running at the next election.”
“That’s no surprise. Ellie’s been ill for some time, and she’s the only thing he loves more than the party. But what it does mean, is that, if we can hold on to the Senate, you could well be the next majority leader.”
“What about Jack Swales? Won’t he consider it his by right?”
“In politics, nothing is yours by right,” said Harry. “In any case, my bet is that the other members wouldn’t back him. Now don’t waste any more time talking to me, I know you’ve got to be in Washington for your meeting with Al Brubaker. All I want to know is when you think you’ll be back.”
Sons of Fortune Page 37
