Grass Roots

by Stuart Woods

  11

  In the four years they had been seeing each other, they had never been to a restaurant together. Her position at the Central Intelligence Agency and his—first, as counsel to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence and, later, as chief of staff to the chairman of that committee—made for a conflict of interest that, if known, might seriously undermine her career at the Agency. They had kept their secret well, always dining at his house, since he enjoyed cooking, and sleeping together in his bed or hers. It had been an odd love affair, but a successful one. Now, for the first time, they gazed at each other across a restaurant table, though not in Washington. On New Year’s Eve, they sipped champagne at the Café des Artistes in New York, while the nudes by Howard Chandler Christy looked down upon them from the walls.

  Will raised his glass. “To a new day at the Agency,” he said, smiling.

  She tapped his glass with hers and drank. “That may be something of an overstatement, you know. I’m not sure anything is going to change.”

  “It will with you in the job. You’ve already changed some things at that place, and from a lot weaker position than you’re now going to be in.”

  “Let’s hope,” she said.

  The waiter brought their first course, a selection of pâtés and a rillette from the charcuterie table.

  “Now to the important stuff,” Kate said. “What are you going to do with yourself now?”

  He was surprised. “Well, I’ve still got a job, you know.”

  She took a deep breath. “Will, I don’t think you’re being realistic. From what you’ve told me about the Senator’s condition, this is certainly his last term, and, moreover, he could have another stroke and die at any moment. It seems to me the very best you can expect is to stay on for the rest of his term, and then do something else.”

  Will sighed. “You’re probably right,” he said.

  “Probably? You know I’m absolutely right. Do you really believe that the Senator might rise up from his bed, get reelected, and continue as if nothing has happened?”

  Will put down his fork. “You know,” he said sheepishly, “that’s exactly what I have been telling myself. It’s not very smart, is it?”

  “Look, this isn’t the end of the world. You can still do just what you’d planned to do. You may not have the Senator’s help, but, on the other hand, he might recover enough to do something for you. In any case, you’ve got four years to build a candidacy for yourself. Your father will help; he’s still got a lot of political clout in Georgia, hasn’t he?”

  “Probably not as much as he’d like to think. It’s been more than twenty years since he was governor, and there are still a lot of Democrats who haven’t forgiven him for pulling out of politics rather than support Lester Maddox when he was elected governor. He couldn’t abide supporting a racist clown, but there were a lot of people who thought he should abide anything for the party’s sake.” Will paused. “You have to remember, too, that in four years’ time he’ll be eighty-two, and he’s already had a heart attack. What he wants me to do is declare now; run for the Senator’s seat.”

  Kate’s eyebrows went up. She started to speak, but reconsidered, took another bite of her food. “You think,” she said finally, “he’s rushing you into running so he can be around to see it?”

  “Oh, maybe that’s part of it; that’s a natural enough reaction. He also thinks the Governor, Mack Dean, will run, and he’s always thought Mack was a spineless do-nothing. But he really believes it’s the right thing for me to do. I’m having an awful hard time with it.”

  She placed her hand on his. “You don’t want to run for the Senator’s seat?”

  “Not while he’s alive. And, of course, if he dies, Mack Dean will appoint himself to serve out the term, and it would be extremely difficult to beat him as an incumbent. Hell, it would be difficult under the best of circumstances. He’s just coming off two terms as governor, and he would have most of the party behind him.”

  “You’d be starting from scratch if you ran against him,” she said. “You don’t really have a political base, do you? Just a well-known name.”

  “That’s about it. I think what I’ll do is see that the office is run as well as possible for the rest of the Senator’s term, then repair to Delano, practice law, and start to work on Jim Barnett’s seat, four years down the road.”

  “Sounds like the prudent thing to do,” Kate said. “If you run against Dean and lose, wouldn’t that make things more difficult in four years?”

  “Oh, sure. First of all, Mack would be mad at me for opposing him. He’d throw his support to somebody else in the primary. Then, of course, I’d be a loser in the electorate’s eyes.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got this pretty well worked out. Practice for four years, build a base, then run against the Republican.”

  Will nodded. “And with Dean’s support, if I support him this time. It’s not something I relish, supporting him.”

  “Well,” she said, smiling and raising her glass, “let’s drink to four years well spent—as long as you spend a lot of that time in Washington, near me.”

  Will raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. “And a wedding two years hence. Is that a deal?”

  “You’re on.” She smiled. “I think you’re smart not to run now, unprepared. It’s better for us, too. It will take the pressure off me where the Agency’s concerned. And I expect that, after a couple of years, I’ll have the job out of my system.”

  “Just as long as you don’t have me out of your system.”

  “Fat chance,” she laughed. “Remember now, we’ve got a deal.”

  They drank deeply of the wine, never taking their eyes from each other.

  12

  Will sat on a desk in the large, common workroom of Senator Benjamin Carr’s office, addressing the Senator’s staff gathered there. They gazed back at him with interest and uncertainty, a young, talented, and enthusiastic group, three-quarters of whom Will had himself recruited over the past years. They were always coming and going, these Capitol Hill staffers—young lawyers out for Washington experience they could later exploit with D.C. law firms and as lobbyists; a journalist or two who had decided to work for someone who made news; a couple of bright young women who were answering phones and stuffing envelopes while using the office as a base for Capitol husband-hunting; a few dilettantes with rich daddies and high ideals; and a hard core of professional staffers, people who found it satisfying to be involved in the business of making law and running the country. It was this last group, more than the others, that Will was addressing.

  “Now,” he began as if in midsentence, “I can’t make any of you any promises about when or even if the Senator will be back. But, at the very least until the end of the year, we have an office to run, and for some of that time, it’s going to have to be run without me. I got myself involved, with the Senator’s permission, representing an indigent defendant in a murder trial at home, and the judge won’t release me—believe me, I tried. So I’m depending on every one of you to stick here and make it work. I know full well that you’re going to be getting calls from other staffs, and I hope you’ll put them off until we know what’s what around here—no matter how attractive the offers are. If you’re tempted, talk to me first. I think you owe the Senator that, at least.”

  Jack Buchanan, the Senator’s chief legislative aide and one of the professional staff group, came and leaned close. “Will, Jasper is on the phone from the Senator’s house. Do you want to talk to him now?”

  “Tell him I’ll call him back, unless it’s an emergency. Be sure you find out about that,” Will whispered back. Buchanan went back to the phone, and Will continued. “Naturally, the legislative side of things is going to be sharply curtailed, under the circumstances, so I’ve asked Jack Buchanan to fill in for me when I’m out of the office. What won’t stop, what we really have to keep going, is constituent services, and Jack and I will be pulling some of you off your regular assig
nments to help with that. I want every phone call or letter from a constituent to be handled as if the Senator were taking a personal interest in it. Letters to federal agencies and any other letter in support of a constituent will go out over my signature, for the Senator. I don’t think anybody is going to buy it if we send out letters signed by the signature machine.” He swept the room once more, making eye contact and holding it with an occasional staffer. “One final thing: if the Senator should die before his term expires, the Governor will appoint someone to succeed him, and I hope every one of you will stay and serve that person just as you would have served the Senator. He or she will need the help of all of us until the new senator can put his or her own staff together. That’s it. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Good. Any problems, see me, or, if I’m not here, Jack.”

  People ambled back to their desks, and Will returned to his own office. He picked up the phone and began dialing Flat Rock Farm. Before he could be connected, Jack Buchanan thrust his lanky figure through Will’s door, looking worried.

  “Will, come look at this, quick!”

  Will hung up the telephone and followed Jack back into the common workroom. The staff were fixed on the television set high up on one wall. They were looking at Emma Carr, the Senator’s sister, who was speaking into a microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced in her broad south Georgia accent, “I would like to announce that Senator Carr has decided to run for another term. He made his wishes known to me last night.”

  “It’s CNN, Will,” Jack whispered. “They just said they were going live to the Senator’s house for an announcement.”

  “How is the Senator feeling, Miss Emmy?” a reporter asked.

  “He’s doing just fine, feeling a whole lot better. He’s having a therapist over every day, and she’s working with him a lot.”

  Will stared unbelievingly at the set.

  “Has the Senator recovered his speech, Miss Emmy?” the reporter asked.

  “He’s communicating his wishes,” Miss Emmy replied. “Now, that’s all I have to say to the press today,” she concluded, waving coquettishly at the camera. She turned and went back into the house, and as she did, the camera caught a brief glimpse of Jasper, looking anguished.

  “Jesus Christ,” Will muttered, striding back into his office. “What the hell is going on down there?” He picked up the phone and redialed Flat Rock Farm. Jasper answered on the first ring.

  “Jasper, I just saw Miss Emmy on TV. What’s happening?”

  “Lord, I’m glad to hear from you, Mr. Will,” Jasper panted. “Miss Emmy, she done gone nuts. I couldn’t do nothing with her.”

  “What about the Senator? Is he talking? Has he said anything?”

  “He ain’t said a word,” Jasper said, “just like he’s been since the stroke. He wrote something, though.”

  “Wrote something? He can write?”

  “He managed a little bit,” Jasper said. “That’s what got Miss Emmy so crazy.”

  “What did he write?” Will demanded.

  “Mr. Will, you better come down here,” Jasper said. “I’m gon’ need your help to get Miss Emmy back under control.”

  “What did the Senator write?” Will asked again.

  “I think you better come down here and look at it before I say something,” Jasper replied. “You might want to talk some to the Senator when you see it.”

  Will realized that Jasper had dug in his heels and was not going to say any more. He had seen the man do this before. “All right, Jasper, I’ll get down there as quick as I can. I’ve got a few more things to do here; it’ll probably be noon before I can take off. Look for me about three-thirty or four. Is the weather good?”

  “Yes, sir. Clear as a bell. You can set down out back.”

  Will hung up and looked at Jack Buchanan, who was standing in the door. “He says the Senator has written something.”

  “I thought he was paralyzed,” Jack said.

  “So did I, but a therapist has been working with him since Christmas. He must be making a lot of progress.”

  Jack looked over his shoulder at the television set. “Uh-oh,” he said, “here comes Mack Dean.”

  Will went back into the common room in time to see the harried-looking Governor of Georgia hurrying down the Georgia Capitol steps, followed by a couple of television reporters.

  “Yes, I just heard,” the Governor said. “Wonderful news.”

  “He doesn’t look like he thinks it’s so wonderful.” Jack chuckled.

  “I’m delighted to hear that the Senator seems to be on the road to recovery,” Dean said, “although that’s quite a surprise, given the reports I’ve been getting from his doctors. Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for a meeting.”

  The camera followed him to his car and watched as he was driven away, then panned to a young reporter. “That was Governor Mack Dean, expressing his pleasure at the news of Senator Carr’s improvement. There had been rumors that the Governor was about to announce for the Senator’s seat, so the news might not have been all good, from the Governor’s point of view.”

  Jack laughed aloud. “No, I guess it isn’t all good news for Mack,” he chortled. “You going down there, Will?”

  “Damn right. I’m going to have to do something about Miss Emmy. It looks like Jasper can’t handle her.”

  The afternoon shadows were long when Will taxied the airplane toward the house at Flat Rock Farm. Jasper was out of the house to meet him even before he could shut down the engine. Jasper reached the airplane as Will was getting out, and they walked briskly toward the house together.

  “Now, tell me exactly what happened,” Will said.

  “Well, it was late yesterday afternoon. That therapy lady was over here working with the Senator. She had him gripping a pencil with that one hand, trying to write on a pad, but he couldn’t do it. Then the lady left, and me and the Senator was watching TV. The Governor was on, being interviewed by this fellow, and he was hinting around like he might want to run for the Senator’s seat.”

  They reached the house and went in through the back door. Before Jasper could continue, Miss Emmy suddenly appeared from the kitchen.

  “Goddamn vultures,” she spat at Will. “That’ll show you all! He’s going to run!”

  Minnie came out of the kitchen and led her away, looking over her shoulder at Will, shaking her head.

  “She’s been just like that since yesterday, Mr. Will,” Jasper said. “I swear, I didn’t know she’d done called up that TV station, not till I see her out on the front porch, talking to them. Wasn’t nothing I could do.”

  They started up the stairs toward the Senator’s room.

  “Go on, Jasper,” Will said, “tell me about yesterday.”

  “Oh, well, me and the Senator was watching the Governor on TV, and I think the Senator must’ve got mad, ’cause that pencil was still in his hand, and he started moving it around on the paper. You could tell he was really struggling with it.”

  “And he wrote something?”

  “Yessir, he did,” Jasper said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and holding it back when Will tried to take it. “He wrote something, and Miss Emmy took it all wrong, I think. I think he wrote it to you.” Finally, having said his piece, Jasper surrendered the paper to Will.

  Will unfolded it and looked at what the Senator had written. At first, it wasn’t clear; it was nothing like the Senator’s handwriting. But after a moment, Will realized what the scrawl said. He stopped outside the Senator’s door. There were two words on the paper, written in uneven, poorly drawn capital letters. Together, they made a message that rocked Will when he read it.

  The words were: WILL RUN.

  Will stared at the message, reading it over and over, to be sure he was not mistaken. He leaned against the door and took a few deep breaths; then he turned and walked into the Senator’s room.

  The Senator was awa
ke, sitting up, supported by the elevated hospital bed. Will pulled up a chair and took the old man’s hand. His face was still soft and featureless, but his eyes burned brightly. “Hello, Senator,” Will said. “I hear you’re feeling better.”

  The hand squeezed Will’s softly. It was no mere muscle spasm.

  “Senator,” Will said, “I want to ask you something. Try and squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Can you do that?”

  The hand squeezed once.

  “Good.” Will grinned. He held up the piece of paper. “Did you manage to write this yesterday?”

  The hand squeezed once.

  “That’s wonderful!” Will said. “You’re going to recover! You’ll be back with us in Washington before you know it.”

  The hand squeezed twice, emphatically.

  “Senator,” Will said, “in this note, did you mean you wanted to run again?”

  Two squeezes. No mistaking.

  Will took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask the next question. Finally, he asked, “Did you mean you want me to run?”

  Will was astonished at the firmness of the grip. One squeeze. Just one. Hard. The Senator stared at Will and held tightly onto his hand.

  13

  Leah Pearl sat and knitted and, occasionally, glanced at her husband. She had been knitting for most of the day, rising only to have a bite to eat and go to the bathroom. She had been sitting there every day since Manny Pearl was shot.

  Leah smiled, remembering what Manny liked to say about her knitting. “It gives her something to think about while she talks.” Manny had always been funny, since the day she first met him, nearly forty years before, when she had been selling tickets at the Fox Theater, and Manny had been an usher. They had been married before a month had passed, and Leah had never regretted a moment of it. Oh, a lot of people would have thought Manny unreliable, what with all the businesses he’d been in—novelties, costume rentals, ladies’ sexy underwear, marital aids, and now the nightclub business. What people never seemed to understand was that Manny had made money at them all; he had only changed businesses when he got bored. Manny was steady, in his way. He’d been a good father—strict, the best schools for the boys; he’d been a good husband, an honorable man—religious, even, although he only went to synagogue on the holidays. Still, he’d given and given to the congregation and to Israel. A good man. She’d never minded about the girls. Men had to have them, she believed, and as long as she didn’t know the details, she didn’t mind. She knew he didn’t have to work as late as he said he did, but she didn’t mind. Manny enjoyed, and it was all right with her.