Primary Storm

by Brendan DuBois

  "Manchester. Just after eleven."

  "How about if I pick you up and we go on from there?"

  "Fine." And then he laughed. "Looking forward to it, if you can believe it. It'll be a nice change after digging up dirt all these days."

  And after another minute or two of receiving flight and arrival information, I hung up and made another phone call.

  It took some maneuvering, but I got through to the Hale for President campaign headquarters in Manchester, and actually got somebody on the line who knew Annie Wynn. "Hold on, I'll see if I can get her," and I could hear the phone clunk on a tabletop, and in the background, there was the noise of voices and keyboards being slapped and a television program, and then there was a clatter, and the phone was picked up.

  "Annie Wynn."

  "It's Lewis. How are you?"

  A sigh. "It's been one of those days ... look, I can't talk much. Did you ride out the storm all right?"

  "I did, and when I see you next, I've got a funny story to tell you."

  "My friend ... it won't be tonight, I'm sorry. Maybe tomorrow." It seemed like the noise in the background grew louder.

  "Well, how about dinner? I could drive out to Manchester."

  Another sigh. "Cold pizza is what's ahead of me, Lewis. A wonderful thought, but I can't leave here tonight. There's too much going on. Look, I've got to run. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Deal?"

  "Deal," I said, and that was that.

  I put the phone down, stared at it for a bit, and then picked it up and did some additional calling.

  Two hours later, I was in Manchester, wearing my best suit and best wool overcoat, and even shoes that matched. I parked about a block away from my destination, and walked gingerly along the slippery sidewalks. Snow piles were still on the sides of the street, and they were sprinkled with campaign signs from all the campaigns, like candles on a soggy slice of ice cream cake, melting on a plate.

  Over my shoulder I carried a wide leather bag that bumped against my hip, and which was warm to the touch. I tried not to think too much of what I had in there as I made my way to the well-lit storefront that announced HALE FOR PRESIDENT. Inside I wiped my feet and took in the scenery. There were rows and rows of battered metal desks manned by men and women, mostly young and intense-looking. Phones were ringing, photocopying machines were humming, and hardly anybody was paying attention to the four television sets in one corner, all of them turned to a different cable news channel. Posters of Senator Hale were taped to the walls, and there was the constant movement and hum of people at work.

  I stood there, just taking it all in, when a woman spotted me and came over, her sweater festooned with Hale buttons, and carrying a clipboard. She was about ten years younger than me, pudgy, with a no-nonsense attitude about her.

  "Can I help you?" she asked, looking past me, as if counting down the seconds as to when she could pass me off to somebody else lower on the food chain.

  "You certainly can," I said, removing a thin leather wallet from inside my coat. I flashed it open and quickly closed it. "The name's Cole. I'm from the FEC. I need two things, and I need them now."

  Well, that got her attention. She was no longer staring over my shoulder. "What's the problem?"

  "There is no problem," I said. "And it'll remain that way if I get what I need right away."

  "What's that?"

  "A private office, with a door, and a campaign worker you have here. One Miss Annie Wynn."

  She seemed to hold her clipboard tighter. "Can you tell me what this is about?"

  I stared at her. "Are you Miss Annie Wynn?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "Then that's all you need to know. Now. Am I getting that office and Miss Wynn?"

  She seemed to struggle for a moment, but maybe the exhaustion and the looming deadline of the upcoming primary, and the fear of anything bad, overtook whatever common sense the poor dear had, for she nodded and said, "Follow me, then."

  Chapter Thirteen

  I don't know who the office belonged to but it had a nice round wooden table adjacent to the desk, the door that I required, and I carefully removed the piles of files and papers from the table and placed them on the floor. My leather case was now open on one of the chairs, and I was about to get to work when there was a soft knock on the door and Annie came in, carrying the no-doubt required clipboard.

  She started by saying, 'What can I do for ... Lewis, what the hell are you doing here?"

  From the open leather case, I took out a small white tablecloth, which I spread over the table. "Feeding you dinner."

  "Dinner? You're ... damn it, Myra said there was somebody from the FEC here to see me, the goddamn Federal Elections Commission!"

  I started taking out plates and wineglasses. "I never said I was from the Federal Elections Commission. I said I was from the FEC. Many, many years ago --- unless my memory is wrong, which

  is distinctly possible --- I joined an organization called the Federation of Employed Consultants. Or something like that. They never sent me a renewal notice, so I guess I'm still a member in good standing."

  Annie said, "Myra said you showed her a badge!"

  Plates, silverware, wineglasses, and a little vase with a rose, made from plastic, unfortunately. I smiled. "Yes, I did. It was a junior detective badge I once got from Diane Woods at the Tyler Police Department. I'm quite proud of it, and love showing it off. I hope she didn't mistake it for something else."

  Annie was trying to be angry and not laugh at the same time, and I wasn't sure which would succeed. "Lewis, I told you I didn't have ---

  "Annie."

  "It's a madhouse here, and it's going to be ---"

  "Annie."

  She looked at me, tired and quiet. "What?"

  "You said you couldn't leave. So you're not leaving. You need to have dinner, and why not a good one? And why not a dinner where you can talk about something else besides the campaign? You can have some quiet time, a fine meal, and go back to work on the Hale campaign, full of vim and vigor."

  She wrinkled her nose as she smelled what was coming from the open leather bag. "I know what vigor is, but what the hell is vim?"

  "Beats me. What do you say we eat before it gets cold?"

  I could sense the struggle going on inside her campaign volunteer mind, and finally she smiled and dropped the clipboard on the floor. "Wonderful. I'm starved."

  So I dumped my coat and brought everything out, and dinner was chateaubriand for two, already sliced in generous portions, with garlic mashed potatoes, small salads, and asparagus spears in a cheese sauce for Annie. There was also a half bottle of a Margaux wine from France, which I poured for the two of us. As I spread everything out, she practically clapped her hands in glee at the spread of food.

  "How in hell did you manage this?"

  "I managed it by not cooking it," I said. "There's a new restaurant here in Manchester. Called Soundings North."

  She picked up a fork. "Yeah, I've heard of it. But I didn't know they did takeout."

  "They don't"

  "So how did you get this?"

  I picked up my own fork. "By a charitable contribution."

  "A bribe?"

  "Quiet, woman. Eat before you start drooling."

  And she took a bite, and then another, and gave a soft sigh of pleasure, and that was dinner.

  I made sure we didn't talk much about politics, but I also didn't press my luck. We ate, and ate well, and for dessert I had some sliced strawberries with heavy cream and some brown sugar, and hot coffee from a thermos bottle. She ate quickly and as I cleaned up, she said, "The best I've eaten in a very long time, Lewis. Thank you."

  "You're quite welcome."

  She looked up at the wall, noted the time, and said, "I hate to eat and run, but ... "

  "You've got to eat and run."

  "Wait ... you said something earlier about a funny story."

  "It can wait," I said.

  "You sure?" she asked.

 
"Unless you want to start telling me about Senator Hale's position on the various members of the leather community, yes, it can wait."

  "I'm glad it can wait," she said, "though it does sound like a hell of a story."

  "You can't imagine."

  Annie stood up, retrieved her clipboard from the floor, and I admired the view and how she filled out her tight black slacks. She turned to me and said, "Next Wednesday."

  "I know. It comes after Tuesday."

  "Smart-ass. No, what I mean is this ... next Wednesday, it changes for the better. The primary will be done. I promise. After the primary I'm going to move in with you for a day or two and ... catch up with things. If you don't mind."

  "Best offer I've had all year."

  She laughed. "And the year has just begun! No, Lewis, I need to tell you something. I've been asked to join the campaign in South Carolina when this is over ... and I've been thinking about it. I believe in Senator Hale and what he wants to do when he gets in the White House. I truly believe in that ... but I also don't want to stop seeing you ... you mean a lot to me."

  "Likewise from here, dear one."

  "So, when Tom next talks to me, I'm going to tell him that South Carolina is off the table. New Hampshire still needs more work."

  "As a resident of New Hampshire, I thank you."

  "And I thank you for dinner. And delightful conversation. And the lovely dessert. And coffee."

  I went forward and said, "How about one more helping of dessert?" and I pulled her toward me.

  That brought a giggle and a few minutes of kissing and caressing, as we stood before the closed door, and she whispered in my ear, "You better stop now, or I'm going to do you right on the floor of Tom's office."

  "And why's that a problem?"

  "Tom is sort of my boss, and I want to be able to see him in the future without blushing about what the two of us did in his office."

  I reluctantly let her go and gathered up my belongings, placing them back into the leather case. "Thanks," I said.

  "For what?"

  "For going along with dinner. For not tossing me out on my ear when you first saw me. For the smiles and good times."

  She opened the door. "Come along, FEC-man, while I try to come up with an explanation of what we've been doing the past twenty minutes."

  Outside it was the usual chaos of ringing phones and raised conversations, and there were some curious glances tossed our way. Annie leaned into me and said, "This. This is what I believe in. What do you believe in, Lewis?"

  "I believe I must be going," I said. "That's what."

  "Thanks," she said. 'I’ll call you tomorrow."

  "That'd be great."

  She walked away and was quickly corralled by some workers, and I went to the front door, where I slipped on my coat and grabbed my now lighter leather carrying case. I was about to open the door when a loud woman's voice got my attention. I and about thirty other people turned to look at a closed office door, about ten feet away from me, when it slammed open and the woman's voice now said, "--- keep on ignoring me, you'll see what'll happen, you'll be goddamned lucky to come in third place next week!"

  A well-dressed and well-coiffed woman stormed out of the now open door, and she blew by me like I was a piece of garden statuary, something to be ignored and perhaps defiled by small birds or dogs, but not anything that counted.

  Which sort of disappointed me, since I had enjoyed talking with her the other night at her home.

  The door outside flew open, cold air rushed in, and I caught one more glimpse of Audrey Whittaker, wealthy woman from Wallis --- how's that for alliteration? --- who seemed pretty angry at the Hale campaign.

  I followed her out, perhaps just to say hello or to find out what had gone on, but the cold January sidewalks were empty by the time I made it out there.

  So I trudged my way through the darkness and got to my Ford Explorer --- still marked with PIG, visible from a nearby streetlight --- and got in and started her up.

  About twenty minutes later I was at the Manchester airport. Not so long ago, according to Felix and others, the airport had been a sleepy little regional facility that had about a dozen or so flights a day, with a parking lot next to the terminal building that charged two dollars a day for parking, and which trusted people to pay on the honor system by putting their money in a little brown envelope and mailing it in. Some place. I wish I had gotten to know it before it so drastically changed, after fliers --- fed up with the continuous horror show that is Boston's Logan Airport --- started streaming out to Manchester and Hartford and Warwick, Rhode Island.

  Now the airport is bigger, there's a three-story parking garage, but any airport that has a stuffed moose in its arrival area still has some of its old New Hampshire charm. I put the Explorer in short term parking and made a ninety-second walk to the sole terminal building. Arrivals were on the second floor, and I did a quick check of the status board and saw that Felix's flight was on time.

  So I sat down and people-watched for a while. I thought about the campaigns and the upcoming primary and other things, and I still thought about Barbara and our little make-out session in her hotel room, and I thought about the videos I had seen with her and her husband, and now I felt guilty, thinking about kissing a married woman, even one I had been intimate with all those years ago, and then, thankfully, the status board said Felix's flight had landed, so I could stop thinking so damn much.

  I stood up. I would be so glad when next Tuesday would be here and over. Barbara would be gone from my state, to be with her husband, where she belonged, and I would stay here, and, delightfully, so would Annie.

  From the arrival gate, people started to stream through, and I liked seeing the happy reunions among them as the plane emptied. Landing alone at night in a strange airport can be such a soul deadening experience, seeing other people's laughs and smiles and hugs. I waited and I waited, and pretty soon, the departing stream of people dwindled down to a trickle.

  No Felix.

  I double-checked the status board. It was the right gate, and it was the right flight. I then had that niggling feeling at the back of my skull, the one when you think you either made a dumb mistake or, worse, that something bad has happened to the one you are waiting for, and-

  There, strolling along like he owned the damn place, was Felix, wearing black slacks and a dark gray woolen coat that went down to his knees, carrying a soft black leather briefcase, and keeping up an animated conversation with two flight attendants, one on each side. The women were laughing at something that Felix said, and he garnered a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them as he stopped before me. The women went on, their wheeled cases being pulled behind them, and the one on the left, a brunette, gave a quick wave to Felix when she was sure that her companion wasn't looking.

  "Hi there," I said. Whenever I come back from a trip, I always feel like taking a long shower and brushing my teeth and changing clothes and dumping them in the washer, but Felix looked so fresh and relaxed, it was like he'd had a private cabin, all to himself, on the flight from Chicago.

  "Hi, yourself," Felix said, looking at the slim forms of the departing flight attendants. "Need to know something real quick, You still with Annie?"

  "As of a few hours ago, yes."

  "Ah. And this little job you have for me ... is that still on?"

  "Yes, again."

  Felix tore his glance away from the women. "Ah, a pity. If both questions had been in the negative, I would have quickly followed those fine airline employees, and such a night you and I would have had. Such a night."

  I started walking toward the stairs that led down to the main floor. "And what kind of night would that be?"

  "Sorry, I don't want to tease you with what you might have had."

  "Really?"

  Felix laughed. "One of these nights --- not any time soon, but one of these nights --- you're going to wake up at 2:00 A.M. with a snoring wife next to you, and maybe a squalling baby in the room next doo
r, and a heavy-ass mortgage dragging you down ... and you're going to wake up and say, 'Damn, I should have dumped everything and gone out with Felix that time in Manchester.' And that night will come."

  We were now on the main floor, heading to the exit doors. "If and when that night ever comes, I'll make sure to call you."

  "That doesn't sound fair."

  "What the hell does fair have to do with it?"

  We went through the doors and out into the frigid night air, and in the parking lot I said, "How in hell do you look so refreshed?"

  "Clean living?"

  "I sure as hell doubt that."

  Felix said, "Then it must have been the first-class accommodations, out there and back again."

  "First class? I'm not sure if I were a contributor to the Nash Pomeroy campaign that I'd be thrilled knowing they were paying for first-class airfare."

  He shook his head as we approached my Explorer. "Lewis ... I will make a prediction, here and now. Sometime in the next several weeks, Senator Nash Pomeroy of Massachusetts is going to drop out of the race due to health reasons, and if some enterprising reporter or blogger starts digging, stuff will be found about Senator Pomeroy that will make my first-class tickets look as scandalous as stolen pens from somebody’s desk. I made an oral report to some of his campaign staff and that's the feeling I'm getting. You know, it's a queasy thing, to listen to a grown man cry, a man who's pinned all his hopes and dreams on a candidate that has such a background .... Now, what's this?"

  Felix pointed to the PIG scratched on the driver's side door.

  "Local outreach from the Clive Wallace campaign," I said, unlocking the doors.

  He shrugged as he went around the front of the Ford. "Well, that's one way of getting a voter's attention, but I sure as hell don't recommend it."

  Short-term parking was a whopping two dollars, but Felix insisted on paying for it and getting a receipt. "It's so rare that I'm doing something this legitimate, it's pretty much a new experience for me. Expense reports. Can you believe that?"

  "Sure, I can," I said, and in a matter of minutes, we were heading east, on Route 101, about an hour out from Tyler. Felix stretched his legs and stretched his arms and said, "Okay, kid. What's the job? Based on your movie reference, I'd guess it's going to be a Watergate-type activity."