Fatherless: A Novel

by Dobson, James

  Kevin gave a reluctant nod. “Among other ideas, yes.”

  “Good. I like it.” He sounded like an architect approving one last detail on an intricate blueprint.

  “I’m glad,” Kevin replied. “But can I ask how you know so much about my proposal? Every member of our subcommittee pledged to hold our sessions in strict confidence. Who’s been talking?”

  Dimitri waved off the question. “Don’t worry. I don’t have many details, just broad strokes. Enough to know you’ll be an important player when Franklin makes his move. Your proposal will round out a nice package.”

  “Round out?”

  “It adds a long-term strategy to the short-term measures we’ll need if we’re going to avoid a meltdown.”

  The pieces of the Evan Dimitri puzzle began to assemble themselves in Kevin’s mind. A big player among political action committee donors. A man who backed fiscally conservative candidates, reviewed confidential economic forecasts, and received briefings on Senator Franklin’s secret austerity coalition. Kevin was having lunch with a man accustomed to pulling the strings of various insider puppets.

  A fresh basket of bread and two bowls of soup appeared on the table. Kevin hadn’t noticed the waiter’s arrival.

  Dimitri spoke slowly as he concentrated on spreading a slab of butter across a hunk of the warm loaf. “Listen, Congressman. You wanted to have lunch to say thanks for my donation. I get that, and you’re welcome. Consider the gift an expression of my appreciation for what you’re doing to help this nation avoid economic collapse. It comes with no expectations.”

  Kevin braced himself.

  “But it does come with a request. I ask you to think both/and rather than either/or. Use your growing influence to advance new ideas without undermining existing, proven austerity measures. Trust me, kid, that approach will take you far.”

  Evan Dimitri had apparently selected his next useful marionette and made a first tug on the strings. In the middle of spooning his soup Kevin felt a sudden loss of appetite.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Julia took one last look in the mirror hanging above the ladies’ room sink to inspect the renovation of her face and hair. The brisk trek along Independence Avenue had subjected her uncovered head to brisk April winds only partially blocked by the Longworth Building, situated between the Cannon and Rayburn Buildings. The walk had done her good, cooling more than her now-rosy cheeks. It had helped her simmer down after the galling realization that Paul had given Monica Garcia equal access to Congresswoman Florea and, Julia assumed, to Trisha Sayers.

  Her shaken confidence had been bolstered as soon as Julia stepped into the building that held Kevin Tolbert’s office. She assured herself that Monica could not possibly have similar access to a bright spots insider, a disadvantage impossible for the younger journalist to overcome.

  “Julia?”

  Startled to hear her own name seconds after entering the hallway, Julia turned toward the voice. Troy Simmons smiled in her direction from thirty feet away.

  “Hello, Troy.” Julia surprised herself by the slight lilt in her voice.

  “We didn’t expect you for at least another hour.”

  “I just left a meeting at the Cannon Building.” She chose not to mention Nicole Florea. “It ended early. Since I had some extra time I thought I’d pop over to make sure I could find Kevin’s office.”

  “I’m heading there now. May I escort you?” He offered an arm.

  “Lead the way.” She pretended not to notice his courtly gesture.

  He quickly retrieved the extended arm to salvage his injured pride, then gestured with his open palm toward office number 202 just down the hall.

  Kevin Tolbert’s suite was the second-smallest in the Rayburn House Office Building. It held a few tiny desks occupied by fresh-faced interns in front of two enclosed rooms occupied by the congressman and his chief of staff. Freshmen were at the bottom of the congressional pecking order, accepting whatever meager facilities remained after veteran representatives had finished vying for larger accommodations vacated by retiring or ousted colleagues. A very different world from the more elaborate offices of Nicole Florea, who had steadily increased square footage by winning several rounds of musical chairs. Julia found the cramped space and functional arrangement of the congressman’s complex highly unimpressive.

  “Welcome to Tolberton!” Troy announced.

  “Tolberton?”

  “As in Hobbiton,” he said proudly.

  She didn’t follow.

  “Come on. Middle-earth? The Shire? ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit’?”

  Nothing connected.

  “We merged Tolkien’s world with Kevin’s last name and came up with ‘Tolberton’ as an apt label for our hole-in-the-ground dwelling.”

  “I see,” she said indifferently.

  “Anyway, I expect Kevin to return from his lunch meeting soon. He has an important call at one thirty before your interview.” Julia followed Troy ten steps, into his hobbit hole. He quickly removed a stack of folders sitting on top of the room’s only vacant chair. “You’re more than welcome to wait in my office if you’d like.”

  Julia glanced at her watch. Over an hour to kill.

  “Or”—Troy seized on her apparent hesitation—“we could pop across the street. Have you been to the Botanic Garden?”

  She hadn’t.

  “A much better way to spend an hour than sitting in this dreary office,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t want to impose. You have work to do and—”

  “Are you kidding?” he interrupted. “I’ll get twice as much done if I recharge the old batteries. Besides, I need to get over there before they level the place for the new office building. I’ve never visited. But I’m still sad to see it go.”

  Every instinct told Julia to refuse. An internal tennis match ensued.

  Don’t do it. You could give him the wrong idea.

  But you might learn more about the Bright Spots proposal.

  He’ll become a distraction.

  He seems so sweet.

  “That actually sounds kind of nice,” she said with too much enthusiasm.

  “Great!”

  The next sixty minutes flew by quickly as they chatted casually while admiring the oasis of deep green and floral colors on display throughout the glass building.

  “So you’ve known Kevin for a long time?” Julia asked.

  “Met the first day of seventh grade,” Troy mused. “Both new to town and each condemned to lunchroom solitary confinement. He noticed me first and joined my table. From that moment on we were pals, two self-doubting boys yearning to become insecure teens.”

  She laughed at the truism. “And look at you now. Obviously you helped one another along.”

  “A little.”

  “A little? I don’t know many men who have accomplished as much. You certainly found some measure of confidence.”

  “That would be Kevin. Confidence found him.”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Angie.”

  Julia’s surprised reaction halted their stroll.

  “He started seeing her the year I moved across town. He couldn’t stop talking about this amazing girl I’d never met. Kevin will tell you she made him into the self-assured man you see today. I’ve just been lucky enough to glean the scraps.”

  She flashed a quizzical expression. “What does that mean?”

  He thought for a moment. “Ever hear of a rainmaker?”

  “Someone who lands the big deal?” Julia guessed.

  “That works. You could call Kevin the rainmaker, the guy who makes things happen.”

  “So what does that make you?”

  “I guess I’m Sam Gamgee.” He seemed proud of the label.

  A blank stare. “Sam Gam-what?”

  “Sorry. Another Tolkien reference. Sam Gamgee. My favorite of his characters.”

  “I guess I should read The Hobbit.”

  “You should. But
Sam Gamgee shows up in Tolkien’s longer work, The Lord of the Rings.”

  She waited for further explanation.

  “To make a thousand pages short, Frodo Baggins is given an enormous assignment to save Middle-earth from certain doom. Sam goes along to support, encourage, and protect his friend. Without Sam, Frodo would have failed in his quest. But without Frodo, Sam would have lived without adventure.”

  Julia sensed Troy’s pride in his identity as Kevin’s right-hand man. “I admire that. Not many men have such calm confidence.”

  “Kind of you to say, my lady,” he said playfully.

  “Have you ever wanted to switch roles? You know, grab the limelight. Have Kevin defer to you instead of the other way around?”

  “Sure. But that’s not my calling.”

  “Calling?”

  “My assignment. The unique contribution only I can make,” he explained. “I could no more fill Kevin’s shoes than he could fill mine.”

  Julia felt a twinge of indignation on Troy’s behalf. “But why should he get all the attention? Give all the orders? You seem every bit as sharp, articulate, and successful as Kevin.”

  “You forgot handsome,” Troy jibed.

  “Definitely as handsome!” Julia agreed with a slight blush.

  “More handsome,” he added with a wink.

  “I guess I don’t know many people who are content sitting in the second chair.” She wasn’t sure whether she found the trait admirable or weak. “Isn’t that—”she reached for a word besides demeaning “—difficult?”

  “Sometimes,” Troy confessed. “But I draw inspiration watching Angie. She’s pretty amazing, like a Sam Gamgee who can have babies.”

  Julia clenched her teeth as she tried to suppress offense at the blatantly sexist comment. She waited a moment to allow three elderly ladies to pass. “So Kevin puts Angie in the second chair? ‘Take care of the kids while I conquer the world’?”

  Troy appeared startled by the reaction. “Not at all. The only place I’ve ever seen Kevin place Angie is on a pedestal. Angie puts herself in the second chair.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Sell herself short. She’s a smart woman who could do anything she put her mind to. Why would she throw away her dreams so that Kevin can—”

  “She said that?” Troy asked.

  Julia went silent.

  “Did Angie say she threw away her dreams to support Kevin?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Julia confessed. “We had dinner the other night and she seemed, I don’t know, less confident than when we were younger. She was never like that before. I guess I just assumed—”

  “You assumed no intelligent woman would choose to raise kids or give up a career to support her husband?” Troy interjected.

  “Well, yes,” she answered.

  The faint sound of ventilating mist filled the tense silence as surrounding plants received an early afternoon spray of refreshment. Julia felt an urge to quote from a long line of her own columns.

  The days of patriarchal dominance are dead.

  Our generation of women can see an endless horizon because we stand on the shoulders of our courageous grandmothers.

  Show me a home with more than two kids and I’ll show you an oppressed woman.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Troy asked tentatively.

  “Of course.”

  “Why does my second chair imply calm confidence but Angie’s implies weakness?”

  Julia realized her unintended offense. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Listen, Julia. Angie is the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he continued. “It takes great courage and dignity to serve.”

  Julia felt another flare of anger. “Serve? Like a slave?”

  “A slave is not better than his master,” Troy replied.

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s something Jesus said, that he came to serve rather than to be served. Like I said yesterday, I’m still new to this whole Christianity thing. But that’s one of the ideas I find very appealing. Imagine a world of people trying to out-serve, out-love, out-sacrifice, and out-honor one another. Sure beats a world of people trying to outdo and outsmart one another. Don’t you think?”

  Monica Garcia came to mind instantly. Then Paul Daugherty. Then herself. “I guess I never thought about it like that before.”

  “I get a small taste of that world when I watch Kevin and Angie in action with each other and with the kids. The scraps are so good it makes my mouth water for the full banquet.”

  Noticing the time, Julia suggested they start walking back. As they turned toward the exit Troy hesitantly extended his arm. “May I escort you?” he asked with an air of gallantry.

  An awkward second passed between them. Then she permitted herself a smile before self-consciously accepting his offer.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Kevin stood just outside Troy’s open office door. “My one thirty call took longer than expected.”

  “Everything all right?” The question seemed to carry weight, as if Troy knew the call pertained to an ailing relative.

  “Fine. Possible good news, in fact. I’ll brief you later.”

  Troy looked at Julia like a dance partner reluctantly accepting another man’s request to cut in. “Well then, the time has come for our parting. I thank you for the pleasure of your company.”

  Julia rose from a chair nestled between Troy’s overflowing desk and the windowless wall. She extended her hand toward Kevin’s. “Thank you for granting me an interview.”

  “How could I refuse?” he said while navigating Julia out Troy’s door and through his own three feet away. “You were holding my kids hostage at the time of the request.”

  “I figured that might do the trick,” she said, laughing.

  “I did want to say thank you, again, for giving Angie and me a much-needed evening alone. It’s been a bit stressful lately.”

  She wondered whether that stress was somehow linked to the potential good news from Kevin’s phone call, a concern neither he nor Angie had invited her to share.

  “They’re great kids. You must be proud.” She hoped the compliment sounded sincere.

  “And busy! For some reason kids don’t stop demanding attention just because Dad gets elected to Congress. Pretty selfish of them.”

  Julia smiled politely as she took the seat Kevin offered. It was still a tight squeeze, though his office offered a bit more breathing room than Troy’s, including the miniature sitting area essential for the many occasions when a congressman receives visiting guests and colleagues. To describe the office in print Julia would choose the word functional. A room more suited to getting things done than to making a good impression.

  She reached into a bag for her tablet, then glanced at the display screen listing three recent files: the interviews with Jeremy Santos, Hannah Walker, and Nicole Florea. She hit RECORD before remembering her manners.

  “Sorry. Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

  “I do.”

  The answer caught Julia by surprise. She couldn’t recall anyone’s refusing the request. A bit flustered, she quickly tapped STOP.

  “I’d like to keep our conversation off the record for now,” he explained.

  A hint of outrage rose in Julia. Off the record? She wanted to object, to remind Kevin that smart politicians craved the kind of exposure a RAP feature might give, or at least feared the kind of damage it could do. Either way, they never risked spurning a journalist. But she thought again. I’ll make more progress as a friend seeking a favor than as a reporter cornering a victim.

  “I’m involved in some highly confidential work right now and I can’t take a chance that I might inadvertently leak anything. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course,” Julia forced herself to say. She switched to Plan B. “Then can I ask for first break?”

  “What’s that?”
>
  “You would give me a twenty-four-hour window ahead of other journalists to report on what we’ve discussed.”

  Kevin appeared to be examining the request in his mind to check for scratches and dings before deciding to buy.

  “Listen, Kevin.” Julia appealed to sympathy to close the deal. “It would really help me out. To be honest, I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell lately. I thought a feature on a young congressman’s efforts to tackle tough economic issues might play well.”

  As she’d hoped, Kevin seemed flattered by the suggestion. “Sounds reasonable,” he said. “I’ll think it over and let you know by the end of the day.” Still cautious.

  “That’d be great.” Getting her story was going to be more difficult than Julia had hoped.

  “Am I correct in assuming you asked for an interview because you know about my role on Franklin’s austerity team?”

  The question made her feel as if the teacher had caught her peeking at another student’s paper. She decided to come clean. “Well, I confess that had something to do with it.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “Not much. Just that Franklin invited you to be part of a confidential austerity team and that you chair a subcommittee exploring something about bright spots.”

  “Any idea why the austerity team was formed?”

  “I assume a new phase of Franklin’s SLASH project,” Julia replied. “I read the other day that epi-genomic research would be his next target, after the project received a thumbs-down from his constituents.”

  “And who told you about the Bright Spots proposal?”

  Julia feared losing control of the conversation, if she’d ever had it. “I’m afraid I can’t name sources. But I do have a list of questions I’d like to ask.”

  “Off the record?”

  “Right.” For now, she thought.

  Julia scrolled through her tablet to find her prepared list.

  “First, is there more to the austerity coalition than meets the eye?”

  “That depends. What meets your eye?”

  “To be honest, a group of heartless fiscal conservatives slashing vital governmental services.”

  “In that case, yes, there is more going on than meets the eye,” he said. “Our economy faces dire problems, more than you probably realize. We hope to propose solutions before things get out of hand.”