A Revolutionary Romance

by Melody Clark

  "Hi, your favorite person back again," Jack said to the kid who hated him and who was now squinting at a puzzle he seemed to be working.

  The kid looked up, slapped down his puzzle book. He pulled something out of a drawer and then reached over to paste a sticker on Jack's windshield. He grudgingly handed Jack a gate slip and a key. "You got a resident entry permanent pass," he grunted.

  "Guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, huh?"

  The kid scrunched up his face in disgust. "What? Are you hittin' on me?"

  Jack could only squeeze at his eyes while quietly quashing the resurgent urge to kill. "Art is an excellent investment,” he said in reply and drove on.

  He was accustomed to the crazy quilt of parked cars and Harleys that usually covered the street for T.J.'s parties. But T.J. sure hadn't mentioned a party and the house was quiet and dark and evincing few obvious signs of night life.

  He pulled his carefully-wrapped purchase from his back seat. And he repeated his mantra once again regarding the investment excellence of artwork as he finally walked up to the door.

  He was about to fumble for his key when the door was swept open. "Thank heavens. I was beginning to worry," T.J. said, pulling him in and closing the door behind him.

  "I left you a message. I did some shopping." He set the package quickly to the side. "Let me tell you, I‘ve had one weird-ass day -- " He stopped when he saw the look on T.J.’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Evidently not.”

  T.J. shook his head and motioned Jack to follow him toward the dark end of the hallway. “Come on, we have to talk.”

  He followed after T.J. as they rounded the foyer corner into the lighter end of the living room.

  "Capitol Peach has some names. It announced them this afternoon."

  "Oh my God! Oh, no!" Jack said then added, "Okay, now tell me ... what the hell is Capitol Peach?"

  "Local cable access show. Gossip on the Hill, that sort of thing. Jack, one of the names they announced was Deke's."

  "Christ."

  "Precisely. Lon Waldie was another. He's already announced his resignation."

  "Fantastic. Why the grim face? We've lost one of the major No-Homos. That guy had been attacking the community from inside his deep, highly fortified closet for decades. His resignation is a thing to celebrate."

  “There’s more. You had better sit for this part, I’m afraid.”

  “When you say I’m afraid, I’m really afraid,” Jack said, sliding out of his jacket and then sinking into one of the front room easy chairs that he didn’t ease into in the least. He remained on the edge of it, both of his hands gripping his knees. “What is it?”

  "Deke Mendelsohn had a heart attack when he received the news."

  Jack sank back uneasily. "He’s a kid."

  "Nonetheless, he did. It seems to have been a relatively minor episode. The doctors say he’ll likely recover completely."

  "I should call the hospital," Jack said, beginning to stand.

  T.J. caught his shoulder and urged him down again. “He’s probably asleep.”

  “Yeah, probably.” Jack shook his head at the realization, leaning back as if to take in the whole scene. “You realize this is partly our fault.”

  “I realize you’ll think that it is, yes. This information was coming out anyway. We were just caught in the tide.”

  “We brought it to Mendelssohn -- “

  “Because he was on the list anyway. That’s the only reason we saw him. When we saw him, he was fine. It wasn’t until the Capitol Peach piece aired that he became ill. Obviously, that’s what got to him.”

  “Maybe that’s just what’s easy for us to believe.”

  “Mendelssohn will be fine. He‘ll fully recover. We can deal with the rest of it later. There’s something … else. Something … more.”

  Jack refocused on T.J. “There always is when you look like this.”

  T.J. fairly melted into the chair across from Jack. He took a deep breath and went on. “Earlier today, I wasn’t entirely honest with you -- “

  “No kidding.”

  He held up a hand. “Please, let me finish. When I went to that meeting, I met with Miller Alexander.”

  “You did what?” he yelled back.

  “I know, I know. Just listen.” T.J. sighed softly, studying the inside of his hand as if he might find an answer there. “He said he might be able to broker an agreement about the gay domestic partnership bill.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I thought it worthwhile to listen to him, yes.”

  “So worthwhile that you didn’t tell me about this earlier?”

  “All right, I didn’t tell you because I knew how you would react.”

  “Thomas Jefferson Delaney, you don’t have the right to keep the truth from me just because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. The truth is the truth. I thought this morning our plan was to gently intimidate people with the list. What kind of agreement could he possibly devise that would be acceptable to us?”

  T.J. leaned backward into the chair, turning his head in the direction of the window and the bright, white glow of the Capitol district in the distance. “It’s complex. But I believe … as awful as it is … the idea is worth strongly considering.”

  “And the idea is?”

  He leaned forward again. He met Jack’s skeptical glower completely. “Me abandoning Break Fast. And persuading you to go along with it.”

  Jack stood up slowly, with obvious effort. “I must have taken temporary leave of my senses. You can‘t possibly have said what I just heard --”

  “For gods sakes, Jack, just think for a moment -- “

  “No. I don’t have to. No. As simple as that. T.J., for some kids that breakfast program is the only food they have all day.”

  “I know that but you should at least hear what he’s offering -- “

  “No, I shouldn’t. I don’t care what he‘s offering. The bastard couldn’t offer me enough.”

  “You know what they do, Jack. They pass the thing and then underfund it. It looks great to the press, but the reality is it does nothing.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “You and your goddamned empty principles,” T.J. barked back. “What’s more important to you, a principle or a reality? The reality of gay people finally being allowed to have the most basic civil rights? Forget the fucking list! This is a much faster road. And the breakfast program will come to naught, we know that. Of that, I am sorry, but I think equal rights beats out even the best-intentioned hunger program.”

  “I don’t see that one is any more important than the other. T.J., goddamn it, this is how the bastards do it. This is how they divide and conquer. You get sane people from both parties working together and they toss out the red meat to one side or the other. Abortion for women, gun control for men, that‘s the way they work the middle. These guys are not going to give in without one hell of a lot more concessions from our side. There’s more to this. What is it?”

  “I think they just want to make it impossible for you to progress with your agenda,” T.J. said softly, staring down into the empty place made with his coupled fingers. “They’re terrified of your pedigree. They’re afraid this new effort of yours will unleash a new tide of social spending.”

  “Keep going, there’s more. What is it? Why go to you? Why not just threaten me directly?”

  T.J. shook his head with a hollow and melancholy sigh. “The only way they can think to counter your ancestry is with … my own.”

  “Wonderful. And for my last round of Final Jeopardy, Alex, the answer is ‘What is History repeating itself?’. I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this. And for Miller Alexander? Someone we both supposedly dislike?”

  “I more than dislike him, I hate him. Anyway, I’m not asking you to do this. I told him I wouldn‘t do that to you. But I had hoped I might convince you to act on your own. Aside fr
om the prospect of gay marriage, Miller Alexander more than vaguely threatened your life.”

  “How often does that happen in this town? We don’t make the money we do without reason. Some of that comes with risk.”

  “I know that. But what if he isn’t just threatening? That car almost hit both of us.”

  “They were trying to scare us. We agreed on that. If that car had intended to hit us, it would have.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” T.J. gave a gesture of surrender. “Do you want to die? I think not. Do you want to leave me alone? Well, perhaps you do, God knows it’s what you’re best at.”

  The fleeting reflection of pain surfaced plainly on Jack’s face. He turned his head as if to send it away. “To quote a close, personal friend of mine, I’m still here, T.J.”

  T.J. dismissed his own words with a wave of his hand. “At the very least, they’ll ruin you, Jack. They said so. Things may change. If you sit tight and wait until your next term -- ”

  “What next term?” Jack snarled back at him. “Christ, T.J., I’m not going to be re-elected. My opponent schtupped his best friend's wife.”

  “You’re such a damned defeatist!”

  “Now I’m a defeatist. The other day you said I was a hopeful constant. I’m neither one. I’m a fucking realist. My winning that election was a total freak. I've got nothing to lose – and that’s why I scare them. So what if my enemies ruin me? Bring it on. They're going to try to kill me? Let 'em take their best shot. But in the brief time I’m here, I will do my job as a Senator and serve the public trust.”

  T.J. smiled gently, fondly. “Now you sound like a maudlin old man.”

  “Goddamn it, T.J., as maudlin as it may sound in this age of fashionable cynicism, I won’t abdicate my duty to my constituents. Those people go out on voting day, some of 'em take buses, some maneuver wheelchairs up ramps, seniors use walkers, but somehow they get there, against all the cynicism in our society, against all the broken promises, and they go against the grain. They vote. Unmarried mothers, unemployed fathers, seniors who have to decide between meat and medicine. But for that one instant of time as they vote, they have hope. That maybe someone will listen. That maybe their lives will be a little better this time. Let the Senate bastards hate me. I don’t give a damn if they hate me. I’m worried about kids going hungry. I’ll take on the bullshit if it gets them fed. Fuck the rest of it. Fuck every last member of the Congress. And if you can’t accept that, Tommy, then fuck you too.”

  T.J. laughed harshly at something welling up within him. He shut his eyes to whisper, “Good God, Jack, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  “Then please don’t ask me to do this.”

  “Goddamn you and your antediluvian patriarchal attitude about life,” T.J. yelled back at him. “The world isn’t black and white, John Paulson. Sometimes when you stick to doing what you think is good, it ends up as something evil. You know that! So are you going to do some stoic civic good because your puffed-up ego demands it or are you actually going to find a middle way to really make positive change? Confess your sins, John Paulson. Who are you really serving? Your people or yourself?”

  “Like I said, T.J. … fuck you … and to hell with you too,” Jack said, standing quickly, his voice full of more pain than anger. “Here’s an idea. Maybe it’s a love/hate thing with you and Miller. Why not invite him over for a hot tub and brandy? I mean, who knows, maybe he’s the one.”

  “Impossible,” T.J. said, standing to block Jack’s departure. He stared at the wall and the ceiling and the window till he finally said, “As maudlin as it may sound in this age of fashionable cynicism, Jack, you are the one. You always have been. Right from the fucking start.”

  Jack pushed around him to grab for the front doorknob. He pulled the door open but waited for a long moment as if for a reason to walk on. “And to at last make my final confession, the simple truth is so were you … So are you. Right from the fucking start.”

  He opened the door completely and pushed through the outside security screen to walk quickly toward his car.

  T.J. followed him out, to the walkway and the driveway and beyond them to his car. “Don’t you dare just drive away after saying something like that to me!”

  “Just watch me.”

  “Lee has my car and I can’t chase after you. Anyway, we’re not supposed to be separated for security's sake, remember?”

  “This is something I have to do by myself,” Jack said and slammed the car door between them then locked it.

  “What are you going to do?” T.J. yelled at him through the car window.

  “Smash my way through a wall,” he yelled back.

  “What?”

  “Look at the package I brought in. All will be revealed,” he yelled again, jamming his car into reverse to back away then surge forward toward the exit road.

  “Jack!” T.J. screamed a last time, his voice bouncing uselessly against the gathering distance between them.

  Thomas pulled his cell phone from his pocket and clicked a button. “Lee, I’m sorry about this but I need my car. Or at least a driver. Yes, it’s an emergency. Yes, right now.”

  T.J. ran his fingers back through his hair, standing there a moment more in the soft path of a breeze before he remembered Jack’s parting words …

  Look at the package. All will be revealed

  T.J. found it in the hallway between the wall and the foyer closet. He had barely noticed with all that was happening that Jack had even carried something in. He lifted it on a chair and tore at once through the outside brown paper wrapping until he reached the bubble wrapped package within. He stared through the distorting wrap but couldn’t believe what he thought he saw.

  When he had removed it all and held the painting in his hands, he still really didn’t believe it.

  It was the painting of the room. The wall in the Banks building. And Jack had bought it. Jack the friendly miser had just invested $25,000 worth of trust in T.J.’s vision. And the proof of Jack’s trust was right there in his own hands.

  Chapter Five

  His phone rang just as he rounded the hospital walkway to push through the cranky automatic doors.

  “Taneesha?” Jack said into the phone.

  “You owe me big time,” she replied. “I just came back from a $200 dinner with a National Historic aid. But before I get into that, you got messages. Tons of ‘em. Senator Jefferson is worried sick about you.”

  “I know,” Jack said, “Look, it’s a long story. Can you hold them off for me a little while?”

  “I’ll try. For a little while. At least until I think you’re in over your head.”

  “Thanks. What is it you found out?”

  “It seems,” Taneesha said, her hushed voice full of secrets, “that the old summer office that President Adams used, while the White House was still being constructed, is now part of the Banks building – ”

  “Yeah, I know that much from the portrait,” Jack said.

  “What portrait?”

  “Long story,” he said. “Go on.”

  “Well, beyond that, there’s something top secret about it. Something that made the Secret Service pitch a fit when my friend inquired about it. You’d think it had a goddamned backdoor into the Lincoln bedroom.”

  And then he realized. Just then, he remembered. “I must have seen it in a documentary or something, but I remember now. There is a door. I know it.”

  The little girl in his hallucination had said, ‘It isn’t just a wall, Uncle. It’s a very important door. You must remember. It is a very important door. Turn the knob and it opens.’

  “You sure? Don’t you think they’d have filled it in by now?”

  “They may not even know it’s there,” he said. “Taneesha, you’re a credit to your profession.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, but you still owe me $200. Oh, and call T.J. back.”

  “I will,” he said, closing his cell phone before moving through the hospital’s au
tomatic doors.

  “Do I look like a goddamn baby doctor to you?” Hamilton growled as Jack walked into the hospital. The older guy looked as rumpled as Jackson Pollock drip art. His hair appeared to have been several hours without a comb. “Coz only goddamn OBGYN’s and ER docs get calls like I just got. I am not on-call twenty-four and seven, Senator. I was watching a good damned movie and my wife was in an amorous mood which meant I just might have gotten lucky which is not an easy thing for a faithful man of my age.”