by Carol Storm
“Yeah.” Kick looked at Red, surprised that he really seemed to get her. “Thanks, Red. Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Losing someone is tough.” Red reached over to take her empty glass. His blue eyes were sharp, studying her. But his tired, lined face was full of sympathy and understanding.
* * * *
“So this is Diana’s, the home of the world-famous Cuban sandwich?” Joe Sullivan’s round, friendly face was beaming as he opened up a menu at the inexpensive, open-air café.
“It’s good, all right. You’ve got to try it.” Kenny Marigold had to smile. Kick’s father had a passion for good food and wine. Watching him gobble that great big sandwich and flirt with the shapely Cuban waitress made it easy to forget that he was a seasoned politician, as well.
“So what’s this big political proposition you mentioned over the phone? You said it was about my daughter. Is this about you and Kick having some kind of thing?” Joe Sullivan’s round face was smeared with grease. He had sauce on his chin from eating that big greasy pork sandwich in such a hurry. Nevertheless, Kenny knew it was time to speak frankly.
“Mr. Sullivan, I didn’t drop out of the race because I have feelings for Kathleen. I did it because I don’t think I’m really qualified for the office. You and I both know that Kathleen has more idealism and more belief in politics than either of us. Right now we’re both using her, both crushing her dreams. We should be making her dreams come true.”
“Jesus, you Cubans really come right to the point!” Joe picked up a big, flowery napkin and wiped his greasy face. “I’ve never stood in my daughter’s way, sonny boy. But lately she’s just been going through the motions. I’ve already told her she can leave if she’s not happy. If Kick wanted to join your campaign, I’d let her do it. Maybe the real problem is you.”
“The problem is me,” Kenny said. “I’ve got charisma, and I know the city. But I don’t have the ideals Kick has. She has an unselfish commitment. I want too much for myself.”
Joe Sullivan grinned. “You’re just like me, you mean. What are you proposing, son?”
“I think you know what I’m after, Mr. Sullivan. It’s time for both of us to step aside.”
Just then Kenny felt a buzz in his coat pocket. His cell phone had been set on vibrate. When he read the text message, he had to smile. I need to see you. It was Kick calling him. Last time they met, things hadn’t gone so well. Kenny had expected the break to be permanent, but that didn’t change his desire to help Kick do what she was meant to do.
“Got an important call, son?” Joe asked.
“Very important.” Kenny typed back swiftly. Busy now. Big surprise later. Be ready! Kenny couldn’t stop himself from taking control, sliding back into the role of Master. It was so easy and satisfying. He just couldn’t stop fantasizing about Kick in submissive situations, even when he was trying to keep his mind focused on her idealistic political views.
When he was finished, he looked up. Joe Sullivan gave him a steady, serious look.
“All, right, son. Just what sort of a sorry fate do you have in mind for my daughter?”
* * * *
Kick frowned as she read the text message on her pager. He still wanted her, of course. That was good news. But swallowing her pride and calling him after so little resistance was not a good thing at all. Her own trembling relief and anticipation made her slightly ashamed. Even when she was having a nice organic lunch at Granny Feelgood’s and talking politics with a smart volunteer, she was still consumed with secret fantasies of submission!
“Gee, Miss Kathleen, I wish you had come up with this idea sooner.” Theresa poked at her Chicken Marsala with a tiny fork, her dark, serious face looking troubled. “I mean, if you had split off from your father earlier on, I’d have been the first to sign up. But if you leave him now, in the middle of the campaign, it’s like disrespecting your own family.”
Kick sighed. “My father doesn’t really want to win. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“I think he’d do just about anything to make you happy,” Theresa said mildly. “Maybe you should just sit down and talk to him. He really thinks the world of you, you know.”
“I’m not asking my father for help,” Kick said briskly. “I’m asking you for help. Family means everything in the Cuban community. I know that. But remember, there is no Cuban candidate. Kenny Marigold just dropped out of the race.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Theresa’s eyes were hostile. She picked at her food in silence.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Kick said. “You think somehow that Kenny and I – that I must have done something to make him drop out of the race. But that’s not true. “
”I didn’t say anything, Miss Kathleen. That’s your business.”
“Come on, Theresa. All the volunteers have been avoiding me like the plague for the past week. Like I’m guilty of dirty pool or something, just because I hooked up with Kenny and got him to drop out of the race. It’s like you all hate me for using my womanly wiles on him!”
“I don’t know about the others, Miss Kathleen, but that’s not what I think at all.” Theresa looked at her with direct brown eyes. “What’s turning people off is that you obviously don’t want to be with us – you want to be with Kenny. Only you can’t do that because he figured out you were using him and then dumped you. So instead of joining him, you want to start your own campaign and split the party even further!”
“Me using him, like hell,” Kick said. “He doesn’t want to run. And he didn’t dump me. The truth is, Kenny Marigold does exactly what he wants. I’m just sort of hooked on him.”
“Lucky you.” Theresa gave her a sardonic smile. “You’re right about one thing, Miss Kathleen. Everyone has been looking funny at you lately. But it’s not because we hate you. It’s because we’re jealous.”
“Well, don’t be.” Kick picked up her napkin and wiped her hands. “Being with Kenny Marigold is no picnic. You don’t have any idea how hard I begged him to stay in the race. I even offered to switch sides to help him out! But somehow that just made him really mad.”
“Pride,” Theresa said. “All men are like that. But Cuban men are the worst.”
“I know,” Kick said wryly. “The point is, if we want to run a clean campaign, and really change things, we’ve got to do it all on our own. Just us girls.”
Theresa still looked doubtful. “I don’t know, Miss Kathleen. It seems to me that quitting the campaign would be wrong. Unless your father said he was supporting you, I just wouldn’t feel comfortable with doing it. It’s not just my Cuban values talking. I wasn’t born rich like you, so if I want to get anywhere I have to establish a reputation for integrity and loyalty.”
Kick felt hurt and rejected, but she smiled anyway. “All right, Theresa. Let me know if you change your mind. Please stop calling me Miss Kathleen! My name is Kick.”
“Kick is a good name for you. You stir things up.” Theresa hesitated, then reached out and took Kick’s hand. “I can’t work for you, Miss Kick. But I admire you.”
Kick shook the Cuban girl’s hand. “Same here.”
* * * *
Wandering down West Flagler Street in an aimless sort of way, with her high heels clacking on the hot pavement and the cool thanks-but-no thanks of Theresa Gonzales still ringing in her ears, Kick wondered what it all meant. She had alienated so many people just by giving in to her own desires, by finally letting herself feel. Ever since her relationship with Kenny became public, it seemed she had no credibility either in public or in private. Was that the price a woman always paid for passion? Talking to Theresa, she had realized that she was through with the Joe Sullivan campaign. But no one was interested in a Kathleen Sullivan campaign either. The only adult thing she could do at this point was to march back to Daddy’s campaign headquarters and start cleaning out her desk. But that humiliating little ritual could wait until tonight, when the office was empty. Right now she needed to let off some steam.
Kick hailed a cab
for Brickell Avenue, where she had a membership in the spa club of one of Miami’s most exclusive hotels. First she got herself a hundred tennis balls and practiced her serve on the palm-shaded outdoor courts, slamming one ball after another and picturing her father’s face on every one. But she saved a few balls for Kenny, too. (Big surprise, my ass! Why didn’t he call already?) She swam laps in the heated pool and did the sauna and the steam room before finally stretching out for a massage. The baby-faced little masseuse was very capable, but she kept giggling about sexy Miami men until Kick finally slammed her eyes shut, faking sleep. Things were quiet after that, and before long Kick stopped pretending and fell into deep slumber.
It was getting dark by the time she finally got to Sullivan headquarters. She had been hoping to find the place empty, but one light still burned in a small office down the hall.
“Hello, Kick.” Red Kelly seemed unusually sad and quiet.
“Did Daddy ever check in? I’ve been trying to reach him all day.” Kick sighed, dropping into a comfortable, beat-up old chair. Red’s office felt like home to her, especially after their chat the other day. There was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the desk, already half empty.
Red shook his head. “The old man’s gone downtown to meet with Kenny Marigold, of all people. He didn’t tell me what it was all about. I guess he figures his charm never fails!”
Kick smiled sadly. “Daddy never gives up, does he?”
“He does not,” Red Kelly said. “Old Joe is the last of his kind.”
“That he is.” Kick gazed at all the old-time photographs scattered around Red’s cluttered office. There were politicians there going all the way back to Honey Fitz. “Daddy should be up there, too.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Red Kelly said. He poured himself a shot, then paused. “Would you like one too, kid? I feel kind of sunk tonight. I could use some company.”
“Thanks, Red.” Kick felt a glow of warmth just from watching the amber-colored liquor splash into the glass. It felt good, deep down, being accepted at last by her mentor – the last of the old boys. She knew why Red felt so dejected. Not only was the campaign on its last legs, but in his hour of desperation Joe Sullivan was turning to a Cuban outsider for help. That had to be humiliating, especially for an old-time Irish politician like Red Kelly.
Red got another glass from inside the desk, poured a drink and then handed it to her.
“Drink up, Kick. To the old days!”
“To the old days.”
The two of them drank the toast. As the glow spread through her, Kick found herself wondering why she had ever gotten such a negative spin on Red Kelly. After all, it wasn’t his fault she had let things spin out of control with Kenny. Her own sex life had been her undoing.
“So what’s next, Kick?” Red asked. “Without Cuban help, Joe’s finished. But you’re not. Are you figuring to join this Kenny Marigold and build a new political machine?”
“Hardly.” Kick held out her empty shot glass. “That man has a taste for power, Red. But not the kind you win in an election.”
“Oh, I get you.” Red poured her another drink. “Say, was he the guy you were meeting secretly at the Claypool House?”
Kick gave him a sharp look over the rim of her glass. “Maybe he was. Why? Have you got it on tape?”
“Don’t get offended, honey. I just thought if you were keeping things secret for your dad’s sake, well, maybe now you could come out in the open. It’s just not right, a beautiful girl like you having to hide so much.” Red paused. “You’re quitting the campaign, am I right?”
“I’m out.” Kick knocked back a second shot. Red knew about her secret love life, but he didn’t know the Master was going to call her soon. Was he really? What was the big surprise? Why the hell didn’t he call?
“That’s the way, kid.” Red gave a low, deep chuckle as Kick drained her glass. “Listen, if you’re set on leaving the campaign, why don’t I just have a couple of staffers clean out your desk tomorrow morning? We’ll make a statement in the papers, nice and quiet. Leaving for reasons of health or something. Meantime, why don’t I run you back to Coral Gables? It’s getting late, you know. You want me to drive you home?”
“Home.” Kick felt tears in her eyes. “I wish I could talk to Daddy now, Red. Are you sure he’s with Mast – I mean, with Marigold?” Thick and clumsy, her tongue tripped over the words.
Red ignored the revealing slip. “He said they were having lunch together, but knowing your dad, they might have decided on a few drinks afterwards. Or then again, Joe could be busy with an eager young staff member somewhere. Giving her dictation or something like that.”
“Yeah.” Kick drank another shot, just to kill the picture of her father with another bimbo. He was with Master. Daddy is with Master, she told herself fuzzily. Still, his incessant chatter and jolly laughter had probably driven Kenny away from him by now. Kenny could have gotten free hours ago if he really wanted to call her. But then again, perhaps he was tired of the role of Master. Perhaps it was just too much responsibility, or maybe he just plain didn’t want her.
“Had enough, baby?” Red’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.
“Huh?” Kick peered at her empty glass. Then it slipped from her fingers. “I feel funny.”
Red caught the glass. He took her cell phone, too. “A real Irishman always knows when to quit. Come on, let me give you a ride back to Coral Gables. You need rest, a very long rest.”
“Rest,” Kick repeated. She tried to tell Red that she had slept on the massage table after her strenuous workout at the spa. But Red cut off her slurred explanations, motioning for her to rise to her feet. Kick stood up, still trying to snap out of her sluggish stupor. Instead of moving towards the door, however, she toppled into Kelly’s arms and fell into a sea of blackness.
* * * *
“So then, Kenny boy, I go up to the club house myself. I find out we’ve got a guy in a gorilla suit pretending to be the fellow we’re running against in the Fifth Ward! I tell you, there’s nothing an old-time political hack like Red Kelly won’t do in order to win.”
“Uh, that’s very interesting, Mr. Sullivan. Joe, I mean.” Though he had been trying all afternoon to be polite, as darkness fell Kenny Marigold felt like he just couldn’t take it anymore. Whenever Joe Sullivan stopped talking for a minute, Kenny tried to reach Kick on her cell. Each time he got an out-of-service message. Kenny knew Kick would never disobey him. He had told her to stand by for an important call. But the message made it sound like her cell phone had not just been deactivated but permanently turned off!
“Something on your mind, son?” Joe Sullivan asked. His eyes were twinkling and his cheeks were flushed from laughing at his own jokes all afternoon. Yet he had a kind face.
“It’s Kick,” Kenny sighed. “I told her I’d call. But she’s not answering.”
Joe shrugged. “Sometimes she gets like that, lad. Kathleen is always popping off at odd hours of the day. Most likely she’s taken the afternoon off for a long workout or something. Just forgot to turn her cell back on.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Kenny said distractedly. “I ordered her to wait for my call.”
“Ordered?” Joe Sullivan’s twinkling blue eyes turned wary and suspicious. “Ordered, is it? This is my daughter we’re talking about, now. Does Kathleen know you talk like that?”
“Mr. Sullivan,” Kenny said, “there’s something you should know about your daughter.”
* * * *
Kick woke up strapped to a table. She was in a room with no windows, and it was cold and dark. The basement of the Claypool house, that’s where she was. For a moment she almost felt relieved. She was back in Coral Gables, at the historic home she helped to maintain. This was a safe place, the place the Master took her to play the role of willing slave. But Kenny wasn’t here, and this was not a game. Kick screamed as a pale face came out of the darkness. Red Kelly’s cold blue eyes stared down at her.
“Fee
ling better, kid?” he asked. His smile was chilling. He was wearing rubber gloves.
“What’s going on, Red?” Kick tried to smile back. “Did you bring me here to sober up?”
“You’re not a bad kid,” Red told her. “You’ve got brains, and a real taste for politics. But sometimes, for the good of the team, one player has got to be sacrificed. Like when Casey got rid of Billy Martin back in ‘59. Of course, the Yankees were never as good as the Red Sox. My grandfather’s father used to take him to the games in an ice wagon, just to see Honey Fitz. Back then the real stars in Boston were the politicians, not the guys on the playing field.”
Kick wriggled on the table. The leather straps were too tight to break free. Something inside Red had clearly snapped. His eyes were glowing like a mad doctor’s in a horror movie. “You’re crazy!” she gasped. “Red, you’ve got to let me out of here! I won’t tell Dad, or anyone. We just had too much to drink, that’s all. Let’s go home and sleep it off, okay?”
“Joe loves you,” Red said, in a softer voice. For a moment he sounded almost normal. “If something happened to you, it would make him mean. Put the fire right back in his belly.”
“What do you mean?” Kick was still working her body against the straps. It was hard not to scream, but she knew she had to keep Red from getting too excited. She had to keep him talking. Kenny himself had put this table down here in the first place, for their games. If only he would come looking for her now! Kick tried to hope for rescue, but it seemed unlikely.
“Losing a child changes a man,” Red replied. “Like when I lost Sean. You see things clearly for the first time, like a blindfold you’ve worn all your life has suddenly been taken off.”
“You want Daddy to hurt the same way you do? That’s low, Red, even for you. Joe’s loved you his whole life.” Kick felt tears come to her eyes, not for her sake, but her father’s.
“Got nothing to do with it,” Red gestured impatiently with his gloved hand. “Joe and I have always been friends. We always will be. But thanks to you, he’s been taking the wrong approach, and it’s really killing him in the polls. Making speeches about diversity, kissing little Cuban babies, hiring Haitian campaign workers. It’s all wrong, because it’s not who we are. The only way to win this election is to wake people up, make them see. How can you live with a bunch of people that would do all the sick things Kenny has done to a nice girl like you?”
