The Pa-la-ti-'shan

by Neal Goldstein

  Outside the office Jack Collins would shed his cloak of secrecy and become an entirely different person. Collins was affable and funny and had that uniquely Irish way of explaining things by relating them to a story about his childhood as one of eight children growing up in West Philly after emigrating from Ireland.

  “Bernie, you think Jewish mothers invented guilt trips. My boy, the Irish perfected guilt. They created entire institutions to remind us of how feckin unworthy we are. Jaysus, do you have any idea how many feckin Hail Marys I had to say after confessin that I had masturbated? A lot! I bet you never had to tell anyone when you wacked off. And you think you know guilt. You have no feckin clue, my boy…no clue!”

  I noticed that Collins seemed distracted and withdrawn when I returned from my most recent deployment. And then, one day, Collins disappeared. He left no forwarding address. His cell phone number had been reassigned to a Korean dry cleaner. He had vanished without any trace, and now I was being told that he had never worked for the Commonwealth.

  “Earl told me you and Jack are friends. Do you know how to reach him? It’s important that we get in touch with him.”

  “Governor, it’s like I said. I haven’t had any contact with Jack since he stopped,” the governor raised one of his impressive eyebrows, “since he left.”

  “OK. Do me a favor. Try to find him. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Good. Earl, would you excuse us. I’d like to have a private word with Bernie, if you don’t mind.”

  “But governor, we never finished our conversation about …”

  “Earl, it can wait,” the governor cut him off.

  Samson looked as if the governor had punched him in the stomach. He shot me a venomous look as he left the office.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Politics and Pussy

  “Did you catch Earl’s reaction when I told him to leave?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “He was furious,” the governor for reasons not entirely clear to me found this hilarious. “Earl thinks he’s the fucking governor. Every now and then I have to remind him I run things around here.”

  The governor made it sound so reasonable; however, I would be the one to suffer Samson’s ire. “Governor?” I waited for Slattery to reveal the reason for the private audience.

  He looked directly at me and said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

  Here it comes, the assignment that will lead me to certain disaster. “Sir?”

  “I need you to meet with Senator Cinaglia and get him to stop trying to build a pistol range in the basement of his house. That stupid bastard has been nothing but a pain in my ass since he moved from South Philly to that mansion on Green Street. Cinaglia has to understand he can’t go out brandishing a gun every time one of his neighbors’ dogs takes a crap on the sidewalk in front of his house. Maybe you can get away with that shit on Passyunk Avenue, but the yuppies who live in Fairmount won’t put up with that nonsense.

  Now that crazy bastard wants to put a shooting gallery in his house. The mayor’s going bananas! Do you think you can explain to Cinaglia that he’s not above the law? He likes you. You’ve gotten results for his constituents. He owes you for Christ sake.”

  “I’ll do my best to explain it to the Senator,” I replied still wondering why the governor wanted a private meeting just to ask me to handle something as mundane as asking senator Cinaglia to abandon his ridiculous plan.

  “I know you’ll handle it. Look it. Be careful when you meet with him. He could be wearing a wire, or his place could be bugged. The feds are all over his shit. He could be indicted any minute.” The governor paused momentarily, apparently realizing he should not have shared that last tidbit. “Keep that on the down low, OK?”

  State Senator Anthony Cinaglia was a legend in this town. He browbeat the biggest corporations in the Commonwealth into donating millions of dollars to his pet charities and local projects. The word was out, if you wanted to do business in the City of Philadelphia, you had to pay tribute to the ‘Senator from South Philly’.

  Cinaglia had purchased a mansion on one of the toniest streets in the city. The senator’s latest trophy wife wanted to class up his image. Unfortunately for the senator, wife number 3 found true love with the contractor Cinaglia had hired to restore the mansion to its past elegance. Now the senator had this enormous former convent to contend with, without the companionship of his spouse and children. Rather than concede defeat and move back to his roots, the senator was taking his broken heart out on his new neighbors.

  “I’ve been watching you since you returned from Iraq. How come you didn’t sit for the bar exam? You finished all your course work. The bar exam is a piece of cake. Half the lawyers in this town and all of the judges are stone idiots. If they passed the bar, you can. You’ve got a lot on the ball. You’ve got a golden future. You know your father asked me to look out for you.”

  I almost bought the governor’s concerned act. My father was a real bastard, damn you Zeebooker, the modifier was unnecessary. I doubt that my father thought enough about me to ask anyone to do anything.

  “Thanks for your concern sir. It’s just not my priority right now.”

  “OK. But you can’t be satisfied doing constituent service for me and whoever succeeds me for the rest of your life. You’re what thirty?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You’ve been working in my office since you got back from Iraq, after your first tour, while you were going to school. And now you’ve been back, how long?”

  “Almost a year.”

  He gave me another appraising look and said, “You know, it’s time for you to get back in the game. Listen, I have a plan for you. The party needs a candidate this fall to fill the vacancy for the 127th district in the state House of Representatives. That’s your district. That asshole, the late and not so lamented Representative Sylvester Brown, who wasn’t worth a bucket of warm piss left this mortal coil, and has provided you with a golden opportunity.”

  The governor paused and waited for my reaction. When I didn’t respond he continued, “You’ve been doing all the hard work for your district anyway. All the ward leaders know you, and owe you. I’m pretty sure they’ll fall in line and give you their backing. With the Democratic City Committee’s endorsement you’d be unopposed and win the seat in November. What do you say?”

  “I don’t really know what to say. I mean, I’m not a politician, I’ve never run for office. I don’t have an organization or the resources.”

  “You don’t need any of that. You’ve got me. I’ll take care of all of that crap. Whadda you say?” Before I could respond the governor continued, “And another thing, Nicky, that fine piece of…” Slattery stopped himself in mid sentence apparently realizing he had almost stepped over the line. “My Secretary; you know I can’t afford another sex discrimination suit,” he winked at me and said, “Why don’t you ask her out on a date? She really likes you.”

  I could barely keep up with the torrent of ideas the governor had thrown my way, but I had enough sense to know that Nicole Miller was beyond my reach. “Governor, she’s way out of my league.”

  Of one thing I was certain - girls like Nicky did not go out with guys like Bernie Green. They went out with hot shots, like investment bankers or hockey players. She was in the class of women you admired from afar as they got out of stretch limos; all legs, high heels, short skirts. Nicky ran with the beautiful people, the ones the bouncers at the hot spots let in ahead of the long queue of the ordinary folk; definitely out of his league.

  “Kid, I don’t know a whole hell of a lot, but I do know a thing or two about politics and pussy,” he paused and looked me up and down. “You know, you’re not a bad looking guy, but you don’t project that air of confidence women like. Look, I don’t get it either, but that girl wants you to ask her out,” he said with a shrug.

  “And you can be the next State Representative for the 127th District. You need to get
back in the fucking game! Now you think about this and get back to me after you take care of that Cinaglia thing. OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, and another thing, don’t tell Earl what we were talking about. It’s our little secret,” he gave me the ‘Governor Wink.’

  “Of course sir,” I said and moved for a quick exit before the governor made any other wild decisions concerning my future.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Tin Angel Tomorrow Night

  When I left the governor’s office I literally walked smack into Earl Samson. “Green, what were you and the governor talking about?” Samson stood directly in front of the door, blocking my path.

  “You’ll have to ask the governor,” I said as I tried to walk around the chief of staff.I thought Samson would have a brain hemorrhage.

  He got in my face and hissed,“You son of a bitch. You don’t want to fuck with me. I will destroy you!”

  Samson stood so close I could feel his stale almost chemical smelling breath on my face. I stared him down.

  “Get out of my way.”

  During the past year I had taken about all the shit I was prepared to take from this asshole. I had barely digested my tete a tete with the governor; now Samson was acting like some kind of spurned lover and threatening me.

  “What do you think you’re doing Green, showing off for your girlfriend?”

  Until Samson had mentioned her for once I really hadn’t been focused on Nicky who was manning her station and watching the show unfold before her eyes. I blushed, embarrassed because to be honest I wanted to impress the object of my fantasies.

  “Listen to me Earl, listen carefully,” I lowered my voice to a whisper and said, “Get out of my way, now.”

  Samson gave me a lethal look, turned and walked out of the suite.

  “Wow. That was interesting,” Nicky said and flashed me another one of her patented smiles.

  I looked back at her tongue-tied by the flood of conflicting thoughts and emotions that were racing through my mind. Was the governor right, did Nicky really want me to ask her out? How could that be possible? I could not shake my feelings of complete inadequacy, as I struggled to regain my composure.

  “You know,” she continued. “The governor hardly ever meets anyone without Earl. That must have been something really serious. Some super secret mission, I bet.”

  I took a deep breath and replied, “Well, I could tell you… but then I’d have to kill you.”

  She chuckled and said, “Come on Bernie, can’t you even give me a clue?”

  I stared out the window behind Nicky’s desk to buy time. I knew she was only teasing, but I thought maybe, just maybe, the governor was right and for reasons beyond my comprehension she actually wanted me to ask her out on a date.

  “Well, I guess I can share part of it. After all, the governor only told me not to tell Earl. He never mentioned you.”

  She looked at me with anticipation.

  I walked over to her desk, looked around and whispered.

  “He told me, I should ask you out on a date.” I held my breath amazed that I had actually followed through. I chalked it up to the adrenalin rush of my encounter with Samson. I was ready to make a joke out of the whole thing. You know like, ‘the governor’s a real character and sometimes you just have to humor him’.

  “The Tin Angel, tomorrow night,” she replied coolly.

  “I eh, I…sure,” how smooth.

  She wrote her address on her card and looked up at me. “My building is right on Rittenhouse Square. Why don’t we say 9? I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t be late.”

  “Sure,” great you idiot can’t you think of anything to say?

  “Have you ever been to the Tin Angel?”

  “No,” apparently I had lost the capacity to express myself in words having more than single syllables.

  “Oh, I think you’ll really like it. A friend of mine is performing and his set begins around 10. It’s real informal, so don’t dress up…Hello, earth to Bernie.”

  I was staring at the card with her address and phone number. I must have looked dazed and confused.

  “Got it, nine, tomorrow night, the Tin Angel, don’t get dressed.” I managed an almost sentence.

  She gave me one more of her one thousand megawatt smiles, “Thanks for asking,” she must have detected my look of disbelief. “Really, we’ll have fun.”

  Samson slammed the door to his office so hard he knocked the picture of the Honorable Earnest P. Slattery off the wall, shattering the glass frame in a thousand pieces. It wasn’t the first time he had trashed the governor’s picture, but if his plan worked out this could be the last time the Office of Procurement would have to order a replacement. How many fucking copies of that jackass’ photo had the state paid for anyway? By the time I’m through with that prick his career will be shattered just like the shards of glass that lay scattered on his floor. The Commonwealth would soon have to replace all of Slattery’s photos, including the oversized billboards that greeted motorists as they crossed the state line. That would probably add another million dollars to the deficit he thought as he stepped on Slattery’s photograph.

  The throbbing pain behind his right eye was so intense he almost blacked out. He reached for the pills his doctor had prescribed and dry- swallowed three. He had already exceeded the maximum dosage without any relief. The pain only further intensified his obsession to bring Slattery down. And as to that punk Green, who the fuck did he think he was? Samson would put that impertinent son of a bitch in short pants just for the hell of it. He would tell that weasel Barlesky, as worthless as he was, to find out what the hell Green was up to.

  He turned the lights out and closed the blinds. His doctor had told him the darkness would help ease his symptoms. As he sat in the dark he speculated about the private meeting between the governor and Green. There was no way Slattery would trust that boy scout with anything of significance. Green was a fucking constituent services asshole. Even though Green’s father was a power player, according to Samson’s sources the relationship between father and son was virtually nonexistent. Besides, Max Green would never allow something as trivial as a family relationship to interfere with his business interests.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He forced himself to open his eyes and find out who was calling. Shit he’d better take the call.

  “Samson you promised to get me the documents weeks ago.”

  “I’m working on it. You’ll have to be patient.”

  “Patient! I told you I’m on a tight schedule. You told me to fast track this. I’m beginning to think you’re full of shit.”

  “Calm down. What I gave you is gold. I promise you I’ll get you what you need.”

  “You better.”

  Samson dialed Barlesky’s number, “I want you on Green like white on rice. Do you understand? And Barlesky, if you fuck this up I will kick your lame ass out of here faster than shit goes through a goose!”

  When he terminated the call he closed his eyes and surrendered to the pain. If he could pull it off he would be the next governor and the commonwealth would have to print a thousand copies of his photo and distribute them throughout the state. He had better start practicing his smile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Honorable Anthony A. Cinaglia

  Somehow I made it back to my cubicle still under Nicky’s spell. The news of my private meeting with the governor and my altercation with Earl Samson had preceded me. Both Zeebooker and Barlesky were waiting.

  “Earl’s gonna screw you over, you know that,” Barlesky could barely contain his enthusiasm. I ignored him. Mike Zeebooker was an entirely different case. He looked as if he was about to come apart.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Listen, you promised you wouldn’t be going back to Iraq, or anywhere. Now, Samson will make you go away someplace. I don’t think I can make it here with him,” he gestured towards Barlesky. “And Samson hates me. If it wasn’t for you he’
d have gotten rid of me a long time ago.”

  “The governor would never let that happen. You’re indispensable, all the systems in the office would crash and go to hell and nobody would know how to fix them. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Zeebooker stared through me, as if he knew what the governor had suggested. I had no intention of taking the governor up on his proposition, but Zeebooker wasn’t about to let it go.

  “Bernie, you promised.”

  “I know. Don’t worry.” Had Zeebooker bugged the governor’s private office? No, not possible, I dismissed the thought as sheer paranoia. “Look, the governor asked me to take care of a constituent problem for him. That’s all.”

  “He didn’t knock up one of his bimbos again,” Barlesky chimed in. I continued to ignore him.

  “Will you watch my phone? I have to take care of the governor’s thing. Are you gonna be OK?”

  “I’m ok,” Zeebooker replied unenthusiastically.

  “Thanks,” I said and grabbed my jacket and backpack and practically ran out of the office. I figured I couldn’t risk calling Senator Cinaglia from my cubicle because Barlesky would immediately report my every move to Samson. It was common knowledge throughout the office that Barlesky was one of Samson’s moles.

  When I finally made my way out of the state office building and stepped outside I noticed that it had turned out to be a beautiful sunny April day. Spring, or what Philly referred to as that season, was almost here. The sun that had seemed distant and disinterested after Pennsylvania’s famous ground hog Panxsutawney Phil’s empty promise of an early change of seasons was suddenly a bright and uplifting reminder of how wonderful life could be if you would only embrace it. I could actually see the last remnants of black ice disappearing from the sidewalk before my eyes as I stood in front of the State Office building. I figured I could call the senator and either walk the few blocks to Cinaglia’s mansion, or take a taxi to his South Philly office. Since it was close to 3 PM on a Friday afternoon, I assumed the senator was already home.