Deadly Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  I slipped my briefcase over my shoulder and started to rise from the chair. Make a fast getaway. “Well, Peter, it’s been grand. I can’t tell you when I’ve had this much fun. Although my last root canal comes to mind.”

  Still immersed in the columns of figures, Peter held up his hand. “Not so fast, Molly, I wasn’t finished yet. As I was saying, we can’t match Parker’s offer, but we can get you the cash flow it appears you need every month.”

  Huh? I hovered over the chair. Brewster’s hand waved me down again. “Does it involve wearing disguises and delivering packages in the middle of the night? If so, I’m not interested.”

  “Nope. Strictly legal. Want some coffee Molly? I’m dying for a cup.” He suddenly pushed his desk chair over to an antique tea cart complete with china coffeepot and saucers.

  Startled by yet another abrupt change in direction, I hesitated. Then the caffeine lobe of my brain began to throb. When didn’t I want coffee? “Uh, yeah, I could definitely use a cup. I purposely avoided the caffeine rush this morning.”

  Brewster turned an incredulous gaze my way. “Good God, you mean this is you without caffeine?”

  “Sober as a judge. Scary, isn’t it? Black, please.” I pointed to the cup he was pouring.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Brewster walked over and handed me the delicate china cup and saucer. “I shudder to think what you’re like wired.”

  “It’s not pretty. Another reason not to hire me,” I said, trying not to slurp the dark nectar in one gulp. It slid down my throat with that delectable burn, smooth and harsh at the same time. Ahhhhh. Nerve cells were coming online.

  Brewster simply laughed as he poured coffee for himself. Clearly, my repeated refusals only heightened his interest. Just like a teenage boy in the back of his parent’s Buick. The more his girlfriend said “no,” the harder he tried. Men. Where do they learn this? In the cradle?

  “Now, where were we …” He set the coffee cup on the desk and grabbed a pen. “Cash flow. Let’s see what we can do.” Brewster proceeded to scribble all over my neat columns of figures. “As they say, there’re two ways to raise income. Either increase revenues or decrease expenses. What if we decrease your housing expenses to zero, Molly? Take a look and tell me what you think.” He slid the open folder across the desk.

  My curiosity aroused, I reached for the folder and examined what Brewster had done. He’d checked my budgetary requirements and neatly eliminated the housing expense. He’d also eliminated the commuting expenses. What was this guy smoking? Even if I moved into Nan and Bill’s house permanently, I’d still have to get into Washington every day. And this section of Georgetown was not on the Metro line. I’d have to drive. A rental car at first, until I could bring my car from Colorado.

  I gave the poor deluded boy an indulgent smile. “These are nice numbers, Peter, but they’re totally unrealistic. There’s no housing expense and no commuting expense. That’s ridiculous. I will not move into my cousin’s home permanently. I may not have much pride, but I have a shred or two left. I plan to rent an apartment, probably in Virginia, which means I’d be commuting.”

  Peter sipped his coffee. “What if free housing was available to you? Subject to your approval, of course. Would you be interested?”

  That got my attention. “I’m listening.”

  “The real estate portfolio you’d be managing is mine. That’s why I need your expertise. And that’s how I can offer you more money. Your duties would be spread between the senator’s domestic accounts and my business accounts. I have properties in several states and some in the D.C. Metro area as well. One of them is vacant. It’s here in Georgetown. Only three blocks away, over on P Street. It’s a modest two-story brick townhouse. Small, but nice.”

  Nice? Nice! A modest townhouse on P Street in Georgetown? It would have to be infested with rats not to be nice. And Brewster was offering it to me free when he must have scores of eager Washington wannabes clamoring to pay at least three thousand a month to live there. Now I knew he was on something.

  I managed not to laugh in his face, but I did smile. “Peter, you can’t be serious. You’re offering me free rent on prime Georgetown real estate? Washington has rotted your brain already, and you haven’t been here a year yet. You need to see a doctor.”

  The sly grin returned. “It’s my property, Molly. I can rent it to whomever I choose. And it’s not free. Your residence there will be as property manager. Remember ‘other duties as assigned’?”

  He was serious. Oh my God! I sat back in my chair and stared at him. “You’re willing to take a loss to let me—”

  “I’m not taking a loss. It’s vacant, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you could rent it in a heartbeat for three or four thousand a month.”

  “It’s okay. My other properties are rented. You don’t have to worry about me, Molly.” He grinned. “That’s my CPA’s job. You’ll be working closely with him, needless to say.”

  Well, he had me there. I wasn’t Brewster’s CPA or his mother. If he wanted to give me a Georgetown townhouse to live in, who was I to say no? Meanwhile, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused me to pause. Who was I to say yes? Could I actually live in the midst of all this again? Here in Georgetown? Memories were around every corner. Ghosts roamed the streets. Could I do it?

  Out of nowhere, a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time whispered, “Make new memories.”

  I recognized that cheeky voice. Ever since Chaos took over my life. Crazy Ass, I called the voice, because it always brought the wild, out-of-nowhere, go-for-it suggestions. Good old Crazy Ass. I’d missed it. The voice of the opposition, Sober-and-Righteous, had been ruling the roost for weeks now and had sent Crazy Ass scurrying into the bushes when Chaos appeared. Virtuous, but boring as hell, Sober was strictly steady as she goes, nose to the grindstone and full of other guilt-producing clichés that could be counted on to keep me on track.

  “Make new memories.” Hmmmmm. There was a thought.

  “You’re considering it, I can tell,” Peter observed.

  “Damn right. I’d be crazy not to.” I stared through the window at the boxwood. I hadn’t smelt boxwood in years. By June, the scent would be heady. My nostrils twitched.

  Sober-and-Righteous asserted itself into my imaginings. Hold it! Everything’s moving too fast. This guy is worse than a carnival barker hawking teddy bears. You need time to think.

  I had to agree with Sober. Things were moving way too fast. This offer, the money, the house, the idea of living and working in Georgetown—I did need time to think.

  I looked Peter in the eye. “This is a lot to digest. The money, this whole job offer, the house, all of it. I need time to consider everything, Peter.”

  “I understand. Think about it all you want. This afternoon. Then call me with your answer this evening.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a card. “Here’s my cell.”

  “You need an answer tonight?” I said, not even trying to hide my surprise as I took the card.

  Now it was Brewster’s turn to be sober. “The senator needs someone fast. Those accounts are piling up. If you say ‘no,’ then we have to go back to square one.”

  Guilt. Works every time. “Okay, I’ll let you know by this evening.” I gathered my things and rose to leave.

  Brewster came from around the desk, all boyish charm again. “Would you like to meet the senator?” he tempted. “Luisa beeped me that he’s returned from his breakfast with constituents. He’s got a few minutes before he heads to the Hill.”

  Shocked, I found myself stammering. “Oh, that—that’s not necessary, I—I don’t want to delay him—”

  “No delay, Molly. He’s been anxious to meet you.”

  Brewster proceeded to escort me from the library and into the hall, ignoring my protestations. I looked down the hallway, and there
was Russell, walking straight toward us. I gulped. No time to get away.

  “Senator, I’ve done my best to sell Molly on the position. I’ll leave it to you to close the deal.”

  Brewster handed me off to the senator. Russell clasped my hand in a hearty bear-paw handshake and leaned forward, his eyes gazing into mine. “Molly Malone, I cannot tell you how delighted I am, we all are, that you’re thinking of joining our efforts here in Washington. I’m honored that you’d consider us,” he said in that resonant basso voice I remembered from campaign news highlights.

  The senator was even better looking in person. Although he was seventy, he still looked trim and fit in his expensive tailoring. Tall, silver-haired, handsome in a distinguished way, and mesmerizing as all get-out. I gazed up at the senator and felt the full force of his personality wash over me in a wave. Whoa. No wonder this guy won the election. Those other guys never had a chance.

  I broke the cobra-mongoose stare long enough to reply. “I’m the one who’s honored to be considered for the position, senator, but I’m not sure my past experience is adequate to its demands.”

  Russell looked astonished. If he was acting, he was skillful. “Adequate? Surely you’re joking? We know your credentials, Molly. You’re over-qualified for this position, and you know it. I’ve followed your career in Colorado for years. You’re a dynamic addition to any politician’s team.”

  Damn. Everyone’s read my file.

  “She suffers from a surfeit of modesty, Senator,” Brewster observed.

  “Washington will cure you of that soon enough. You’ve been away too long, Molly,” Russell said, still clasping my hand. Suddenly his grin faded, and he placed his other hand on top of mine. His gaze turned sad. “Let me say, first off, that I am completely aware of your reluctance to return to this swamp of dissension that marks our Capitol City, and the reasons for it. The early loss of your husband was tragic, indeed. He was a brave, idealistic young congressman who had only the people’s interests at heart. We need more like him in Congress.”

  The senator’s earnest and passionate statement took me by surprise. “That’s … that’s very kind of you to say, Senator. Thank you. David tried to make a difference while … while he was alive.” I didn’t trust myself to say more.

  Russell patted my hand in a fatherly fashion before he released his grip. “He was simply following in your father’s footsteps, Molly. In fact, that’s what I’m hoping to accomplish while I’m here in Washington. To be a voice of reason and reform in that rancorous chamber. Follow your father’s example and try to reach out and build bridges. Be a moderate voice for change and reform, and I’m hoping to inspire others to join me. It’s time our politicians stopped worrying about themselves and concentrate on the needs of the people who elected them. We’re the people’s congress, after all. We serve at their pleasure. Your father knew that, believed that, and conducted his entire Senate career toward that end. Serving the people. He was a true statesman. A giant in the Senate.”

  I stared at Senator Russell, conviction shining from his eyes, and was captivated despite myself. Captured by his obvious sincerity and optimism. Russell had gone straight for my Achilles’ heel. Idealism. Call it a residue of the Sixties, whatever, it never really left, no matter how many curve balls life threw my way.

  I decided to see if I could throw him, just for the hell of it. “You are one sly fox, Senator. If you read that notorious file of mine, you knew that I was a sucker for idealism.”

  Brewster stifled a laugh, but Russell didn’t even bother to hide his reaction. He burst out laughing, a huge basso roar that bounced off the walls. Sort of like Falstaff without the fat. “Can you blame me, Molly? Peter and I have been scheming how we could get you on our team ever since we learned you were available.”

  “Senator, I appreciate the flattery, but I’m simply a managerial and financial accountant.”

  “This modesty doesn’t serve you, Molly. Your financial skills are valuable, yes, but you’ve got other skills too, which would be quite helpful for an incoming senator, new to Washington and its wily ways.” Russell took my arm, escorting me down the hallway, but not toward the front door. He headed toward the living room, which opened to a formal dining room. “I’ve started entertaining; nothing extravagant yet. Mostly receptions to let the politicians see that I’m not a lunatic or a wild-eyed revolutionary, despite what some of my opponents said in the election.” He paused in the archway of the dining room. A gleaming, crystal bowl filled with daffodils and crocuses sat in the midst of the polished mahogany table.

  “What I really want to do is arrange small, intimate dinners with various senators and their spouses. Strategic entertaining, I call it. That way I can get a feel for the men and women I’m working with. See where their real passions lie, away from the television cameras.”

  Intrigued once again, I studied Russell. “Shrewd move, Senator. Get a feel for the players. I’d recommend it highly, considering your position as the swing vote.”

  Russell gave me a cagey grin. “I figured you’d approve, considering that’s precisely what your father excelled in. ‘Getting a read on the players,’ he called it, right?”

  I returned his smile. “Right you are, Senator. And I can tell where your mind is going. You think that I can somehow channel my father’s brilliance in that respect. All apologies to my beloved father’s memory, but I cannot recreate his magic.”

  Russell steered me away from the dining room and down the hallway once more. Toward the door this time. Thank heavens. I didn’t think I could take anymore of this intense courtship.

  “I’m forced to disagree with you, Molly. I think you inherited it,” Russell said as he led me to the open doorway, Luisa standing beside. “If I’m not mistaken, you performed the same sort of magic during your husband’s congressional years. Governor Lambert said the same thing. And you did it for Senator Hartman as well.”

  I eyed Russell. “Totally different scenarios, Senator. I haven’t been in Washington for over twenty years. Any fairy dust I might have possessed years ago has dried up and blown away.”

  He chuckled. “I’d still appreciate any insights you might have—suggestions, whatever.”

  “Senator, to be honest, I’m not even sure I want this position. I’ve told Peter that. So, if it’s magic you want, you need to start looking for another Tinkerbell. I’ve turned in my wings.”

  Russell threw back his head and let loose with another infectious belly laugh. Peter joined in this time as I stepped over the threshold and made my getaway at last.

  Three

  My mother and her new companion Patricia waved goodbye while I hurried from the stately retirement home and escaped into the parking lot. Visiting with my mom and talking politics had taken the entire afternoon. When I’d told her my new job with Senator Russell would be as an accountant with no political involvement, her reply was succinct:

  “Nonsense, dear. You’re in Washington, remember? That would be like going to France and not drinking the wine.”

  I had to smile. When it came to politics, my mother was still sharp as a tack, recalling names and dates and behind-the-scenes maneuvering from long ago. But ask her if she had taken her morning medications … well, that was another thing. The question was met with a blank expression, then a worried frown while she tried to remember. Strange thing, memory loss.

  Noticing the sun’s downward angle, I checked my watch and decided to call Brewster while I drove back to Nan’s house. Tell him I was accepting the position. I’d weighed the job offer over and over as I rode the Metro back to the Park-n-Ride where Karen had picked me up this morning. Now that I’d visited my mother and seen Patricia in action, I was certain of my decision. The logic was inescapable.

  Patricia O’Toole was perfect. Competent and caring. My mom needed her, and the only way I could pay Patricia’s salary would be to acc
ept Senator Russell’s job offer. I had no choice. Both Russell and Brewster were willing to throw money at me. Okay, then. I was in.

  I slipped into the sporty Acura Nan loaned me and revved the engine, listening to its throaty purr as I flipped open my cell phone and punched in Brewster’s number. He answered as I headed toward Chain Bridge Road, going west to Vienna.

  “Peter, it’s Molly,” I said, noticing the rush hour buildup in traffic. “I thought I’d call and let you know that I’m accepting your offer. Yours and the senator’s, that is.”

  “That’s great!” Brewster crowed over the phone. “Molly, I cannot tell you how pleased we are you’ll be joining us. I can’t wait to tell the senator … oh, here he is now.”

  “Peter, wait! I don’t need to talk—” Too late. I could already hear Brewster informing Russell, as well as the senator’s enthusiastic response.

  Then Russell’s voice boomed into my ear. “Molly! This is fantastic news! You’ll have to come over right away, so we can celebrate. I’m having a reception tonight, and it would be a perfect time to announce that you’re joining our staff.”

  What? Was he kidding? I was halfway to Vienna, heading west, miles and miles of cars behind me. Traffic was God-awful. “Senator, that’s not necessary. Besides, I’m way out here in Virginia, almost to Vienna—”

  “I insist. It’s an ideal time for you to take a look at our entertaining.”

  He was serious. Oh, my God. “Senator, traffic is horrible. It would take me forever to get back into Georgetown through rush hour right now,” I said, hoping to change his mind.

  “That’s no problem at all. Albert will come right out. Why don’t you park at the nearest shopping center and Albert will pick you up. No need for you to endure this wretched traffic.”

  “What? Senator, that’s … that’s too much of an inconvenience,” I countered, still trying to weasel out of it.

  “Nonsense, Molly. Albert considers this traffic a challenge.” His voice turned from the phone. “Luisa, could you please tell Albert he needs to fetch Molly from Virginia.”