Strange Bedfellows

by Rob Byrnes

  It wasn’t Triple-C per se. It was the nature of the job. She’d been a Member of Congress since her husband died, and he’d been a Member of Congress since his father died, and so on. The Concannon legacy extended back through generations, and their aides—even talented aides like Kevin Wunder—were looked on as little more than family mouthpieces.

  The words out of his mouth were the words she wanted him to convey. His positions on the issues were her positions. The campaigns he advised were for her candidates. And even in those extremely rare moments when he spoke his own mind, it was just assumed that he was speaking for Triple-C. The years and his ties to the Concannon political dynasty had conspired to change him from a young man in a hurry and an unironic “Boy Wunder” into little more than a talented servant with a bald spot and bulging midsection.

  It was hard not to be bitter.

  He contented himself by believing that there would be a payoff. Triple-C wasn’t getting any younger, and thanks to fertility problems she was almost the last member of the Concannon bloodline. She had one daughter, but Penelope—very attractive and just thirty years old—had almost no interest in politics.

  Better yet, Penelope was already making a fortune in the financial sector, thanks in no small part to the family ties that landed her the job and kept her connected to a pool of wealthy investors. It was inconceivable she’d give up a high seven-figure annual salary to humble herself in elected office simply to carry on a family tradition that began during the New Deal.

  Which meant Kevin Wunder’s payoff would, one day, be Catherine Cooper Concannon’s congressional seat. Triple-C had all but promised it.

  “Kevin,” she’d say every now and then as they rode the Acela home from Washington, “you would make a very effective Member of Congress.”

  Okay, so that wasn’t exactly a formal endorsement. But it was a step in the right direction.

  Then the career train again jumped off the rails. Penelope had the bad sense to meet Austin Peebles, the young son of one of Triple-C’s close colleagues in the House, and Kevin Wunder’s last hope for relevance vanished in less time than it took to say “I do.”

  That seemed to have happened so far in the past that Wunder frequently had to remind himself that Austin had been in his life—in all their lives—for less than two years.

  The bastard.

  Austin was the scion of the Peebles family, Mainline Philadelphia’s answer to the Concannons of the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Austin’s father had been in Congress since 1981, when he succeeded his father, first elected the same year Jack Kennedy won the presidency. That also happened to be the year Triple-C’s father-in-law—Langdon Concannon Jr.—was first elected to the House of Representatives. Apparently 1960 had been a watershed year for the advancement of that most marginalized sector of the American public: members of East Coast political dynasties.

  Like the Concannons and Kennedys, the Peebles’ roots in public life extended decades into the past. But no one would have pegged Austin—like Penelope Concannon, the last of the genetic line—as a likely candidate to carry the family tradition of noblesse oblige into the future. Even the Peebles family didn’t expect that.

  And certainly no one would have ever expected young Austin to be the man destined to combine the Peebles and Concannon legacies. That two of the most politically powerful families in the Northeast had been unified was improbable; that Austin Peebles would become their standard bearer was nothing short of bizarre.

  It certainly wasn’t unknown for very young people to be elected to office—even the United States Congress—but there was nevertheless a process to be followed. Dues had to be paid, even when a candidate bore a name like Peebles or Concannon. There were issues to be studied, advisers to be consulted, good deeds to be done, political grunt work to be grunted out. The young Kennedys and Concannons and Peebleses who had been elected to office were educated, thoughtful, and dedicated to the ideal of public service. They carried a certain air of gravitas, even if they were only twenty-something years old.

  That was the way Kevin Wunder had played the game when “Boy Wunder” was still an apt nickname instead of a laugh line. Except, in his case, he lacked an important and storied surname. The Wunders of Metuchen, New Jersey, were unfortunately not known as a dominant family on their block, let alone in American politics.

  But a grasp of the issues, a coterie of advisers, a history of good deeds, an air of gravitas…Austin Peebles had none of that when he met Penelope Concannon. And, if possible, he had less of it even as Triple-C determined he should be the heir to her congressional seat. For some reason known only to herself—an unknown reason Wunder found galling—Catherine Cooper Concannon thought her callow son-in-law was “charming” and “a natural leader.”

  What Kevin Wunder saw was quite different. Austin was twenty-seven years old and acted younger. He had been an average student at Brown, which was hardly a disqualification from public office but also didn’t quite establish him as a burning intellect whose ideas would transform Washington DC and eventually lead to economic stability and world peace. He had not discussed important issues at the knee of his father and grandfather—Austin had been too busy with video games and downloadable porn—and even as he began his campaign for Congress, his positions were reflexive, unformed, and generally naïve.

  And as for charitable interests and good deeds, well…

  Kevin Wunder’s first job as campaign manager—a job he’d taken on at Triple-C’s direction and performed with a professional gusto that masked his loathing for both the task and the candidate—had been to send him out as a volunteer for a soup kitchen, figuring that, at least, would be something the campaign could point at when the inevitable questions arose about the candidate’s commitment to those less fortunate than his pampered self. Somehow, Austin had managed to forget the obligation in the two hours between the scheduling of the shift and the actual shift, and instead took Penelope to Per Se for one of the most expensive dinners served that evening in the developed world.

  The incident actually caused a minor scandal when a camera crew showed up at the soup kitchen and discovered Austin Peebles was missing in action. The charity’s director tried to cover—mostly because Triple-C had not only been a generous individual donor over the years, but she had also funneled hundreds of thousands of federal dollars into the program—but Austin’s absence was seized on by his primary election opponent, an uncharacteristically ethical—but characteristically self-righteous—state legislator who was perhaps the only person more frustrated about the Peebles candidacy than Kevin Wunder.

  The Peebles campaign went into damage control mode and the next day the front page of the Daily News featured a photo of Austin reading to blind orphaned puppies. The public uttered a collective awwww, the state legislator almost had an aneurysm, and two weeks later Austin Peebles won the Democratic primary election by a four-to-one margin, all but ensuring his victory in November.

  Until the photos of his penis—with Austin’s smug smile in the background—surfaced a few months later.

  The most frustrating thing, Wunder thought as he neared his apartment building on East Eighty-first Street, wasn’t the candidate’s callowness. Nor was it the lack of maturity and judgment that would lead a grown man, let alone a candidate for the United States House of Representatives, to take a photo of his erection—and face—and tweet it into the ether.

  No, the most frustrating thing was the way everyone seemed to love him.

  He may have been a hollow shell, but he was a hollow shell that drew people in. Every mother wanted to protect him…every father wanted to play catch with him…every young woman wanted to muss his hair…every young man wanted to be his best friend—unless they were gay, in which case they wanted to be his best friend and muss his hair.

  Everybody just loved Austin Peebles.

  Everybody except Kevin Wunder.

  Although…it was not just Kevin Wunder who had a problem with Austin Peebles. Not e
very day, at least.

  For a few days, United States Representative Catherine Cooper Concannon did not love Austin Peebles. In fact, she barely liked him.

  He had hurt and embarrassed her daughter, and that made her angry. It was a natural, motherly instinct. Penelope was, perhaps, far more materialistic than she’d raised her to be, but she was still her only daughter. And she knew this much: For all Penelope’s knee-jerk, selfish, “it’s mine” approaches to life and public policy, when her daughter hurt, Catherine Cooper Concannon hurt.

  Once, decades earlier, her late husband Newley Concannon—then a congressman himself—had cheated on her with a secretary in her early twenties improbably named Arabetta Something who worked for Tip O’Neill. It took her years to forgive him.

  Catherine was also disappointed on another, more personal level. Austin was not only her son-in-law, and he was not only the son of her close colleague. He was also her hand-picked successor. Fairly or not, his immature actions reflected unfavorably on her. If the news got out, it would almost seem as if Catherine Cooper Concannon condoned taking photos of one’s engorged genitals and putting them on the Internet.

  Not to mention, she was now the person who had to clean up the mess.

  Thank God she had Kevin Wunder—loyal Kevin!—to help.

  For a few days, Austin slipped quietly around the edges of her life. She appreciated that he understood he was in the doghouse and why he was there, and that he had the good sense to try to be invisible in her presence. It showed a sense of good judgment so sorely lacking when he’d taken that photo.

  But Catherine Cooper Concannon was, ultimately, a forgiving woman. She’d forgiven Bill Clinton, Henry Hyde, Newt Gingrich, Anthony Weiner…As an Episcopalian, she felt she had no choice but to forgive the repentant. Not immediately, of course—she was no Unitarian—but sooner, rather than later.

  There was no reason she couldn’t forgive Austin, too.

  Plus, well…She caught a glimpse of the young man—her son-in-law; her heir—before he could duck out of sight when she exited the library of the sprawling Park Avenue pre-war co-op she owned and shared with Penelope and Austin. Look at him, she thought. He’s such a naïve puppy. And that reminded her of how he’d read to the blind orphaned puppies, which made her think, Awwww.

  “Austin!” He’d almost managed to disappear into the kitchen when her patrician voice stopped him half-in, half-out of the doorway. He froze. “Come here, Austin.”

  He did, hanging his head to convey shame as he slowly trudged toward her. She guided him back into the library and pushed the Department of Homeland Security report she’d been reading to the floor before motioning him to join her on the couch. She’d read most of it and was sure Janet Napolitano would fill her in on anything she’d missed.

  She wasn’t quite certain how to start the conversation, so she opted to be direct, blunt, and tough. “You were a very naughty boy, Austin Peebles.”

  He lifted his head and his lashes fluttered. His voice was soft and penitent. “I know, Catherine.”

  Well, that wasn’t so difficult, she thought, and a slight twinkle came to her eye. “I thought we agreed you’d call me ‘Mother.’”

  His smile was one of relief. “I know, Mother.”

  “That’s better.” She sighed. “So about that photo that’s causing such a commotion around here…” She was almost seventy years old and a little too decent to describe it in further detail.

  He shook his head; limp hair fell over his forehead. “I was just fooling around. I never thought it’d become an ish.”

  He’d lost her. “Ish?”

  “Sorry. Issue.” He stood, placing his hands on his narrow hips covered by jeans that seemed to the United States Representative to be a full size tighter than skintight. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mother.”

  She wanted to believe him, even as she recognized his impulsive nature was part of the charm that had attracted Penelope and who knew how many other women. “I hope not, Austin. You hurt some people because of this escapade.”

  He looked at her with brief confusion. Then he got it. “Oh, right. Penelope!”

  “Who is, remember, your wife. And my daughter.”

  Austin’s eyelashes fluttered again. “Right. Yeah, that was bad. She’s still not talking to me.”

  Catherine wanted to defend her daughter’s anger, but…really, what was Penelope’s problem? Any woman knew that when you married a younger, charming, slightly caddish man like Austin Peebles, you were introducing a bit of devilry into the union. Penelope should have seen that going in and prepared herself to roll with the occasionally choppy waters.

  “I’ll try to talk to her,” she heard herself say, and—when her brain caught up with her mouth—decided that yes, she would! Penelope had married a fine young man—a bit of a devilish cad, perhaps, but nevertheless a fine young man—and she’d have to learn to appreciate him as he was.

  And honestly, her daughter had been acting so negatively toward Austin ever since he’d made his mistake. True, taking the time to pull down your pants and snap a photo of your genitals, then sending that photo to a total stranger, was a bit more egregious of a mistake than forgetting to buy eggs at the market, but Penelope’s petulance was over the top. She knew what she was getting when she married Austin—the good and the bad—and now it was time to be a Big Girl and move on with life.

  In a sense, she was acting very much like Kevin Wunder had acted when he first brought the blackmail attempt to Catherine’s attention and showed her the picture. She’d instructed him to take care of the problem, but he had demurred.

  “Austin created the problem. He should be the one who cleans it up,” Kevin had said.

  Catherine Cooper Concannon had no idea why Kevin seemed to be so hostile toward Austin. Maybe he was going through some personal problems. He was pushing middle-age, balding, overweight, and alone, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

  But she took control and changed her request to a demand. Still, he claimed he had no idea how to get the photo back from that loathsome blogger. Fortunately, nine full terms in the House of Representatives—plus that extra seven months after Newley died—had given her a worldliness he seemed to lack.

  “You don’t have to do it yourself, Kevin. This city is full of grifters and criminals. Hire a professional!”

  “But how am I going to find a criminal?”

  It took her no more than ten seconds to come up with an answer. “Remember that Jimmy fellow I couldn’t get away from last summer when I was in Montauk? The one I kept hiding my jewelry from? I’m sure you met him.”

  He scratched his ear. “Jimmy? Not ringing a…” Then the memory kicked in. “You mean Jamie? Jamie Brock?”

  She smiled. “That’s the one. I can guarantee he associates with the type of person you need to look for.”

  She hated that she always had to do all the thinking. That was one reason Kevin would never be in Congress, even if she did occasionally humor him during long train trips between New York and Washington. He had no imagination. No charisma!

  Austin, though…well, he had it! Once he settled down—and she had no doubt Penelope would eventually domesticate him—he’d be a fine public servant. He needed discipline but had charisma in spades. One could learn discipline, but charisma was a God-given gift. It could not be learned.

  As a young woman, her father-in-law—an earlier Congressman Concannon—had introduced her to Jack Kennedy. He had it. So did Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan. When they talked to you, it felt as if the two of you were the only people in the room.

  Austin Peebles had it, too.

  The U.S. Representative patted her son-in-law with the God-given gift lightly on the shoulder.

  “I’ll talk to Penelope.”

  His smile was shy; his thick lashes fluttered again. “Thank you so much, Mother.”

  He’s such a fine young man, she thought again. We’re lucky to have Austin Peebles in our lives.


  If anyone had asked Austin why he’d taken and tweeted the picture—asked in words other than “Why the hell did you do that?” that is, since plenty of people had asked that way—he doubted he’d be able to come up with a better explanation than “I just wanted to.”

  It wasn’t as if sexting was anything new to him. Sometimes he did it because he was bored; sometimes because he was horny. He’d been sexting since prep school and saw nothing wrong with it. It was just another manifestation of his sexuality.

  As a sexual creature—a highly sexual creature—Austin Peebles had been seeking new experiences and repeating old ones for over a decade, ever since he was fifteen years old and lost his virginity during a visit to the Cannon House Office Building to a much older woman with the improbable name of Arabetta who used to work for Tip O’Neill. Afterward, when she’d come to her senses and realized she’d committed the statutory rape of a congressman’s son, she begged him not to tell anyone. She needn’t have worried; he didn’t kiss and tell then, and still didn’t twelve years later.

  The thing was, he could afford to kiss and not tell. Austin was born with a natural self-confidence that gave him a sort of immunity from social pressure. From a very young age—well before the romp with Arabetta in a supply closet—he knew who he was, and he knew people were drawn to him. He knew he was a sexual creature before he even knew what sex was. He had nothing to prove—to himself or anyone else—so while there was every reason to kiss, there was never a reason to tell.

  That uncomplicated attitude about sex did, on occasion, lead to complications. Often his partners were less able to just let go than he was. Sometimes he was struck by the seriousness others brought to the act when his attitude was so casual. And every now and then it blew back at him.

  The most recent sext was one of those times.

  When sex had negative ramifications, he was usually comfortable moving on. The partners who wanted more eventually got used to the fact that what they’d had was all they were going to get, and those who turned the act into something of great importance were easy to forget as he walked away. If a naked camera phone photo happened to get passed around, he really didn’t much care, as long as he looked good in the picture. Since he always photographed well, that was never really an issue.