By unanimous vote, inspired by fatigue and hunger, they agreed to adjourn.
Until Noble happened to clear his throat to retain their attention. “Before you take off, give me a minute,” he asked.
It had not gone unnoticed that, despite another long day and a working lunch that somehow had worked its way into the daily routine, no one had complained. In fact, the group seemed to thrive on the heated intellectual exercises over a variety of subjects, and continued to manage their virtual isolation deep below the earth’s surface, with a minimum of gripes. They ate properly, utilized the fitness room when time permitted, and spent the rest of the time working diligently, many times pulling late-nighters to conduct the research necessary for the next day’s topics.
Noble concluded it was time to give them a night to let their hair down, metaphorically speaking, for they were all due for a serious haircut. Hank and Seymour had forgone the daily shave, sporting incipient beards. Paolo managed to find four sides to every T-shirt. And Chase ditched his bowtie weeks ago. Noble smiled inwardly, as he noticed how they were beginning to resemble the young bucks from Harvard that he remembered from all those years ago. It pleased him that everything was gelling—but then again, they were only at the halfway mark. They still were committed to present a proposal to the president in twenty-six days. And although everybody’s spirits were high, he reasoned that they could use a break. And, feeling like their nursemaid at times, he needed one as well. He reckoned that it was worth the risk.
“Listen up. We’ve all been working incredibly hard these past few weeks and I say it’s time for a night out, so to speak.”
Hank wasted no time and shined a mischievous grin.
“No Hank—no lap dancers.”
Noble brought down the house; it was a rare occurrence. I really do need a break, he thought as he ushered them off to their suites. “Go clean up and meet me back here in a half-hour.”
31
BOYS’ NIGHT OUT
As the eight o’clock hour arrived, the gang returned to the reception area, looking refreshed and ready to party.
“Fantastico!” Paolo cheered as he walked into the room, followed by the others.
Spread before their eyes lay a feast fit for a bunch of frat boys from their halcyon days. In the last half-hour, with the help of Jax, the table had been transformed into their table of old. The piles of papers, tablets, and coffee cups had been replaced with pitchers of beer filled to the brim, stacks of pizza boxes, and a large tray of hot, spicy Buffalo chicken wings.
“Dig in,” Noble beckoned. “Oh, Chase, the green pitcher is gluten-free, but not alcohol-free, of course.”
“Ah, Noble, me boy, you think of everything,” he replied, with a relaxed smile.
“Except, the low-fat, low-carb,” Hank teased. “Oh, what the hell? It’s boys’ night out.”
“Hey, we’re missing someone,” Noble noted, as he counted heads.
All of a sudden, 70s music came blaring out of the lounge.
“What’s a party with no music?” Seymour declared, as he danced his way back to the table and poured himself a mug of beer.
Without missing a beat, they engaged in effortless conversation covering a host of subjects and the entire gamut of sports known to man. Their debate topics were verboten. It was a welcome relief that was clearly expressed on their grinning faces. The teasing and cajoling continued for hours, as they reminisced about the years together, until the inevitable topic arose—Simon.
“Noble, any more word on the investigation?” Chase asked with unusual composure.
The others suspected the beer had a welcomed effect.
Noble replied with equal calm. “As you know, there have been no other intrusions on any of your lives, other than the first occurrences. Max checks in with your families on a regular basis. But trust me—I’ll keep you posted should anything change.”
“I trust nobody’s been screwing around with my life?” Hank inquired, as he crossed both fingers on both hands.
“Max checked with your foundation and your credit rating. There have been no breaches to report. I guess you dodged the bullet, my man.”
“So maybe it is a coincidence. Each attack on our families was different. Besides, if it were Simon, he would have targeted Hank first,” Chase conjectured, with a bit of hope and a prayer on his part.
“I promise I’ll keep you posted. For now, count yourselves lucky; it appears to have ended.”
Hank, picking up on Chase’s comment, broke the momentum, and changed the subject. “Noble, how come you never joined our group?” he probed, with a playful grin. “You could have been a renowned member of La Fratellanza.”
“I told you guys at the time; I’m not a groupie. It’s that simple,” Noble reiterated.
“There has to be more to it than that, considering your profession,” Seymour noted. “You must work with teams of people. Besides, you did hang out with us on campus from time to time.”
“I admit it! I enjoyed having dinner with all of you. But that’s different from studying together every day, sharing ideas, working together to solve problems—not my cup of tea. As it turned out, it was one of the smartest decisions I ever made.”
“Excuse me, Noble; then what are you doing in this godforsaken place? Is it retribution?” Hank persisted.
“Drinking beer.” That was his second quip of the day. A novelty for Noble.
They all had a good chuckle, and then Chase reverted to the killjoy.
“Noble, did you ever consider that had you joined our group, most likely you would have talked us out of playing Simon’s insane game? You could have changed history.”
“Chase, let’s not go there,” Paolo pleaded.
“Things could have been a lot different for all of us.”
“Look, by the time we even figured out what Simon had planned, it was too late,” Hank admitted.
“I’ll answer your question as best I can.” Noble hoped to end the interchange. “Simon was a master manipulator. I’d like to think that I would have been able to figure him out sooner and stop the game before it began—but I didn’t. It took me years to get into his complex mind, to be able to predict his next move. So answering your question with complete honesty—I don’t know. We’ll never know. On that note, I’m going to go refill the pitchers. Thanks to Jax we have an entire keg to consume.”
Noble stood up and poured out the remaining beer and then headed to the kitchen. Even out of earshot, he could hear the din of the conversation. The subject matter was predictable. “Baring my soul to a bunch of guys. This is why I’m not a groupie,” he muttered to himself.
By the time he returned to the table, the table had been turned on Hank.
“Do you think Simon was working alone?” Paolo asked. “We know Baari was influenced by the Godfather and the Financier, but never thought about the possible connection to Simon at first.”
“You knew about the Godfather and the Financier?” Noble asked Paolo, while tossing a raised brow in Hank’s direction.
“It was clear toward the end that Baari was taking his purported policies too far. Hank told Seymour and me that Baari started to ignore his advice and thought he was getting his instructions elsewhere.”
“What about the former first lady?” Seymour asked.
“Maryann Townsend!” Hank exclaimed, and then quickly adjusted his tone. “Ah, she hadn’t a clue at the time. She found out about Baari’s past after Noble gave Baari the ultimatum and forced him to resign.” Catching Noble’s glare, he stopped short. Then with the utmost seriousness, he stated, “I’m positive she has no idea about La Fratellanza.”
“I meant about Maryann and Simon,” Seymour persisted, nosily looking for confirmation.
Hank eased into a smile, relieved at the redirect. “Okay, so we all figured out that she was the reason Simon’s bedroom was off-limits. It was obvious that Simon’s choice for a mate for the junior senator was a bit too convenient. But trust me; Simon also use
d her; she was a pawn just as we were.”
Chase, still focused on an imaginary scene in the bedroom, blurted out, “No way! I agree his choice was too easy, but never thought of him—her—no way!”
The other members of La Fratellanza could not hold back their snickers.
Seymour ribbed, “Chase, at times you are so naïve. But that is part of your charm, Bro.”
Paolo continued to probe. “Hank, you never answered my question. Do you think Simon was working alone?”
Hank, with some discomfort, confessed, “I thought there was a possibility that Simon was working indirectly with the Godfather and the Financier. I could see my sphere of influence continue to ebb.”
“So we were all puppets,” Seymour underscored.
“But Baari was clearly Pinocchio,” Paolo insisted, using his proper Italian enunciation.
Noble set his beer mug down with a thump, causing everyone to look his way. At that moment, he decided to voice the gnawing thought that had dogged him throughout their discussions. “Curious, we just spent weeks debating crucial policies that Baari pushed and no one in this room ever mentioned Simon’s possible influence—until now.”
The others remained silent, not sure if Noble was asking a question or making a statement—or fishing.
Chase surprised everyone and spoke up, although rather reticently. “As we discussed the various topics, there were elements in our shadow thesis that reared their ugly heads. I admit, at times, I wondered whether it was possible that Simon had direct control over the policies in the White House. I just tried not to let it be a distraction.”
“Of course, there were similarities! What do you think we were doing there?” Hank blurted out. “Our thesis was not just about getting an illegal immigrant elected!” He inhaled to regain his composure. Then in a more relaxed manner, he apologized. “Chase, old boy, sorry about the outburst. I know your involvement was on the periphery during the campaign and you had no way of knowing what the rest of us were assigned to perform.”
“But it’s clear now that Simon had his own vision and planned a different outcome from the start,” Chase replied.
“This is old news, guys. Let’s change the subject,” Hank pleaded, quick to steer away from his direct, sometimes willing, sometimes unwilling, involvement. “Hey, Paolo, when did you become such a conservative?”
“I mutated into a reasonable thinking person,” Paolo replied with a fake jab to Hank’s shoulder.
“I think his brother-in-law had something to do with it,” Seymour jested.
“As a matter of fact, it was my gorgeous wife who taught me about the beauties of small government—and giving people more control over their lives.”
“You know what Julia Roberts says: “‘Republican’ comes in the dictionary just after ‘reptile’ and just above ‘repugnant,’” Hank quipped, basking in his rejoinder.
“And ‘Democrat’ comes in the dictionary just after ‘demented’ and just before ‘demonic,’” Paolo countered, deflating Hank’s moment.
“And who said that?” Hank challenged.
“Me!”
They all laughed in good spirits. Then Seymour broke out into a comedic skit.
“Did you hear Jimmy Fallon the other day? He announced that Chicago reversed its plan to name a high school after Baari because it received multiple complaints from people in the community. He guessed the parents were afraid their kids would spend eight years at the school and still not get anything done.”
That brought down the house, but mostly because of Seymour’s perfect mimicry of Fallon.
As the late evening hours rolled on, there didn’t seem to be any letup in the conversation that continued to flow from topic to topic. Until Noble took the opportunity to rally their attention.
He raised his mug, as though he was about to make a toast, and said, “Guys, I want to thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made and commend you for more or less leaving your partisanship at the doorstep. Frankly, I wasn’t sure you had it in you. If only Congress could adopt the same attitude for the sake of the country. Here’s to you.”
“Ugh! This is getting too heavy. I thought it was a night to let our hair down,” Hank complained in a kidding manner.
Hank’s right, Noble thought, and as he brushed away his serious demeanor. “Anybody up for a game?”
“One problem: the last game’s over,” Paolo announced, as he pointed to the wall clock.
Noble let out a big grin. It was obvious to the others that he had an endless number of tricks up his sleeve. “How about the Giants versus the Phillies?”
“Now we’re talkin’,” Hank answered, making a high-five gesture in the air. “Don’t forget the chips!”
It took a matter of seconds for the guys, with refilled pitchers of beer and the last of the wings, to head to the lounge. Noble stopped off at the kitchen to pick up the prearranged snacks Jax had left behind when he made his evening delivery. By the time he returned to the lounge, the party was in full swing.
In a flash Noble grabbed the remote, turned off the music station, and switched the TV setting over to the built-in DVR. As he deftly scrolled down to select the prerecorded game played earlier that day, he announced, “It’s time for baseball,” in his best sports-announcer voice. He quickly joined the others, who had already spread out in a variety of comfortable sprawls on the sofas. They all sat back, sipped on their beers, and rooted for their chosen teams.
Three for San Francisco, two for Philadelphia.
32
THE SELF-STIMULUS
Their virtual night out ended up being akin to a revisit to Jake’s Pub, their off-campus haunt, where many a drink had been downed. Although their capacity had diminished over the years, all survived the frat party—if one didn’t count the fuzzy heads and the slow start the following morning. Notwithstanding, it didn’t delay them from hightailing it out of their suites and into the kitchen.
“Good morning fellas. Looks like y’all had a dandy time last night,” Jax teased, while he cleaned up the rest of the debris from their table in the center of the room.
Hank, trailing behind the others, commented, “We’re a little worse for the wear.”
“Hey, Mr. H., how’d you like those chicken wings?” Jax grinned.
Hank rubbed his paunch, and replied, “They went down just fine, as you can see.”
“I have a fresh pot of java brewing. It should fix y’all up just fine—for whatever it is you do in here,” Jax announced, and then he continued to tend to his duties.
Once they returned to their spotless table, with breakfast plates and cups filled to capacity, they began to put away their food, surprising themselves at how famished they were. Minutes later, Jax reappeared from Paolo’s and Seymour’s suite, carrying their laundry.
“Little light on the undies, boys.” He chuckled as he held up the half-empty bags.
“No spouses around. Great opportunity to take a little leeway,” Seymour answered back, as he noshed on his bagel.
“You boys are looking a little shaggy around the ears as well.”
“You don’t happen to provide spa services?” Seymour asked.
“You’d trust me with clippers?”
“On second thought,” Seymour uttered, and then, before popping the last bite of bagel into his mouth, he replied, “I don’t think so.”
Noble had finished his breakfast long before the others, but continued to sit back and enjoy the repartee as he sipped his remaining coffee.
Jax continued his banter with Seymour as he sauntered in and out of the other suites, collecting the other laundry bags. “You gentlemen enjoy your day now,” he offered, as he finally departed.
At five minutes to nine, the last of the plates had been returned to the kitchen and the cups had been refilled. Then, all seated and accounted for, the group picked up momentum. With less than a month to go and heavily armed with solutions to offer the president—there was still no silver bullet in sight. The traces of
frustration that had crept in were apparent. It was time to regroup intellectually and emotionally. All agreed to devote the first hour of their session that day to recap. They went around the table taking turns, with each member pinpointing what he saw to be the major issues—until it was Paolo’s turn.
“Perhaps our approach is all wrong,” he conjectured. “Eight years have passed since the Great Recession and still more than forty million Americans either are out of work or can’t find full-time jobs. Those statistics added to the momentous increase in anti-poverty spending that has surged fifty percent. Food stamps alone have tripled. Our immigration policies have added new burdens, thrusting millions of immigrants into government subsidy programs since amnesty was imposed.”
“What are you suggesting?” Hank asked. “We’ve already dissected most of the policies that directly impede job growth or cause job losses. Eighteen new or increased taxes imposed by the Universal Healthcare Act have been identified. Those taxes alone attribute to approximately three million jobs being lost and, at the same time, the inflated mandatory spending stoked the fires with another forty percent increase.”
Seymour added to Hank’s assessment. “We’ve also hashed out the various renewable energy policies and taxes, including the carbon tax. And we’ve haggled over the pros and cons of the minimum-wage hike. All of which place heavy burdens on the taxpayers. No wonder there is such unrest in the country.”
“Let’s not forget the corporate taxes levied on American businesses,” Chase reminded them, primed to enter the discussion. “Which have not only perpetuated the problem, but magnified the issue by discouraging corporate investment. The culmination of taxes from whatever source, whether they are from healthcare or renewable-energy compliance, has driven U.S. companies to relocate to other countries to take advantage of a lower tax base. A countless number of lost jobs have been left in its wake. The Big Whopper was the beginning.” He quickly retrieved some notes from his tablet. “Listen to this. Stephen Moore at the Heritage Foundation referred to the process as inversion. Moore, quoting from the Congressional Research Service, said, ‘…roughly 50 major companies have relocated abroad to lower their U.S. corporate tax burden over the last 10 years—and the trend is accelerating.’” Chase looked up at the group and finished paraphrasing the quote. Pfizer, the pharmaceutical firm has been talking about moving its headquarters to Europe. Medtronic, a medical firm, has toyed with the same idea. Even Walgreens is exploring a move overseas. Moore goes on to make the argument that supports our prior assessment that the U.S. corporate income-tax rate is the highest in the industrial world.”
Redemption Page 18
