Silence Her

by Douglas Fetterly

  Conner knew the commissioner did cut corners for him. He had the half-a-million money transfer document to prove it. But Conner wasn’t going to push that point. This was one individual Conner didn’t want to anger. He needed the FDA’s support to fast-track the expensive foods and drugs requiring FDA approval.

  “Arthur, I’m thinking if you check your personal bank account by day’s end, you’ll see enough money to help you smooth this over. Blame one of your scientists. Fire someone if you have to. I’ll take care of Amir. If that works for you, I should let you get back to running the Agency. The country needs it.” Conner smiled to himself, holding back his condescension.

  The commissioner balked at first, something about wanting to do the right thing by the public, but money talked in the end.

  After the call, Conner reread the exposé that drew a triangle of complicity connecting him to Senator Libby and Schuler. He boiled over again. Shouldn’t that ruddy-faced Southerner, or wherever he came from, be calling me about what he’s going to do about this? he bellowed to himself. With nothing left on his desk to sweep clear, he yelled into the intercom.

  “Get Libby on the phone. Now!”

  3

  There was no reason to stick around the newsroom after her run-in with Jerry. Lishan decided to head home. It was 2:30 when she arrived. Throwing herself down on her bed, arms and legs extended like a snow angel, Lishan imagined taking a short nap. Ten minutes into her rest, her irises grew fully visible as she remembered a significant event that evening.

  The D.C. Media Gala.

  The inaudible words formed on her lips. She hadn’t forgotten, but the run-in with her editor had dominated her thoughts.

  The party would begin at 6:30 p.m. in the atrium of the Ronald Reagan Building. Dignitaries from every niche would attend, given the importance of the schmooze and lobby tactics that greased the skids for nearly all deals struck between the various magnates of government, news, and industry.

  Lishan rifled the back-end of her closet where lesser-used clothing was relegated. She found a backless dress of black silk. Tempting, she thought, questioning whether she would be more powerful in her alluring femininity or her less-revealing business attire. Maybe the pinstriped gray suit I wore to my Mirror interview?

  No, she thought, not the suit. It’s a formal affair, after all. Still, she didn’t want her sexuality to eclipse her business stature. She had a reputation to uphold. Then she saw her one outfit by designer Salman Kabir. It was an off-white brocade dress, backless yet sophisticated, contoured from breast to ankle. Yes, this will do.

  Showered and dressed by 6:00 p.m., Lishan was nearly ready to venture out. She brushed her shoulder-length, black hair, adding a small dollop of lightweight conditioner to soften the waves. She called her close friend Erik to see if he would chaperone her out the front door of the apartment building and into a taxi—her way of showing off being dressed to the nines, which he rarely saw.

  “I thought this gala deal was going to be at the Fairmont. What happened?” Erik asked as they headed toward the exit.

  “It was. But the chair had some chauvinistic issue with the Fairmont’s founders back in San Francisco—sisters Tessie and Virginia Fair. Can you believe it? That was a hundred years ago.”

  “Some prejudices run long and deep,” Erik said. “Rancorous, in my mind.”

  She blew a kiss to him as she stepped into a taxi. Erik didn’t return the kiss. She could see tension lines in his face.

  Before the cabbie closed the door, she asked Erik, “Is something wrong?”

  Erik hesitated, his mouth tight with irritation.

  “Yes, actually. You found a way to take me to the last two galas. It just seemed odd that you didn’t invite me this year. Are you meeting someone there?”

  Lishan capped her anger as best she could. Dammit, Erik, you always weave in your jealousies.

  “No, Erik, I’m not meeting someone.” Lishan’s breathing became audible. “Look, it’s always been a hassle getting you in. It’s against the rules. I told you two months ago, when I received the invitation, that I couldn’t take you this year. I tried. Maybe you tuned me out when I told you.”

  “Maybe I did. Anyway, have fun Lishan.” Erik turned his back as he headed inside, his insincerity having done its damage.

  Great, just great, Lishan said to herself. She cast a meager smile to the cabbie, a “thank you” for his patience. She decided to let the altercation go and focus on the gala. Erik didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon, and she had to be in good form for the event. Still, she wished she understood why his jealousy was so charged.

  Lishan managed to regain her smile by the time she arrived. She thought back to the two previous Media Galas, which her editor took delight in calling Media Balls. All three invitations had come at the request of her publisher, since Jerry would never have invited Lishan.

  After she passed through security, she heard a woman call out “Mrs. O.” Turning, she saw Elizabeth Walker, publisher extraordinaire.

  “Ah, Michelle, it is you,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “How’s the puppy?”

  Lishan dipped her eyebrows, confused that her publisher clearly knew her and yet seemed to have mistaken her for someone else. Then it struck her—the White House. Lishan broke into a grin.

  “I forgot how closely you follow fashion. This gown, as you so aptly discerned, is by the same designer the First Lady uses. In fact, I believe he’s here tonight, though I’m not certain just why.”

  “He happened to be in town, and the White House deemed it appropriate,” Elizabeth said. “My, my,” she quipped, admiring Lishan’s backless gown as they entered the atrium. “It does look good on you! I must be paying you too much. I wish I had the courage to wear such an artistic statement.”

  Lishan blushed. “Oh, you have the courage.”

  They both smiled, walking arm in arm until they entered the “circus,” as Erik occasionally referred to such events. There they parted, Lishan understanding the publisher had lobbying to do.

  Lishan chatted briefly with an assortment of media folk she knew, mostly journalists and editors from newspapers. She got numerous compliments from her colleagues on her front-page headline, along with a few playful warnings to watch her back.

  Half an hour into the party, a sudden eruption of camera flashes got everyone’s attention. Four men and their wives, with one couple in tow, entered nearly as a pack.

  Lishan immediately recognized Jack Conner, Senator Libby, and the FDA commissioner. Several seconds lapsed before she identified the fourth—a trim, white male in his late forties, the look of the country club set—Nathaniel Ferrali, the uppermost echelon U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. The lesser couple bringing up the rear included none other than her editor, Jerry Hanson, appearing nearly as an attendant to the group. It was clear that Jerry attempted to blend in as though he were a key figure, but his antics, his waving and smiling, only made him look ridiculous.

  Lishan made herself less conspicuous. She knew their gossip about her wouldn’t be flattering. She imagined the commissioner and Jerry would see her as a mere speck of agitation. As for Ferrali, she couldn’t be sure. Yet, for Conner and Libby, perception management was key to them if reputations were to remain fully intact along with profits and a checkmark at the polls.

  She kept the troublesome group in her periphery until they settled into an area close to the bar. Lishan maneuvered to one of the many hors d’oeuvres tables, peering at her options, when a gentleman’s voice said, “I love your gown.”

  She looked up to find an exquisitely dressed Indian-born man looking warmly at her.

  “My name is Salman Kabir. How do you do?”

  Salman Kabir, Lishan repeated to herself. Barely containing her delight, she finally said, “My name’s Lishan Amir,” extending her hand. “This is your dress.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Salman smiled. “You wear it very well.”

  They talked of fashion and wo
rld affairs. Ten minutes had gone by when Lishan felt an icy hand on her back. She recoiled sharply, turning to find the group of ten standing there, gazing at her attire. Conner withdrew his hand.

  “Nice frock,” Conner laughed. “A little sleazy though, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not surprised,” chimed Senator Libby. “A backless dress of such poor quality at a formal affair. Really, Ms. Amir. I must agree with Mr. Conner. Sleazy.”

  “Sleazy,” Lishan mimicked. She turned toward the designer. “Do you find this gown sleazy, Mr. Kabir?”

  Salman put his hand to his chin. “Hmm. Honestly? I can’t say I do. But perhaps these gentlemen are more expert than I about fashion.”

  Conner’s wife Loren gasped as she recognized the designer and his work. She tried to get her husband’s attention, but to no avail.

  “So, are you an expert on sleaze, Senator?” Lishan said.

  The senator grew red. “Ms. Amir, you don’t know me well enough to insult me.”

  “But I do.” The soprano voice, coming from behind the group, caught everyone’s attention. The men and their wives turned to find a tall, slender, African-American...female? The intruder’s attire included a snug-fitting shiny black skirt, halting six inches above the knee. The top was a matching black long-sleeve blouse, with two lines of purple sequins—like two reversed parentheses—suggesting a 6-inch waist. The neckline plunged shamelessly.

  Ah, it’s JoJo, Lishan said to herself, delighted. The FDA commissioner also recognized him, but he chose to keep silent.

  JoJo continued, shocking nearly everyone as he changed to his deep baritone. “Hello, Senator. And Jack and Nathaniel, how nice to see all of you again. I should add, as to sleazy, you boys just don’t recognize artful clothing when you see it, unless of course it’s being taken off by some—if I may borrow a word you boys seem to freely apply—bimbo.”

  JoJo nodded to the commissioner, then turned his attention to Salman, shaking his hand. “Mr. Kabir, I just adore your work,” JoJo said admiringly, running his fingers along the fabric of Lishan’s gown. JoJo scanned the faces of the five men. “See you again at the club, sometime this week?”

  JoJo smiled, then turned to Jerry.

  “I don’t know you, but you really should have those amalgam fillings removed.”

  Jerry responded by closing his mouth, hiding two silver-colored fillings that were, unfortunately, prominent when he spoke. He glared at Lishan.

  JoJo continued. “You do know those mercury fillings are killing the few brain cells you have left? Too bad the FDA still succumbs to the amalgam lobby.”

  By this time, the scowls on the faces of the angry wives had knocked the wind out of the five men. The men backed away, tight-lipped, tails tucked.

  Conner was the only one to flash a threatening look before he departed.

  JoJo winked at Lishan, then sashayed into the crowd.

  Salman’s face brightened. He loved a good skirmish. “The shenanigans of self-important men. Fatuous comes to mind.” He paused. “And who was that tall, beautiful gentleman?”

  “You do understand beauty.”

  “Hmm. The whole of humanity, with its myriad of tragedy, its effervescence, its pulchritude.”

  “His name is JoJo. A sweet friend of mine—scientist with the FDA by day, dancer and performer by night. I met him when I wrote an article about him and how he could pass as a top female model and dancer.” Lishan paused, then added, “I’m sorry you had to witness that nastiness with Conner and the senator.”

  Salman waved his hand in a gentle gesture. “No doubt they are still stinging from your fine article today.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Of course. I imagine most of Washington is looking at those…gentlemen a bit differently this evening, thanks to your work. They are of no import, Lishan. That much is clear.”

  Compliments and hugs exchanged, Lishan excused herself and wove her way to JoJo.

  “Thank you. You were marvelous,” she said.

  “Conner and Libby deserve to be behind bars. The U.S. Attorney as well. And to treat someone like you with such disdain, and in public.”

  “They feel threatened by me. By the way, have they actually been to your club?”

  “Of course. More than once. Some of the performers, like me, are in drag. Some aren't. The likes of Conner and Libby are difficult to miss. Loud and obnoxious, with egos the size of elephant balls. No doubt to compensate for other…shortcomings.”

  Lishan laughed out loud. They spoke for another ten minutes before Lishan realized she was tired. The day had taken a bit of a toll. It was time to head home.

  “Ms. Amir?”

  Lishan took a deep breath as she turned to face what she feared might be another intruder.

  “Yes?”

  “Howard Perkins. I…”

  Lishan brightened, jumping in. “Howard Perkins. I know exactly who you are. It’s truly my pleasure to meet you.”

  “I didn’t know I had such an enthusiastic following,” he said.

  “Any investigative reporter worth her career knows who you are. Your reputation in our field precedes you.” Lishan was glowing.

  Perkins matched her glow. “Kind of you,” he said. “I only have a moment, but I wanted to meet you. I appreciate your work, especially that last Truth Be Known article of yours.”

  Their conversation lasted fifteen enjoyable minutes. Howard produced a business card from his wallet.

  “Can I give you my card, Ms. Amir?”

  “Please, call me Lishan.”

  “Excellent. I’d enjoy chatting sometime over a glass of wine, or an espresso?”

  “I’d like that, Mr. Perkins.”

  “Please, it’s Howard. Take care, Lishan—and give me a call any time. At the moment, I’ve got a few shins to kick.”

  The warmth in Howard’s smile was enough to chase away the October chill. Tucking the card in her bag, Lishan headed for the exit.

  On her way out, she saw that JoJo had cornered the president's new press secretary. Since the recent S.N.L. skits, he had become fodder for ridicule. JoJo couldn't resist.

  A line of taxis was ready and waiting when Lishan reached the outside air. During the ride home, Lishan skimmed a few notes she had made, making a mental memo to further investigate some of the FDA-related comments Howard had mentioned:

  When using accelerated approval, Subpart E, drug skips certain safety data.

  Did the Roche Corporation know of unresolved deaths that occurred during clinical trials but still submitted the drug for FDA approval?

  Warner-Lambert and Pfizer – Rezulin – 63 deaths, liver failure, lawsuits? Did the FDA know? Was a questioning reviewer stifled?

  Lishan found herself driven to dive deeper into the truth.

  4

  Johnny Mazzini was a scrawny kid in the Bronx. In the fifth grade, his lack of bulk didn’t buy him any favors, especially with the school bullies. Johnny was sensitive, always seeking the approval of others by any means possible. By chance, he found that baking helped his situation. He began taking cookies to school, gaining a false sense of friendship with other kids. The bullies would take their share and still beat him up.

  He remembered one time when he must have grabbed a wrong ingredient, or one that had become toxic. Nine of the ten kids who ate the cookies became very sick – including the bullies. After that, the bullies never bothered him again. Johnny never forgot.

  5

  Tuesday morning—the day off she had earned from her run-in with the editor—was just two weeks past the autumn equinox. The air was crisp and full of promise, but the week ahead felt like it had too many ingredients for Lishan to keep track of—at least until her French press had finished its brew. Lishan’s intellect seemed to sharpen in direct proportion to the number of cups of strong coffee she consumed.

  Her life had taken on a seemingly increased complexity as she sought to balance the rebuke from her editor against recent keystrokes he hadn’t app
roved. She pulled out her calendar.

  Lishan wasn’t unhappy with the unpaid day off. It gave her an opportunity to attend a Senate hearing she had in mind. The FDA commissioner was speaking before the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions. After two cups of black, single-origin coffee, she caught a taxi to the Senate building.

  FDA Commissioner Arthur Schuler stood before the committee, his speech notes in front of him. The hearing was titled “Ensuring Public Safety: FDA’s Determination of Obesity Relative to Artificial Sweeteners.”

  He began, “Good morning, Chairman Hinkle and members of the committee. I’m Dr. Arthur Schuler, Commissioner of Food and Drugs at the Food and Drug Administration, which falls within the Department of Health and Human Services. Thank you for the opportunity to discuss food safety with you today and for your longstanding commitment to food safety.”

  The commissioner spent the next seven minutes trumpeting the FDA’s accomplishments, a display Lishan had noticed in other hearings. It reminded her of the antics of male animals when courting.

  As the hearing continued, various senators spoke up, asking the commissioner questions—mostly pertinent—usually with respect, though commonly traceable to the party line. The central theme focused on how the FDA viewed the correlation between artificial sweeteners and the rise of obesity in the United States, specifically regarding the aspartame-like sweetener Connulose that Conner Foods had introduced five years earlier.

  Twenty minutes into the hearing, a commotion occurred at one of the ornate double doors. Two men entered loudly. Lishan’s eyes widened. Senator Libby and Jerry Hanson.

  It was barely mid-morning, but the two appeared inebriated. When they realized they’d become the center of attention, they simply smiled and waved to the group. Senator Libby took his empty seat at the dais, while Jerry stood, given standing room only. Lishan noticed Jerry nod and smile toward the center of the room. She followed his gaze to Commissioner Schuler. Another friend.

  One of the democratic senators, Maria Sanchez (D-NM), referred to national health studies that indicated a direct relationship between obesity, neurotoxicity, and the consumption of Conner’s chemical sweetener.