“I’m not running for president,” David reminded Rick tersely.
“Same principle applies. You need to get married.”
David shook his head in disbelief. Was this guy for real?
“Just like that? Doesn’t matter to whom?”
“Of course it matters to whom. I understand you’re seeing Linette Laney.”
“I’m guessing my father also shared that tidbit of information with you.”
“Isn’t it public knowledge? I know her family. Good stock. Southern money.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m seeing her. We go out occasionally, but we’re just friends.”
“Sometimes the best romances begin as just friends. She’d be a good match for you. Good education, breeding, class.”
David felt it necessary to point out, “I’m not in love with her.”
“Being in love is highly overrated,” scoffed Rick, shaking his head. “All this being in love and falling in love is idealistic nonsense. You can grow to love the right woman. The wrong woman you can grow to hate.”
David wondered for a moment if Rick had been talking to Sunil.
“Number two?”
“What’s that?” Bridgeman asked.
“You said there were three things you wanted to share with me.”
“Fundraising. You always need money when running a campaign. And not your own. You don’t want to fund your own campaign if you can help it. The irony is that the more money a candidate is able to raise, the more likely people are to financially support him. It seems to signal to people that there is support for him and, therefore, he has a reasonable chance to win. It’s an interesting phenomenon. Now, I understand that you’ve got an incredible source of funding right under your nose.”
“Who’s that?”
“Ronalda Dickson.”
David’s mouth dropped open.
“My assistant? How do you know about her?” Did this man have a dossier on him?
“I like to do my homework. Find out about our candidates. Her brothers-in-law are Lord William Lamport and Robert Cortelli. Her sisters are Dana Dickson and Barbara Dickson. These are very wealthy people. You perhaps want to set up a meeting with them. Present your campaign goals.”
“I want to do nothing of the kind! Why on earth would they want to fund the political campaign of a candidate for a district in Illinois? What’s in it for them?”
“That’s what you’ve got to figure out.”
David looked at his watch and tapped his foot impatiently. This man was out of his mind. He was worse than his father if that were possible.
“I’ve been in this a long time. All I’m saying to you is that no one ever has as much as they’d like to spend. How would you like to know that if you had just had another ten grand, you could have won that seat? Sometimes that’s all it comes down to… Money. Money to reach more people. Money to market yourself. I see it all the time.”
He paused for effect, probably hoping to make the point as dramatic as possible. David said nothing, so Rick continued.
“The other guy is nowhere as good as you, has nothing to offer, and yet has a great campaign message and gets to voters so that they are bombarded with it and begin to see his face in their sleep. Don’t be afraid to ask for money, David. Who do you think gets the vote? Not the guy who’s afraid to go out there and raise money because of pride, I’ll tell you that. Don’t get prideful, son. Scripture says pride goes before a fall.”
David blinked. Now the man was quoting scripture to him. How precious. He took a deep breath.
“And the final thing?”
“Yes. Final thing. Strategy and message for your campaign. I know you’ve been focusing a lot on tackling crime and creating jobs. Lofty goals, but I’d also think about things on people’s minds these days. In Chicago, top issues for people right now are also pension retirement security, quality education, and health care.”
“I’m not going to try to be all things to all people. Mitt Romney did that rather unsuccessfully.”
Bridgeman laughed until he coughed.
“Very good observation. I’m not suggesting that at all. I just want to remind you that this campaign is not about you. It has never been and will never be about you. It’s about the voter and what’s important to them. Listen more than you talk. If you don’t have a connection with voters, they won’t vote for you.”
“Who would you recommend to manage the campaign?”
“There are two guys. Philip Stevens and Bob Gershon. Unfortunately, Philip is working with Joe Blithe to manage his campaign for state senator in Maryland, but I contacted Bob two days ago, and he’s free and has expressed his interest in working with you. He’s excellent at what he does. A powerhouse. A magic maker. He has a proven track record and has made valuable contacts all over. Meet with him and see if you like his style. As backups, there are two other guys. I’ve got a folder with their résumés here for you to peruse.”
~*~*~*~
David sat back and scrutinized the man before him.
Bob Gershon did not look like a powerhouse. He looked like a mannequin. He was of medium build and average height for a man, probably five-feet-ten-inches tall. He wore a tailored black suit and black and white tie. A Rolex peeped out under his cuffs. He wore expensive leather shoes and carried a designer briefcase. He looked super-sanitized with his smooth, unblemished features, perfect white teeth, light brown hair, cut in a classic, conservative style, and neatly trimmed and buffed fingernails. He looked perfectly plastic, as though he wouldn’t bleed if you cut him. And there was something about him, something in his arrogant hazel eyes that made David feel ill-at-ease.
David looked down at Gershon’s résumé again. He wasn’t that old, just 37, but his experience was extensive.
Based on his résumé, Bob Gershon was a long-time party campaign consultant. He had graduated from the University of South Carolina and immediately pursued a full-time career in politics beginning with his work for Senator Charles Scofield’s re-election campaign.
He’d had his failures over the years, like Scofield’s unsuccessful presidential campaign. But in recent times he’d enjoyed more and more successes, like Congressman Jeffrey Heath’s first re-election bid in Missouri, Harriette Hope’s successful campaign to fill the New Jersey seat in the US Senate, and Wyatt Jones’ win for Governor of South Carolina. In addition, as executive director of the party’s congressional campaign committee, he had led them to win back the house. He’d also led the committee to unusually high fundraising amounts during his tenure.
“Your credentials are impressive,” David commented.
“Thank you,” Gershon replied, his face inscrutable.
As David continued to leaf through the document, he asked a blunt and to the point question.
“What can you offer me that other campaign managers can’t?”
“The Rolodex.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Rolodex is my term for the thousands of legitimate contacts I have made over the years. These are not just any contacts. These are people who will enable you to get the two most important things you need – top funding opportunities and votes. Few campaign managers can boast of these connections. I’d be surprised if any campaign manager right now has even half of the contacts I do. Did I mention that fifty percent of them owe me favors?”
His penetrating green eyes met David’s unflinching brown ones as if daring him to challenge his impeccable credentials.
He continued.
“I’m tenacious. I don’t give up. I’ve successfully done this before. I have at least two people sitting in the Senate because of my strategies. Be assured that you will get the best from the capable team I will hand pick for you. I’ve already drafted a plan.”
Gershon reached into his portfolio and removed a document which he slid across the table.
David picked it up, glanced at the cover and quickly flipped through the pages. He conceded that it was hard not to be impresse
d. From the cursory view of the glossy document, he could see that Gershon was a focused, proactive sort of man. He felt his unease begin to dissipate.
Gershon inclined his head towards the document as David placed it on the desk.
“I would welcome the opportunity to put that plan into action for you. I guarantee,” he said with quiet confidence, his green eyes unwavering, “that you will be state representative if you hire me.”
David nodded. Even though he had not quite warmed up to Gershon, his credentials couldn’t be ignored.
He gave Gershon a brief smile. “I’ll have an answer for you by the end of the week.”
“Certainly, Mr. Jones.”
“Call me David.”
Gershon nodded. “I’ll wait to hear from you then, David.”
Several minutes after Gershon had left, there was a knock on David’s office door.
“Come in,” David yelled. He was never quite sure if anyone could hear through the massive oak door, particularly given the distance from his desk. He usually bellowed and hoped for the best or didn’t answer at all. It was either Joan or Tracey anyway, and they knew the drill. Knock and enter.
David looked up to see Ronnie Dickson appear. Today, his always-impeccably-dressed assistant’s assistant was wearing a fitted, light blue pantsuit. Her hair was parted in the middle and, as usual, pulled away from her face into a tight knot. She was holding a paper bag in her hand. When she reached his desk, she took out a gift and with a shy smile presented it to him.
“What’s this?” he asked carefully.
It wasn’t his birthday. In fact, his birthday had passed three months ago so it couldn’t even be a belated birthday present.
“It’s my way of saying thanks for this opportunity.”
“Oh!”
David scrambled for an appropriate response. One that was warm enough to express his gratitude, yet not so warm that it betrayed how touched he was by the gesture. He finally settled on, “Thank you.”
“Let me know how you enjoy your present,” she said with a smile as she turned away.
“I will,” he promised, already separating the gift from its packaging.
~*~*~*~
Ronnie waited in silent anticipation as Melissa Holness clicked through photo after photo of the images she had selected for her father’s book.
The woman said very little. The only indication of her interest was an occasional nod or fleeting smile.
“Your father’s work really was amazing, Ronnie. I think the selection is very good. Very emotive.”
“It took me a while to choose the best ones. It was difficult because all of them are so good. But I prayed a lot, and this is my final selection.”
“We’ll put them together, and then we’ll begin working on the short prose to accompany each. Will you write that?”
“I’m thinking of asking my sister, Dana, to do that for me if she has the time. She writes very well.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Ronnie knew how most people couldn’t get past the fact that Dana was a former supermodel. They might be surprised to learn how intelligent and well-read she was. It reminded her of the passage which said that man looked at the outward appearance, but only God knew the heart.
~*~*~*~
“I’ve got just one last song for us to practice guys,” David said to the twenty-five young men ranging from ages fifteen to twenty-one, who were gathered on stage in the church auditorium for choir practice.
They groaned in unison. “David, we’ve practiced for two hours already.”
“But you’ll love this one. And don’t argue with me or I’ll make all of you do one hundred pushups.”
The guys laughed as David passed out the music sheets.
“Here is what we’ll do. As you can see from the sheets, the musicians will begin with the overture. Then Tré alone will sing verse one while the other singers will sing back up, repeating the verses indicated on the sheet. Second verse, Darren will take over, and the rest of you will repeat those verses highlighted there. The song ends with all of you repeating the refrain. How does that sound?”
They nodded.
Someone began to sing.
“Not quite yet, Tré,” David said.
“Just getting a feel for the song,” Tré replied with a smirk.
“Do that in your head.”
The others laughed.
David had come by his ministry quite perchance. Julius Brown, the youth pastor, had seen his talent when he had played the saxophone at a fund-raising event at the church. He had cornered David after church a week later and asked him to take over the ministry vacated by their music director who had left the church a year prior.
The decision had not been an easy one for David. What qualified him to be a music director aside from the fact that he loved music? Besides, his plate had already been full to overflowing with his duties as senior partner at the firm, his role as lecturer at the University of Chicago Law School, and his work in the community as an organizer. He had been able to fit in the ministry by cutting back on his community work. He had reasoned that this ministry also qualified as community work as he was working with the young church members from the community.
Two years later, David felt that it was one of the best decisions he had made in his life. He did more than just teach these guys songs. He was there to offer them guidance and advice, and though his Christian walk was far from perfect, he considered himself a good male role model. He pointed them to the cross and encouraged them to trust Christ no matter life’s challenges. They began each session with prayer. And many of the songs, while lyrical and enjoyable, also ministered to their souls. David had seen young men get saved in that very place. What a blessing that had been.
Tré had been one of them. One night at practice, overcome by the song, Amazing Grace, which they had reworked with an upbeat melody, he had revealed the blackness of his soul. The group stood riveted as Tré had poured out the fact that while he attended church, mainly because his mother made him, he was a liar, a cheater, a fornicator. He confessed that he felt dirty and knew he could not get clean unless he were washed in God’s saving grace. David had been surprised to find his own cheeks wet with tears as the young man gave his life to Christ that evening.
“Love Story, huh?” Tré said as they were packing up to leave, turning the CD over and looking at the back. “I like it. Very mellow, smooth.”
“I concur.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“It was given to me.”
“Nice,” Tré said, nodding slowly.
“Yeah.”
~*~*~*~
David stared at the phone he had just returned to its cradle. He had hired Bob Gershon to manage his campaign. One more thing to strike off his to-do list in this election race. Well, he was making progress. Things were happening.
He shifted gears as his gaze rested on the stack of tickets sitting in front of him. A stack of one hundred to be precise. He pushed away from his desk and prepared to make the rounds as he had last year and the year before that when he had become youth music director.
Tracey glanced up at him and groaned when he placed the two tickets on her desk.
“Sir, can I bail this year? I’m not really up to attending.”
David snatched them back. “Of course, Trace. It’s not obligatory, you know.”
He heard footsteps approaching and turned. Ronnie was briskly walking towards them, poring over her tablet.
“Ronnie, what are you doing Saturday night two weeks from now?” he asked.
She stopped short and watched him with a baffled expression.
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“’Cause, young lady, I hold in my hand an unbeatable opportunity for you to have the time of your life. It’s a not to be missed event.”
Tracey coughed.
David ignored her.
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
He smiled, encouraged.
“My church concert. It’s not only an uplifting, entertaining event, it’s also an opportunity for you to help raise money for a new church roof.”
Ronnie rubbed her chin.
“Why would your church need to raise money for a church roof with well-heeled, tithe-paying persons such as yourself as members?”
Tracey cleared her throat.
David ignored her.
Ronnie watched him with wide-eyed innocence.
He continued to smile.
“Because it gives other persons the opportunity to do some good in this world and be blessed. We are, after all, a giving church and don’t want to keep all the blessings for ourselves.”
Ronnie nodded thoughtfully as though his explanation made perfect sense.
“Understood. What’s the cost?”
“Just ten bucks per ticket.”
“Okay. I’ll take twelve.”
“Twelve!”
She nodded. “There are some kids at Changing Lives I’d like to attend with me. Thanks for the offer.”
“No. Thank you!”
David counted out the twelve tickets, handed them over to Ronnie and turned smugly to Tracey.
“Can I offer you a cough drop for that sore throat, Ma’am?”
Chapter 8
The setting sun painted a tapestry of vivid reds and oranges across the landscape as the minivan bearing Ronnie, Anne Hirsch and ten teenagers from South Central, pulled into Calvary Baptist Church parking lot.
The group took up the entire pew in the third row on the right of the church. Ronnie sat at one end of the pew and Anne Hirsch at the other end, with the kids in the middle.
Ronnie looked down the row and beamed with pride as though they were her kids. In a way, they felt like hers. They formed the majority of the youth group she had taken under her wing when she had first joined Changing Lives Chicago. It had begun as the at-risk youth group she helped with homework evenings and morphed into the group she met with some Fridays to discuss the challenges facing young people and the hope they had in Christ. They were now doing well at school, and a few of them had even applied for college and other tertiary institutions to attain NVQs. She loved them all but had her favorites among the boys and the girls – the feisty young lady, Rashonna, and wise-cracking Duane.
A Case For Love (Royals Series Book 3) Page 7
