Fiore felt instinctively that it was the right moment to move over and sit next to Pat on the sofa. He wanted to be able to offer her support, if he could, and thought his closeness to her would send that signal. “What would you like me to do?” he asked softly.
“It’s really what I want you to be ready to do,” she said. “The owners lost a lot of money last year. Brad was afraid they might decide to call it quits when the auditor’s figures came in a month ago. I never saw him in such bad shape as the week after he got the report. He looked like he was falling apart, one day after the next. And believe me, it had nothing to do with what he was losing on his three percent of the business.
“Maybe you already know whether they’re planning to close the place or trying to sell it. I probably shouldn’t ask about that. But if nothing’s been discussed, or at least decided yet, I just hope you can let them know what Brad’s been doing to try and keep it alive.”
“No problem,” Fiore told her. He felt he had to fudge his answer to her so that she wouldn’t be questioning him as to the status of the plant every time Brad worried about its future. “Just so you’ll know,” he continued, “the Tarantino family employs my firm to handle certain matters for them, but there are other things they prefer not to come to us for advice on. Labor relations is one of them, although it wouldn’t matter in this case anyway. It’s been a while since I heard anything from the Platts. But as soon as Irwin or Sam calls me, I’ll make sure they understand the effort Brad’s been putting in.”
“Thanks, Doug. I really appreciate it.”
He wanted to find out more about this woman. “I assume everything’s okay between you and Brad?” he asked.
“I’ll answer that in a second,” Pat responded. “That favor I asked comes in two parts, and I only gave you the first.”
“Okay, let’s hear the rest.”
“I’m afraid Brad might force the employees out on strike even if he could get a fair settlement of the contract without it. His attitude seems to be, ‘Give me everything I want or to hell with you.’ He’s like the Titanic looking for an iceberg.” Pat took note of the half smile her words brought to Fiore’s lips, and went on.
“I’m not sure George Ryder really understands what’s going on in Brad’s head. If he does, I don’t know whether he can control him. That’s why I’d like you to keep an eye on what’s happening in the negotiations. See if the Union is looking for a settlement that’s fair to both sides. If they’re going to try and push Brad around again, like last time, that’s one thing, and a fight will be inevitable. But if they recognize the problems at the plant and their demands show it, someone else may have to sit down with Brad and talk sense to him.”
Pat was beginning to have trouble continuing with what she had to say. She looked down at her hands, folded together, and closed her eyes for several seconds. When she raised her head again, he could see the film of water in her eyes.
“I think you may even have to ask the owners to step in and stop him from doing something foolish. Maybe they’ll have to tell him again that they don’t want a strike. Is it something you can keep up with, Doug?”
He waited until she was looking directly at him. “I’ll make the time. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll tell Ryder to show me all the proposals that go back and forth in the negotiations, and to update me orally as often as necessary. We won’t let Brad jump off the deep end if we can help it.”
A few tears began running down the sides of Pat’s face. She brushed them away with her finger. Once again she was certain she had a close friend in Doug Fiore, the only person she could trust to help her keep Brad from taking too many missteps and falling off the cliff. She thanked Doug again and then leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek.
“Back to your question,” she said. “Brad and I have been in love for almost twenty-five years. It’s been a good marriage. It hasn’t been perfect but no one should expect that. I could always tell when some other woman caught his fancy for a while. It happened a handful of times. I never once said a word to him about it because I knew it was just an infatuation, a temporary need for a different sexual outlet, one that would blow over soon enough. A woman has a lot of ways of knowing when that’s happening. Men aren’t as smart when it comes to that. None of them want to believe that their wives may be getting some much-needed sexual satisfaction somewhere else. The male ego can’t handle that. So they ignore the clues that may be sitting right out there in the open.”
Fiore was poised to follow up on her last statement but then thought better of it.
“There were times when I was very depressed about something and Brad couldn’t be there for me. He was too busy. There were too many things on his mind at work. There was no way he could give me the attention I wanted, the holding and the hugging my body was crying for, even the sex that I hoped would push the depression away, at least for a while.
“I didn’t go out looking for other men when that happened. But I’m convinced we send out bright red flashing signals when we feel like that. It seems that every man in the street, or in the restaurant or bar can pick up on it. Sooner or later one of them has the right opening line and you end up in bed. The regrets come later on and hang around longer than you like, but at the time it’s a catharsis, a wonderful release.”
Pat took one of Doug’s hands and worked her fingers into his. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Brad and I? Like I said, still in love. But for the past nine months Ocean State Wire & Cable has been the only thing on his mind. I’m there for him, but all his energy is aimed in another direction.” She hesitated but he could see she wasn’t finished. “It’s very depressing,” she whispered.
Fiore felt the sudden hardening in his crotch. Pat was leaning toward him and he could see that she wanted to be held. He raised his arm and she brought her head and shoulders into his chest. Where are we going with this? he asked himself. Doug was comfortable in his relationship with Carol Singer and wasn’t looking to get involved in another liaison. Pat raised her head and silently asked for a kiss. He couldn’t refuse, and pressed his lips lightly against hers. But she wanted to kiss hard, long and hard.
Pat’s intention was clear, and the moment of decision presented itself. Either he had to back off immediately and give her some lame excuse, or take what she was offering and consider it a onetime unexpected bonus. What the hell, he thought, as his natural eagerness for sex took over, it’s like I’m doing the client a favor.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he said, when she rested her head back on his chest.
Pat laughed. “That’s the best opening line I’ve heard in a long time. But I invited you here for dinner and we haven’t had a thing to eat yet.”
“It’s okay,” Doug answered, all indecision now gone. “I’ve been thinking about giving up dinners for Lent.”
She laughed again, moved away from his arm and got up from the couch. “In that case,” she said, reaching down to take one of his hands, “let me show you the rest of my humble dwelling.”
Doug followed her into the bedroom. He was thinking that he’d slept with Carol at the Marriott the night before and with Grace at home on Tuesday. This would make it three different women on three consecutive nights. It wasn’t quite his favorite fantasy of having two women in bed with him at the same time, but it would do for now.
21
CAROL SINGER WAS IN a terrible mood by the time her husband got home and came into the family room where she was watching L.A. Law. At four-thirty that afternoon Doug Fiore surprised her by coming into her office. It was something he did only on rare occasions since they became lovers six months earlier. He was carrying a briefcase and had his coat over one arm.
“Hi. Got a second?” he asked.
“Sure. What’s happening?”
“I’m on my way to the airport. Something urgent just came up with one of my clients in New York. I’ve got to hold his hand over dinner at LaGuardia.”
“Oh.”
<
br /> He could see that his words upset her. “I’m sorry, Carol. I was looking forward to tonight at the Sheraton as much as you were.”
“Who’s the client?” she asked.
Fiore hadn’t anticipated the question and deflected it. “I’m running late. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, I promise.”
Carol got up. “I’m not working on anything that’s rush rush. Let me drive you to the terminal.”
That was the last thing he wanted. “Thanks anyway,” he said. “It would take us almost half an hour to walk over to your garage and get out of there. If I grab a cab now, I can probably beat most of the traffic.”
She walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“I really wanted to be with you tonight,” he told her. “I’ve been saving up to make a large deposit.”
She returned his smile even though the disappointment was beginning to turn to anger. But she would have been in a rage if she knew that Fiore made his reservation for the flight five days earlier—using the name Paul Rome again—and simply neglected to tell her.
* * *
Carol ate dinner at home alone that same night. She was reviewing a case file at the kitchen table when a woman called on the telephone, asking for Bruce. Carol said that she didn’t expect her husband back before ten o’clock. The caller introduced herself as Jenna Richardson from the Providence Herald and said she needed some information for a story she was checking out.
“Perhaps you can help, Mrs. Singer. I’m just following up on a rumor going around the Statehouse that your husband plans to run for governor this year. Are you able to confirm that?”
Carol had no idea that Richardson was looking at her watch to see how many seconds passed before she got an answer. The question produced a sudden ache in her stomach. It was as if she was told by her doctor during a routine checkup that she had a life-threatening illness. She had to breathe deeply several times before she could speak.
Jenna was already convinced that the “No” she expected to hear momentarily would be a meaningless denial. She was unprepared for the words that came through the phone: “God, I hope not,” Carol answered.
“Thank you, Mrs. Singer. I won’t quote you on that. I’ll try and reach Mr. Singer at his office tomorrow. Or he can return this call at 241-5000. Goodnight.” Jenna hung up the phone and started biting her thumbnail as she considered Carol Singer’s answer. It was something she was doing quite often without realizing it.
22
BRUCE SINGER SAT DOWN on one of the leather chairs in the family room. He waited for the next TV commercial before asking his wife how she was and whether there were any messages for him that night. Carol told him about the call from Jenna Richardson at the Herald and watched his reaction.
“I’ve seen her name in the paper on some stories, but not usually on political stuff,” Bruce said. “That’s Jim Callum’s turf.” He got up and began walking back toward the kitchen. “She’s probably just helping out.”
Carol tried to stay calm. “What are you going to tell her?” she asked.
He hesitated slightly. “That I haven’t made a decision yet.”
“You never mentioned that you were even considering it.” She turned down the volume to silence the commercial.
“I didn’t think we had to talk about it unless I was first convinced it was something I wanted to do. Cross the bridge when you get there, you know?”
“You know damn well, Bruce, that I don’t want to see you getting anywhere near that bridge.” She had raised her voice. Once again, she told herself not to get worked up. “Besides, Sacco has done a good job and he’s a shoo-in for reelection.”
“Are we going to talk about this now, and have it out, or do you want to watch the rest of the show? Just tell me what you want to do,” he said.
Carol didn’t answer. She reached for the remote again and pushed the power button. Bruce sat down on a side chair, instead of the leather one he was in at first, and leaned slightly forward in her direction.
“Someone has to run against Sacco,” he began. “You know that. Even if the polls show that nine out of ten people say they’ll vote for him, the Party can’t roll over dead and not contest the election. Dave Waller’s in a tough position. As Democratic Party Chairman, he’s got to come up with a candidate who has some credibility and then run a campaign. He talked to me about it. Remember, I was lieutenant governor for four years. I’m the last democrat who held such a high state position.”
She interrupted him. “Ed McGurty ran against Sacco two years ago, not you.”
“Right. And he got beat. Clobbered is the word. He came out of his automobile showroom and disappeared back into it when the election was over. He hasn’t taken a public stand on anything since then. He’s not even in the picture this time.”
“He was good enough to beat you in the primary,” Carol said.
“You don’t have to remind me.” He spoke the words slowly. “Believe me, it still hurts. I didn’t take McGurty seriously and I paid the price. The public got turned on for a while by a successful businessman who said he could run state government the same way he did a car dealership. He had everyone believing he’d spend less money and be able to lower taxes. People were tired of listening to politicians, and that’s what I was at the time, unfortunately. Also, it didn’t hurt McGurty to have some wealthy backers and a million dollars of his own money to throw into the campaign. He was running three TV spots for every one of ours.
“John Sacco had the same kind of story to tell. He served a couple of terms as a Republican state rep, but that was twelve years ago. He was the executive director of Rhode Island Blue Cross when the Republicans picked him to run for governor. That made him another outsider who could keep saying it was ‘time for a change.’ But that was the mood the voters were in and he rode the wave. He killed McGurty in the debates because Ed never understood the issues or how state government works.”
“And he’s done a good job,” Carol said. “There’s no reason for people to vote against him.”
“Sacco’s been fairly successful, I’ll admit, but that doesn’t mean he’s unbeatable. Rhode Island has taken its share of hits in the recession and a lot of people are out of work. Mostly blue-collar jobs, Carol, and those are democrats. Sacco didn’t exactly beat up on the banks when the Herald broke the story about the redlining that was being done in different towns. He’s going to take a lot of heat for that. And the statistics on crime and drugs aren’t any better than they were two years ago. I don’t know how he feels about casino gambling run by the State. That could become a major issue in November. There are some pretty important things to discuss and debate before the election. Anything can happen.”
“There must be someone else in the Democratic Party who wants to run,” Carol said.
Bruce laughed. “No question about it. So far three mayors have told Waller they’re interested, including Gene D’Amico in Providence. There’s still plenty of time for a few more candidates to come out of the woodwork. Spence Hardiman is probably getting ready to announce for another six years in the Senate any day now. Then Sacco will call a press conference and let us know he wants a second term as governor. At that point any democrat who’s serious about running against him will have to go public if he wants to start getting some name recognition before the primary.”
Carol suddenly began to feel cold. She reached for the afghan on the couch and wrapped it around her. “I don’t want you to run, Bruce.” There was a hard edge to her voice. “I mean it. Politics has already done enough damage to our marriage. Another campaign could kill it.”
They were both silent for several seconds. Carol thought about what she would say from the time her phone conversation with Jenna Richardson ended. Now it all began to spill out. “I went along with you two years ago because you said you owed it to the Party. You told me they would never have supported you for lieutenant governor earlier if they knew you wouldn’t go after the governor’s chair when it
was vacant. I hated every minute of that campaign. It was a blessing to me when McGurty beat you in the primary. I thanked God for that. It gave me back two months of my life that I thought would be thrown away in the general election.”
She found an old balled-up tissue in her bathrobe pocket, wiped her nose and sniffled deeply several times before going on. “If you get into this campaign, you know what it means. It’s running all around the State every day of the week. You’ll be getting home at midnight Monday through Friday, when you don’t stay over in a hotel somewhere. On weekends you’ll be attending all kinds of stupid functions. The two of us will be like ships passing in the night. You’ll shake hundreds of hands a day, but you won’t have a minute to hold mine.”
She paused again. “We were very happy when you just practiced law. There were always periods when one of us was stressed out with work, but we still managed to find time for each other. That’s not how it is when you get into one of those campaigns. The meetings, the phone calls, the fund raisers, the radio and TV shows, everything else … they never end. You do it eighteen hours a day and that’s only because everyone else is sleeping the other six.
“I’ll tell you right now that if you get into this, I won’t be out there with you. I mean for anything! Not when you make your announcement, not for any of the fancy dinners, not any place where they want to see what your wife looks like before they consider giving you their vote. So do what you want, but if the loser in this whole thing is our marriage, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And yet Carol knew that she already did as much to destroy their marriage as he had. It all started during the primary campaign two years earlier when Bruce simply had no time for her. He was coming home late every night and running around from one event to another on weekends until he was exhausted. As it turned out, he kept delivering the wrong message, and the State’s democrats gave Ed McGurty a victory on primary day.
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