My Honorable Brother

by Bob Weintraub

  Fiore had spent two evenings with Carol since their aborted date on the night she cancelled out at the last minute. The first was a difficult time for him and was over in less than an hour. Carol was obviously crying before he arrived at the hotel room, and she continued, almost incessantly, while he was there. She told him about Bruce’s waffling in regard to the governor’s race and his decision to go forward with it despite her warning that another political campaign could ruin their marriage.

  “I’ve been through the long, grueling election process too many times, Doug,” she said. “I won’t do it again, no matter how much Bruce feels he needs me along the way.” Carol punched her fist into the mattress several times for emphasis and cried out that the marriage obviously meant more to her than it did to her husband.

  “I hate politics and I hate politicians,” she hollered. “He’s willing to give me up for the next seven months just for his goddam idealism about public service. I keep hearing about the wonderful things he’s going to do for the great people of Rhode Island. As if he’s the only person who can do it. And do you know what happens if he gets elected? Do you know what happens, Doug?”

  Fiore shook his head from side to side in response, without saying a word. He knew that anything he said would only stoke the fire.

  “It means he’ll be home late half the nights in the week. He’ll have parties, or meetings, or strategy sessions, or fund-raisers, or conventions of one sort or another to go to three weekends out of four. There’ll be governors’ conferences for a week at a time and trips to Europe and Asia to try and bring business into the State. His inside people will always be calling at night to let him know who his latest friends and enemies are, or what he has to promise this one or that one to get some law passed. We’ll have to give dinners for a bunch of dumb State representatives and senators, and fancy parties for his financial backers.

  “I’ll be expected to be the gracious hostess at every event. To hell with my own career, put it on hold if I have to. I saw all those things happen when he was lieutenant governor, and it would be even worse if he’s governor. Our privacy would be shot. We’d have hardly any real time together or time to spend with our daughters. We’d grow further and further apart, I know it.” When she finished, Carol threw her head down on the bedspread covering the pillow and sobbed.

  Fiore comforted her, but what could he say? This wasn’t the time to let her know he was about to get involved in the thing she hated so much. Would she feel better if he told her he intended to do everything he could to win? It seemed ridiculous to say, “Look, Carol, I’m going to be a Republican candidate for governor, and if I make it through the primary I’ll do whatever it takes to beat your husband in November. You might as well relax and stop worrying about being the governor’s wife because hopefully it will never happen.”

  He had no idea how she would react to hearing that. Besides, he still couldn’t reveal to anyone else what was going on. But he told himself that if campaigning successfully meant having to sleep on the road so he could give a speech somewhere early the next morning, it was a price his wife would have to pay. He decided that women like Carol didn’t understand that when a man has a driving ambition to do something, you don’t get in his way. When he was convinced that Carol’s mood wasn’t going to change, Doug told her that it was probably better for her to be by herself, and he left.

  They met again the following week and the sex was great. Fiore knew before seeing her that he’d be hearing from Cyril Berman any day about meetings with his fifty-five backers. He assumed that the politicking would keep him going until late each night, too late at least for any early evening twosomes with Carol. He found himself getting horny whenever he thought about her, and wanted everything to go just right.

  Carol was feeling good about herself that night. She made up her mind that if Bruce didn’t care enough about her to stay out of politics, she would do whatever she pleased for her personal satisfaction. That meant she could probably see Doug more than the one night a week they usually scheduled for their affair.

  As soon as they were alone, each of them wanted to make love right away. There was almost a wildness about it as they held and fondled each other and found positions that brought pleasure and delight to both of them. They napped between their amorous periods, Carol lying in his arms. When she felt his penis pushing hard against her, she awakened him by whispering his name.

  He opened his eyes and laughed. “Guess what I was just dreaming?”

  “I hope it was me you were doing it with,” she answered, and rose to get on top of him.

  * * *

  “Can I come in?” Doug asked from the doorway.

  Carol was looking the other way, concentrating on some numbers she was entering into her calculator.

  “Hi, Doug. Sure.” She was obviously pleased to see him. “Let me just write down this last item before I lose it.”

  He closed the door and sat down on the dark oak chair that bore the Wellesley College emblem. Carol received it as a graduation present from a favorite aunt and used it for many years before switching to a leather executive chair that gave her more comfort. She and Fiore hadn’t talked to each other since being together the previous Thursday night.

  He spoke softly. “You were really great the other night.”

  She smiled. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  “I wish we could have had about three more hours. We were both on a high.”

  Her smile broadened. “My rates for the first hour are expensive, but they drop significantly the longer you’re there. By hour number six, I’m practically free.”

  “We’ll have to find a way sometime to get a whole night together,” Doug said. “Shall I take out my appointment book?” Carol teased.

  He became serious. “Actually, I came by to tell you that I probably won’t be able to see you for a couple of weeks.” He watched as Carol immediately sank deeper into her chair. Her reaction told him that despite the compliments he gave her moments earlier, she worried that something was now wrong with the relationship.

  “Everything’s fine,” he assured her. “I’m just not going to be around at all this week or next. I’ll be away from the office altogether.”

  She rested her hands on top of the desk. “Why, what’s up?”

  “I got a telephone call Friday night, out of the blue, that may change some things for me. I can’t tell you what it is now, and there’s a good chance it won’t amount to anything. Just something I’ve got to look into. It will take a little time to find out what I have to know. It has absolutely nothing to do with you. But I was told I have to keep all my days and nights open, and I’m not even sure where I’ll be on any particular one. I wanted to tell you in person so you wouldn’t start getting concerned.”

  He said it pretty much the way it was rehearsed. It was all a lie, he knew, and the day of reckoning was probably just three weeks away, at the most. But he wanted to hold on to Carol as long as he could. He wasn’t going to worry now about how she would react later on.

  “Will you be able to call?” she asked.

  “I think so. I will if I can,” he answered, and got up to leave.

  Carol came around the desk and stood next to him. “Good luck with whatever it is, Doug. I hope it works out if you want it to.”

  He wondered what she’d be hoping if she knew the truth. “Thanks. I’ll know better when I see what it’s all about.”

  “In the meantime, is there a convent you can recommend that takes nice Jewish girls?” She assumed the question made her blush.

  He touched her jacket at her breast lightly with his fingers. “Forget the convent,” he said. “Just remember that ‘Jesus saves.’ For the next two weeks we’ll both save too, and then we’ll go on a spending spree at your favorite hotel. Okay?”

  Carol knew she was going to miss him. A tear started falling from one eye as she nodded her head up and down.

  32

  GEORGE RYDER WAS TALKING to Dana
Briggs when Fiore got back to his office. Ryder drove in from home after his secretary called that morning, but Fiore postponed the meeting for a couple of hours. Later, after lunch, he apologized for the delay and led Ryder into the adjoining conference room. Since the earlier visit from Bob Gorman when he urged Doug to find work for Ryder that would make his billable hours more respectable, Fiore arranged for Paul Castillo to parcel out small amounts of work to him, but nothing that had the potential to turn into a major matter or that involved any of the firm’s important clients.

  “Throw him an employee handbook to draft or some arbitration case you’d just as soon not handle yourself, especially if you think it’s a loser. Just stuff like that,” he told Castillo. The younger labor attorney sensed what was going on and was smart enough not to ask any questions.

  Following the night he discussed the negotiations with Sandy Tarantino in the limousine on the way back from New York, Fiore twice asked Ryder for updates on Ocean State Wire & Cable. But he didn’t say a word to him about the guidelines he received from Tarantino as to how the contract could be amicably settled. At that point in time he didn’t want Ryder questioning him as to where the guidelines came from. He realized that the sooner the Ocean State Wire contract was settled, the fewer opportunities he would have to initiate more meetings with Pat in Room 606 to discuss the progress of the talks and Brad Hanley’s positions while making love to her.

  Fiore closed the door to the conference room behind him. “What’s happening in the negotiations?” he asked, even before sitting down. “Let me see the latest proposals.”

  Ryder untied the string that was holding the bulky case file together, opened it and combed through a number of documents inside before finding what he was looking for. He placed several sheets of legal paper on the table. “I’ll have to read where we are from my notes,” he said, and proceeded to do so when Doug gave him a silent affirmative nod. Ryder updated him on the proposals and counterproposals offered by each side at the most recent meeting. When he finished, Fiore said it sounded as if the Union made more of an attempt than the Company to move closer to a settlement position.

  “It all depends on your view of what that position should be,” Ryder answered. “Hanley is pretty damn firm about getting a two-year freeze in wages. He also wants the employees to contribute more to the cost of their medical insurance. In his mind, there’s absolutely no reason for the Company to put one cent in new money on the table for anything in the first year of the contract after what it lost last year.”

  “Has the Union seen Ocean State’s financials for last year?” Fiore asked. “Do you think Morelli gives a damn about its problems or not?”

  “Yup, I mentioned that before,” Ryder said. “We gave him a copy of the profit and loss statement at the first meeting. We also gave the committee the production invoices that show the drop in tonnage sold to the companies that were Ocean State’s ten biggest customers when we negotiated the first contract three years ago. It was pretty significant in some cases. I think those things made an impression on him. When they came out of their caucus, Morelli wasn’t belligerent at all. He said something about it being important for both sides to work things out. He’s listening carefully to whatever we say.”

  “When’s the next meeting?” Fiore asked.

  “We’re scheduled for this Thursday afternoon,” Ryder told him, “and then two full days next week.” As he spoke, he took a small, leather bound calendar out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and opened it. “Next Thursday and Friday.”

  “How about those dozen other issues you read off? Some of them are economic, too.”

  Ryder thought that Fiore’s tone of voice seemed to imply that he was trying to avoid discussing them. He wasn’t sure whether something was bothering Fiore and couldn’t understand why Doug had any trouble with the negotiations at the stage they were at. He tried to stay calm.

  “We’ll do some trading on those,” he answered. “Hanley wants certain language that he thinks he needs for better production. I know he’s willing to move on a number of these things to get it. I think it will all fall in line. The only potential strike issues I see are in the wages and medical insurance.”

  Fiore got up and paced halfway down the length of the conference room and back. He thought again about the potential consequences of letting Ryder operate in the dark as to Tarantino’s view of the right settlement, and concluded that there was still sufficient time for Hanley and Ryder to find the “magic” numbers on their own. But he also wanted them to be certain not to provoke an employee strike. “I’m sure the owners don’t want to see a strike in this economy, George. If Hanley loses customers because he can’t deliver on the orders coming in, that would make things a lot worse. A long work stoppage could even send Ocean State down the tubes. It’s up to you to see that he doesn’t go overboard on those concessions he’s looking for. He’d better have a damn good handle on what kind of settlement Morelli and the rest of the negotiating committee can sell to the employees in the plant.”

  “I assume Brad’s position on these things are all based on some guidelines he got from the ownership,” Ryder said. He waited a few seconds for Fiore to correct him if he was wrong, but Doug was silent. Ryder concluded that Fiore wasn’t brought in on the desired settlement package by either the Platts or the Tarantinos. If that was the case, Fiore would only be guessing as to ownership’s position on a strike.

  “He seems pretty confident that they’ll back him up if he gets in a fight with the Union,” Ryder continued. “I’ll tell you this. He’s certainly not afraid of hiring permanent replacements right away if there’s a strike. He knows how many people are looking for jobs these days. Hanley figures it’s the best chance he’ll ever get to bring in a new workforce and get rid of the Machinists. That’s why he’s taking a tough line, and it’s hard to blame him for it.”

  Fiore placed his palms on the table and leaned toward Ryder. “When you go to war, George, you suffer casualties. You’ve handled enough strikes to know that. And you know the economics Hanley’s dealing with. Ocean State can’t take a lot of casualties. Remember that when you’re advising him.”

  He opened the door to his office. “I can’t give this any more time today. From now on I’d like a typed copy of your negotiating notes on my desk the day after you meet. And I want to see each side’s latest position on every issue. Line it up on the sheet one opposite the other so I have no trouble reading it. Okay?”

  “Sure, Doug.”

  Fiore didn’t wait for Ryder to return the papers to his file. He walked out of the conference room, through his office and down the hallway. Watching him leave, Ryder thought, Thanks, asshole, I’ve got nothing better to do. Minutes later, as he headed toward his office, he began to wonder why Fiore was getting so involved in the negotiations.

  33

  THE “ROAD SHOW,” AS Russell Walsh called it, went beautifully. Each morning Fiore parked his car in the Biltmore garage and waited in the hotel lobby until he saw Lester Karp’s light green Lincoln Continental pull up in front. Karp always drove, while Fiore and Walsh shared the back seat.

  Doug marveled at the physical contrast between the two men. Karp, who was at least seventy years old, was about an inch taller than Fiore but couldn’t have weighed more than 135 pounds. There was a certain herky-jerkiness to his walk that made his companions tend to hold on to one of his arms when the wind blew, afraid he’d be unable to withstand its force. The sunglasses he wore most of the time hid the deep sockets in which a pair of dark squinty eyes were located. Although freshly shaved each morning, a very noticeable five o’clock shadow would settle in by early afternoon. Almost everything about him seemed to impart a feeling of sadness.

  Walsh, on the other hand, stood several inches over six feet and carried about 225 pounds very well. In his early sixties, he still had most of his hair, which was rapidly turning gray and which he wore cut short. There was a constant gleam in his green eyes, as if he was abou
t to spring the punch line of a dirty joke. His square jaw, the envy of any Hollywood leading man, was even more attractive for the small cleft it featured. He moved with the assurance of a man who was an athlete for many years, and knew when he smiled that others couldn’t avoid its infectious quality.

  As they went from meeting to meeting, Walsh continuously refreshed Fiore’s recollection about the next one of the “pillars” they were about to visit.

  “Remember, Doug, Ted Morris is anti-abortion. He hates John Sacco with a passion because he gave a lot of money to the campaign two years ago but Sacco didn’t find a job for his son-in-law. If he brings it up, tell him you sympathize with his position on ‘right-to-life’ but you may have to support ‘choice’ to get elected. He spent a fortune for the art work in his house, so go ga-ga over every piece you see.”

  Back on the road an hour or so later, Walsh’s prepping picked up again.

  “Don’t forget, Jane Hoyt had a nephew killed by some kid who was whacked out on cocaine. The drug and crime issues are the only things that really count with her. She’s been on the Portsmouth School Committee for a hundred years. Don’t waste time with her husband, just the formalities. She calls all the shots and she can bring in a lot of votes. She thinks the slot machine parlor on the main drag is the worst thing that ever happened to Newport. Tear into it if she brings it up.”

  Whenever Walsh thought Fiore was getting a little nervous about the next person on the schedule, he told war stories from his own years in politics. His tales evoked smoke-filled rooms, last minute deals and money being passed under the table. He had a story to tell about every former politician whose name Karp threw over his shoulder from the front seat. Each one seemed to begin the same way: “Jimmy Dwyer, huh, Lester? Let me tell you a little something about Jimmy Dwyer you never heard before.” Invariably, the anecdotes he recited and the history he chronicled, full of the zaniest of characters, brought on gales of laughter from his companions in the Lincoln. They succeeded each time in putting Fiore in a relaxed frame of mind.