Fiore pulled a paper out of the top drawer of his desk and held it up in front of him. It contained the notes he made after Sandy Tarantino laid out the guts of the settlement position for him in the limo coming back from New York. He knew that what he shared with Castillo had to be consistent with the story he told Ryder. “The owners have looked over all of Ocean State’s numbers, Paul, and I passed along everything Hanley said about what the final settlement should be. One thing I know for goddam sure is that the owners don’t want a strike. They think that if you offer the Union a two percent wage increase in the second and third years of the contract, they’ll go for that along with a first-year freeze.”
Fiore waited while Castillo took a yellow pad out of his briefcase and started making notes. “On the medical, keep telling Hanley that Morelli’s right and that this isn’t the time to fight about pushing their contribution above ten percent. Try to make him understand that it will be easier to do when he can offer more in wages. Tell him it’ll kill morale if they have to pay more, and that production will drop way down. Use every argument you can think of. Push him as hard as you can, and don’t worry about anything he has to say. Between you and me, the owners are ready to drop that proposal because they’re not going to let Hanley’s personal vendetta put Ocean State out of business. But if possible, they’d rather see you and Hanley get that done at the table so they don’t have to push it down his throat. If he keeps holding out on either the wages or the medical, let me know right away. But come see me Friday about Thursday’s meeting, okay?”
After Castillo left the office, Fiore decided to try and give him a little help in bringing Brad Hanley to where he wanted him. He called Pat at home and arranged to meet with her on Wednesday night.
47
“I CAN’T STAY LONG,” Pat Hanley told him when Fiore entered the Ocean State suite at the Biltmore just before seven o’clock. “Brad will probably be home by nine. This is one of his on-time nights. He’d be there now except he has a meeting with Paul what’s his name.”
“Paul Castillo,” he said.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Just a little white wine,” he answered.
Pat found the bottle in the armoire and poured the drink for him. “It’s a Chablis,” she told him, handing him the glass and moving toward the sofa. Doug followed her.
“Brad’s not too happy with Castillo, I can tell you that,” Pat said. “He swore up and down at you for taking Ryder away at this point in the negotiations. He thinks your law firm considers Ocean State a second-class client. I gather you told him that Ryder was swamped with other work and wouldn’t be able to devote all the time he’d need if the Company has a strike. Brad figures that was a bridge they could cross if they came to it. Now, from what he tells me, it sounds like Castillo’s saying he’s wrong about everything.”
Fiore was sitting at the other end of the sofa. He got up and brought over one of the chairs to rest his feet on.
“Let me make this short and sweet, Pat,” he began. “No, wait a second. That sounded kind of rough, and I didn’t mean it that way. But you don’t want to see the employees walk out of that plant, and I sure as hell don’t either. The thing is that you’re right about what you said before. The Platts are absolutely opposed to any labor trouble. They won’t let a war start. Maybe they’re negotiating to sell the Company and want a peaceful settlement to make sure the deal goes through. If that’s the case, they’re not letting me in on it. It’s certainly a possibility, but I don’t think that’s the reason. From everything that’s been said, they just feel that better times are on the way. They don’t want to risk losing customers to all the vulture wire companies out there who’d go after them with fantastic deals and sale prices as soon as word got out that Ocean State was on strike. It’s not worth it to them.
“What I’m telling you is that Brad better negotiate a deal in the three meetings that are left with the Union. If he doesn’t, he’s going to get a phone call telling him exactly what to put on the table in the Company’s final offer. And if that happens, he’ll come out feeling about as low to the ground as he did three years ago when the Union called his bluff.”
“But what if …” Pat started to ask a question.
Fiore didn’t give her a chance to continue. “Hold on. Let me get it all out. The Platts had a conversation with Castillo about what they’re willing to do for a new agreement, and he’s trying like hell to steer your husband in that direction. I’m not worried about wages at this point. Both sides are coming together there. But Brad is being a stubborn prick on the medical. He wants the employees to contribute five percent more of the cost, and the Union isn’t going to let it happen, not unless hell freezes over.
“That’s the thing you’ve got to help us with. Get him to talk to you about it and tell him you think he’s wrong. He is wrong, so you won’t be saying anything you’d have a reason to regret. The cost of the medical plan will be going up every year. The ten percent they pay now is going to cost his guys a bigger piece of their wages each year of the contract. The owners are prepared to keep putting up ninety percent of the total cost, whatever it is. They’ll live with it, and they’ve made it perfectly clear to us that it’s more palatable to them than a strike.”
Fiore stared at her in silence for several seconds. “That’s it in a nutshell.” He reached over for his glass of wine. “Any questions from the audience?” he asked.
Pat looked overwhelmed, and had nothing to say on Brad’s behalf. “I understand,” she whispered. “I’ll do what I can. I don’t want to see him get hurt again.” She was silent a few moments before asking, “Do you think there’s any concession he can get from the Union that will make him feel better about it if he does what you say?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Doug answered. He realized that Pat raised a good point, one he hadn’t thought of. “Brad may be able to get Morelli to agree to a little less money in the last year of the contract, even if it was just half a percent, in return for dropping his demand for a hike in the medical payments. It would be a good tradeoff, and hopefully leave him with his manhood intact. I’ll talk to Castillo and see what we can come up with.”
Pat stood up. She smiled, and walked around the coffee table to Doug’s end of the sofa. “Well, we got the business over within fifteen minutes. That leaves us an hour for pleasure. I was excited to read about you in the Herald, Doug. I hope you decide to run. I think you’d make a wonderful governor.”
Fiore sat where he was. He knew she wanted to go to bed. He’d have loved to accommodate her, and was in the mood. But speaking of stubborn pricks, that’s what he had in his pants. He met with his urologist about it on Monday, after being just partially successful in making love that weekend.
It was all related to stress, the doctor told him, after discussing the things happening in Doug’s life. “What you’re going through in trying to make the right decision about running for office is what’s giving you so much anxiety. As soon as you figure out whether or not to cross that Rubicon, you’ll straighten out, Doug, if you’ll forgive the pun.” They both laughed at that, a good locker room laugh.
“Thanks for the compliment, Pat,” he said. “If I throw my hat in the ring, your job will be to get Brad to vote for me too.” He got off the couch. “But that’s probably a mission impossible after these negotiations.” He moved closer and embraced her. “Listen, I hate to be a killjoy, but there’s a PTA meeting at the high school and I promised Grace I’d go with her. It’s a fatherly duty, one of the things I’ve got to show up for while I’ve still got the time. Maybe we can find a night next week.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“Okay,” she answered softly, as they pressed against each other.
Doug didn’t want her to think that politics would put an end to their liaisons. “You know,” he said, “if I jump into this thing, there are going to be nights when I’ll just be hanging around, waiting to go make a speech or put in an appearance at some aff
air in the Providence area. We could meet here and have dinner in the room … or whatever the time allows. How does that sound?” He released his embrace so he could look at her.
“I’ll come whenever I can,” she said. She smiled, recognizing the double entendre in her words, not knowing whether it registered with him. “But there may be times I can’t get here, so why don’t I give you a key to the room. That way, at least you’ll have a place to relax before you have to go out and make them love you.”
She went over to the table by the door where she left her pocketbook. The key lay beside it. “Here, take this one, I’ve got a spare at home. I won’t need it when I leave tonight. Anytime you stay here, just tell the front desk to have the maid straighten up the room the next day. Enjoy it.”
“Thanks,” he said, “this is really great.” He squeezed her hand. “Work Brad over good tonight.”
“I promise, Doug. And if there’s time,” she said with a wink, “I’ll speak to him about the negotiations, too.”
They smiled at each other and he left.
48
FIORE WAS BACK AT the Biltmore the following night, meeting in Cyril Berman’s room with Berman, Walsh, and Karp. The ninth floor suite was about the same size as Ocean State’s, but it was on a list of those waiting to be refurbished. Instead of overlooking Kennedy Plaza, it gave its occupants a very unglamorous view of the roof of the hotel’s garage in back.
The first order of business was Doug’s speech. His advisors spent almost two hours listening to him read it, patiently pointing out lines that needed more emphasis and those that had to be slowed down for a better effect. Everyone was pleased with the changes Fiore made to what Berman drafted several weeks earlier. The editing gave it a more intimate and comfortable sound.
After that, it was Fiore’s turn to listen as his campaign manager, personal advisor and chief fund-raiser discussed the pieces of the puzzle already in place. They talked about the various things that would begin to happen as soon as Doug became an official contender in two days. Up for review also was some of the strategy that would carry them through the primary.
Karp had a number of fund-raising events penciled in over the next few weeks. He bragged that the financial support already coming in from the 55 “pillars” was everything they hoped it would be. “They love you, kid,” he said to Doug, raising a fist in the air as if victory was already theirs. Berman gave Fiore a copy of the schedule they would follow for the immediate future, and carefully went over the issues to be emphasized at each gathering.
Their work was interrupted by a telephone call. Berman answered the phone. He spoke a few words the others couldn’t hear and then indicated by a nod of his head to Fiore that it was for him. Doug moved toward the desk in the corner of the room. He wondered who else knew he was there. As soon as he heard the voice, he scolded himself mentally for not guessing who it was.
“Hey, good buddy,” Sandy Tarantino greeted him, “I hear my horse is getting ready to move into the starting gate. I just want you to know we all think you’re the best looking runner on the track.”
Fiore tried to make a joke out of it. “You mean my handicapper doesn’t think I’ve got any handicaps?”
“You’re not perfect,” Sandy answered. “We know you prefer stud to mud, but we like you in this field.”
“That was pretty good,” he chuckled. “Thanks, Sandy. I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Nervous?” Tarantino asked.
“I was a couple of weeks ago, but not anymore. Anxious to get going is more like it.”
“Sounds good to me. The guys treating you okay?”
“No complaints.”
“Well, just remember, if you and Cyril don’t always see eye to eye and you need my input, you know how to reach me.” There was a momentary pause. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you. Like I told you before, he’s the one with the experience in these things.”
“I understand.” Fiore didn’t want Berman to pick up on what Sandy was telling him, although the three men seemed to be ignoring him, continuing their own conversation.
“By the way,” Tarantino said, sounding more serious, “congratulations on the new Ocean State contract. You guys had Morelli wondering what the hell was going on for a while, but he told me Hanley did a bang-up job at the last two sessions. First he scared the shit out of John’s committee with all that talk about permanent replacements ready to come to work five minutes after any strike started. Then he gave them a tough take it or leave it package at the end. He dropped his demand on the medical but cut half a percent off the wages Morelli was looking for in the third year. Johnny wasn’t thrilled with that, but went along with it. He did what he was supposed to do and told the committee they’d be crazy not to accept the deal. So everyone shook hands and walked away happy. But how come you pulled Ryder out of the negotiations?”
Fiore could lie again without any fear of Sandy ever finding out that he never discussed Sandy’s settlement numbers with Ryder. “I didn’t have any choice. He let Hanley convince him that the Company had to have a two-year freeze and a better split on the cost of the health plan. He stopped listening to what I told him the new contract settlement had to look like.” Again, Fiore considered the lie all part of what he had to do to rid himself of the partner most likely to cause trouble, to want to take down the king of the hill.
“That explains a lot. Good man, Doug. Okay, I’ve got things to do, so go out there, old buddy, and give ’em hell. Don’t forget everything we’ve got riding on you.”
Fiore heard the click on the other end of the line. He hung up the phone and returned to the group.
“We were just talking about the casino gambling issue,” Berman said, looking at him. “That’s one of the major points of difference between you and Cardella. Everyone in this room knows you’re here today because of it. That means you’ve got to bang away at that issue every goddam chance you get.”
Berman got up and began pacing the floor. He kept his head turned toward Fiore as he continued talking. “Richie Cardella’s going to be a tough opponent to beat. He’s got a lot going for him. I figure the first poll that comes out will give him the lead with between 60 and 65 percent of the vote. If we lose this thing, I’m sure we all want certain parties in Providence to know we gave it the good fight. That means everyone in Rhode Island must be told over and over again why State-controlled casino gambling would be the worst thing that could ever happen. By election day, they should know it as well as they know their names. Are you with us on that, Doug?”
“I hear you loud and clear,” he replied, emphasizing the last three words.
“Okay then.” Cyril returned to his seat. For Fiore’s sake, he wanted to wind up the meeting on an optimistic note. “We should have about twelve hundred people on Saturday. I want to see the Grand Ballroom here at the Biltmore jammed, and Doug, you should bring your parents as well as your wife and daughter. They’ll all be behind you, on the dais. We’ll make sure the Herald photographer gets a picture of the whole family. Give the crowd plenty of time to cheer whatever you say. Just keep smiling and waving your hand until they run out of applause.
“When you finish the speech, kiss your wife, your mother and your daughter, and shake hands with everyone else on the platform. All your good friends from the House and Senate will be there. I’m not sure how many of the mayors supporting you will show up, but I think you know them all by sight. Watch the tape again if you’ve forgotten any of their names. That suit you’re wearing now is a good color. I like it, but get it pressed for Saturday. Wear a tie with a red background, something classical, with stripes or polka dots, not the crazy stuff that’s popular today.” Berman looked at Walsh and Karp but they had nothing to add. “I guess that’s everything,” he said, finishing up with a smile. “So let’s have a toast and call it quits for tonight.”
They retrieved the glasses from which they were sipping Scotch that evening. Berman poured a few drops into Walsh’s, th
e only empty one. “To a great campaign,” he said.
“To a great campaign,” they repeated, and drank up.
“And a clean one,” Fiore said, as they put their glasses on the coffee table.
* * *
On Sunday morning Fiore was out of bed as soon as he heard the sound of the route driver’s station wagon entering the cul-de-sac on which he lived and the thunk of that day’s paper landing on his front walk. He put on a pair of pants over his pajamas but didn’t bother tying his sneakers before opening the door and going outside.
There he was on the front page of the Herald. It was a four-color photograph taken while he delivered his speech at the Biltmore the night before. He looked very good. Inside, page eleven carried the official campaign photo given to all the newspapers on Saturday. There was some unexpected trouble before Berman succeeded in getting the bearded and slovenly looking Herald photographer to accept it. Below it was a picture of the Fiore family, all saying “cheese.”
Fiore sat down at the kitchen table and read the article from beginning to end. He was more than satisfied with it. The byline belonged to Jenna Richardson. He recalled that she was the first media person to contact him and ask whether he intended to be a candidate, as rumor had it. He hadn’t spoken to her since then, either before or after his rally at the Biltmore. That meant she received a lot of her information from Berman or Walsh. Whoever it was did a good job.
He went to the refrigerator, took out the carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass. Reading on, he found an unexpected bonus on the editorial page. The lead commentary welcomed his entry into the race and said that voters in both parties should be pleased to have such excellent candidates from which to choose. The Herald would listen to all four of them carefully, it went on, and would make its endorsements shortly before the primary.
“Certainly,” the editorial concluded, “the people of Rhode Island want to hear what plan each of the candidates may have for revitalizing the economy of the State and getting those on unemployment back to work, as well as their views on whether State government should allow the introduction of casino gambling under its auspices and control.”
My Honorable Brother Page 26
