Gathering String Page 26

  Sam was just finishing his beer when Rosie stopped back at his booth. “You ready for another, Sugar?” Sam smiled and shook his head, but before he could ask for the check, he found her prodigious, flowery bosom nearly shoved in his face. It wasn't a subtle message.

  By Sam’s standards, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Judith hadn’t let him touch her for quite some time before she’d thrown him out, and he’d given a passing thought to the possibility of hooking up somewhere along the road. But suddenly continued celibacy didn’t seem such a burden. He eased out of the booth, putting down a crisp $50 for a tab that had to be under $15 with a murmured, "Have a good night," and headed for the door, Rosie's squeal of delight following him.

  It was late that night when Tess Benedict got a chance to check the Journal’s website for the day. Jack usually didn’t discuss the topics of his regular Monday column with her, and she looked forward to reading it to find out what was on his mind about Lindsborg, the county, the citizens, or his own work. Often she agreed with him, and sometimes she told him he was full of shit, but they always made for good conversation. But tonight, as she scanned the column quickly, and then went back and read it slowly, she felt a deep unease. It was clear that the words were Jack's, put together in his own distinctive style. But this particular subject hadn’t been Jack’s idea, she was certain of that. "I think he wanted me to spin it a little for him." She remembered Jack saying it, and she muttered softly to herself, "Damn."

  The Sins of the Father vs. the Worth of the Son

  By Jack Westphal, Editor and Publisher

  Everyone in town knows it. Most Iowans know it. Soon the whole country will know it: Carl Erickson was a drunk.

  In this close-knit town, where everyone knows everyone’s business, Carl’s drinking was old news decades ago. But with Swede running for president now, it won’t be long before the national press discovers this juicy piece of Swede’s past.

  So let’s deal with it once and for all. Some awful things happened to Carl Erickson during the Vietnam War. He never talked about it, but he drank mighty hard trying to forget. And because of that, he wasn’t a good father.

  That’s about it. This isn’t a scandal, because Swede has never shown a hint of a drinking problem himself. Thankfully, Swede did have other examples to follow. While he had a pathetic father, he had one of world’s the best mothers. And as everyone in town knows, my own father took a personal interest in a kid who wanted to play roundball even while he picked up the slack at his father's store.

  Unlike many children of alcoholics, Swede didn’t grow up in poverty, the son of a drunk who couldn’t even make a decent living. For a long time Carl was a competent businessman. As Swede showed when he took over, the grocery business had the potential to be a lot more successful. But Carl mostly stayed sober enough during store hours to keep it afloat. And this town cared enough for him, and Augusta and the boys, to keep buying their groceries there.

  You probably remember his funeral as well as I do. Drunk that he was, you couldn’t find a place to sit in the Lutheran Church that day. I know lots of folks who had to sit in the basement and listen on loudspeakers. Carl wasn’t a bad man. He was a good man with a bad disease.

  Alcoholism is a terrible disease that brings heartache to millions of American families. It’s already reached the White House, probably well before Betty Ford’s candid public acknowledgement of her addiction.

  Still, you can count on the national news media getting all excited about Swede’s alcoholic father. But at least here in Lindsborg, let’s keep everything in perspective. It would be a huge story if Carl Erickson was a murderer or a war hero. But he was nothing that unusual. He served his country with honor in war. He served his community with honor in peace. And he shared an awful disease with millions of other Americans.

  His son lived those years with him, and emerged as a strong man who knows how to face adversity and still get good things done.

  End of story.

  ********************

  She was finally back in his bed, and he caught his breath with excitement. Rolling tight against her, he buried his fingers in the satisfying thick tangle of her curls, his heart pounding with a joyful mix of memories and anticipation. But just as his mouth grazed the tiny dimple at the side of her lips, a phone beeped, loud and jarring, and he groaned as she pulled away.

  He opened his eyes to a dark hotel room. Fumbling, Sam reached for the phone, pulling the receiver to his ear, expecting his wake-up call. But the voice that came through the line brought his eyes open wider.

  “Sam? Sam, where are you?” It was Tess, and for a moment he was lost, trying to decide if he was still dreaming. “Hello?”

  “Yeah,” he ran his hand over his face and cleared his throat. “I’m here.” Slowly he remembered that this was the morning for the interview with Erickson at Terrace Hill, and glancing toward the window he saw a thin line of bright sunlight peeking around the edge of the stiff hotel curtains. “What time is it?”

  “Jesus, were you asleep? I’ve been down here waiting for you for ten minutes. Isn’t the interview at 9? It’s twenty till now.”

  “Aw fuck,” Sam came off the bed. “I was supposed to have a wake-up call more than an hour ago.”

  “OK, I’ll just go on over and start the shoot.” He recognized the tone in her voice, the calm practicality she always used when work got screwed up. “Try to get there before I’m done.”

  “No,” Sam didn’t bother to analyze why this wasn’t a good idea. He only knew he didn’t want her to leave without him. “How far away is it?”

  “Just five minutes if traffic on Grand isn’t backed up.”

  “OK, come on up. It’s room 412. I’ll …”

  “No way,” she broke in. “I’ll wait down here.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake …”

  She didn’t let him continue. “If you’re not down in 15 minutes, I’m leaving without you.” She hung up the house phone.

  It had only been 12 minutes when Tess checked her watch and then looked up to see Sam striding out of the elevator, his wet hair clinging close to his head, his tie dangling loose from his collar. He juggled a number of things in his hands. As she hurried toward him, he paused at the front desk, shouting at the clerk over the heads of an elderly couple who were checking out, “I left a goddamned wake-up call for 7:00 this morning, you stupid son of …”

  She grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the revolving door. “Yell later. We can just make it. Come on.” With an angry backward glance, he hurried out with her, and they ran to the Jeep. Tess threw herself behind the wheel.

  “Jesus, step on it,” Sam muttered as he twisted the rear-view mirror to face him and flipped on his rechargeable razor. “I worked for two weeks to get Erickson to give me some time. All he needs is an excuse like my being late to cut me off at the knees.” She pulled right into traffic, frowning as a honking car had to give way.

  “Damn it, I can’t see.” She pulled the mirror back into place. “Use the one on the sun visor.” As he pulled it down, she looked at all the stuff he’d dropped in his lap: a couple notebooks, a few pens, a digital recorder, his wallet and a phone. “You’re a mess. Look at all that crap.”

  “It’s all the things I need for the day. And if you hadn’t been such a tight-ass, you could have come up and helped me by rounding it all up while I showered.”

  She shook her head. “I’m finished with shower scenes with you.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen anything you haven’t seen before. I haven’t changed much.” He shot her a grin. “Or were you just afraid if you were alone with me in a room with a bed you couldn’t resist a tumble for old time’s sake?”

  She snorted, “In your dreams.” In the mirror, he saw his own eyes widen, but didn’t reply as he ran the shaver quickly over his upper lip, then clicked it off and tossed it down on the console between the seats. “I wouldn’t be here at all,” she was saying, “except for
that lousy trick you pulled when you were leaving the other day. You damn well knew I couldn’t tell you no in front of Jack without explaining.”

  “That’s what I was counting on,” Sam nodded without a bit of remorse. “But Dodson really did suggest you freelance for us.” He laughed a little, but she didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. He began putting all the junk in his lap into his inside jacket pockets. “Get over left, this lane’s closed up ahead. If we blow this, it’ll be weeks before we can nail Erickson down again.”

  “What do you mean ‘we’?” she asked sarcastically, and he grimaced.

  “Force of habit.” He stretched, putting his wallet and the phone, which he only just remembered was dead, into his pants pockets.

  “You’re slipping, Waterman. As I recall, you used to have a travel alarm. What happened to that?”

  “It broke in that piss-hole you call Lindsborg, and I haven’t had the five fucking minutes it would take to buy a new one.” He began tying his tie as he spoke.

  “Your iPhone has an alarm.”

  “The battery was dead when I got in last night.”

  “You could have just plugged in the charger …”

  “I left the charger at the Tall Fucking Corn Inn, OK?” he barked in exasperation, and she laughed.

  “Jesus, you are a mess.” She glanced over at him, still smiling. “But I didn’t know anyone could get dressed so fast. You learn that running from jealous husbands?”

  Sam’s smile was reluctant. “No. But it’s not the first time I’ve overslept lately. I must be getting old. Old and tired. How we doing on time?”

  “We’ll just make it.” She pressed down on the accelerator, running a yellow light. She swung the SUV around the corner onto a side street adjacent to the Victorian mansion that served as the governor’s residence.

  The walk was steep and slick in spots from the melted snow that had refrozen overnight. In the brisk crosswind, Sam, who had left his topcoat in his rush, shivered, ducking his damp head. “I haven’t even gone over my notes for this interview.”

  Tess said, “Tell them we’ll do the pictures first. Look over your notes while I shoot.” Her stomach rolled over at the familiarity of it all, planning with Sam how the interview would go. How many times in the past had they hurried into an interview, talking about how to handle things as they went? She sighed and glanced over at him. “Shake the back of your hair around. There’s frost in it.”

  Reaching up, Sam did just that, muttering, “Damn,” and then he smiled as an aide opened the door.

  Chapter 20

  The first two floors of the mansion served as a museum and were open for tours to the public. The First Family’s private residence was on the third floor, where Sam and Tess were taken. In the sitting room they were asked to have a seat, and told the Governor and his family would join them shortly.

  With a sigh of relief, Sam sat back in his armchair and whispered, “Jesus, I need a cup of coffee.” Tess laughed softly and began pulling equipment from her bag. Watching her, he realized that in spite of the headlong rush, he felt unusually good. Whatever else they had been, they were always a great professional team.

  Elizabeth Erickson swept into the room, and Sam rose to his feet. Petite, slim, and carefully coiffed, with her well-practiced smile, she looked exactly right for the occasion. If he’d had no information about her at all, he would have known this was a politician’s wife. From her precisely manicured nails to her expensive Italian shoes she was as typical as her husband was exceptional.

  “Teresa, how nice to have you here again.” She coolly embraced Tess in her best First Lady manner. Turning, she extended her hand to Sam. “Mr. Waterman, you must have worked with Teresa while she was at the Tribune?”

  “From time to time.” As he took her hand, he noticed she simply laid it into his, with no grip whatsoever. “Teresa’s the finest photojournalist I know.” He grinned at the stilted sound of his voice saying the unfamiliar name and the formality of this woman to prefer it.

  But catching the slant of Sam’s smile, she was perceptive enough. “Oh, you are one of those who call her 'Tess.' I simply cannot imagine why.” Elizabeth turned back to Tess. “Teresa is such a pretty name, for such a pretty girl. It’s no wonder, is it, that our John is so happy with her?”

  “None at all,” Sam conceded. Across the needlepoint inlaid carpet, Tess snapped a data card into her camera and raised her eyebrows at Sam, who said, “We thought we’d begin with the photos, Mrs. Erickson.”

  Elizabeth inclined her head gracefully. “Certainly. I want Bethany, my daughter, in these pictures as well. I have been longing for Teresa to take some photos of our little family, and this seems a perfect opportunity. Bethany was just coming in, and Swan called to say he was delayed a bit leaving the Capitol, but he is on his way. It is very nearby, you know.” Sam nodded. “After the photographs are complete, Bethany will return to school. And I am quite sure you will not need me here while you talk with Swan. I have a standing 9:30 meeting with my staff on Wednesdays.”

  “No problem,” Sam said. Even if there had been, he wouldn’t have considered running afoul of these precisely-spoken marching orders. The lady knew how she wanted things done. “Why don’t we talk a bit, while we wait for the Governor?”

  With a sweep of her hand, she indicated that Sam should sit, and settled herself carefully on the divan. While Tess took a few photos of the First Lady alone, Elizabeth talked about how she enjoyed the interesting people she met while campaigning. Sam nodded, taking notes, knowing he wouldn’t use them. Even as he wrote, he smiled inwardly, thinking he’d really like to ask her, “Betty, when was the last time you and the candidate joined in wild abandon? And was it a satisfactory fuck?” Glancing up as Tess lowered her camera, their eyes met, and when hers crinkled with amusement, Sam remembered how often it seemed she could read his mind.

  When the daughter came in, Sam stood again, and as introductions were made he felt an unfamiliar stab of pity. Thin, pale, as fine-boned and chilly as her mother, there didn’t seem to be a trace of her father’s healthy good looks or warm-blooded charm. She was an unfortunate case of a 17-year-old going on 50. He wondered if the eating disorder had kicked in yet.

  Before the girl was settled, a loud voice from the hallway called, “Where is everybody?” and the Governor strode through the door. It was as if energy, electric and crackling, flowed in with him.

  “Waterman, good to see you again,” Erickson clasped Sam’s hand and his shoulder as well. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Turning, the Governor indicated the slight woman who discretely had followed him into the room. “Have you met Deb Allen, my assistant? She’s taking notes for me today. My press office is still shorthanded.” Sam nodded to the woman. She didn’t raise her face to look at him directly, and he knew she was still worried about spilling the beans on Donnelly.

  The Governor didn’t notice. “You found the sure way to get on my good side.” Sam's brow knitted, and the Governor added, “Bringing one of my favorite people up here with you. I’ve looked forward to this interview ever since I found out she was coming.” He turned then and held out his arms, “Hey Tess, it’s good to see you.” She smiled self-consciously and stepped forward to give him a hug. Keeping one arm around her shoulder, he turned back to Sam. “So you know our girl from way back?” Sam nodded, noting the uneasy flush that had come to Tess’s cheeks.

  “We sometimes worked together, Governor,” she said. But Erickson shook his head.

  “What’s the rule, kid? Here in my home, what do you call me?”

  “Swede,” she said it hesitantly, like a shy little girl, and Sam laughed out loud while the faces of both the Erickson women pulled down into gentle frowns.

  The photos didn’t take long. Tess had more than enough time to survey the setting and the lighting, and knew what she wanted to do by the time everyone was settled. Quick, efficient, she reeled off different sets of compositions while Sam gave his notes one more, hasty look. Onc
e she was finished, mother and daughter excused themselves.

  “Let’s talk over some coffee,” the Governor suggested. “Come on back to the kitchen. There’s usually a pot on all morning.” As they went down the hall, Erickson said, “That white and gold living room of Betty’s always gives me the willies. I feel like a bull in a china shop in there.” At that statement, Sam knew exactly the word he’d use to size up the Erickson marriage: arid. And he resolved to check a little deeper to make sure there were no extracurricular women in Erickson's past.

  In the kitchen, Swede pulled his suit jacket off, tossing it onto a window seat that overlooked the west lawn. “No reason we can’t relax while we do this. Come on, Waterman. You don’t need to stand on ceremony.”

  Sam shrugged his jacket off as well, pulling out the digital recorder from the pocket. “You don’t mind?” he asked, and the Governor glanced over and shook his head.

  “Naw, Jack uses one all the time. Kind of the usual thing, isn’t it, now that everyone uses audio clips?”

  Sam nodded as the Governor poured four cups of coffee. Settled around the kitchen island on high, comfortable bar stools, Sam knew he was being lulled, but admired Erickson’s technique. Playing along wouldn’t hurt and he began by asking the Governor about the school consolidation program in his first term. It had been controversial, politically dangerous, and wildly successful. And he knew Erickson would take the question and run with it, all too happy to trumpet the achievement.

  As Sam took notes, he glanced from time to time at Tess as she sipped from the steaming cup. He’d seen her empty Starbucks venti in the car, but she was always glad to have more. Here and there, she also took unobtrusive shots. The candidate in his shirtsleeves, pouring coffee in his home kitchen, was too good a setup to let pass.

  “It was a rough go at that meeting in the Lindsborg gym. I knew folks were unhappy with me, but that that they would actually boo me …” the Governor was saying, shaking his head, “I think that’s the closest I’ve come to crying in public since the Westphals’ funeral. Those were my friends and relatives out there, and they were ready to throw me right out of office.” His face broke with a triumphant smile. “When I sold it in Lindsborg, I knew I had it nailed. After that, everything was easy.”