Ed Gorman - Blindside

‘I saw some internals that just came in,’ Kathy said. ‘We’re up with blue-collar voters. Burkhart’s rant against unions pissed off a lot of working people. And now we have to deal with this — which you won’t tell us about.’

‘And this thing with Sylvia is all the press’ll ask him about tomorrow night at the debate, too,’ Lucy said. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘I’m not sure yet. I’m working on that part of it. But I’ll need everybody on the upstairs staff to come in at seven thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll do the press conference inside because the weather keeps changing. I want to make it look good for the video. I also want to pick the most photogenic of the volunteers to be on the sides of Ward so when the camera goes wide you see mature, attractive faces. You know Joan Rosenberg. She’s a sweetie and she looks it. We’ll definitely use her. We’ll also need to get hold of a caterer first thing in the morning and have them rush brunch food and three or four big pots of coffee to us. Between you two, figure out which reporters will be civil to him. I want him to choose them for the first few questions. If there’s national press he’ll just have to punt.’

‘I just hope we can pull all this off,’ Kathy said.

‘We will because we have to. If we can manage to get some sleep tonight things’ll straighten out in the morning. I’d really appreciate your help on this, so if you come up with any ideas we’ll talk about them first thing tomorrow.’

‘I can hear that bitch cackling as soon as the camera’s off her,’ Lucy said.

‘I take it the bitch you’re talking about is Sylvia Fordham.’

‘This is just the kind of thing she loves to do,’ Kathy said.

I disliked keeping the information about Burkhart and all the rest from them, but right now I couldn’t afford to trust anybody. First I needed to tell Ward about the other part of the DVD and how one part cancelled out the other in terms of usefulness. If we went after Burkhart with our part he’d come right back at us with his.

‘Thanks for your help, both of you. All we can do is try. And make sure to get some sleep.’

‘If I watch at ten I’ll never get to sleep,’ Kathy said.

‘Me, either,’ Lucy said.

‘Then don’t watch.’

‘Listen to him,’ Lucy said, ‘like I suppose you won’t watch.’

‘Of course I’ll watch. But right after that I’ll guzzle down two quarts of vodka and I’ll go right to sleep.’

It was now 8:40. A paralysis had set in. I should have gone downstairs to the bar and had a few and talked to some people. Just get my head back into the flow of normal life. But I was trapped up here and I knew it. I kept glancing at a dark TV screen the way I’d glance at my monitor after having a heart attack. Oh, she’d preen; oh, she’d swoon, our Sylvia. The sweet, proper girl.

Whatever happened to morality in this country? How can we expect to remain the best country in the history of man when we have leaders who violate the basic principles of family values? How can we keep returning to Washington the kind of man who disgraces the district he comes from?

I was pretty sure I knew how she’d handle the Burkhart part of the DVD. The only thing she could do. Reference it tonight and claim that Ward’s side had seen the tape with the prostitute detailing his kinky ways and they right away created a fake tape to accuse Burkhart of the same thing. She would warn the true believers not to believe a second of it. She would say — and here she would sound almost melancholy — that she missed the days when this country didn’t have to endure the kind of lies and nastiness that were part and parcel of so many campaigns these days.

Reporters would giggle, the not-news network would play sound bites of her rant for the next two news cycles and people in bars would get into loud arguments about the veracity of the Burkhart tape.

It was now 8:49.

When the phone rang I was grateful. Something to distract me from the dark TV screen.

‘I’m calling from a phone booth.’ Ward sounded as if a bully had just stolen his ice cream.

‘Before we get started, I want to tell you something.’ I explained to him about how the blackmail DVD was now useless to both candidates because there was video proving that both of them had gone to the same whorehouse. ‘That’s pretty good news.’

‘You think so, Dev? You fucking think so? It’s all coming down on me. Big time.’

God, I hated it when Ward whined.

My stomach knotted when he said, ‘It’s Bryn Nolan.’

‘What about her?’

‘She called and talked to Kathy a few minutes ago. She said she’s going to the police right away to file a missing persons. And this on top of that snake Sylvia going on TV-’

He’d convinced Bryn Nolan to hold off reporting David’s disappearance for a few days; the assumption being that David was trying to drink away the rage and sorrow he felt after learning about Ward and Bryn. If she called the police, the press would have the story within five minutes. When your key man goes missing you have a big problem, especially when one of your other employees was murdered in your headquarters’ parking lot. I couldn’t complain about Ward whining. I wanted to whine myself.

‘You have to talk to her, Dev. You have to convince her to wait.’

‘I’ve never even met the woman. Why would she listen to me?’

‘She’s heard good things about you. From David. He was the only one who liked the idea of bringing you down here. The rest of them were threatened.’

‘Why now? What changed her mind?’

‘I guess her two little daughters. They keep asking about their father. She’s getting scared that maybe something happened to him. You know, the way it happened to Jim Waters.’

‘Well, I suppose I can give her a call.’

‘No!’ he said. ‘No, not a call. You have to see her in person. The phone won’t cut it.’

‘What the hell are you talking about? I need to be here at ten when the news comes on. We need an angle so we can respond.’

‘This isn’t a big city. She’s maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes away. I can give you the address. Hell, you can watch the news there. She’ll appreciate the company. She’s going crazy and she doesn’t think I’m a help at all.’

‘I really resent this, Ward.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

‘You don’t blame me but you still want me to do it.’

‘I’m desperate. You bought in, too — so now we’re both desperate.’

I took down the address. Of course. And then went down to my rental. Of course. And set out in the dark rainy night. Of course.

Bryn Nolan wasn’t as highly lacquered as Mrs Burkhart. She didn’t need to be. She was a tall, preppy blonde with one of those freckled upper-class faces that you find in an F. Scott Fitzgerald. She wasn’t quite a beauty but her face was so urgently pretty that she drew you in without any tricks. Gatsby would have invited her to any number of his parties.

She wore a dark brown sweater and a tweed skirt and a frown. ‘This was so stupid of Jeff, Mr Conrad. I’ve already made up my mind. I’m sorry he made you make the trip.’ She was as jittery as a junkie in need of needle love.

‘So I should just go back to my car and get out of here?’ Pity has never worked well for me. But I keep trying.

‘Oh, Lord.’ She flung a welcoming arm out. ‘Please come in. At least let me pour you some coffee. David loves my coffee. Says it’s the best he’s ever had.’

She said all this to my back as I entered a small vestibule and turned left into a large living room at the suggestion of one more arm fling. The good taste assaulted me. This woman or her decorator had contrived a room that was imperious in its perfect harmony. Stone fireplace, Persian rugs, enormous couch, small sofa, love seat, and hardwood coffee table. Not necessarily all that expensive but not a single element that would upset a snob. Unlike my apartment in Chicago, there wasn’t a stray sock or shirt to be found anywhere.