Эд Горман - Stranglehold

The ballroom had been decorated with a diamond-flashing disco ball in the ceiling like God’s eye overseeing the foolishness of the mortals beneath. The tables with their brilliant white tablecloths looked like large lilies. On stage was a local band called Black Velvet Elvis. Right now they were doing some very fine Chuck Berry. The singer was tall, lean, rock-star handsome, and his bass guitarist was a very young, pretty girl who even from here resembled him. Later I got a glimpse of the drummer. Very young but the same resemblance to singer and guitarist. A family affair? Even though few people had been seated, four or five couples were already on the dance floor going at it.

On the right corner of the stage was a rostrum. Susan would be introduced from here and would give a brief speech. An enormous black-and-white photograph of her formed the backdrop.

The only person I recognized was Peter Cooper. He was obviously still pissed because I didn’t use his speeches. He gave me one of those reluctant little waves you give the man who’s about to dump offal on your lawn and then scooted in the direction of the bar.

I didn’t see any of my people. I wondered why they were late. I was just about ready to call them when I saw Ben hurry into the lobby. He washed a hand across his face. He was sweating. He looked around anxiously. When he saw me he took a deep breath and hurried over.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. After I’ve had three or four drinks I will be, anyway.”

I pulled him into the cloakroom. There would be reporters roaming the ballroom tonight. The program itself wouldn’t be much in the way of a story, but given the number of drinks that would be drunk tonight, a loose tongue just might give them a piece of gossip worthy of a lead story. I kept my voice low. “What happened?”

Ben wiped his face with his handkerchief. He needed to pull himself together. “There was this guy.” He shook his head. “I was talking to Susan, going over this list of people she had to make time for tonight. The heavy rollers. There was a knock on the office door and I went to it and there was this guy standing there. Susan had her back to me. She was studying the list. But when she turned around — I don’t know how to describe it. I thought she was in shock or something. She just stared at him. And then he smiled at her. He scared her and he was enjoying it. All he said was, ‘I’ll talk to you later, babe.’ Babe. I couldn’t believe it. Who the hell calls Susan ‘babe’?”

“Then what happened?”

“Then he left. Just like that.”

“What was Susan doing?”

“Sitting down. She just went over to the green armchair and sort of collapsed into it. I asked her if she was all right and she said yes, but I could tell she wasn’t. She looked miserable — and scared. Then Kristin came back and she had notes she wanted to go over with Susan, so they got to work. It took a few minutes for Susan to be able to focus. But finally she got herself together as she worked with Kristin and then she finished up with me.”

“And that was it?”

“I wish. I told her I’d drive us to the hotel here. So we go outside — by this time it’s pretty much dark — and as we’re walking across the parking lot, there he is again.”

“Same guy who knocked on the door?”

“Right. He just walks out of nowhere and stands in front of us. He doesn’t look at me at all. Just stares at Susan. And then he says: ‘I need a couple of minutes with you, Susan. Alone.’ All she says is that she’s in a hurry. She was lucky to even say that. I could tell she was in shock again. She grabbed my arm and damned near broke it, she was squeezing so hard. I told him to get out of our way and started for him. Then he said: ‘Tell him about me, Susan. Tell him what I do to people.’ Then she kind of came out of it. Out of the shock, I mean. She said, ‘Ben, wait in the car, would you please?’ I started to say hell no I wouldn’t, but she shook her head and said that she’d be all right. She said, ‘This is something personal, Ben. And I need to handle it.’ So what could I do? I went over and got in my car. I kept watching them. I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt her, physically, I mean. He’s a scary bastard.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Big, redheaded guy. Good-looking, I’ll give him that. But he’s rough. Everything about him is rough.”

I thought of the bellhop’s description of the man who’d visited Monica Davies. This was the same man who’d visited Susan in the campaign office and who had accosted her in the parking lot.

“What did she say when she got in the car?”

“Quote: ‘I don’t want to talk about it. It’s personal, Ben, and I ask you to respect that.’ Unquote.”

A man came to the doorway and helped his wife out of her evening coat, ending my conversation with Ben. We all smiled at each other the way people do in commercials. Ben and I went back to the lobby, where we saw a small woman with a TV camera mounted on her shoulder and a sterile blond reporter interviewing an attractive older woman standing next to her attractive older husband. He seemed pleased that his wife would be on TV.

We went back into the ballroom. The tables were filling up. Black Velvet Elvis was doing a very nice arrangement of two Ricky Nelson songs. The front man could really sing.

Because this was Ben’s territory he started table-hopping. He’d come to know the important people in district politics and he had to pay them their due. More TV toothpaste smiles.

I was just about to go over and get myself a glass of pop from the bar when somebody stumbled into me from behind. I turned to find Kristin there.

“Sorry, Dev. I tripped. I’m so upset I’m crazy.” Her blue eyes were frantic. She nodded to the lobby. “We need to talk.”

There were two more reporters in the lobby. Local TV. They were interviewing anybody they could grab because most of the attendees were hurrying inside. The formal ceremonies would start in less than ten minutes.

We found a shadowy corner next to a darkened gift shop.

“They have a little dressing room backstage. She’s in there and she won’t come out. She keeps telling me to go away.”

So much for Susan’s ability to stay focused no matter what was going on around her.

“Any chance she’ll come out in a few minutes?”

“I asked her that three times now. She won’t answer. She just says to go away. And I have to pretty much whisper when I talk to her. There are a lot of people around backstage. They’ll pick up on everything if I talk any louder. And there’s press here. They’ll love this.”

“How do we get backstage?”

“C’mon. I’ll show you. I know a way without going through the ballroom.”

The kitchen resembled a war zone. Shouting, bellowing. Men and women in various uniforms cooking, carrying trays, filling glasses, opening ovens, preparing salads, sampling soups, the enemy being a collective appetite that had to be fed and satisfied.

A door in the far wall led to three steps that ended on the cusp of backstage. Black Velvet Elvis was just starting on a Fats Domino song in front of the curtain. I looked for press. The only people I saw had big plastic badges strung over their necks. They were with the campaign. But even so they weren’t paid staff. I didn’t trust them.

There were stand-up microphones, flats, long tables, chairs. Probably most of the business here would be conventions and conferences.

I said hello to a number of people as we walked slowly toward two doors near the back. One door read Stage Crew and the other said Private . Kristin knocked on the latter one. It was one of those apologetic little knocks.

She didn’t get any answer.