Эд Горман - Stranglehold

“She doesn’t have anything until late this afternoon,” Kristin said.

“Where is she now?”

Kristin shrugged. “I don’t know, Dev.”

I tried her cell phone number. No answer. “When was the last time anybody talked to her?”

Manning said, “I managed to get her when the reporters started coming. I think she was out at Jane’s.”

I grabbed a phone book from a nearby desk and searched for Jane’s number. I punched the digits in. Jane answered. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pretty good. Jane, is Susan there?”

The phone seemed to go dead. “Jane?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“You just did answer it. I need to talk to her. I’m sorry about putting you in the middle, but she’s got to talk to me.”

“We heard the news station. About Bobby.”

“Please put her on.”

“I’m not sure she’ll talk to you — or anybody, Dev.”

“Try. Please. She’s a big girl. She’s got to face this.”

“She’s scared.”

“So are the rest of us.”

“Damn,” she said. “Just a minute, Dev. I’ll do what I can.”

When she finally came on the phone, Susan said, “I don’t think there’s anything I can do except resign. I’m just trying to get up the nerve to call a press conference and get it over with.”

“We need to talk.”

“I just told you I’ll need to resign.”

Her words didn’t surprise me. I’d seen this happen to politicians before. There are those who hang on forever. Sure, I visited whorehouses every night for twenty years and took more than a million dollars in graft and have a fifteen-year-old girlfriend. But is that any reason to deprive my constituents of my brilliance? At the other extreme you find those who just get overwhelmed and decide they don’t have the strength they thought they had. They get tired, they get worn down, they get embarrassed, and they think, The hell with it. One painful press conference and they’ll slink off the stage. Susan was in that mode now.

“Not before we talk. I need to know everything before we talk about resigning.”

“This isn’t your decision; it’s mine.”

“That’s true. But maybe I can help you make the right one.”

“You really think we still have a chance?”

“It’s possible to put a good face on this, Susan. If we think it through. You have a son. You’ve been reunited. You’re about to become a grandmother.”

“I guess that’s why we pay you.” Her laugh was weary. “I got a chill when you said ‘grandmother.’ I could see how it might work. I love Bobby and I love Gwen.”

“Good. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

After I hung up, I saw them looking at me — Ben, Kristin, Manning, and Doris Kelly. Kristin was smiling. “You should write soap operas. You had me going there. I can really see how this could play at a press conference.”

Doris Kelly said, “There was a lot more of that going on than anybody wanted to admit — giving children up for adoption when the mothers didn’t know what else to do. I don’t see where that would be such a big deal.”

It wasn’t the force of her idea that startled me; it was the fact that she’d expressed it. I’d never heard her really say anything before.

“This is a long way from over,” Ben said.

“I’m going out to see Susan. You’ve got my cell number if you need to talk to me.”

“What do you want to tell the press for now?” Kristin said.

“Tell them we’ll be announcing a press conference and until then we won’t have anything to say.”

“That’s going to be some press conference,” Ben said.

“It had better be, Ben. Or we’re all through.”

All the way out to Jane’s I played a fantasy press conference in my mind. With Susan standing with Gwen and Bobby and presenting the whole thing as a happy story of reunion rather than any kind of scandal — and promises of being together from now on — we could create a reconciliation narrative that the press would go for. Interviews with Bobby about his growing-up years. Interviews with Gwen about what a fine man Bobby was and how the baby would bring them even closer together. David Manning would have to put in an appearance, too. Some camera time for all four of them, David, of course, delighted at this sudden surprise. I’d keep Natalie chained in a bunker somewhere. Duffy would keep going at us, but he’d have to be careful. These were no longer the days of The Scarlet Letter. These were the days of watching fame-driven nobodies giving blow jobs to other fame-driven nobodies right there on the family screen. They called them reality shows. Well, our show was G-rated compared to that kind of sleaze.

Jane met me at the front door. Given her somber appearance, there should have been a black wreath on the door and I should have been bearing condolences.

“Just go easy on her, Dev. She’s really confused right now. And very vulnerable. She’s a tough cookie and always has been. So seeing her this way is kind of scary.”

I went inside. It seemed natural to pull her to me and give her a hug. It seemed even more natural to give her a kiss. She smelled good and tasted even better.

There was a coat tree in the vestibule. She pulled down a blue goose-down vest. “I’m going to do some grocery shopping. She’s in the kitchen in the breakfast nook. She’s had way too much coffee, too. There’s plenty of caffeine-free diet Pepsi in there. Get her to drink that instead.”

She gave me another hug and then left.

Susan wore a simple white shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail. The first glimpse I got of her she was biting one of her manicured nails.

“You’re wasting a lot of money.”

“What?”

At first her eyes didn’t seem to focus. She had to bring them back from whatever terrible land she’d been visiting. “Wasting a lot of money?”

“You pay to get your nails done and then you’re biting them.”

“Oh.” The smile was sad. “I guess you’re right. Sort of ruins the whole effect, doesn’t it?”

She lifted her cup.

“Jane thinks you’ve had enough coffee.”

“God, I wouldn’t make it through this without Jane. I’ll switch to something else when I finish this.”

I slid into my side of the booth. On the other side of the window the backyard was filled with Disney creatures — squirrels and birds and two small dogs playing in the dusty light of fall.

“How’re Ben and Kristin taking it?”

“They think we can pitch our side and the majority of people will understand.”

“Really?”

“We have to be careful how we present it, but we have enough time before the election to see it mostly go away. If—”

She stopped me. “If?”

“If Donovan doesn’t up the ante again — or do something else.”

“Oh, God, what did he do?”

I told her about last night and demanding another payment.

“He’s the most devious person I’ve ever known — a sociopath who loves to play games. He’d blackmail people, and then when they paid him, he’d immediately demand more. Right on the spot. He told me he knew he couldn’t get it; he just liked to see them suffer. He enjoys the torture as much as the money.”

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me.”

She took a deep breath, exhaled. “This whole moment — I wish I could just enjoy the fact that I’ve been reunited with my son and his wife and that I’m going to be a grandmother. And poor Gwen, what she’s going through—”

“We need to call a press conference for this afternoon. Three-thirty at the latest so we can get on all the evening news shows. This is going to be tough for you, but you’ve got to do it right.”

“I don’t want to go on television and lie, Dev.”