Джон Болл - The First Team

When Zalinsky rang for him, Hewlitt went into the Oval Room and waited.

“You will call former Senator Fitzhugh, I wish to see him,” Zalinsky said.

Hewlitt bent down to make a note, concealing his surprise by the action.

When he offered no comment, Zalinsky dismissed him. “You will go—”

As soon as he was back in his own office Hewlitt picked up the phone and put in a call to Senator Fitzhugh’s office. He stayed on the line and had the secretary within a matter of seconds. “May I speak to the senator,” he asked. “This is Raleigh Hewlitt at the White House.”

The girl’s voice lacked its usual smoothness. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Hewlitt, but Senator Fitzhugh isn’t taking any calls at all.” She hesitated. “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” It was totally inadequate, but he could not think of anything else to say. He forced himself to be a little more businesslike. “You may remember that a short while ago Senator Fitzhugh was quite anxious to have an appointment with Mr. Zalinsky.”

“I remember that.”

“I just left Mr. Zalinsky’s office. He instructed me to get in touch with the senator and tell him that he would like to see him.”

The girl’s voice became tighter over the phone. “Mr. Hewlitt, knowing how he is feeling right now, if you could spare him that I’d appreciate it more than I can tell you. He’s taking it terribly hard. And Mr. Zalinsky being who he is, and representing…” She stopped and let it hang there.

Hewlitt knew that he had to counter that even though he did not want to. “Please believe me. I feel very deeply for the senator and I don’t want to disturb him. I am concerned that if he doesn’t respond within a reasonable time, they might take some kind of action. There’s a policy, you know, not to allow us to go against their wishes in any way. It’s very strict.”

There was a pause on the line. “I’ll speak to him, Mr. Hewlitt, as soon as I feel that I can and see what I can do. He’s literally ill, and you might tell Mr. Zalinsky that. Would you let me have your home number.”

That painful and awkward conversation had only been over for a minute or two before the phone rang. Hewlitt picked it up and acknowledged.

“Hello.” He recognized Barbara’s voice.

“Hello back.”

In contrast to Senator Fitzhugh’s secretary she seemed almost cheerful. “Mary and I are going to have a little housewarming tonight. Nothing very big, but we thought that you might like to come.”

“What time?”

“Whenever you like after eight-thirty. Suit yourself.”

“I’ll see you, then,” Hewlitt said. “Can I bring anything?”

“No, it’s on us tonight. That isn’t a pun, by the way.”

“I didn’t think so.” He hung up with an unresolved question in his mind; it could have been the simple invitation that it seemed, or it could have been the signal that something new was stirring.

On the way home he asked Frank for a fill-in. “There’s been a little reorganizin’ for one thing,” the driver told him. “I’m being given something new. I’m not so sure, but I think maybe you might be seeing Percival tonight.”

“Will you be there?”

“Can’t say — it depends on what he says.”

“Has anything gone wrong?”

“Nothin’ like that, at least I don’t think so.”

After Frank had dropped him off Hewlitt reviewed the setup once more in his mind; when he had finished he was still far from satisfied. It was difficult to come up with a believable reason why two higher-level government girls would choose to move into an old house that was in an essentially Negro neighborhood. The fact that the whole city of Washington was now more than half Negro did not help very much. Frank had said something a while back about establishing a whorehouse, but he had not regarded that remark very seriously.

Shortly after nine he caught a cruising cab and took it to within a block and a half of his destination. He paid the driver and then walked the remaining distance to Davy Jones’ residence and place of business. He could not keep from looking to see whether he was being observed. He was jumpy, he recognized that fact and made a conscious effort to recover his mental equilibrium.

Mary Mulligan opened the door to him and motioned him inside. “Barbara will be down in a minute,” she said and then excused herself. He walked into the living room and found Davy Jones there. The place had been spruced up quite a bit since his last visit; the makeshift bar had been replaced with a quite acceptable new one complete with stools. The floor had been freshly carpeted.

Much of the furniture was also new; it was not of high quality, but it was a major improvement on the pieces which it had replaced. The walls, which had been a somewhat questionable white, had been redone in a light blue which went well with the darker-toned carpeting. New drapes hung at the windows; Hewlitt noticed that they were of heavy material and lined; furthermore they had been hung so that they overlapped instead of meeting in the usual butt joint.

“Evening, Mr. Hewlitt, how do things look to you?” Davy asked. “Very nice — quite an improvement.”

“Some friends of mine helped me with the payments. If we’re going to have young ladies living here, the place has to be classed up a little to make it suitable.”

“I’m with you,” Hewlitt agreed. “Are you going into the rooming-house business?”

Davy looked at him for a moment. “You could put it that way if you want to. It’s a little idea that I had and some of my friends liked it.”

“I see.” He didn’t exactly, but a few things were beginning to take shape for him. “Are there going to be any other guests here tonight?” *

Davy nodded. “He’s upstairs — just got here a few minutes ago. He’s a busy fellow. And some others are coming to the party too.” Hewlitt raised his right hand behind his ear and looked the question at his host. The tall Negro shook his head. “Checked it a few minutes ago; everything’s O.K. Long-range microphones can’t penetrate into here, and nobody’s tried yet to install any equipment. They probably will now, for a time, although there’s been a lot less of that going on lately — I don’t know why.”

Barbara came into the room wearing a green cocktail-length dress that set off her figure to striking advantage. “Hello, Hew,” she said. “How do I look — suitable for a high-class brothel?”

“Based on hearsay evidence only,” Hewlitt answered her, “I’d say you’re perfect. I’m ready to become the first customer.”

“When the time comes we’ll see. Right now, believe it or not, officially I’m a virgin — and it’s all your fault. Davy, fix me a drink, will you?”

In response, Davy went behind the bar and from there surveyed

Barbara with careful appraisal. “Damn it all,” he said, “why did you have to get yourself born white?”

“We all have our problems,” she answered him.

The doorbell rang; Davy went and ushered in Cedric Culp, the White House press secretary. Despite the nature of his job he was inclined to be somewhat quiet and seldom had a great deal to say that was not of an official nature. He was a short, stocky man, but he had played football in college and had a reputation as an athlete. During the winter months he was gone many weekends up to the ski slopes.

“Evening, Hew,” he said. He shook hands with Davy Jones and greeted Barbara with a frank admiration of her appearance. “The best in the house,” he said.

“Mary is supposed to be your girl friend — remember.”

Culp turned serious. “I will. Only it’s hard sometimes; Marion may hear some gossip.”

The doorbell rang once more. Davy answered it and admitted two of the secret service men normally assigned to the White House detail. Barbara motioned them to sit down. “This is all that are coming,” she told Davy. “I thought it best not to have us all here together the first time.”